Cursed by Love (11 page)

“Instead, you’re struggling to make ends
meet and take care of this merry band of misfits that no one else wants to
hire.” She shook her head and smiled at him, a smile that was as sad as it was
fond. “You’ve taken on too much.”

“Tell that to Granddad.” Great, he had
mail. He shoved aside his problems to check out an incredible opportunity to
increase the size of his penis. Not that he needed help in that area. No matter
how high his spam blockers were set, creative spammers always managed to find a
way in.

“He knows. He just has endless faith in
your superhuman powers. As do we all.”

“None of you should place that much
confidence in me.” He rolled his shoulders, feeling damned tired of it all.
“Some days I’m just a heartbeat away from reverting to Shaw form and decamping
to Tahiti’s cloudless beaches at the crack of dawn.”

“That’ll never happen.” Sierra’s smile
was a little too knowing for his comfort. “You’d miss Chloe too much.”

“True, I’d have to take her with me.
Where is she?”

“Granddad took her home. They were going
to watch a Discovery Channel special.”

“Good. I texted him earlier about a
dinosaur show I thought she’d want to see.”

“That’s another reason you couldn’t go
live on an island thousands of miles away from us. Who would you have to
organize and boss around? You’d end up colonizing your own little kingdom.”

“I’m not bossy.”

“Right, you can’t help it that you
always know best and insist on sharing your wisdom, rather forcefully at
times.” She laughed openly at him. “Besides, where would you get the money for
such a trip, oh, wise one?”

“Apparently, a Nigerian prince wants to
give me three million dollars. All I have to do is provide him with my personal
banking information and our worries will be over.” He deleted the offer and
braced himself to say, “If that money doesn’t materialize, I’ll sell the
Harley. It’s the only thing I have left of any value.”

Her expression lost its serenity. “Not
the Harley, Gabe! You love that bike and riding with the Good Riders.”

He shrugged off the observation. “Max
knows someone who may want to buy it.” The words sounded as bleak as he felt.

“But it practically pays for itself.
Half the business you bring in is through your Good Rider contacts.”

“The contacts will still be there, and
the situation isn’t that desperate yet. I might not have to sell it.” He didn’t
want her to worry. And he still had another plan or two up his sleeve. “Do you
think Granddad’s stamp or baseball card collections are worth anything?”

“A few thousand, maybe. Is that the best
idea you’ve got?”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled.
“Didn’t Granddad tell you? We’re sitting on a fortune.”

“You mean the Sleeping Lotus and the
tidy sum we could turn it into?” Sierra mimicked his raised-brow expression.
“But I heard there’s a snag, in the form of a woman who doesn’t want the money.
Is that who you were with tonight? Did you make any headway in changing her
mind?”

He remembered Molly’s lips, ready to be
kissed, then her look of alarm when he answered the phone. He was going to have
to stop taking Granddad’s calls when he was around her. Or he’d have to set her
straight about the old man. Gabe was trying to get him to text more, call less.
Granddad insisted he didn’t have the patience to type out something he could
say five times as fast. But maybe if he realized how those phone calls hurt
Gabe’s chances with Molly, he’d reconsider. “Two steps forward, one step back.”

“What is she?” Sierra quirked her head
to the side. “Independently wealthy?”

He pictured the Webbers solid
upper-middle class house in Blue Ash. Nice. Homey. Better than anything he’d
lived in growing up. Not lavish or pretentious. The result of hard work and
determination from two people with good values and similar goals. “She’s
probably never gone to bed hungry.”

Sierra mulled that over as dark,
unspoken memories from their childhood, from after their mom had disappeared,
stalked into the room and hunkered down on the desk between them. Sierra shook
off the memories. “Tell me about her?”

The memory of Molly’s body pressed against
his rushed into his brain with dizzying detail. Tempting, but inappropriate for
sharing with his sister. “Nice. Pretty.” Description had never been his strong
suit, but the
Dreamsicle
scent of her suddenly filled
his head.

“And she smells good,” Sierra added,
looking smug.

“Yeah, she does.” Gabe studied his
sister, knowing how news spread like wildfire in their family. “I guess
Granddad told you that.”

“Nope. Just a good guess. And ...”

Making a good guess didn’t confirm
psychic abilities, but it was uncanny how often her “good guesses” were right.
“What else are you guessing about?”

“Nothing. Just a feeling I’ve got. Like
she might be—” she crooked her fingers in airy quotation marks “—The One.”

Gabe snorted and turned back to the
computer, banishing his desires to the private recesses of his brain. If he
thought too much about Molly and her appeal at the moment, Sierra was sure to
detect it. He could never get much past her.

Not that he really believed she was
clairvoyant, but she was damned intuitive, even if he didn’t like to admit it.
“She might be The One to keep me from getting my hands on a quarter of a
million dollars.”

Sierra’s eyes took on that knowing look
that said she’d read his thoughts right through his thick skull. “Or, I think
she might be just what you need. The One to take your mind off Alyssa.”

“Don’t go all psycho-weirdo matchmaker
on me now.” Gabe pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up, ten minutes
past too tired for a conversation about his former fiancée. “My mind’s not on
Alyssa.”

“Really? You’re not pining over her
anymore?”

“I don’t pine. Pining is for
wusses
.” Gabe crossed to the mini-fridge and pulled out two
bottled waters. He handed one to Sierra. “I’ve never pined over anyone in my
life.”

Sierra twisted off the cap and drank,
accepting his comments for the length of a swallow. “Still, it was hard on you
when she left.”

“Not that hard.” In his last glimpse of
Alyssa, she’d been all cool good looks and flashing eyes as she returned his
engagement ring. If the woman couldn’t understand that Chloe with a broken arm
was more important to him than a business dinner with the senior partner of her
law firm, then Alyssa hadn’t known him very well.

And in the end, it hadn’t mattered. If
he had gone to the dinner with her that night, she would’ve broken up with him
a few months later, when he jumped off the corporate ladder. His current
position wouldn’t have been anywhere near upwardly mobile enough for her. “I’ve
got plenty to do to keep myself busy.”

“But when did you last go out on a
date?”

“When did you?” he bounced back without
thinking.

He cringed,
flatlining
his lips against the flip comment. A moment of pain invaded her eyes. They both
knew the exact day and time of her last date--it had ended in the car crash. By
the time she came out of the surgery that saved her life but left her in a
wheelchair, her worthless boyfriend had disappeared like a bad dream—gone, but
not forgotten.

And all the therapy in the world hadn’t
gotten her back on her feet. She wouldn’t discuss it with Gabe, so they both
always pretended he didn’t know that all of her therapists combined—psycho and
physical—believed her paralysis was psychosomatic.

Maybe so, maybe not. He wouldn’t judge.
But one thing he knew for sure was that she’d walk again someday. When she
could. When she was ready. Whenever she got over the unnamed fear that
controlled her.

“Hey,” she said breezily. “I carry a lot
of baggage these days. What with being a psychic-paraplegic-single mom, and
all.” A beautiful smile lit her face with humor, making her look like her old
self for just a moment. But it dimmed all too quickly. “What’s your excuse?”

“Too broke,” he said, going for the easy
answer. “I’ll start dating again when you do. Until then, I’ll stick to my
computers. At least I understand them.” He rubbed the back of his neck,
refocusing on the mess in front of him. “Let’s get back to work on Quigley,
okay? See if we can get this garbage straightened out before midnight.”

“It won’t take that long,” she said. “I
about had it figured out when you got here.”

“Really? Then why were you so glad to
see me?”

“Well, uh—You know I’m not the
scaredy-cat type, but I did hear someone trying the handle on the front door
earlier. There were shadows skulking away when I went up to the front.”

“Skulking? Did you really just use the
word
skulking
? Who was it?”

She crossed her eyes at him. “I don’t
know. If I knew I wouldn’t have worried.”

“Skulking issues aside, could it have
been someone from Pete’s Painters next door?”

“Could have been, I guess, but Pete and
his wife are out of town, and none of the painters come to the office this
late.”

 He searched for a rational
explanation, but all he came up with was another twinge of uneasiness. He added
it to the list of the other twinges he’d felt a few times in the last few days
and couldn’t explain. Even though the most likely explanation had to do with
sinister interest in the Sleeping Lotus. “One of the other tenants then.”

“Maybe.” Sierra voiced the agreement,
but didn’t sound convinced.

“Just be careful.” He drummed his
fingers on the desk. “Keep the doors locked, especially when you’re here at
night.”

“Always do.”

His cell phone rang and they both looked
at it. He intended to let it go to voicemail, but Sierra smiled.

“You should answer that. It’s your new
lady. I’m getting vibes.”

“There are no vibes.” His pulse leaped
into double time as Molly’s name appeared on the screen. “And I don’t have a
new lady.”

“Not yet.” Sierra wheeled out the door,
throwing him a smile over her shoulder. “Just answer it.”

He hesitated, then picked up. “Contract
Communications, Gabe Shaw speaking.”

“Gabe! I found
Nonna’s
scrapbook on Bella.” He could feel Molly’s bubbling excitement over the phone.
“It’s all the provenance we need.”

In the name of caution, Molly took a
circuitous route to Contract Communications the next day after school. As she
hooked a left onto the side street that ran next to the building, she couldn’t
shake the creepy fingernails-on-the-blackboard feeling that she was being
followed.

A nondescript small, plain, boxy gray
car turned onto the street behind her, but didn’t follow her into the parking
lot. She strained to see the driver, but tinted windows blocked her view. After
a brief hesitation, the vehicle sped down the street.

She made note of an Ohio State sticker
on the rear bumper. Nothing extraordinary about that. Buckeye fans were rampant
in the Cincinnati area.

For some reason, the extreme
ordinariness of the vehicle was what made it stick out. It was the kind of car
no one would notice, unless someone overly cautious spotted it behind her at
every traffic light and intersection. If Molly saw it again, she swore she’d
pay more attention to the make of the car. And the license plate number.
Sheesh, why had she noticed the bumper sticker and not the plate number?

She slumped down in the seat of the VW
to see if the gray box would circle around. After ten minutes of watching and
waiting, she started feeling hot and silly.

Shaking off her paranoia, she stepped
out of her car and studied the place where Gabe spent a big part of each day.
The standard square office building on Reading Road probably contained ten or
twelve businesses. The metal and glass structure typified solid, unpretentious
medium-priced real estate.

Grabbing her purse, she also lifted her
tote containing the scrapbook off the passenger seat. His Harley parked at the
end of the row reassured her of his presence.

She repeated the little pep talk she’d
been reciting on the drive over. She hadn’t ventured over here simply to invade
his privacy and spy on him. Not at all. She was doing him a favor by stopping
by to share information he had an interest in seeing. Information that was
pivotal to the eventual disposition of their joint property.

Yeah, right, that’s why I’m here.

Stepping onto the walkway that led to
the front door, she caught sight of a shiny bit glinting beside her tire. She
stooped to pick it up. Even before she had it in hand, she could see that it
was a brass button. Darn. Probably six gazillion U.S. pennies in circulation,
so why couldn’t she luck into one when she needed to?

Because you don’t find good luck, it
finds you.

Inside the lobby, she checked the
business listings on a black directory against Gabe’s card. She looked left and
right and spotted the office, three doors down. Contract Communications
occupied a nice corner location.

Now that she was here, the feeling that
she really shouldn’t be dropping in on him at work increased. She wanted to see
Gabe in his natural habitat, but her feelings for him—
about
him--were
mixed. The need to see the real Gabe took her to his door. Black stenciling
detailed the company name on the frosted glass.

For a shot of courage, Molly touched her
fingertips to the crystal hanging on a chain around her neck. Summoning up
positive energy and her sunniest smile, she opened the door to a neatly
decorated reception area of geometric prints, glass and lacquer tables, and
industrial style chairs.

Understated, yet pleasing. Too modern
for Molly’s taste. But she could feel Gabe’s vibe all over the space.

A sleek, modern-shaped desk spanned one
side of the room, enhanced by the presence of a stunning redhead with fake
eyelashes, Joan Crawford shoulders, voluptuous everything, and swirled in a
cloud of Obsession.

“Well, now,” the receptionist said, in a
husky rasp. “How may I help you?”

“I’m Molly Webber. Here to see Gabe
Shaw.”

“Is he
expecting
you?” A flash of
dismay crossed the redhead’s face. Patting shoulder-length poufy hair sprinkled
with glitter, she sent her acrylic-nailed fingers flying across the keyboard,
then sized up Molly with a quick once-over. The temperature in the air
surrounding them took a decided dip. “You aren’t on his appointment list.”

Molly nailed her blue flats to the floor
to keep from shuffling them like a naughty ten-year-old called before the
principal. After a school day that included finger-painting, kickball, and
cafeteria-duty, her durable denim skirt and white T-shirt lacked a little something
in style and freshness. Nothing about her bland appearance compared favorably
to the overstated elegance of Gabe’s receptionist. “He told me to stop by
anytime.”