The Paris Assignment (8 page)

Her friend didn’t even have the decency to look the slightest bit chastised. “It’s the girlfriend code of honor. Forged in the fires of a shared dorm room, bad dating choices and mutual hair-holding as we rode out the consequences of bad hangovers.”

“Do you tell him about your love life?”

“Hell, no. Why would I want to do that?”

Abby shook her head, the sudden urge to laugh a welcome respite from the tension of the last several hours. “Isn’t that a bit of the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Nope. It’s being a smart woman who doesn’t want my big brother nosing around in my life. But if we put that aside, all I’m really saying is that this same brother doesn’t fall for women in front of me. So the fact that he showed real concern for you downstairs means something.”

Although Kensington was one of her dearest friends—and one of her small inner circle she
was
willing to share things with—there was something about Campbell that held her back.

Whether it was her own inability to define her attraction to the man or the current professional situation she found herself in, Abby didn’t know.

Either way, she just couldn’t go there.

“He’s a good man. But even if I did agree with you that something might be there, life is in the way right now.”

“That’s a cop-out if I ever heard one.”

Abby planted on a broad smile, but didn’t back down from their discussion. “Then don’t listen.”

Kensington laughed as she extended her arms for a hug. They might not see eye to eye, but Abby knew her friend always had her back.

* * *

Campbell finally convinced T-Bone to come into the house after Kensington went up with Abby. The big man filled the hallway with a hulking combination of sheer heft and dark menace that Campbell had always enjoyed being on the right side of.

“What are you dragging me in here for?”

“I want to know what you found out. Uncensored.”

T-Bone sighed before pointing toward the stairs. “They out of earshot.”

“Yes.”

“Then here’s what I know.”

T-Bone gave him a quick recap that matched Kensington’s before diving into the things left unsaid. Namely, the break-ins were nearly identical in execution and equally hard to understand.

As he watched the big man nod, Campbell felt the pieces click into place in his mind, like the tumblers of a slot machine that fell into a neat, even row. “You think something was left behind?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“They sweep for bugs?”

“The security companies did. They didn’t find anything and I’m not surprised. I don’t think it’s a bug.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Whoever it is has figured out a way to get eyes inside Abby’s house and into her equipment.”

“Undetected?”

T-Bone shook his head. “You know as well as I do no one breaks in for fun. And they certainly don’t do it twice. Those weren’t random.”

“How hard would it be to get me inside the houses?”

“How well do you speak French?”

Campbell let out a large bark. “About as well as I speak anything other than English.”

“How could I forget? The only language you know is code.”

“I know French.” Abby’s voice floated over them from the stairs. “Quite well, as a matter of fact.”

T-Bone shifted his large frame to stare up at her. Campbell didn’t miss the man’s broad, calming smile and wondered abstractly why he never rated one of those.

Ever.

“Hello, Ms. McBane.”

“Abby, please.” She descended the stairs like a regal queen before coming to a stop in front of the big man and extending her hand. “You must be T-Bone.”

“At your service.”

“I overheard your conversation with Campbell. You think something was left in my neighbors’ homes to spy on me?”

“I think they’re spying on your technology.”

“Well, then. What do I need to do?”

“How well do you know your neighbors?”

Chapter 6

A
bby ignored the buzzing of her phone as she hunted up details on the Paris house. She kept a small leather notebook in her attaché case, full of all the minutia of her life. Those details filled the book, from family birthdays to her neighbors’ names to various security and tax information.

She’d long laughed at herself for the attachment to a paper device, but there was something about the well-worn leather that comforted. Especially the pages in the front of the book that still held her mother’s careful script.

She ran a light finger over the faded ink that outlined all the pertinent details on their New York home before flipping to the pages that detailed the house in Paris.

Monsieur and Madame Dufresne lived on one side of her and an aged widower, Monsieur Tremaine, on the other. Tremaine was a lovely old man who spent the majority of his time in the South of France. He was also the first house hit and likely was used for practice, his frequent absences making him an easier mark.

Abby shifted her muzzy thoughts to the Dufresnes. Etienne was a former diplomat and, if she recalled correctly, Celine was wife number three. Although she’d not formally met Celine, a vague image of Etienne roamed around her tired mind, finding no purchase as she tried diligently to conjure up a face. When nothing stuck, she reached for her coffee mug and turned to her computer.

“Ah, well, Abby-girl, you can sleep when you’re dead,” she muttered to herself as she tapped Etienne’s and Celine’s names into a search program. And as her gaze tracked the results, she allowed the hot rich coffee to slide down to her stomach, willing the brew to work its magic.

When it had become evident early this morning they weren’t going to get any sleep, Abby had suggested to Campbell they shift gears and head to the office. Although a shower had gone a long way toward reviving her, the lack of sleep was definitely kicking in now that she’d been at her desk for the better part of an hour.

On a resigned yawn, she clicked on the first link and watched as an image of her next-door neighbors instantly downloaded to her screen. The portly man with the ruddy complexion looked pretty much as she’d remembered and a quick read-through of the text confirmed her suspicions.

The statuesque Celine was a relatively new acquisition.

The couple, dressed in formal wear, had her thoughts drifting to the evening before, along with a powerful image that hadn’t quite faded from her mind.

Campbell Steele in a tuxedo.

Since the search program was still open, she went with instinct and typed his name into the open box.

The list of links associated with him numbered in the hundreds, which wasn’t a huge surprised based on his lineage. Although Kensington had always played it down, the Steele family had a long and storied history, both in England and here in the States.

What she did find curious was that very little existed about the man
beyond
his family connections.

In the current day and age of social media, near-constant updates by friends and family and the press’s fascination with anyone who possessed even the remotest bit of wealth, the lack of information was a surprise.

“You are a mystery, Mr. Steele.”

Her gaze caught on a link to his parents’ obituary and she clicked it, despite knowing the basics of their death. Fueling up on another hit of caffeine, she read the article. Even as someone who’d lost both of her parents, the story of the car crash that killed Charles and Katherine Steele on their twentieth wedding anniversary trip in the Welsh countryside never failed to leave her with a restless sort of sadness in her heart.

The question of why hovered briefly in her mind, even as she knew there were no answers for the vagaries of life.

As the why over Campbell’s parents faded, two questions rose up to take its place in rapid succession.

Why was she so interested in him? And why was she fighting it so hard?

They were a couple of healthy, unattached adults. Although there was the slightly messy connection with Kensington, it wasn’t insurmountable, especially if her friend’s eager nosiness last night was any indication. A fling with Campbell would have very little—if any—impact on her friendship with Kenzi.

So why was she holding back?

The heavy knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts—and from answering the question.

“Stef. What’s up?”

“You’re in early this morning.”

“No rest for the weary. And I know you’ll be happy and relieved to be rid of me for a week.”

Stef flashed a wide grin before offering up a quick wink and extending a heavy file folder. “I’m counting down the minutes.”

Abby reached for the folder, groaning at its heft. “What’s in here?”

“I know, I know. You’re trying to get out of here and there are a million things to do. I’ve held back what can wait, but I need everything in there signed off on.”

“What is it?”

“Several memorandums to the foreign offices, the proposed insurance plan changes for next year that require your final signature and a review on one of your patents.”

“That can’t wait?”

Stef shrugged. “You’re the one who’s brilliant enough to even need to file a patent on your ideas. Do you think it can wait? You’re the boss.”

“No.” Abby shook her head as she dropped the folder on her desk, the heavy thud going a long way toward adding to the bone-weary exhaustion she felt. “I’d best get to it, then.”

“Can I at least get you a refill on the coffee?”

“Only if you want me to get down on both knees, sing your praises and possibly propose.”

Stef’s grin only widened as she reached for the near-empty mug. “That’s my guy’s job. And if this past weekend’s any indication, I think he’s getting close.”

Whatever fatigue she felt vanished at the happy news. Jumping up from her chair, Abby crossed around her desk to pull Stef into a tight hug. The woman’s body was momentarily stiff and Abby had the strange sensation she might have overstepped before her assistant wrapped her up in a return hug.

“Sorry.” Stef waved the mug as they pulled away. “I didn’t want to break the mug.”

“No, no, I’m the impulsive one.” Abby waved it off, well aware she wasn’t known for her personal interaction with her team. “This is wonderful news. You need to call me the moment he proposes.”

“I can’t do that while you’re in Paris. You’ll be busy.”

“Of course you can. All the details will give me something to smile about as I’m sitting through one meeting after the next.”

“Probably thinking up new ideas to patent.” Stef’s tease was just that—and it was shared in the tone of someone who knew her well—but Abby fought the strange sense of hopelessness that welled up at the woman’s words.

Her assistant’s description wasn’t far off the mark. She
was
a patent-filing thinker who always had a million projects on her plate. She’d always been invigorated by working and living at that pace, so what had changed?

A quick glance at Stef and she saw almost a mirror image of her thoughts, the woman’s face drawn and slightly wan.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Lot on my mind.” Stef lifted the mug before pointing over her shoulder with her free hand. “Let me just get you a refill.”

“Sure thing.”

Abby watched Stef’s slim, almost frail, frame cross the room before she exited to the welcome area outside the office. Could it be she was working the woman too hard? She’d thought over the past few months it might make sense to add a second assistant. One who oversaw the more personal aspects of her life, freeing Stef to focus on the day-to-day urgency of the business.

A glance at the thick file and Abby resolved to get on that when she got back.

“In fact,” she whispered to herself, “no time like the present. Email Human Resources right now while you’re thinking about it.”

Her gaze alighted on the article about Campbell’s parents and she shut out of the browser window, also shutting down whatever vein of curiosity had opened up this morning.

Whatever fanciful notions she might have about Campbell Steele needed to stop. What man would be all that interested in spending his time with a brainy workaholic who never sat still long enough to be in one city, let alone one country?

Nope, it just wouldn’t work.

They might consider a fling, but even that was probably a less-than-smart idea. She’d crafted a very full—and rather lonely—life for herself and this coming week was yet another raging example of that. Strange, mysterious threats or not, she had a major series of meetings and twenty people to entertain for a week.

After she hit Send on the email to Human Resources, Abby opened the file Stef had left behind.

She’d best get to it.

* * *

Campbell sifted through another layer of code as he kept up a steady conversation with T-Bone. Well, conversation might be a stretch, he admitted to himself, even if they were speaking intermittently on their mobile phones.

They had a strange sort of half language that consisted of a lot of swearing, fragmented sentences and another layer of swearing.

And they understood each other perfectly.

“I don’t believe this. How the hell did he do this?” T-Bone added a whistle to his frustration. “There’s no fingerprint on this.”

“He’s definitely a ghost and from the looks of it he’s been sneaking around for a while.”

“How’s he getting in?”

“Damned if I know.” Campbell ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the longish ends he knew his grandmother would give him a hard time about next time she saw him. He mentally added “haircut” to his to-do list and knew it would vanish in mere moments.

Best intentions and all...

“I’ll be dipped—” T-Bone’s voice faded off as Campbell hit a few commands. “He’s been all over the system.”

“If I wasn’t so hell-bent to figure out who it was, I’d have to admire the guy’s style. He’s got some skills.”

“You’re not kidding.”

“You know who it might be.”

T-Bone let out another low whistle. “First thought was Juno but he’s been out of the game for a little over a year.”

“No one ever really gets out.”

“We did.”

“We just play for a different side, T. I’d say we’re about as in as you can get.”

A gruff laugh rumbled through the phone. “Well, rumor is, Juno’s really out. Got a wife and a kid and went legit.”

At the words
wife
and
kids,
Campbell was unable to resist the image of Abby in his arms. Their night before had left him with a steady dose of erotic images that refused to leave.

The tense moments at the bar, both of them fully aware of each other.

That tender interlude in the cab, wrapped up in each other in a “show” that felt far too real for comfort.

The press of her slender body against his in the hallway of her home as their mouths fused.

Hell, he could still feel the imprint of her body at every point they touched.

Would a wife and kids make him legit? Tame him, as it were? He’d always scoffed at the idea of ever wanting to get out, but what if there was an exterior motive to do so?

Could a person change you if you loved each other enough?

There were elements of the idea that were as appealing as they were appalling.

Wasn’t the person who loved and cared about you supposed to love you as you were?

Yet, if your choices weren’t the best for the relationship, didn’t you owe it to the one you loved in return to make changes for them?

Endless questions without answers.

Which was why he’d avoided relationships like the plague. A few dates. A good time. That was more than enough.

Especially since House of Steele had taken off beyond their wildest dreams.

When he and Liam, Kensington and Rowan had formed the company three years ago, they’d used it as a way to create something lasting while leveraging each of their innate skills. He was their e-man, Kenzi covered the running of the business, Ro knew art and antiques like the back of her hand and Liam...

Well, Liam did as he pleased and somehow always came out on top.

Literally
and
figuratively.

For a long time, that had bothered Campbell more than he’d wanted to admit. He loved his brother and knew they had each other’s backs, but everything had always come easy to Liam and it had taken more than a few years to understand that didn’t mean the man was happy or even remotely content with his life.

It had taken a few more years after that to accept that his brother’s choices had nothing to do with his own. And now, despite more than a few rocky years, he and Liam were in a good place.

A highly productive one, as well, if the projected profit statement Kensington had shared with all of them last week was any indication. They might be a motley crew—albeit with a touch of polish that got them in and out of the world’s most elegant environments—but with House of Steele they’d built something that worked.

“I still think the neighbors are the key.” T-Bone’s words interrupted his musings and Campbell pushed aside thoughts of his family.

“Abby’s hunting up their details this morning. She doesn’t know them all that well.”

“Not a surprise. Homes on Paris’s most exclusive street don’t exactly scream block party.”

Campbell couldn’t hold back the bark of laughter at the image that one evoked. “No barbecues and bocce?”

“Hardly.”

“Guess I need to make sure I pack a tie.”

* * *

Abby was still signing paperwork an hour later when Campbell gamboled into her office, two large paper cups in hand and a slim laptop tucked under his arm.

“I come bearing caffeine.”

“Do you have any answers to go with that coffee?”

“No answers, but T-Bone and I have ruled out a few suspects.” He set the paper cup on her desk before taking the chair opposite hers. “Any luck figuring out who your neighbors are?”

She watched him fold his large form into the steel-framed chair and wondered again why she was fighting her attraction so hard. The man was far too attractive for his own good. Dark hair fell over his forehead and the black T-shirt that stretched over his shoulders had kicked off an appreciative hum under her skin.