Here Comes Trouble

Also by Anna J. Stewart

Asking for Trouble

AN IMPRINT OF PENGUIN RANDOM HOUS
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HERE COMES TROUBLE

An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2015 by Anna J. Stewart.

Excerpt from
The Trouble with Nathan
copyright © 2016 by Anna J. Stewart.

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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18314-8

P
UBLISHING
HISTORY

InterMix eBook edition / August 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

____________________________________

Penguin Random House is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity.

In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers;

however, the story, the experiences, and the words

are the author’s alone.

For Mary Helfrick.

Anum Cara
, soul friend.

For always believing these twenty-seven years.

“What do you mean
I
have to break into his office?” Sheila Tremayne aimed a polite, practiced, pageant-circuit smile at an approaching uniformed server and plucked a filled champagne flute off the gleaming silver tray before she headed up to the second floor, which had been cordoned off to guests. Knots thick enough to secure a cruise ship to a dock tightened in her belly as the noise from the crowd downstairs faded. “Nathan, I swear, if this is your idea of a joke—”

“This is one of those roll-with-the-punches moments, Sheila.” The tension in her normally unflappable older sibling’s voice increased the dread taking hold. Despite her strict workout routine, Sheila’s thighs burned as she planted four-inch bloodred Jimmy Choos on stair after stair as her brother continued, “It’s not like I arranged for a three-car pileup on the I-5 just so you’d have to practice your lock-picking skills.”

A talent that hadn’t come with her art history degree. “Now you are joking.” She situated herself out of sight and peered around the corner downstairs to scan the throng of people who had come to celebrate Alcina Oliver’s eighty-fifth birthday. Accepting an expanded role with her family’s charitable foundation meant she’d had to step away from her job as one of Lantano Valley’s premier party planners, but she’d immediately accepted the request to plan this event. Not because she loved Alcina, but because doing so gave Sheila the run of the Oliver estate. Or almost all of it.

“Breaking and entering is your part of Nemesis, Nathan,” Sheila reminded her brother, who was vice president of their father’s securities and investment firm as well as an expert cat burglar. “I’m product design.”

“Fancy term for
forger
.” The tinge of humor in Nathan’s voice made her lips quirk as her gaze narrowed on Chadwick Oliver milling about in a crowd of over-enthusiastic admirers and suck-ups.

Enjoy it while you can, Chadwick.

“Consider this diversifying, Sheila,” Nathan said. “I’m looking at being stuck on the freeway for the next hour. You said yourself, with Chadwick taking center stage at his mother’s party to promote his art auction this will be our chance to get into his private office.”

Sheila downed half the glass of champagne, cringing behind the bubble-infused alcohol as it slid down her throat. She might be one-third of Nemesis—a thief with a penchant for vengeance and evening scores—but that didn’t mean B and E and safe-cracking were in her bailiwick. Then again, flexibility was a must in any job. “Can’t Dad—”

“Dad’s off on another one of his mystery trips,” Nathan said, and Sheila heard her own frustration at their father’s disappearing acts in her brother’s voice. “Tick tock, Sheila. This plan was your idea, but we all agreed we need proof Chadwick has the painting before we go any further. I stashed the digital reader in the potted plant at the top of the second landing the other day when I came by to do a check on his security system. Hop to.”

“Dammit.” The disconnecting click was drowned out by the jackhammering of her heart. Her pulse hadn’t pounded this hard since her name
hadn’t
been called as Miss California over a decade ago.

Gone were the days she could hold Nathan’s G.I. Joes hostage in the Barbie Dreamhouse for perceived wrongs. Oh, no. This turn of events was going to need some extra special attention when it came to payback.

She glanced down at her watch, the diamond-studded face mocking her with the taunting ticking second hand. The hallway chandelier glowed as the early summer sun dipped down. She downed the last of her drink and wished she’d had the forethought to eat a couple of canapés to soak up the alcohol.

Bubbles backed up in her throat and coated her brain in a hazy, dull buzz as her eyes teared and she set the glass down on the hall table. What she wouldn’t give to be in her art studio, inhaling the calming effects of turpentine and oil paints, losing herself in creating—or in her case, re-creating—works of art.

First things first. Focus on this.

Nathan was right. This plan was her baby. She’d created it, nurtured it, mapped out every step as if it were one of her mega social events instead of a theft of soul-crushing magnitude. She ducked out of sight and was instantly reminded she’d worn the worst possible thievery attire. The skinny, slinky black dress left little to the imagination, and even less room to hide, well, anything. She gripped her cell phone in one hand as she reached under her skirt and pulled out the thin emergency case she had tucked under the narrow garter. She smoothed the dress, skimmed the banded hem above her knees.

She took another quick look downstairs to ensure that Chadwick’s lordly countenance proved he wasn’t ready to give up the spotlight anytime soon. She doubted not even the pending arrival of his aged mother would make a difference. If there was one thing Chadwick Oliver loved it was being the center of attention—a character flaw Sheila couldn’t wait to exploit.

A quick text to Liza Juliano, her assistant, to let her know Sheila was upstairs tending to the guest of honor would keep things running smoothly. Besides, once festivities began, Sheila preferred to fade into the background, where, despite her pageant history, she’d always been most comfortable. She might be the eldest daughter of one of the richest men in town with a social status to match, but she’d always found that spotlight a bit blinding.

With all the grace and flexibility years of ballet, Pilates, and yoga had provided, Sheila pushed away from the corner of the wall and swept across the length of the landing, stopping long enough in front of the marble pot to scoop up the small electrical device Nathan had planted.

Smaller than she thought. Another relief. She slid the black plastic device that was about the size of a credit card but three times as thick into her bra and winced as the corners scraped against her skin.

Years of friendship with Alcina meant Sheila knew every inch of the house, but there was one room she’d never had access to. Chadwick was militantly proprietary about his private office, which solidified her belief that his collection was locked behind the double wooden doors.

The toe of her pump caught on the antique Asian throw rug blanketing the pristine white carpet as she scanned the hall, making sure she was alone. She bit back a smirk as she opened the case containing her metal picks, a birthday present from Nathan a few years ago.

Some big brothers kept the bullies at bay. They stood guard when dates arrived and provided an uneasy shoulder while one grieved over a broken heart. But Tremaynes never did anything the typical way. Oh, no. Nathan’s big-brothering ways were wrapped up in thievery, safe cracking, and the dismantling of state-of-the-art alarm systems. Throw in guided inspiration toward forging paperwork and classic paintings and her sibling proved family ties were often a knotted mess. It made her relationship with their youngest sibling, Morgan, so much easier to traverse. Not that Morgan had any idea about the rest of her family’s nocturnal activities.

The nape of her neck felt damp beneath the weight of her curls, so she wound her hair around her hand and secured it with two of the longer lock picks before stepping around the corner. She stopped in front of the double wooden doors, wrapped her fingers around the handle, bent down, and . . .

“Sheila?”

She shot up, nerves thrashing as the familiar voice sank into her, blanketing her in the suffocating past. “Malcolm.” Her breath hitched and her fingers flipped the case behind her phone in her palm. “When did you— Why are you—”
Wow. Way to stay in control.
“I’d heard rumors you were back.”

“For once the rumors are true.”

Sheila shivered as his chill-inducing, pulse-kicking baritone conjured repressed images of summer nights, bonfires on the beach, and long drives down the coast to sleep beneath the stars.

She exhaled and tugged her runner-up smile into place. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” Malcolm shoved his hands into dark tailored slacks, the crisp white button-down shirt and shiny loafers a far cry from the jeans-and-T-shirt-wearing boy-man she remembered. In typical Malcolm mindset, he’d avoided matching the tailored tuxes worn by the men downstairs. “Doesn’t exactly feel like home, though.”

Behind the one-time flirtatious amber gaze that had captured her attention all those years ago was a guardedness and skepticism she couldn’t reconcile with the Malcolm she remembered. The Malcolm she could have fallen in love with. “I’m sure Alcina is glad to see you.” Yes, his grandmother was a good change of subject. Nice, safe topic.

“She’d be the only one.”

“Ty’s missed you.” Sheila shrugged and dropped her gaze when Malcolm arched a brow. “Okay, so, maybe
missed
is a strong word.”

“I believe my brother’s words when I knocked on the front door amounted to five years not being long enough.”

“He was hurt when you left, Malcolm.”
We all were
. Some more than others. Some more than they wanted to admit. “And the fallout from—” What was the right word? “From what happened wasn’t easy on any of your family.”

“No, I don’t suppose it was.” It was then she saw the edge, the coolness, the years on his face. Neither changed the fact that Malcolm Oliver was still one beautiful man. His strong chin inclined her way and she drank in the sight of him, noticing the attention-grabbing combination of sand and earth hues in his hair, windblown and curling over his ears and down the nape of his neck. Did it feel the same weaving between her fingers, brushing against her skin? Or was it his slightly drawn appearance that had changed, overtaking his one-time fuller face? Strained. Stressed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think life had been kicking him around like a soccer ball.

“I hear you throw quite the event these days.” Malcolm leaned against the door as if he had no intention of heading down to the party. “Didn’t realize your duties included lurking in hallways.”

Damn. Sheila shifted into alert, moved a step closer to him, and kept her eyes pinned to his, capturing his gaze so when she unlatched her silver charm bracelet he wouldn’t notice it plop to the ground. She covered it with her foot. “I think I dropped my bracelet in your father’s office when we met earlier to finalize plans for the party. I was hoping it was unlocked so I could check.” She raised her hand, flicked her bare wrist, and made sure to reflect concern and worry in her eyes despite her desire to swallow hard. “It’s the one my mother gave me.” The one he’d added a star charm to for their six-month anniversary. The week before he’d left.

“I heard about Catherine.” A flash of grief crossed Malcolm’s face, but instead of tilting his head in that irritating sympathetic bob that set Sheila’s teeth on edge, he managed a small, sad smile. “She was always very kind to me, especially after my mother left.”

“She liked you,” Sheila said before she thought better of it. “Despite what . . .” She cleared her throat. “Despite what happened, she always believed you’d do great things.”

“Despite what happened.” Malcolm let out a long breath from between clenched teeth. “Yeah. I’ve been getting that a lot. I suppose it was stupid of me to think you of all people wouldn’t succumb to rumor and speculation.”

“There was nothing speculative about a hundred employees losing their jobs because of what you did, Malcolm. It’s taken years to get Oliver Technologies on track again, for people to feel secure. And leaving the way you did, without an explanation or an apology?” Not that she cared. Except his disappearing without a word, without that explanation and, worse, without a good-bye, had hurt more than she’d expected. More than it should have. “Ty did his best to clean up the mess you left behind.”

“My mess.” Malcolm’s jaw unclenched as his gaze drifted away from her. “Five years later and nothing’s changed. The same damn lies.”

Sheila frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Malcolm shifted, shook his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Gran is getting ready to head downstairs. I’d better see how she’s coming along.”

“Wait, Malcolm.” Sheila reached out and caught his arm and tried not to notice how warm his body felt under her touch. She wanted to ask him what lies. To her knowledge, Malcolm had never claimed he was innocent of the backdoor deal to sell off Oliver Technologies’ groundbreaking water treatment system. But was he? Had the last five years . . . She had to stop this. Now wasn’t the time. “Do you happen to have a key to the office?” She felt heartless for not probing further, but she couldn’t very well break in now, not when she’d been seen. “I’d hate to have to ask your father while he’s in the midst of—”

“Being adored?” Resentment clung to his words. “Yeah, best not get between Chadwick Oliver and the spotlight.”

Sympathy rose like a dust devil inside her. She knew Chadwick Oliver was a manipulative son of a bitch with a penchant for ego-boosting machinations, and Malcolm’s attitude bore that out. But it wasn’t—and couldn’t be—her concern at the moment.

“I think Gran has a key.” Malcolm lifted a hand to cover hers, but seemed to think better of it as he pulled away and disappeared down the hall.

She couldn’t ignore the pall of sadness emanating from her ex, but she did have to push it aside as she slipped her lock case back under her garter, scooped up her bracelet, and cupped it in her palm under her phone. The last thing she needed—or wanted—was a distraction named Malcolm Oliver.

A quick glance at her watch told her the caterers should be finished filling the chafing dishes by now, calling people in to the buffet dinner she’d arranged. And here she was getting ready to prove one of their hosts was a criminal. Sometimes she loved her job.

She watched Malcolm emerge from a room down the hall, key in hand. “Gran’s finishing her hair, but I remembered where she kept it.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open for her. “Be quick, okay? Dad doesn’t take kindly to anyone being in his office.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw as if massaging a bruise, flinching as he gave her a weak smile. “It was good to see you, Sheila.” The smile that curved his lips held fragments of the boy she’d had a crush on for most of her teenage years and who, for a while, had been so much more.