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She had a mirror, and she knew perfectly well what she looked like. Average. Nice eyes, although of late they were tired and bloodshot more often than not. Hair was okay, kind of a nondescript dark brown, but healthy and shiny even if simply clipping back the shoulder-length strands was her only effort at a hairstyle.
No, nothing striking or eye-catching about her, not these days. There had been a time, in the big corporate world and with the help of polished makeup, chic haircuts and stylish clothes, that she had drawn that kind of attention, but no longer. She didn’t look bad for a woman of forty-one, but she was still average.
And still old enough to be this guy’s…aunt.
She nearly laughed aloud at her own absurdity. The man must have seen the change in her expression, for his own changed to one of puzzlement.
No, I haven’t changed my mind about you, she said to herself in answer to his look. I’m just realizing I’m as touchy as any woman of a certain age confronted with an attractive man too young for her. Especially when he seems to be flirting.
Which was, of course, her imagination. Whatever he was doing, it likely had very little to do with her. And everything to do with charming her grandmother, who was chatting away as if this man had grown up next door.
She studied the intruder more carefully, going beyond his startling good looks this time. She noticed that despite the seeming rebelliousness of his hair, there was a stylish cut there. Noticed that the watch on his left wrist was, while not a Rolex, definitely out of her league. Noticed that while the jeans and knit shirt he wore weren’t blatantly expensive, the belt around his slim waist was. Noticed that the athletic shoes he wore were past new, but a top brand.
Why?
Why would a good-looking, twenty-something guy, who obviously wasn’t down on his luck, rent a room from an elderly couple in a tiny place like Summer Harbor? And be so darned nice to them to boot?
She could only think of one reason. He was up to something. And the most likely thing was trying to con her loving, generous grandparents. It was in the news almost every day—some poor, sweet grandmother or grandfather who had been taken in by a smooth operator. And that was something she would never, ever allow to happen. To her, people who scammed the elderly were beyond redemption. Anyone who would try to steal from the couple who had raised her, who had changed their entire life’s plan for her, was going to have to deal with her. And she would not be kind.
“What are you doing in Summer Harbor?” Kate asked during the first pause in her grandmother’s animated conversation, not caring if her bluntness offended him.
“Working,” he said, the charming smile still in place, but his reaction clear in the one-word answer. Oddly, that reassured her. If he’d acted as if her nearly rude query were normal, she’d have been even more convinced he was up to no good.
“You’re a photographer?” She reined in her tone a little, aware her grandmother was not looking pleased with her.
“This is a beautiful part of the world, worth photographing, don’t you think?”
Well, there’s an answer that avoids answering, she thought. “Freelance, I suppose,” she muttered, knowing the answer. If he said he worked for some established magazine or publisher, it would be too easy to check. Her suspicions deepened.
“I do some freelance work, yes,” he said, eyeing her steadily, almost as if he had suspicions of his own. “I like to make my own choices of what to photograph.”
“And I’ll bet you’ve been all over the world,” Dorothy said. Almost gushed, Kate admitted ruefully.
“I’ve logged some miles,” he agreed.
“You and Kate should talk. She used to travel a great deal. She was a big executive with an investment company back east.”
“I don’t think Denver qualifies as ‘back east,’ Gram,” Kate said.
“It’s east of here,” the man said, turning a smile on Dorothy that would have melted the heart of any woman.
Except one who was afraid for the people she loved most in the world.
“Exactly,” Dorothy said with obvious delight. “Come have a cup of coffee, now that there’s sugar to put in it.”
Oh, good grief, Kate thought again as the man followed her grandmother into the kitchen. She nearly said it aloud, then realized that if he was what she suspected, she’d best not antagonize him right off the bat. Better to let him think he was succeeding, and catch him in the act. She’d just have to watch him carefully.
That won’t be too painful, she thought, then immediately castigated herself for being beyond stupid. Besides, even though it might not be painful, it was going to be a pain. She didn’t have time for this. She already had those thefts at work to deal with. Plus her best mechanic, who’d lost his wife last year, was in a state of total distraction over his rebellious son. And then her grandparents needed a more reliable car to replace their old station wagon, and neither they nor she could afford it just now….
Which was why they’d decided to rent out a room, she realized suddenly. And felt guilty; they’d done so much for her. They’d taken her in and raised her at a time when they’d been looking forward to retiring, and then they’d taken her back again when her world had fallen apart. She owed them everything, and had paid them back so little. They’d argue with her, of course, and mean it. They’d done it out of love, but that didn’t lessen her worry that she wasn’t taking good enough care of them.
“I gather you didn’t know about this?”
The quiet voice behind her startled her. She spun around to see the new boarder watching her as he sipped from one of her grandmother’s favorite coffee mugs.
She tried to rein in her antagonism, but it was fueled by worry and she wasn’t very successful. “About this plan to rent a room in their own home? No, I didn’t.”
“And you don’t like it.”
She noticed it wasn’t a question, but supposed her demeanor had made that obvious to all but the thickest bricks. He clearly wasn’t one of those. But she supposed you didn’t make a good con artist if you couldn’t sense what your victims were feeling.
“No,” she said, reverting to bluntness once more.
“Fortunate for me, then, that it’s not your decision.”
He turned then and walked back into the kitchen, leaving Kate gaping after him.
After a moment she closed her mouth.
You’d think a con man would be a little more careful about offending, she thought. Which led to the obvious thought that perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t one.
Or, she amended, he was just a very good one, and knew better than to appear too ingratiating.
“Whatever you’re up to, you’re not going to get away with it,” she muttered as she picked up her keys. “I’ll see to that.”
Somehow, she added silently. Along with everything else I have to do, I’ll see to it.
Chapter 2
Kate Crawford was nervous, Rand Singleton thought.
She was also beautiful. Not in the way of the photos he’d seen in her personnel file, where she was glamorous, gorgeous and looked very high-power, but in a much more natural way. More real. More reachable. More.
Touchable, he thought, then shook his head at his own folly. It didn’t matter what she looked like. Didn’t matter that her hair was sleek and shiny and the color of rich, dark coffee. Or that her eyes were unexpectedly topaz and quite striking. Or that she was tall and graceful with just the right amount of curves. What mattered was the fact that she clearly didn’t like the idea of him being here at all.
He mentally filed the knowledge away. This assignment was just beginning, so he wasn’t sure where—or if—she fit in yet. What he was sure of was that she was in the perfect position at Redstone Northwest to be involved, or even be the mastermind behind the thefts. Especially since they had begun shortly after she’d started working there.
That’s why he’d been so pleased with his luck. He’d planned to just stay in a local motel, figuring it would work for his cover as a photographer. Little had he known that the town of Summer Harbor didn’t have a motel. Not this time of year, anyway; the small guest operations that were open during the tourist-filled summer months were closed now, many of the owners fleeing south ahead of the approaching winter.
“Teach you to assume,” he told himself as he finished unpacking in the comfortably sized upstairs room, furnished with older but quality pieces that made him feel as if he was staying back at his own grandparents’ suburban home outside San Diego.
He smothered the pang he always felt when he thought of the two people who had loved him so. He still missed them, and the only thing that eased the pain was the knowledge that they had died as they had lived for so many years; together. Dorothy and Walt Crawford reminded him of them, and he’d felt immediately comfortable with the couple. And, as usually happened, they seemed to take to him right off. Sometimes this innocent baby face of his was an advantage.
He’d chosen the armoire as a storage place for his photographic gear. He handled the equipment with the familiarity of long usage. He’d once considered becoming a photographer in fact, but the lure of working for Redstone, Inc. had been too much, and once he’d landed on the crack Redstone security team, he knew he’d found his true calling.
His mother hadn’t been happy about it, knowing he would occasionally be sent on risky assignments, but she’d finally backed off, saying that if he was going to have such an insane career, it might as well be for Joshua Redstone, who was known for looking out for his people.
Josh also made sure Rand had a chance to do some photography work now and then, some of which had been used around the world in Redstone literature and advertising, and Rand felt as if he had the very best of two worlds.
When he’d finished with the photo gear, he turned to the rest of the things he’d packed. He tossed the jeans in a dresser drawer along with a couple of pullover sweaters and several shirts. He had a feeling he would be glad he’d taken Josh’s advice and put in some heavy socks. The days were still warm, but the brisk scent of winter was already in the evening air up here in the Northwest, although the actual turn of the season was still a couple of weeks away.
The sound of singing from downstairs brought him back to his original thought about his luck. What else would you call it when you stumbled into the perfect setup—a room for rent by the family of the head of the very Redstone department he’d been sent to investigate?
When the man at the small grocery had mentioned that the Crawfords were looking for a tenant, it had seemed so lucky that he’d been suspicious at first, until he realized that in a town with a year-round population of less than two thousand, it was likely everybody really did know everybody else’s business.
There didn’t seem to be much buzz about anything going on at Redstone, though. He’d felt his way very carefully, saying only that he’d seen the place while out exploring the countryside. The only reaction he’d gotten was one of open, cheerful enthusiasm for the presence of Redstone. It had apparently done wonders for the tax base of the tiny town, thanks to some bargaining Joshua Redstone had done with the county, making sure a large portion of the taxes they would pay would go directly to Summer Harbor.
But now someone was stealing from the benefactor. And although to some the crimes might seem petty when weighed against the vastness of the Redstone empire, Josh was not one to let things like this slide or consider them beneath his attention. Especially when what was being stolen was one of Redstone inventor Ian Gamble’s latest inventions. The new self-regulating, automatic insulin pump functioned like a normal pancreas because it could sense when the body needed insulin and automatically administer it. It could not only save thousands of lives, but make thousands more easier.
Of course, that made it even more valuable to the thieves.
Rand finished unpacking the last of his clothes and stood for a moment, contemplating whether he was going to need the heavy parka he’d just hung up in the closet. He decided against it for now, figuring he’d get the feel of the temperature first. He’d just been in Canada last week, so perhaps he was still acclimated somewhat to the cooler clime.
Sure he’d left his small .38 revolver securely locked in the case for now, he was done. He dug his cell phone out of the side pocket of the duffle that had held everything he’d brought, including his laptop. He hit the button that had been programmed to dial Redstone Security at their California headquarters.
“Draven.”
“It’s Rand,” he said to his boss, head of Redstone security. “I’m in place.”
“Good.”
Man of very few words, his boss. “You’ll never guess where.”
“No, I won’t.”
Rand sighed; John Draven seemed edgier than usual today, which was saying something.
“Crawford’s grandparent’s.”
There was a pause, and Rand thought with some satisfaction that for once he’d surprised the unflappable Draven.
“They were renting out a room,” he added, feeling he should.
“Convenient,” was all Draven said.
“Yeah, I wondered about that, especially finding out about it like I did. But the town’s so small, everybody knows everything.”
“Different.”
“Very,” Rand agreed.
“Your cover going to work?”
Rand had been offered a cover inside the Redstone facility here, but had decided it might work better if he was on the outside. Besides, there was a new security guy on board at this plant, Brian Fisher, a kid Josh himself had hired. He had been trying to investigate the thefts, and Josh didn’t want the twenty-two-year-old’s confidence crushed. So Rand had taken out the camera gear that had sat unused for too long and headed for the rural Northwest undercover.
“I think so,” he said. “Josh is right, it’s beautiful up here. It’s the kind of place that draws photographers like flies.”
“So does dead meat,” Draven said dryly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Rand retorted, long used to the man’s off center sense of humor. “I’d better get started if I’m going to find out what’s making those insulin pumps magically disappear between the time the trucks are loaded and delivery is made, with no sign of break-ins.”
“I don’t believe in magic.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
Rand knew what John Draven did believe in. He’d asked him once. The answer had been Josh Redstone, the randomness of life and the stopping power of a .45.
“Report when you have something to say,” Draven said.
“As usual,” Rand said, smothering a wry grin. Draven was nothing if not a master of brevity.
He understood, though. It had been a rough couple of years for Redstone when it came to employees. And that was unusual enough that Josh was a little touchy on the subject. He chose his people carefully, then gave them free rein to do what they did best, and it very rarely backfired on him.
But this bad stretch had begun with Bill Talbert, the employee Draven had caught feathering his own nest at the expense of guests at one of the Redstone resorts. Then Phil Cooper, found only in death to have been slime to his wife and son if not to Redstone itself. And just a few months ago, corporate secrets from Ian Gamble’s research being sold to a competitor by someone inside. Considering the size of Redstone, it wasn’t all that much, but Josh tended to take such betrayals personally.
And he wasn’t the only one—everybody at Redstone circled the wagons when someone tried to damage the place they all loved so much. Josh was the kind of man who inspired a loyalty that couldn’t be bought, and every last one of the security team was dedicated to keeping things just the way he liked them: honest, clean and profitable.
Josh had made liars of many who insisted the three couldn’t exist together in the business world. Rand wasn’t about to let that change, not even out here in one of the smaller Redstone outposts. He’d find out who the thief was, and they’d come face-to-face with the other Redstone inexorable—justice.
As she did almost every morning she went to work, Kate paused after she turned off the road and into the driveway of Redstone Northwest. It seemed a small miracle, this place. Joshua Redstone had insisted a manufacturing plant could be built without destroying the countryside, and he’d proved it here.
Redstone Northwest looked more like an exclusive hunting lodge than a factory. Each building was clad in siding milled from the trees they’d had to clear. The entrance drive curved through big trees that had been intentionally left standing to mask the actual size of the building. It made bringing bigger supply trucks in and out a challenge, but when that point had been brought up to Josh he had merely nodded and said if the driver couldn’t do it, he shouldn’t be driving for Redstone, and if he wouldn’t do it, he didn’t understand Redstone.
When she’d been interviewed for this job by the great Josh Redstone himself—in a process that had seemed more like a casual conversation than a job interview—he’d concluded their meeting by asking if she had any questions. The one that was obvious to her slipped out before she could stop it.
“Why here?” she had asked. “Why did you build a Redstone facility here, in tiny Summer Harbor?” She loved the little town she’d recently moved back to, but still wondered why a company the size of Redstone had located here.
“You don’t like it being here?” the lanky, gray-eyed man had asked, not in a challenging tone but in the way of someone genuinely interested.
“No, no,” she’d said quickly. “I’m happy you decided to build here. It’s been great, done wonders for the town. I’m just curious. We’re sort of at the crossroads of nowhere and can’t get there from here.”
Josh had laughed, and Kate had found herself smiling at the sound of it. She’d done a little research before she’d applied for the job, and had read that the man didn’t laugh often anymore. Rumor had it that the death of his wife a few years ago had taken the laughter right out of him. That she’d managed to make him do it pleased her much more than she would have thought, given she’d only just met the man.
“Perhaps for just that reason,” he said.
“Whatever your reason, I’m glad,” she told him. “And I would love to be part of it.”
He had gestured at her rеsumе, on the table in front of him. In what she had since come to learn was typical Josh Redstone fashion, he had chosen to conduct interviews outside. She had arrived for this interview to find one of the richest men in the world seated at an ordinary card table under a large madrone tree in front of the building that was still being finished.
“You’re a bit overqualified,” he’d said.
She hadn’t argued that, she knew it was true and wouldn’t insult his intelligence by denying it.
“But I’m a lot overqualified for any other job in town,” she had said. “And I’m staying here, no matter what, so I’d like the most challenging job I can get.”
Josh Redstone had studied her for a long, silent moment. So long that she’d wondered if she should have been so blunt. Finally he’d stood up and held out a hand to her.
“Welcome to Redstone, Ms. Crawford.”
