Mesmerizing Stranger

Chapter 11

As they left the restaurant, Cate pulled her patience together and forced herself to say calmly, “Harm, you seriously need rest. I slept on the flights. You didn’t. It just makes sense for you to get a few hours’ sleep before we go to the lab.”

Harm dug in his pocket for the car key. “I think it’d be a good idea for me to drop you off at the house. You catch some z’s. I’ll go to the lab.”

Cate didn’t kick him with one of her three-inch heels, but she was tempted. The man was more stubborn than a hound. He’d been cave-in tired by the time they’d finished dinner; she knew he couldn’t keep going. But then his cell phone rang when he was paying the restaurant bill. She didn’t know who called, only that he’d discovered Yale and Purdue had managed to catch an earlier flight.

None of the others were scheduled to arrive home before Sunday morning. Now, it appeared that two of them would be landing in Boston a full day earlier-as soon as fourteen hours from now.

“But,” she reminded Harm, as he opened the passenger door for her, “they’ll be exhausted. I’m sure they’ll go to their own homes first, if only to drop off their gear and catch some rest. So we still likely have all day tomorrow before having to worry about them. And we’ll get much more out of the day if you had some sleep.”

“No.”

That was all he said before closing her door. She simmered while he crossed the front of the car, climbed in, and started the engine. The problem with Harm, Cate had long realized, was that everyone had kowtowed to him for so long that he’d forgotten how to listen to anyone else. More relevant, no one had put a foot on his head and made him behave.

“Okay,” she said sweetly. “This is the new plan. You said the lab was only a few miles from here, so we’ll go there now. You can show me around, show me the whole setup. Then we’ll go home. You get four hours’ sleep. I’ll wake you, we’ll come back. In the meantime, you can call your security people and tell them no one’s allowed in the lab without you getting a call.”

Harm hesitated, and then admitted, “That’s good thinking.”

“But?”

“But…I’m going straight to the lab.”

So, she mused. Next time she needed him to see reason, she wouldn’t waste time talking to him. She’d just hit him on the head with a baseball bat.

“I heard that,” Harm mentioned.

“What?”

“You were mumbling. Loud enough for me to hear. This is the issue, Cate…you’re safe while my men are still in the air. You’re not safe once they land in Boston. So there’s only one option here, and that’s to find out everything I possibly can before they arrive. After that…”

“After that, what?”

He shot her a warm, possessive glance before returning his attention to the road. “After that, I’ll figure out what I’m going to do about you.”

“You might be strong, Harm, but it’ll take more than you and an entire spare army to make me do anything I don’t want to do.” Her voice failed to pump up the volume she wanted to. Darn, it was hard to fight with him, partly because making crazy love with him on his kitchen table before dinner was still on her mind…and partly because of the way he kept looking at her.

She kept thinking about his ex-wives. She’d been so certain his divorce tales would be some version of today’s usual horror story…two people who couldn’t get along, who crucified each other in the divorce, who carried scars from the grief and the bitterness, who seemed to discover the worst of themselves and their chosen mates in the process.

She’d sort of expected that one marriage had to be a really young one-but not how warmly or honestly Harm had talked about that first love.

And she’d never imagined the scope of the second marriage, that he’d offer a ring to save a young woman’s life. For Pete’s sake, that was straight out of the archaic age of chivalry.

He was so adorable and so rich-and so arrogant-that she’d just assumed he was a player. Now…well…Cate sucked it up and figured she was stuck being nicer to him. At least to a point. “Well, you’re not going to drive if you’re overtired.”

“Right on that. In fact, soon as we get to the lab, I’ll give you the car keys. Then if you want to drive back to my place and crash, you can. Directions are easy.”

True to his word, they were barely parked before he handed the keys to her. She climbed out of the car, nearly tripping on her three-inch heels because her attention was so riveted by the place. The small, subtle sign for Future, Inc. was barely visible from the road. Old maples and walnuts formed a canopy above the drive to the building, which was a sprawling redbrick with a couple of wings, a massive porch in front, landscaped grounds that wound around the place. It looked more like a gorgeous old home than a place of business-much less like a lab.

“My uncle’s idea was for the place to fit in with the local historical look. Not to draw attention. A cold stone-and-glass type of building tends to make people think that the people and business are cold and stone-like, instead of caring. That was his theory, anyway. Of course, once you step inside…”

From the front door on, it was all high-tech. They could barely walk through a hallway before Harm had to identify himself with a key code, then a fingerprint code, and security alarm buttons were visible in every hall.

“We don’t have any live guards,” he said, “because the security system is so tight. Or we thought it was tight until the formula disappeared. Still, it’s almost impossible for an outsider to get into. You’ll see.”

She did see. The first wing didn’t hold just one lab, but a half dozen of them, each requiring a different set of security key codes. To Cate, the rooms looked something like ultra-contemporary kitchens, with stainless-steel tables and work counters and sinks-except for all the strange-looking equipment that she had no way to identify. The floors were spotless, and the air actually smelled fresh, with no hint of chemical or solvent that she could detect.

The last lab, at the end of one wing, had Yale and Purdue’s name on the door, and required both handprint and eye identification to enter. It was the only lab that Harm opened, specifically so she could see how it fit into their ongoing crisis. “This is where the formula disappeared from.” He motioned to a vault at the far end of the lab. “The computer work for it was on those two systems.” He motioned again. “Of course, the factual data was also backed up on Fiske’s system, and on mine. So whoever made it disappear had to sabotage everyone’s private codes.”

“Not something a dummy could pull off,” she murmured.

“But knowing that hasn’t helped. Everybody who works here has an IQ off the charts. It’s easy to protect anything from an average thief-or even an extraordinary thief. But not from someone brilliant enough to create something brilliant to start with.” He switched off the light and close-locked that door. “There’s no reason for us to be in that lab, though, Cate. There’s no point. It’s already been gone over by security and cops and anyone who knows anything about the work. There is nothing there. Not related to the formula, not related to identifying who the culprit is. I’m positive.”

“Okay.” She trailed after him, feeling a building anxiety, not because of his lost formula, but because Harm’s face was increasingly looking gray. He didn’t yawn-God forbid he loosen up any of that army-general posture-but he was clearly stumbling tired.

The labs were all in the long west wing. The central wing held primarily community rooms. The break room had a semikitchen set up, with microwave and refrigerator…beyond that, Harm opened doors to reveal a couple of meeting rooms. Each had long tables, oversize chairs, windows overlooking the landscaping. “We call those the ‘think tanks,’” he said, and then opened the last door in the central wing.

She shook her head. “What, you’re running a motel on the side back here?”

He chuckled. “I know. It kind of looks that way.” There were beds with different comforters, a huge flat-screen TV, couches. Unlike the pristine labs, this place looked mighty lived-in. Cate spotted a single shoe half under a bed, shirts and lab coats draped haphazardly on a coat tree, items strewn around-hairbrushes, open books, magazines, change, a belt.

“Explain,” she said.

“Sometimes an experiment or trial has to be watched around the clock, and then one or more of the staff’ll sleep over. Arthur always brought his dog, or so my uncle used to say.”

Still, there was more. Harm showed her the supply rooms, where the side staff and apprentices worked, a massive general computer room. “So where’s your lair?” she asked finally.

The far wing just held offices-Harm’s, Fiske’s and Arthur’s.

His cell phone rang-which gave her a prize opportunity to nose around Harm’s office without interference. This whole wing was carpeted in a thick, quiet blue, so with a mighty sigh of relief, she slipped off her shoes and kicked them out of the way. Immediately, she felt more like herself.

Harm’s office was obviously originally his uncle’s, and revealed a great deal about Dougal. Harm hadn’t had time, or maybe the inclination, to clean out all his uncle’s things. On the chestnut bookcases, Cate studied rows of framed photographs-many clearly of the wife Dougal had lost. Some shots were older, sixties by the look of the short skirts and hairstyles. There was a wedding picture, lots of flowers, a silky veil. In another, the two were riding horses. In another, they were hang gliding. In another, the pair wore climbing gear, both of them sweating and smiling.

It was obvious to Cate that the couple had not just loved each other, but loved doing things together, and were devoted to each other. The photos revealed the kind of love a woman dreamed of. The way his uncle loved, she mused, Harm would love, too…and savored the shots she found of him. Dougal had a terrific collection for her to pry into. Graduating pictures, vacation and holiday shots, some kind of science prize thing they’d done together. There was one shot of Harm with a woman-Cate pounced on it, studied it hard. The second wife, she thought. A beautiful woman, golden-skinned, almond eyes, satin black hair. Harm stood behind her, stiff, protectively. He was smiling…but he wasn’t touching his bride.

Momentarily, the picture saddened her. Harm was such a toucher, such a man who came alive when he was touched. The picture told her all she wanted to know and more, about what he’d yet to have in his life. He may have loved-or even still love-his second wife.

But not like a man needed to love.

Not like Harm needed to be loved.

By the time he showed up back in the doorway, she’d touched and poked and opened and pried just about everywhere. The office had heaps of books, nests of papers. The desk chair was so old it should have been thrown out-but it was one of those kick-back, roll around, relax-in chairs. It was totally clear where and when Harm had taken over, because the credenza behind the desk was a total contrast-military-tidy, computer equipment lined up and spotless, files standing like soldiers.

“Hey, short stuff. You lost your shoes.”

“They weren’t shoes. They were torture devices.” She padded over, lifted up and kissed him. “Who was on the phone?”

“Just more information coming in. Still nothing that helps.” He scraped a tired hand through his hair. “All three men, still no surprises. No hidden expenses, no hidden vices, no hidden bank accounts. Arthur apparently cheated on his wife twice, not once. Both times more than twenty years ago. And looking into people’s lives like this…it makes me feel ugly down deep. I don’t like intruding on their privacy. Finding out things that are none of my business.”

She nodded. “But Harm…you weren’t prying into their lives to intrude. You were trying to find information that would help you pin down the thief.”

“I know. I’m just so damned frustrated…” Around then, he laid out a plan of attack. He wanted her to start digging in Fiske’s office, and started unlocking doors and drawers, enabling her to access any and everything in Fiske’s work space. “I know you’re worried about the science, but like I keep telling you, don’t be. We’ve had pros go into the science from every angle and found nothing. So all I want you to do is look around. Look for something that seems strange, something that jolts you when you look at it, something that doesn’t belong.”

“And you’re going to be…?”

“Trying to do the same thing. In Arthur’s office. And In Yale and Purdue’s work areas.” He glanced at her. “Cate, I know you don’t believe this can matter, but I’ve come to believe-this might be the only way to find an answer. Experts have gone over the place from stem to stern and found nothing that’s helped us. I really believe that your perceptions could bring something new to the problem.”

It sounded like grasping at straws to Cate, but heaven knew, she’d do anything to come through for him. Fiske’s office looked just like the man-homey, comfortable and capable, generally tidy.

She parked herself in front of Fiske’s computer first, because once Harm had given her passwords and security keys, she knew how to roam around that kind of technology. Two hours passed before she realized it. Startled at how easily she’d become engrossed, she wandered around to stretch her legs, find a bathroom, then hit the break room to make coffee and see if she could scare up some snacks.

She tracked down Harm, weaving on his feet in front of a stand-up computer in a security vault. About to offer him something to eat, she changed her mind. “Okay,” she said, “that’s it. You’re taking a nap.”

“No.”

“Do you ever want to have sex with me again?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’d do that? Bargain with sex? I thought you were a better woman than that.”

“Well, you’re wrong. I’m absolutely no better. I saw the couch in your office.” She put one hand on her hip and motioned with a royal finger toward his office. “I’m not-”

“We’re both locked in this place. Couldn’t be safer in church. All life will not end if you take two or three hours for a short crash. Now go.”

“I won’t sleep. Can’t sleep.”

“Fine. Prove it. I’ll check on you in ten minutes. If you’re not asleep by then, I promise I’ll let you back at it.”

He considered this. “You have a really ugly side to you, Cate. Manipulative. Controlling. Dictatorial.”

“You know perfectly well that compliments go straight to my head, so don’t waste your breath. Go.”

She checked on him ten minutes later, and found him sleeping so deeply she wasn’t sure she could have roused him with a cattle prod. Mentally, she debated whether to scare up a blanket from the sleepover room, but it didn’t seem that cold, so she just tucked his jacket over him, switched off the glaring overhead light and left him to rest.

Instead of steering straight back to Fiske’s office, she detoured to the break room, brewed a fresh pot of coffee and prowled around the cupboards for something to snack on-then realized she couldn’t be less hungry. An odd shiver chased up her spine. Even though she wanted Harm to catch some sleep, suddenly she felt spooked by the realization that she was completely alone in the building.

Which, of course, was stupid. She was perfectly happy doing anything alone. She’d never been afraid of being alone.

Back in Fiske’s office, she turned on the spare lamps as well as the overhead, pulled up the chair ottoman, and started going through every single thing in every single drawer and file.

His computer, at least, had held interesting stuff, such as e-mails with other scientists, old university colleagues, cancer research sites around the world. The stuff in his files was just financial. Boring, endless numbers. Nothing that meant anything to her.

She caught herself yawning, figured lack of sleep was catching up with her, too-it was almost five in the morning by then.

And then she hit pay dirt.

She thought.

She pushed aside the ottoman and plunked down on the carpet to spread out a fan of papers. Maybe she was nuts, but sometimes it seemed as if Fiske totally changed his handwriting style. When she pulled out the examples of this, she had notes and calendar entries and files or reports with memos scratched on the side.

By themselves, they didn’t seem to mean much. The scratched handwriting said things like “Ask Yale and Purdue.” Or “See Arthur.” One note had a figure, $89,945, underlined with question marks. There was another handwritten memo to check on records from November and February from the year before…and another legal sheet of paper with a series of numbers, handwritten, rather than produced from a computer report or printer. She wasn’t positive of the exact day that Dougal had died, but from the timetable Harm had given her, Fiske must have been accumulating those numbers from that same week.

She hunched over, and started pulling every scrap of paper together that illustrated the odd change in handwriting, trying to analyze why it had drawn her attention.

It was about emotion, she thought, and figured any normal person would laugh at her for drawing such an unprovable conclusion. Maybe Harm would laugh, too-but he’d listen to her. He’d listened to her about the peppermint. So far, he’d listened to her whenever she said anything.

Could you fall in love with a man, just for that?

Stick to the problem, she yelled at herself, and promptly knocked over her coffee-not a major problem, because there were only a few cold drops left in the cup.

She didn’t know what any of the numbers or dates meant, but everything else that Fiske had written by hand had shown neat, tidy letters, a clear script. The sudden ink-heavy notes and splash of letters was different, as if Fiske were upset or concerned.

She wasn’t sure how to pull all the scraps together-by date, chronological order? By notes versus numbers? By names? By…

Abruptly she heard a sound, and looked up with her heart pounding. There was nothing there. Obviously. But for a second she felt so unnerved that she bounced to her feet and scurried down the long hall to Harm’s office.

He hadn’t moved, even an inch. He was still sleeping so deeply that she just couldn’t imagine waking him. What difference could another hour make? Besides, she had more to go through…and another hour would give her a chance to organize it all somehow.

Unfortunately, she was lagging hard now, too. Her eyes were stinging dry, the back of her neck tight and achy. She hit the restroom to splash cold water on her face, then refilled her mug with coffee, hoping the caffeine would give her a second wind. She carted the steaming mug back to Fiske’s office, zoomed in the door…and dropped the mug, splashing hot coffee all over herself and the rug and papers.

Purdue hadn’t made a sound. He was standing absolutely quietly, behind the door.

He closed the door, just as quietly, before she’d even had the chance to open her mouth in a scream.