The Rebel Tycoon's Outrageous Proposal. Abby Gaines

was there. I was less likely to notice if he was doing anything unusual.”

      “So you weren’t sleeping partners?”

      “Of course not.” Her eyes widened as if the possibility had never occurred to her. “We worked well together, we enjoyed each other’s company, we liked the same books and videos, but—”

      Jared yawned conspicuously. “Give me a woman who doesn’t understand me anytime. Did it occur to you Dave might have died of boredom—his body might be waiting to be found?”

      “It did occur to me he might be dead.” Holly’s seriousness provoked an unwelcome twinge of guilt in Jared. “Leaving your ridiculous conjecture aside, I did wonder if someone blackmailed Dave, then killed him.”

      For an accountant, she had a good imagination. There was even a chance she could be right. But with the FBI tipped off that Holly was the thief, it seemed more likely Fletcher had done a runner and was trying to distract the Feds.

      “Imagine for a minute you’re wrong, and Fletcher did steal the money just because he wanted to.” Jared grinned at Holly’s frown. Imagining she was wrong obviously didn’t sit well with her. “Where would Fletcher go? Does he have family?”

      Holly’s brow wrinkled as she tried to remember. “He has a sister in upstate New York. His parents are dead. His mother was from New Zealand—he may have family there.”

      “Did you tell the FBI that?”

      “I didn’t remember until you asked me. Anyway, I don’t believe Dave stole the money, so it’s not relevant.”

      Jared slapped his forehead. “Why are you so reluctant to admit you made a bad call going into business with him? Your clients’ money is missing, your partner has vanished—” she opened her mouth to correct him “—and don’t give me that crock about him being on vacation. Face it, two and two add up to four.”

      She sat still for maybe half a minute, absorbing his words. Then she said, “I went into business with Dave because I trusted him. The FBI thinks the evidence points to my guilt, but I know their two and two doesn’t add up to four. So I have to give Dave the benefit of the doubt, too. This is about truth and…and justice and… and the American way.”

      “You’re relying on Superman to get you out of this?”

      She pinkened. “It’s about playing fair.”

      Didn’t she know life wasn’t fair, that applying her high-and-mighty ethics to the situation wouldn’t change anything? He’d learned the hard way that unless you fought against it, injustice would prevail. “If you want to find Dave, to set your mind at ease, I know someone who could help.” But he was wasting his breath.

      “Leave it, Jared,” she said. “I don’t need your help, or your private detectives, or your theories about the missing money. I’ll fight my own battles, my way.”

      The woman was pigheaded to the point of impossibility, and bossy. Jared had never liked bossy women.

      Given the way he planned to use her, it was better to dislike her. Better not to feel a thrill of challenge when she gave back as good as she got.

      He switched the conversation to business. “You understand my own accountants will present whatever deal you work out to the market.”

      “Of course.”

      However much Holly got on his nerves, as they talked through some of the projects she’d handled, Jared could see why her clients loved her. Animation lit her face, adding to her feminine appeal. Had Fletcher really been attracted to her, before greed overtook him? Or had he been fooling her from the start, setting her up to take the fall? Jared may not be pure as the driven snow, but he was no Dave Fletcher.

      Holly struggled to keep her mind on what Jared was saying, but his insinuations about Dave ate at her. She wanted to trust Dave. It galled her that she could have been wrong about him, when every day she relied on her instincts to steer her. Those same instincts warned her now to be wary of Jared. Yet here she was, working for him, confiding in him. Holly sighed as she licked the last of her roasted strawberry crème brûlée off her spoon.

      “Coffee?” Jared asked.

      She shook her head. “I have to get back to my friend’s place and wash my blouse for tomorrow.” She wished AnnaMae wasn’t a petite size two. It would be so much easier if Holly could just borrow her clothes.

      He gave her a pained look. “You mean, you’re going to wear this outfit every day?”

      “It’s practical.” She glared at him. “I don’t dress to vamp up the office.”

      “Obviously.”

      “Do you want to give me an advance on my fee,” she said, “so I can buy some clothes?” She could pop into Nordstrom for a new blouse and some underwear, at least. Beyond that, she’d need every penny she earned for those college fees.

      He snickered. “Are you saying this is a cash job?”

      “I will, of course, declare any cash advance for tax purposes,” she said stiffly.

      Jared got to his feet and waited for her to do the same. “I never doubted it.” As they left the restaurant another idea struck him. “The FBI might let you collect a few things from your condo if a lawyer asks them. I could get my attorney to—”

      “I’m in enough trouble as it is.” Holly stepped away from him as if he’d just offered to deal drugs with her right there on the sidewalk. “Any lawyer who works for you probably brings up a red flag on the FBI’s system.”

      Jared had taken plenty of insults in his life and never given a damn. So he couldn’t explain why Holly’s rock-bottom assessment of his character should leave him feeling sucker-punched. Not only was she rude, she was a hypocrite. She’d said she wanted to be more tolerant, then proceeded to label him little more than a criminal, right after eating an expensive meal that he’d paid for.

      He fumed as he watched Holly drive away. Time to show Ms. Stephens who’s the boss.

      On impulse, he decided to drive by Holly’s condo on Queen Anne. He told himself it was only a slight detour, worth it to see where the Accountant From Hell lived.

      He’d memorized both her addresses from her résumé: the neatly typed home address and the hand-written address of the place she was staying right now. But even if he hadn’t got it quite right, the yellow crime scene tape across the front door and downstairs windows of the condo, incongruous in the upscale street, were a dead giveaway. There was no guard on the door, no one watching the property as far as he could tell. Looking at the darkened windows, Jared suddenly knew just how to annoy the hell out of Holly and at the same time solve her problem.

      Just as she’d asked—no—ordered him not to.

      CHAPTER THREE

      JARED COMMITTED to his plan without taking even a moment to weigh it up. Weren’t his best initiatives the product of pure gut instinct?

      He parked around the corner on a quiet side street. Within seconds he was heading for the wrought-iron gate of the communal garden typical of these fancy complexes.

      He tugged at the gate—locked. A card swipe mechanism on the brick wall blinked a red light, telling him he wasn’t welcome. Jared took a closer look at the wall. It really wouldn’t be too difficult to scale. He threw his jacket over—the need to retrieve it would be added incentive for success—and hoisted himself up. He went right on over the other side before any of Holly’s neighbors could look out a window and alert the police to an intruder.

      To his disgust, each condo had a small, private backyard, also walled. Holly must be raking it in to afford this. Unless, of course, she really had stolen her clients’ money. No doubt the thought had crossed the Feds’ minds.

      As he judged the height of this second barrier, Jared considered the wisdom