Don't Stop Me Page 2

  “Oh, and what about Naveen when he calls again?” She waited, and Vic knew he was going to have to make time today for his accountant or the man would keep calling.

  “I’ll handle it,” he said before Natalie pulled open the door and walked out to the large reception area. He could hear her say something, and he waited until a tall, slender woman with dark hair and a face that wouldn’t get lost in a crowd stepped into the room. He wondered whether he breathed out his relief when he didn’t recognize her.

  Natalie pulled the door closed, and Tish seemed startled for a second by the click as she stood in dark pants, heels, and a dark blazer pulled over a black shirt. He said nothing, not trying to hide how his gaze tracked every intimate curve she had. It was inappropriate, and maybe that was why he did it. She had a great body, attractive, a woman easy on the eyes, and he knew he deserved to be slapped for the way he stared so blatantly. But then, she was the uninvited guest.

  What surprised him was that she didn’t seem unnerved or self-conscious. Instead, she stood there, staring right back at him with the same expression he knew was on his face. Wow!

  “So, Tish Campbell, what can I do for you?” he finally said to break the standoff.

  Instead of smiling, instead of stepping closer to him or even taking one of the two chairs in front of his desk, which he hadn’t offered, she remained where she was. In fact, she lifted her chin. As a slow smile touched her full lips, two dimples broke out, and her eyes were big, bold, deep brown, hinting at some mixed heritage. They sparked with something that said this lady had spunk.

  “Vic McCabe?” she asked, and her boldness had him realizing his error in meeting with her. He was also considering firing his trusted assistant. He said nothing, as this time she took a step toward him.

  “Thought this would be easy. I’ve heard you’re intimidating, but standing here now in front of you, I know that’s an understatement.” She didn’t smile, and as she seemed to gather herself, he was positive she was putting effort into standing a little straighter. “I wanted to get your comment on an incident in Phoenix, a woman named Badra, and an article that was printed about you having terrorist connections.”

  All Vic could do as he stared at Tish, who was staring at him as if she held his balls in a vise and was deciding whether to cause him considerable pain or just toy with him, was tell himself to breathe.

  Chapter 3

  Tish had popped a piece of gum in her mouth the moment the frumpy secretary announced that she’d just won the lottery and would be granted access to the elusive Vic McCabe. She’d had to contain herself, fighting the urge to jump up and down in excitement, because her persistence had always won her the lead, the access, the scoop, the story. As her editor had told her, it was because she didn’t give up. She was like a dog with a bone and always had been, her stubbornness a quality her parents had pointed out.

  She was here on a lead. Vic McCabe had money and power, a businessman who’d swooped into Salem from California and was taking over. Her story had originally been about the attractive high-powered executives of Oregon, but something had her digging a little deeper, looking for something that would shatter their positive images and uncover dark truths. Every successful person had something to hide.

  Tish waited as Vic, not moving from his chair, watched her in a way that reminded her so much of a cat stalking prey. She had to suppress a shudder, but she was afraid to look away and shut her eyes. She knew with this man, that would be a mistake. Her hands were sweating as she watched Vic, looking for any clue he was rattled, but the man was a rock, not giving anything away. Damn, this wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Who are you with?” he finally said, his voice deep, strong, and cutting.

  She cleared her throat. Crap, how could she be the one on edge? “Oregon Press,” she said proudly, for a moment wondering whether it sounded forced, as if it gave her some credentials.

  “And you’re, what?” He gestured as if starting the sentence for her. “You’re here because…”

  Okay, he was giving her nothing. This wasn’t even going to be challenging. It was beyond pulling teeth. “I’m here because I had a tip about you, Mr. McCabe. It’s not often a man like you sweeps into the state and establishes a business, outbidding other contractors in the area, not one as big as you in California and now moving into Washington and Arizona, with plans to set up shop in New Mexico, too. With the trouble you had….”

  She was waiting for him to jump in and say something, clear his name and deny it. They always started to sweat and usually gave something away about now, sometimes something she hadn’t even been looking at. That was what everyone did when she came knocking, but Vic seemed so calm. From those eyes, the way they watched her, she knew he didn’t get rattled, and maybe he was someone who shouldn’t be toyed with. She swallowed again.

  “I’m just a businessman, Ms. Campbell. Not sure what you’re after. Who’s your source? A tip, you say?” He leaned forward and then stood. He was tall and ripped, wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt. He stepped around the desk, coming closer, and she just watched him, her breathing shallow, her heart pounding. He seemed so calm, so in control.

  “I can’t reveal my source.” She’d found the story in the Phoenix Tribune, and after leaving a dozen messages with the Phoenix PD, she’d finally received a call from a burner cell phone with no name, just a tip that Vic had been responsible for a botched terrorist attempt and had somehow walked away.

  Then he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which had become cold, watching her, taking in every part of her. She realized her mistake as he reached for his phone and pressed a button. “She’s a reporter” was all he said before hanging up. What an odd thing to say.

  “I would be very careful if I were you,” he said just as the door opened. “False rumors have a way of becoming fact very quickly, and I’m not a man to be messed with.”

  She stepped to the side, taking in two men in blue jeans, both tall and built. She noted the company insignia, McCabe Contracting. One of them placed himself between her and Vic, who hadn’t moved other than to cross his arms as he continued to stare at her. She had to fight the urge to pull at her jacket, as the man made her feel he could see through everything she had on, as if she were standing naked in front of him.

  “Please escort this reporter off the property,” he said. “Let everyone know that if she’s seen here again, they’re to call the police and have her arrested for trespassing.”

  “Look, I’m not going away,” Tish said. “I’ll do this story with or without your comment, and I guarantee you it would be better if you shared your side.”

  A hand touched her arm. “Let’s go,” one of the men said.

  She pulled away. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, but there was no hesitation as she was ushered out of the office. In the moment before the door closed, she took in Vic, who watched her like a caged animal who had been set free, and he was now coming for her, the one who had captured him.

  She shivered, for the first time realizing that with Vic McCabe, she was swimming with a hungry shark.

  Chapter 4

  Vic lifted the crystal decanter and poured a finger of scotch, fifteen-year-old single malt from a small village in Scotland. This bottle was the best he’d ever had, giving just the right amount of burn to shake up his senses and help him sift through the events of the day.

  He hadn’t fired Natalie, although she’d worried he might. He had to admit that he hadn’t done his homework on the reporter. From now on, anyone who showed up without an appointment and without having been checked by his security team wasn’t getting past her. He’d gotten sloppy, and that was something Vic McCabe never did.

  Natalie was his gatekeeper, and he hadn’t realized how much he depended on her until that day. It unsettled him. Relying on anyone was a weakness he’d sworn he would never display again. His past had taught him never to rely on anyone for anything.

  “Badra…” Just saying her nam
e had him aching, and the strength that kept him grounded evaporated in that moment, all because Tish Campbell had dared say a name she wasn’t worthy to repeat. Where was she?

  “Mr. McCabe, dinner is ready, sir,” his housekeeper said. “Would you like to eat in the dining room, or should I bring a tray in here?”

  He knew his housekeeper well enough to know she would stand and wait all day until he answered. He wasn’t hungry, and he should have told her not to bother. “In my office,” he said. “I’ll eat there.” He turned to face Nora Anderson, an older woman, in her fifties, who ran his house and took care of everything for him. She lived in a suite in back and wore the same outfit every day: black pants, a white shirt, and a black vest over top. She was the first woman he’d ever met who had trained as a butler, and she ran his house like a dream.

  “Very good, sir. Will you be needing anything else?” she asked, so professional and drama free. He liked that, needed that.

  “That’s all, Nora. Take the rest of the night off. I can clean up after myself.”

  Then she was gone, and Vic took in the big living room, the dark polished wood, the open stone fireplace, and the oil painting of a mother and child mounted over the mantel. She was lovely, and there was such love there. It was something he longed for but had never had. Maybe that was why he loved it so much. An elusive woman, a love for a child. It was interesting and such a fairy tale.

  Then there was Badra. Vic strode across the entryway, looking up to the stairs, the second level and the third, which he had yet to do anything with. He could see it all as he walked through an archway into what had once been a parlor or a library, one with large windows, a second fireplace, and a smaller brown sectional in front of his large desk, on which sat a plate with a warming cover. He lifted the top and took in the lamb chops, sautéed carrots, and greens. He was about to put the lid back on, but he knew that if he didn’t eat something, his housekeeper would worry he hadn’t liked it. It was the only womanly thing about her that she couldn’t shake. So he pulled up his mesh chair, tapped the keyboard of his desktop until the screen came on, and sliced into the lamb chop. He took a bite, tasting the herbs and rosemary, a hint of mint. It was perfect, tasty, yet he still had no appetite.

  As he chewed, he typed in “Badra” and “Phoenix” and waited for her name to pop up. There it was, but it wasn’t Badra or him that he saw in that article from all those years ago; it was her parents. There was nothing else.

  That day over fifteen years ago had been one of the best and worst of his life. It was the day he’d lost everything, including Badra, who had meant everything to him. “What happened to you?” he said. After all these years, Badra wasn’t just a memory. She was a part of him. She had promised to love him forever, yet she now hated him and had left him, and he had to let her go.

  Chapter 5

  “Mr. McCabe, have you heard anything I’m saying?” Naveen swiveled in his office chair, lifting a paper file from the stack and adding it to the already open file on Steven Bennett, the young man Vic had hired as a favor to his old friend Neil Friessen. “The medical bills, the bills from the care facility, the physio, the specialists, they all exceed the employee medical insurance the company provides. The therapy bills alone that are coming in from this specialist…” He was lifting up several sheets of paper, appearing more and more worked up as the seconds ticked on. “They’re not covered, not on the list of recommended service providers.”

  “Look, Steven has a young wife and a new baby, and a shitty thing happened. He’s getting back on his feet, and there’s no way he should have to settle for a second-rate physiotherapist when he can have the best. Just pay them, all of them, and any others that come in for Steven. However you want to write it off is up to you, but I told you before that I want Steven looked after. I have the money.” He didn’t miss the frustrated look on Naveen’s face. The man was so old school in a lot of ways but so very good at what he did. His East Indian heritage really stood out in moments like this. Naveen’s office was small and cluttered: an accountant’s dream, Vic’s nightmare.

  “Remember, Naveen, Steven doesn’t know. Make sure this stays between us.” He took in the annoyance on his accountant’s round face, the way he slouched over the desk in his crisp white shirt and brown tie. His black hair was neatly combed back, he never smiled, and he was soft and paunchy from too much deep-fried food. Vic had noticed the man had a weakness for it.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Naveen waved him off, but Vic already knew he would never share anything about the business. He’d been with Vic from the beginning, when his tax return had become too big for him alone. Naveen had then been a struggling accountant in a storefront mall, working for a tax company, pumping through hundreds of personal taxes at crunch time in the spring, his talent being wasted.

  Vic walked down the hall. On the second floor, there were four offices, a waiting area, and a large cafeteria for the workers. Everyone employed at McCabe Contracting was currently in the field, including Steven Bennett, who was still recovering from brain trauma, having been beaten nearly to death one night while out getting ice cream for his pregnant wife. Steven was young, he was strong, and he’d fought back from a coma no one had believed he’d ever wake from. There was something in that young man’s drive and will to live that inspired Vic to be a better person, so he’d made sure there would always be a place for Steven with his company.

  “There you are,” Vic said, taking in Steven. The boy was tall, lanky, still using a cane, waiting outside Vic’s office. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Good, happy to be back,” he said, and Vic noticed how his left hand was folded in his lap as if he were hiding it. It was the one that fought to do very basic things, including holding a set of pliers. “Just wondering what I’ll be doing.”

  “You’ll be helping me,” Vic said, still wondering how much to dump on this young man, who seemed at times like twenty-one going on forty.

  “I’m just worried you’ll one day realize you made a mistake and let me go,” Steven said. “I’m not like I used to be.”

  Vic noticed the way he leaned on his cane as he walked. He looked tired today. “You feeling okay?”

  Steven made a face as if to shake off his comment. “Of course. Just sometimes…” He rested his hand on the back of a chair and lowered himself into it, taking in the desk and glancing to the side a moment as if thinking some heavy thoughts.

  “Give yourself a break, Steven. How’s physio going?”

  Steven still wasn’t looking at him.

  “Steven?”

  “They said I may only get my hand back to seventy percent. Not sure how I’m supposed to do wiring or any of my job. I need both hands to work.”

  Ah, so that was it. Vic wondered whether Steven had any idea of the walking miracle he was. “You get to hold your baby, your wife,” he said as he leaned back into his chair, hearing the swoosh of the leather. “You’re getting around, walking. Seventy percent is good, and I told you before that it’s you who’s the asset.”

  “How am I an asset? I was hired to finish my electrical apprenticeship. I was almost done, and now I don’t know how it’s going to be possible.”

  Even Vic could tell Steven was being unusually pessimistic today. Had to be a bad night or something. “Why don’t you tell me what has you doubting yourself? I told you before that I want you on my team. Sometimes life throws a curveball and has you changing direction. Right now, you can’t do the hands-on labor, electrical work, but what you can do is check the work that has been done already.”

  It had just come to him, and he noticed Steven frowning even more. Now he was thinking.

  “But that’s Al’s job,” Steven said. He was quick. It was true that Vic had yet to talk to Al Brown, his foreman, who oversaw all the electrical work and a crew of fifty.

  “It still is, but I need more eyes. You’ll report to Al and me. I’m expanding operations, and when that happens, quite often people can be spread too thin. I
can’t have that, so this is where I need you. It just takes one mistake going unchecked to cause me licensing problems in other states, so right now you’re going to be one of my gatekeepers to make sure there are no flaws.” He wondered whether Steven was going to come up with any other reasons why he couldn’t do the job.

  “You sure? I don’t want you to give me something just for the sake of it.”

  “Look at me, Steven. Do you really think I’m the type of man who’d create something just to keep you busy?”

  “I guess not.” Steven was shaking his head just as Natalie peeked in and tapped on the door.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Steven, Katy called and left a message for you. Your physiotherapist has bumped up your appointment for this afternoon, and she asked you to give her a call.”

  There was something in his expression—awkwardness, embarrassment. Vic wasn’t sure what it was.

  “Steven, go to your physio,” he said. “That comes first. When you’re done, you can head over to the site.”

  Vic watched Steven leave and speak briefly with Natalie on his way out. She was about to close the door when Vic said, “Natalie, just a minute. I need you to do something for me.”

  “Sure, of course.” She stepped into the office and closed the door behind her.

  Vic reached for a pen and scribbled on a piece of paper. “I need you to do a search on this name.” He slid it across the desk, and Natalie took it in and gave him a curious look.

  “Badra Walker…and what am I looking for?”

  He said nothing, as he could feel his heart kick up a beat. His secretary frowned. “Call that PI I hired and tell him I’m looking for anything and everything: location, address, phone number,” he said. And where the hell she disappeared to.