Nemesis on the Prowl

By Anna J. Stewart

Former beauty queen Sheila Tremayne looks dainty, but she’s tougher than she seems. The hard-as-nails business woman is determined to bring down corruption among Lantano Valley’s rich and powerful. Her latest scheme to get technology tycoon Chadwick Oliver is going perfectly until a distraction arrives in the form of Malcolm-the man who broke her heart and who happens to be Chadwick’s son…

Malcolm spent five long years away after his father publicly blamed him for some shady business dealings. Now he’s back to exact some revenge. Reconnecting with Sheila was never part of the plan, but the second he sees her, there’s no way he can resist…

Sheila and Malcolm quickly fall into the sizzling passion between them and soon begin to believe there’s more to life than vengeance. But how can Malcolm stay when he knows the secret he’s keeping is the one that will drive them apart forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Oct 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094429816

Anna J. Stewart

USA Today and national bestselling author Anna J Stewart can't remember a time she didn't have a book in her hands or a story in her head. Early obsessions with Star Wars, Star Trek, and Wonder Woman set her on the path to creating sweet to sexy pulse-pounding romances for her independent heroines. Anna lives in Northern California where she deals with a serious Supernatural addiction and an overly affectionate cat named Snickers.

Book preview

Chapter 1

"What do you mean I have to break into his office? Sheila Tremayne aimed a polite, practiced, pageant-circuit smile at an approaching uniformed server and plucked a filled champagne flute off the gleaming silver tray before she headed up to the second floor, which had been cordoned off to guests. Knots thick enough to secure a cruise ship to a dock tightened in her belly as the noise from the crowd downstairs faded. Nathan, I swear, if this is your idea of a joke—"

This is one of those roll-with-the-punches moments, Sheila. The tension in her normally unflappable older sibling’s voice increased the dread taking hold. Despite her strict workout routine, Sheila’s thighs burned as she planted four-inch blood red Jimmy Choos on stair after stair as her brother continued, It’s not like I arranged for a three-car pileup on the I-5 just so you’d have to practice your lock-picking skills.

A talent that hadn’t come with her art history degree. Now you are joking. She situated herself out of sight and peered around the corner downstairs to scan the throng of people who had come to celebrate Alcina Oliver’s eighty-fifth birthday. Accepting an expanded role with her family’s charitable foundation meant she’d had to step away from her job as one of Lantano Valley’s premier party planners, but she’d immediately accepted the request to plan this event. Not because she loved Alcina, but because doing so gave Sheila the run of the Oliver estate. Or almost all of it.

Breaking and entering is your part of Nemesis, Nathan, Sheila reminded her brother, who was vice president of their father’s securities and investment firm as well as an expert cat burglar. I’m product design.

"Fancy term for forger." The tinge of humor in Nathan’s voice made her lips quirk as her gaze narrowed on Chadwick Oliver milling about in a crowd of over-enthusiastic admirers and suck-ups.

Enjoy it while you can, Chadwick.

Consider this diversifying, Sheila, Nathan said. I’m looking at being stuck on the freeway for the next hour. You said yourself, with Chadwick taking center stage at his mother’s party to promote his art auction this will be our chance to get into his private office.

Sheila downed half the glass of champagne and cringed behind the bubble-infused alcohol as it slid down her throat. She might be one-third of Nemesis—a thief with a penchant for vengeance and evening scores—but that didn’t mean B and E and safe-cracking were in her bailiwick. Then again, flexibility was a must in any job. Can’t Dad—

Dad’s off on another one of his mystery trips, Nathan said, and Sheila heard her own frustration at their father’s disappearing acts in her brother’s voice. Tick tock, Sheila. This plan was your idea, but we all agreed we need proof Chadwick has the painting before we go any further. I stashed the digital reader in the potted plant at the top of the second landing the other day when I came by to do a check on his security system. Hop to.

Dammit. The disconnecting click was drowned out by the jackhammering of her heart. Her pulse hadn’t pounded this hard since her name hadn’t been called as Miss California over a decade ago.

Gone were the days she could hold Nathan’s G.I. Joes hostage in the Barbie Dreamhouse for perceived wrongs. Oh, no. This turn of events was going to need some extra special attention when it came to payback.

She glanced down at her watch, the diamond-studded face mocking her with the taunting ticking second hand. The hallway chandelier glowed as the early summer sun dipped down. She downed the last of her drink and wished she’d had the forethought to eat a couple of canapés to soak up the alcohol.

Bubbles backed up in her throat and coated her brain in a hazy, dull buzz as her eyes teared and she set the glass down on the hall table. What she wouldn’t give to be in her art studio, inhaling the calming effects of turpentine and oil paints, losing herself in creating—or in her case, re-creating—works of art.

First things first. Focus on this.

Nathan was right. This plan was her baby. She’d created it, nurtured it, mapped out every step as if it were one of her mega social events instead of a theft of soul-crushing magnitude. She ducked out of sight and was instantly reminded she’d worn the worst possible thievery attire. The skinny, slinky black dress left little to the imagination, and even less room to hide, well, anything. She gripped her cell phone in one hand as she reached under her skirt and pulled out the thin emergency case she had tucked under the narrow garter. She smoothed the dress, skimmed the banded hem above her knees.

She took another quick look downstairs to ensure that Chadwick’s lordly countenance proved he wasn’t ready to give up the spotlight anytime soon. She doubted not even the pending arrival of his aged mother would make a difference. If there was one thing Chadwick Oliver loved it was being the center of attention—a character flaw Sheila couldn’t wait to exploit.

A quick text to let her assistant Liza Juliano, know she was upstairs tending to the guest of honor would keep things running smoothly. Besides, once festivities began, Sheila preferred to fade into the background, where, despite her pageant history, she’d always been most comfortable. She might be the eldest daughter of one of the richest men in town with a social status to match, but she’d always found that spotlight blinding.

With all the grace and flexibility years of ballet, Pilates, and yoga had provided, Sheila pushed away from the corner of the wall and swept across the length of the landing, stopping long enough in front of the marble pot to scoop up the small electrical device Nathan had planted.

Smaller than she thought. Another relief. She slid the black plastic device that was about the size of a credit card but three times as thick into her bra and winced as the corners scraped against her skin.

Years of friendship with Alcina meant Sheila knew every inch of the house, but there was one room she’d never had access to. Chadwick was militantly proprietary about his private office, which solidified her belief that his collection was locked behind the double wooden doors.

The toe of her pump caught on the antique Asian throw rug blanketing the pristine white carpet as she scanned the hall, making sure she was alone. She bit back a smirk as she opened the case containing her metal picks, a birthday present from Nathan a few years ago.

Some big brothers kept the bullies at bay. They stood guard when dates arrived and provided an uneasy shoulder while one grieved over a broken heart. But Tremaynes never did anything the typical way. Oh, no. Nathan’s big-brothering ways were wrapped up in thievery, safe cracking, and the dismantling of state-of-the-art alarm systems. Throw in guided inspiration toward forging paperwork and classic paintings and her sibling proved family ties were often a knotted mess. It made her relationship with their youngest sibling, Morgan, so much easier to traverse. Not that Morgan had any idea about the rest of her family’s nocturnal activities.

The nape of her neck felt damp beneath the weight of her curls, so she wound her hair around her hand and secured it with two of the longer lock picks before stepping around the corner. She stopped in front of the double wooden doors, wrapped her fingers around the handle, bent down, and . . .

Sheila?

She shot up, nerves thrashing as the familiar voice sank into her, blanketing her in the suffocating past. Malcolm. Her breath hitched and her fingers flipped the case behind her phone in her palm. When did you— Why are you— Wow. Way to stay in control. I’d heard rumors you were back.

For once the rumors are true.

Sheila shivered as his chill-inducing, pulse-kicking baritone conjured repressed images of summer nights, bonfires on the beach, and long drives down the coast to sleep beneath the stars.

She exhaled and tugged her runner-up smile into place. Welcome home.

Thanks. Malcolm shoved his hands into dark tailored slacks, the crisp white button-down shirt and shiny loafers a far cry from the jeans-and-T-shirt-wearing boy-man she remembered. In typical Malcolm mindset, he'd avoided matching the tailored tuxes worn by the men downstairs. Doesn’t exactly feel like home, though.

Behind the one-time flirtatious amber gaze that had captured her attention all those years ago was a guardedness and skepticism she couldn’t reconcile with the Malcolm she remembered. The Malcolm she’d nearly fallen in love with. I’m sure Alcina is glad to see you. Yes, his grandmother was a good change of subject. Nice, safe, topic.

She’d be the only one.

Ty’s missed you. Sheila shrugged and dropped her gaze when Malcolm arched a brow. "Okay, so, maybe missed is a strong word."

I believe my brother’s words when I knocked on the front door amounted to five years not being long enough.

He was hurt when you left, Malcolm. We all were. Some more than others. Some more than they wanted to admit. And the fallout from— What was the right word? From what happened wasn’t easy on any of your family.

No, I don’t suppose it was. It was then she saw the edge, the coolness, the years on his face. None of which changed the fact that Malcolm Oliver was still one beautiful man. His strong chin inclined her way and she drank in the sight of him, noticing the attention-grabbing combination of sand and earth hues in his hair, windblown and curling over his ears and down the nape of his neck. Did it feel the same weaving between her fingers, brushing against her skin? Or was it his slightly drawn appearance that had changed, overtaking his one-time fuller face? Strained. Stressed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think life had been kicking him around like a soccer ball.

I hear you throw quite the event these days. Malcolm leaned against the door as if he had no intention of heading down to the party. Didn’t realize your duties included lurking in hallways.

Damn. Sheila shifted into alert, moved a step closer to him, and kept her eyes pinned to his, capturing his gaze so when she unlatched her silver charm bracelet he wouldn’t notice it plop to the ground. She covered it with her foot. I think I dropped my bracelet in your father’s office when we met earlier to finalize plans for the party. I was hoping it was unlocked so I could check. She raised her hand, flicked her bare wrist, and made sure to reflect concern and worry in her eyes despite her desire to swallow hard. It’s the one my mother gave me. The one he’d added a star charm to for their six-month anniversary. The week before he’d left.

I heard about Catherine. A flash of grief crossed Malcolm’s face, but instead of tilting his head in that irritating sympathetic bob that set Sheila’s teeth on edge, he managed a small, sad smile. She was always very kind to me, especially after my mother left.

She liked you, Sheila said before she thought better of it. Despite what . . . She cleared her throat. Despite what happened, she always believed you’d do great things.

Despite what happened. Malcolm let out a long breath from between clenched teeth. Yeah. I’ve been getting that a lot. I suppose it was stupid of me to think you of all people wouldn’t believe the rumors and speculation.

There was nothing speculative about a hundred employees losing their, Malcolm. It’s taken years to get Oliver Technologies on track again, for people to feel secure. And leaving without an explanation or an apology? Not that she cared. Except his disappearing without a word, without that explanation and, worse, without a good-bye, had hurt more than she’d expected. More than it should have. Ty did his best to clean up the mess you left behind.

My mess. Malcolm’s jaw unclenched as his gaze drifted away from her. Five years later and nothing’s changed. The same damn lies.

Sheila frowned. What are you talking about?

Malcolm shifted, shook his head. Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Gran is getting ready to head downstairs. I’d better see how she’s coming along.

Wait, Malcolm. Sheila reached out and caught his arm and tried not to notice how warm his body felt under her touch. She wanted to ask him what lies. To her knowledge, Malcolm had never claimed he was innocent of the back-door deal to sell off Oliver Technologies groundbreaking water treatment system. But was he? Had the last five years . . . She had to stop this. Now wasn’t the time. Do you happen to have a key to the office? She felt heartless for not probing further, but she couldn’t very well break in now, not when she’d been seen. I’d hate to have to ask your father while he’s in the midst of—

Being adored? Resentment clung to his words. Yeah, best not get between Chadwick Oliver and the spotlight.

Sympathy rose like a dust devil inside her. She knew Chadwick Oliver was a manipulative son of a bitch with a penchant for ego-boosting machinations, and Malcolm’s attitude bore that out. But it wasn’t—and couldn’t be—her concern at the moment.

I think Gran has a key. Malcolm lifted a hand to cover hers, then seemed to think better of it as he pulled away and disappeared down the hall.

She couldn’t ignore the pall of sadness emanating from her ex, but she did have to push it aside as she slipped her lock case back under her garter, scooped up her bracelet, and cupped it in her palm under her phone. The last thing she needed—or wanted—was a distraction named Malcolm Oliver.

A quick glance at her watch told her the caterers should be finished filling the chafing dishes by now, calling people in to the buffet dinner she’d arranged. And here she was getting ready to prove one of their hosts was a criminal. Sometimes she loved her job.

She watched Malcolm emerge from a room down the hall, key in hand. Gran’s finishing her hair, but I remembered where she kept it. He unlocked the door and pushed it open for her. Be quick, okay? Dad doesn’t take kindly to anyone being in his office. He rubbed a hand across his jaw as if massaging a bruise, flinching as he gave her a weak smile. It was good to see you, Sheila. The smile that curved his lips held fragments of the boy she’d had a crush on for most of her teenage years and who, for a while, had been so much more.

Will you be in town long? She needed to be prepared, she told herself. It wasn’t as if she wanted to know.

Just long enough to settle some things before I head home.

Where’s that?

San Francisco. I started over. New company.

Ah. She nodded. You should call Nathan while you’re in town. He and her brother had been college roommates and best friends. I bet he’d like to see you.

He ever open that martial arts school he talked about?

No. He’s the head of security for Tremayne Investments and Securities. Second in command just like—

Just like my brother, Malcolm finished. Knowing your father, I bet Nathan doesn’t have to keep watch for a knife in the back. Yeah, I’ll call him, he added with a familiar quirky smile. Just pop the lock when you’re done. And then he was gone.

Sheila waited until she heard the door close down the hall before she dipped inside Chadwick’s office. She closed the door and flicked the lock. Time to get down to business.

Every man had regrets. Malcolm Oliver was no different.

One didn’t reach the ripe old age of thirty-two without a slew of what-ifs. But he’d bet very few lived with the haunting memory of what might have been with Sheila Tremayne. Looking out into the English-inspired garden below his grandmother’s terrace doors, however, he suspected this was as close to solace as he was ever going to get.

The instant Malcolm returned to Lantano Valley every minute of the last five years pressed down on him, forcing him to struggle against the anger and resentment of the past even as he focused on his reason for coming home. The town he’d grown up in, the town he’d planned to grow old in, hadn’t changed much, save for the smattering of new businesses, reconstructed buildings, new faces. Returning from exile—what else could he call his exit?—had gone as anticipated. Malcolm’s hands fisted in his pockets, his jaw tight as he gnashed his teeth. The cold familial welcome both reassured him and spurred him in the direction of following through with his plans.

Sheila Tremayne, however, was a woman no man could plan for.

Within seconds of catching sight of that stunning, familiar figure, the thick tumble of blond waves, smooth gentle curves he remembered memorizing under teasing, anxious fingers, he realized he’d neglected to consider the effect seeing her again would have.

Every cell in his body tingled as if her touch had been powered by a nuclear reactor. There had been something different, something permanent about Sheila that had settled inside of him from the time they started dating. Those six months had been his mental sanctuary the last few years; memories he could call upon when he needed to remind himself that the good things in life could outweigh the bad.

How often had he caught himself dwelling on the girl who might have . . . No, that wasn’t right. Sheila was the girl who should have been. It hadn’t mattered she was his best friend’s sister, or that he’d known her for years. He’d watched her grow from a stunning, curious teen into an elegant young woman with pinpoint concentration on the road ahead of her and more talent than a gallery full of artists. A lightning bolt of awareness had struck him dead center of his heart and burned the possibility of anyone else out of his life.

Until life had altered course.

Anger percolated like a short-circuiting sixties’ coffeemaker. Sheila had been one more thing that had been stolen from him, ripped away as if his life, his plans, his dreams, were nothing more than a hindrance to another’s.

His phone vibrated, the buzzing as irritating as an over-stimulated bee. His doctor’s office number flashed on the screen, but he clicked it off, unwilling, or more likely unable to face what was waiting for him on the other end of the conversation.

He pulled out the bottle of pills, shook one out, and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his grandmother’s nightstand as Alcina puttered in her dressing room. One thing his grandmother and father shared was their ability to make an entrance.

Malcolm closed his eyes for a moment, took a long breath, and shifted his focus back on Lantano Valley. It would have been bad enough if the man responsible for Malcolm’s disgrace had been a stranger; a business rival, a jealous associate. That it was Malcolm’s own father who had orchestrated his downfall was the real tragedy. At least until one considered that Chadwick Oliver held no regret over his actions. Tragedy plus time made for the perfect revenge equation. His father had done what was necessary to achieve his endgame, including sacrificing his oldest son to the madness that would ensue.

Malcolm had rebuilt, planned, and hacked away at his plan for revenge like a prisoner digging for his freedom. He was so close to getting what he wanted—he didn’t want to consider he might not have enough time to finish things. He thought he’d planned for every contingency, for every possible distraction and then . . .

Sheila.

I’m just about ready, Malcolm. Alcina Oliver emerged from her dressing room wearing an elegant jade-green silk pantsuit adorned with sporadic shimmering accents. Her snow-white hair was pulled into its signature twist at the base of her neck. The ever-so-faint trace of France danced along the edge of her words as a hint of lavender and vanilla drifted about the room. Pale skin stretched over too-thin features, making her bright green eyes all the more prominent. You should be downstairs mingling with our guests.

Your guests, Gran, Malcolm corrected as he moved to stand behind her once she took a seat at her dressing table. She latched medium diamond studs onto her ears, smiling at him in the mirror as he dropped gentle hands onto her frail but sturdy shoulders. And let’s not forget I’m not welcome in this house.

Brittle glass had nothing on the edge Alcina’s gaze took on as she reached a hand up to cover Malcolm’s. You are as long as I’m alive. This is your home, Malcolm. It always was, it always will be.

Malcolm forced a smile and bent down to look at the two of them in the mirror. There was only one force in the universe that could have brought him back to Lantano Valley sooner than planned. The ninety-nine-pound octogenarian had more strength of character than anyone Malcolm had ever known.

But Alcina was wrong. This house had been many things: a dwelling, a refuge, a mausoleum perhaps, but never a home. Not even Alcina possessed enough will to make that a reality.

Have you seen Sheila this evening? Alcina held up her favorite strand of pearls for Malcolm to latch for her. Malcolm bit his cheek. Nothing ever got past his grandmother. I expected her to stop by and check in by now.

I have. I’m sure she got waylaid with the party. He couldn’t shake the feeling something was off where Sheila’s visit to his father’s office was concerned. Maybe he should check . . .

Lovely girl, Alcina said. Simply lovely.

Mmmm. Malcolm struggled with the clasp and wondered how women managed them without looking. She is that.

It’s a shame the two of you didn’t work out. You’d have given me beautiful great-grandchildren.

Gran, don’t start. Malcolm settled the pearls around her neck. This wasn’t the first time his grandmother had broached the subject of his procreation plans, and he doubted it would be the last. Forget a dog with a bone, Alcina Oliver was like a shark with a seal, one who would happily choke to death on its prey before letting go. I’ve already told you, I have a life in San Francisco. It does not include a wife or children. It probably never would.

I can tell by the look in your eye you still have feelings for the girl. Alcina caught his hand. Life is too short to spend it alone, Malcolm.

Are you sure your cataracts aren’t acting up? Malcolm teased and squeezed her fingers, making note to be more careful with his expressions around Sheila and his grandmother. The last thing he needed was for either to be aware something was wrong where he was concerned. Now, would you like me to escort you downstairs?

I would like you to go on ahead so I can get my thoughts together.

Okay. But he’d keep an eye and an ear out.

Family is always the most important thing, no matter the history, Alcina called after him as he opened the door. Your father, your brother, they don’t see things the way you do, they don’t understand, but I have faith in you, Malcolm. That you won’t turn a blind eye to opportunity forever.

Malcolm knew she didn’t expect a response. Not that he had one. There was no response she would deem appropriate other than complete agreement.

The depths of his love for his grandmother could only be exemplified by his willingness to hob-nob with family friends, clients, and investors who were more than happy to relive the scandal of Malcolm’s discharge from the family business. The same people who hadn’t had any problem distancing themselves from Malcolm and his advancements in the technology industry. All the more reason to remain anonymous in his current business capacity and status. Little did they know a lot of them had invested in Malcolm’s new business venture in one form or another. Poetic justice from where he stood.

The hell with it. He was done living with regrets. Time to face the firing squad.

Sheila stood in the middle of Chadwick’s office. A quick survey had her dismissing the wall where two ghastly impressionistic paintings hung over an outdated leather sofa. Very few items occupied the dimly lit room save for the framed mirror over the burgundy leather couch against the far wall. Chadwick’s desk was more than ordinary. She set her phone and bracelet on the desk as she bent down, finding the burn mark under the middle drawer that identified the carved piece as a replica. A good one, but still a copy, and Sheila knew her copies.

Every single book on the bookcase was meticulously placed, not one out of line except . . . Got you. She picked up her phone before walking over to slide the too-thick spine of a leather-bound edition of Dante’s Inferno forward. She peered behind it. Part of a keypad stared at her as if daring her to decipher its code.

Okay, big brother. This toy of yours doesn’t work, you’ll be figuring out how to break me out of jail. She pulled the metal decoder from her bra and clamped it onto the keypad on the back of the shelf. The digital readout beeped and blurped, flashing red-lighted numbers across the small screen until a small green light appeared in the bottom corner and a click sounded.

Sheila jumped as the bookcase moved out toward her before shifting to the right. The lack of sound was a relief, but the time it took to expose the room inside had her wishing she’d ordered soufflés for dinner for the guests.

She snatched the decoder off the keypad and replaced the books. Florescent lights burst to life in the space behind the paneled bookcase, the electric hum and brightness making her wince as she stepped forward into the midst of file boxes.

The walls were lined with shelves filled with ledgers and crates, and one large metal and very-empty filing cabinet. A stack of various-size frames stood empty in the corner, as if their insides had been ripped out, the wooden pieces left behind like abandoned carcasses.

The paintings—where were they? She knew he had them. She knew.

She took another step inside as dim voices echoed in the hall.

Sheila poked her head into the office, saw the switch on the inside wall that matched the keypad in the bookcase. The office doorknob rattled.

Pulse pounding in her throat, her eyes went wide as the sound of the key slipping into the lock scraped against her ears like talons against metal. She was too close to stop now. She slapped her hand on the button beneath a small LCD screen inside the vault. The panel slid into place, locking her in.

The room went dark.

Malcolm.

With one word from his father—his name no less—Malcolm’s evening went from crap to complete shit.

Chadwick Oliver unclipped the rope to step onto the second-floor landing, his bulky frame encased in a tailored suit that cost more than most third world countries would need to feed their population. "I know your grandmother requested your presence, but I’d appreciate you keeping a low profile while you’re here. I don’t think