crowd of tired people hurrying home after a long workday. She continued on, catching a glimpse of Gabe's angry scowl in the side mirror as she scurried past. Her nerves jittered. She'd never seen him angry. Was someone following her after all?
Safely around the corner, she stopped in front of the courthouse. Gabe pulled up and she climbed into the Pinto.
"Of all the idiot—" His low voice shook with controlled fury. Nostrils flaring, he clamped his lips shut and stared out the windshield for several heartbeats. "Somebody out there wants to punch your ticket, and you stop to look at shoes?" He jerked his head in her direction, his cold gaze drilling into her.
"I wasn't. I thought…" Uncertain, she trailed off.
"That you needed a matching purse?" he snapped. "I told you exactly what to do. You'll damn well do it, or else."
This was a different Gabe, one she didn't recognize. She should tell him what she suspected. But she didn't have anything concrete, only a creepy feeling. She'd been under a lot of pressure, and stress triggered anxiety.
When Tessa didn't answer him, Gabe rammed the Pinto into gear and stomped on the gas. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer, cold rage churned in a greasy ball in his gut, and his chest was so tight he could barely breathe. What the hell was wrong with him? He never lost it. Ever.
He flicked a glance at the mute woman in the passenger seat. When she'd stopped to look in the store window and presented her back like a neon target, the possibility of anything happening to her had made him grip the steering wheel so hard he'd nearly broken it.
She wasn't in any real danger; he didn't think the counterfeiters would risk undue attention by whacking her in public. If he had any doubts, he wouldn't allow her out.
So what was his problem?
He'd never let work, or anything else, get under his skin. His picture was in the dictionary under calm, cool and collected. His usual MO was to shrug and stroll on. Emotional involvement of any kind had no place in his life.
But here he sat, shaking like a raw recruit in his first firefight.
Control kept him sane, kept him alive. But his control was slipping.
And Mr. Calm, Cool and Collected was scared spitless.
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
The next morning, Tessa flicked an uneasy glance at Gabe as he parked the Pinto in front of the courthouse. The heavy gray clouds glowering on the horizon mirrored his unusually sober face.
Dressed in a powder-blue polyester leisure suit and hot pink shirt, he returned her puzzled stare with narrowed, inscrutable green eyes. "Don't stop for any reason today. If the world comes to an end, you keep walking. You're not offering your brains for target practice on my watch, is that clear?"
A chill skittered up her spine, and she shivered, gulping down a lump of fear. Had he seen something yesterday after all?
Gabe jerked his gaze away and rammed on the nerdy glasses. "Get going." The rough edge to his satin voice told her she only imagined the tenderness in his expression.
As she scurried around the corner, the weight of someone's attention prickled along the back of her neck, making her feel like a hunted animal. Prey. Safely inside the bank, she heaved a sigh of relief and flipped on the lights. It had to be tension. She was one big raw nerve. A minute later, she let Gabe in the door, more reassured by his presence than she had a right to be.
His alert gaze probed the corners and roved over each cubicle. "Nobody else here yet?"
"I arrive early to review the schedule, check memos, and answer the phone if anyone calls in sick. Trask stops by around ten, then has meetings the rest of the day."
"What about his administrative assistant?"
"Lorna usually slips into her chair at nine, but the other employees arrive at eight-thirty, and expect me to be here. The executives on Trask's floor trickle in then as well."
"Perfect time to search his office."
She chewed her lip. "I don't have a key."
His five-hundred-watt grin flashed, banishing the storm clouds from his face. "Who needs a key?"
Her stomach churning, she followed him as he bounded up the stairs to the fourth floor and strolled down the gold-carpeted hallway to Trask's office as if he owned the place.
He tucked his glasses in his jacket pocket before bending to study the doorknob. He extracted a leather case from inside his