Rich (Benson Security #5) - Janet Elizabeth Henderson Page 0,96
texts to Ryan, Elle, and Harry. “I’ve asked the team to come straight over. We’ll wait until they get here before we open this.”
He looked up from his phone to find Rachel staring at the envelope. She’d taken off her jacket and had her arms folded over the severe, black form-fitting dress she’d chosen for work that day.
“I’d rather not wait.” Her dark eyes captured his, communicating far more than the unemotional tone of her voice. Telling him just how wary she really was. “If there are more photos in there, I’d rather deal with seeing them without my colleagues watching me.”
Harvard ran a hand over the dome of his head. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
She stared at him for a long minute before she said just one word, “Please.”
He hung his head, knowing there was no way he’d refuse her this. “Okay. I need scissors or a knife and a pair of latex gloves.”
“Why on earth would I have latex gloves lying around?”
Yeah, for a second, he’d forgotten who he was dealing with. “You’ve got kitchen scissors though, right?”
“How would I know?” She threw her hands in the air as if exasperated by his very normal questions. “You’re the one who cooks. I can tell you where the bottle opener is, but I don’t remember seeing scissors.”
With a shake of his head, he strode to the knife block by the vast built-in cutting board. Sure enough, there were scissors. He held them up.
Rachel looked unimpressed. “My interior designer bought that block, along with everything else in the kitchen. I’ve never used it.”
“When this is over, I’m teaching you to cook.” Harvard grabbed two tissues from the box near the sink on his way back to the table.
The look of horror on Rachel’s face was priceless. “Why on earth would I want to do that?”
“So you don’t starve to death if the Savoy stops delivering?”
“But wouldn’t you cook for me?”
Harvard almost tripped over his own feet. It was the first time she’d even hinted that they might have a future together, and apparently it was one where she expected him to cook.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll make sure you’re well-fed.”
She stuck her chin in the air. “See? No need for lessons. Now, let’s get this over with before the hordes arrive.”
Holding the envelope with a tissue, to preserve any prints that might still be on it, Harvard sliced across the top before turning it upside down and emptying its contents onto the table.
A thumb drive fell out.
“No photos,” Rachel murmured. “Unless they’ve gone digital. Do you think that’s what they’ve done? Scanned the photos so they can keep them, instead of giving them to me? I mean, they must have a limited supply. They are Polaroids after all.”
“Don’t know,” Harvard said, but that bad feeling that had saved his life on several occasions was back and blaring at him to abort. “Maybe we should leave this until Elle gets here. She can plug it into something that won’t be destroyed if it’s infected.”
“Michael.” The way she said his name made his chest tighten. It was intimate. Personal. Just for the two of them. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but I have to see what’s on there when there’s no one around to witness my reaction.”
“Rachel, I’m here.”
For a second, she seemed confused. “But you don’t count.”
The magnitude of that simple statement stole his ability to breathe. Because it meant she trusted him enough to let him see her vulnerable. To Rachel, he was an insider. Possibly the only one she had.
What a helluva time to discover she’d let him get that close.
With a curse, he rubbed a hand down his face and gave her what she wanted. What she needed. “Okay, we’ll do it your way. But we’ll plug the drive into your TV first, that way it can’t corrupt your computer. If there are photos on there, we’ll be able to see them on the screen anyway, and if there are documents, we’ll know if the files are malicious based on how the TV reacts. If it infects your TV, then I think it’s safe to say, we shouldn’t plug it into a computer without Elle being here to fix anything that goes wrong.” It was the best he could do. The smallest measure of protection. That, and the fact he would be at her side.
“That sounds reasonable.” Rachel turned toward the living room.