Nemesis in Disguise

By Anna J. Stewart

Who’s fooling who?

Nathan Tremayne shares a dangerous secret with sister, Sheila, and his father, Jackson. Together they are Nemesis, the infamous cat burglar who targets the wealthy. But when Jackson is framed for stealing the priceless Crown of Serpia, the whole family is at risk. Nathan isn’t about to let his father go down for a crime he didn’t commit, but finding the real culprit won’t be easy with Laurel Scott, the nosy, pushy, drop-dead gorgeous insurance investigator following his every move.

But Laurel has secrets of her own. Posing as an insurance investigator was part of her own plan for the Tremaynes. A plan she has no choice but to follow through with. As their attraction heats up, and the truth comes out, will this pair of thieves steal each other’s hearts? Or end Nemesis’ reign once and for all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Oct 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094429847

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

When Nathan Tremayne was nineteen he held his little brother’s hand as he died.

When Nathan was twenty-four he held his college girlfriend’s hand in the ambulance after firemen extricated her from her mangled Mustang.

When he was thirty, he held his sisters’ hands as they lowered their mother’s body into her grave.

Two years later, there was no hand to hold as he stood by himself outside an interview room at the Lantano Valley Police Precinct wrapping his mind around the fact his father was being questioned for a crime he hadn’t committed.

Well. Not alone at least.

Guilt niggled around the edges of his empty stomach. His father might be the brains behind Nemesis, Lantano Valley’s notorious cat burglar with a social conscience, but Nathan and his sister Sheila were the brawn. Correction—Nathan was the brawn. Shelia was more the creative influence, putting her artistic talents to use as an expert forger when needed. They were a team. And yet here his father sat, on the other side of the grimy, venetian blind–obscured glass, possibly taking full responsibility for something the three of them had done together.

Frustration built on the edge of unease. When had Nemesis gotten so out of control?

Nathan. Lantano Valley’s district attorney Evan Marshall strode down the narrow hall and stopped beside him, an expression Nathan could only define as irritation on his strained late thirtysomething face. Thanks for coming down so quickly. I can’t imagine this is the way you wanted to start your weekend.

Far from it. Nathan winced. He’d had to cancel a meeting he’d been planning for weeks.

Dad’s lawyer is on her way. Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tailored slacks, Nathan felt his fingers tingle as he clenched hard fists when his phone vibrated yet again in his jacket pocket. Sheila, no doubt, wanting an update. As if he had anything to tell her.

Wonderful, Evan said with a responsibility-laden sigh Nathan himself was all too familiar with. Because what’s missing from this ridiculous scenario is a high-priced defense attorney.

That Veronica Harrison had shifted her talents from the courtroom to the boardroom a few years ago wasn’t something Nathan needed to remind Evan about right now. Instead, Nathan took a deep breath and nearly choked on the stench of disinfectant topped with over-brewed coffee within the confines of the precinct. The breeze from the overworked air unit brushed against his chilled skin and embraced the anger building inside of him. Anger would keep the fear from bubbling over like some toxic witches’ brew. If this scenario is so ridiculous, why is my father being interrogated?

Because evidence I can’t ignore crossed my desk, Evan said. Since I’m neck-deep trying to work with the Feds on the fallout from the Chadwick Oliver case, one of my eager beaver assistants got impatient and got the paperwork rolling before I had time to properly review the information. As much as Nathan wanted to bombard the D.A. with questions, keeping the conversation light, not to mention civil, would garner him more information than showing his temper.

Chadwick still giving you problems?

Can you believe the son of a bitch is hoping to weasel his way out of serving time by coughing up the names of fellow collectors who bought stolen World War II artwork? And as if that case wasn’t scandalous enough, the Crown of Serpia was stolen from the museum the same night all hell broke loose with Oliver. Evan shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the exhaustion creeping across his face. Lantano Valley’s back in the media spotlight. And not in a good way. The absolute last thing I needed was for your father to go waltzing into the commissioner’s office and declare he’s the burglar who’s been stalking the wealthy citizens of Lantano Valley for the last two years.

Wait a minute. Nathan’s stomach pitched even as he grasped hold of the disbelief ringing in the district attorney’s voice. I thought Dad was being questioned. What do you mean he turned himself in? Then, realizing how that question could be interpreted, he added, You don’t believe him, do you?

Of course I don’t believe him.

Evan’s exasperation set Nathan’s lips twitching in relief. He wouldn’t smile. Not until he got his father out of that room. Maybe not even then.

Not that what I believe matters, Evan continued. The problem is, while your father might be many things—

Including one of your biggest campaign contributors, Nathan slid in.

Yeah. Including that. Evan glared through the window. I don’t know what Jackson’s thinking. There’s no evidence linking him to Nemesis, Nathan. Not that we know of, anyway. But there’s strong evidence he might have been involved with the theft of the crown.

What evidence? Nathan looked anywhere but at the D.A. The truth was, given Jackson’s recent solitary and secretive behavior, not to mention his father’s penchant for historical artifacts, Jackson could very well be responsible. Guilt slipped in around the doubt. Was it possible his father was guilty? Had he used Nemesis as an alibi to get what he really wanted? This Crown of Serpia? No. His father would never intentionally jeopardize his children’s futures by exposing Nemesis for his own personal gain. There had to be something else going on.

Surveillance footage puts Jackson outside the museum around the time the crown was stolen, Evan said. True, he wasn’t inside during the crime, but . . .

Nathan’s stomach took another dip off the deep end. Dammit. Why did there always have to be a but? A stress headache that might very well leave a dent in his skull pounded behind Nathan’s eyes. But what?

His print was found on the crown’s display case.

Dad can’t have been the only one who touched the case. Finally, something he could explain. Besides, you’ve seen his office at Tremayne Investments and Securities, not to mention our house. He’s always collected antiques. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s visited the Serpian collection numerous times since it opened last month.

"Visitors don’t leave prints on the inside of a display case, Nathan. And then there’s the Nemesis case, which he seems to know more details about than he should."

You mean details like the thank-you cards Nemesis leaves behind for the people he’s stolen from?

Evan’s gaze narrowed.

Dad was in this same room with my sister Morgan when she was questioned about accepting money from Nemesis, Nathan reminded him. She identified the note cards she received with the cash for the foundation, remember?

And told you apparently, Evan muttered.

Morgan didn’t need to tell him. Not when it had been Nathan who had included the notes in the first place—notes that matched the thank-you cards he left behind after each theft thanking their targets for their donations to the less fortunate. One of those cocky moves of his that might have contributed to their father’s current situation.

Of course we talked about what happened, Nathan lied. It’s not every day a Tremayne gets arrested for suspicion of collusion. And of course it was Nathan’s fault Morgan had been exposed for accepting stolen money in the first place. But how was he supposed to know the cash he’d stolen had been part of an undercover FBI operation from years before?

Nathan glanced through the blinds at his father as the fear he’d been trying to hold at bay surged and triggered a momentary flash of panic. Was this his fault? Had he missed some sign his father was in trouble? Had he been so preoccupied with Nemesis and making a difference that he’d taken one too many risks and exposed his father? Only last week Sheila had warned him he was moving too far away from their father’s altruistic intentions, that he was headed off book and endangering their mother’s and sister’s legacy and work. Nathan had dismissed Sheila’s concerns as nothing more than unease at change, while he itched to take things to the next level. Now it seemed she’d been right. My father did not steal that crown, Evan.

I’ve known your father most of my life, Nathan. This is not something you have to convince me of, Evan said. I consider him a friend. Hell, it was his idea for me to run for D.A. in the first place. Nemesis is already getting enough attention and I’m guessing we can agree neither of us wants the Tremayne family name associated with him or these crimes.

Nathan nodded. Not to mention having Dad confess to the one case your task force can’t close puts you in an awkward reelection position. Playing on Evan’s future political hopes might help get Jackson out of that room sooner than later. So which Evan called me? Nathan asked. My father’s friend or the district attorney?

Both, Evan responded without hesitation. Look, things are about to get dicey around the theft of the crown. TransUnited Insurance has assigned yet another new investigator to the case. Some higher-up with a reputation for being a hard-ass when it comes to uncovering inconvenient truths. Given they also insured a number of items stolen by Nemesis, I’m going to assume this investigator plans to look into more than just the crown. Lantano Valley, not to mention all of its law enforcement departments, are about to get a reaming, which makes my job even harder. It also makes me wonder . . .

Nathan frowned as Evan hedged. You’ve never been one to dance around. Out with it, Evan.

Is it possible Nemesis has targeted your family for some reason? Nathan could see even as Evan said the words he had trouble believing it. Could Nemesis be framing Jackson for the theft? Forcing him to confess?

Blackmailed by Nemesis? Nathan coughed to give himself the excuse to walk away for a cup of water from the nearby dispenser. The water felt slick on his tongue as his head spun around impossibilities he couldn’t have imagined before today. Finally, something he could be certain about. If his father was being framed, it definitely wasn’t by Nemesis. But it did raise the question . . . "That exposé on Nemesis the Lantano Valley Times ran after the Oliver case was closed quoted you as saying it was your belief Nemesis only targets those individuals who have wronged others in some way. Was that true?"

It was. Is, Evan corrected. Gage Juliano was able to prove that during his team’s investigation into Nemesis before he resigned. Despite the fact Gage is engaged to your sister Morgan now, I don’t have any reason to doubt the evidence he produced. Especially considering it was Nemesis who exposed Chadwick Oliver’s involvement in the stolen art ring.

One of the many good things to have come out of Nemesis’s ventures. Then again, what was the saying? Pride goeth before the fall? You can dig into our family all you want, Nathan bluffed. You’re not going to find anything in our history that would attract Nemesis’s attention. Nemesis is a Robin Hood, someone who fights for those who can’t fight for themselves. He evens scores. But maybe, just maybe, Nemesis was responsible for his father’s situation. Had they gone after the wrong person? Did someone know the truth? Nathan returned to the window. He needed to talk to his father.

Jackson’s greying blond hair was stark beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the interview room, the perfectly fitted Hugo Boss suit and blood-red tie worn as casually as most men wore khakis and a polo shirt. There was age in his face now. At nearly sixty, Jackson was heading into what some would consider his twilight years with an elegance that had often reminded Nathan of Cary Grant in his heyday. And there was also sadness, even after almost two years, for the wife he’d lost in a car accident.

Times like this, Nathan wished his mother was still alive. Catherine had a special way of dealing with their father that the Tremayne offspring hadn’t quite mastered. Then again, neither Nathan nor Sheila were convinced Catherine Tremayne, or Morgan for that matter, would have approved of the rest of the family donning the mask of vengeance and wreaking havoc on their wealthy neighbors.

Jackson had always been more than a father to him; he’d been a mentor and, most recently, he’d become his friend. He was always there. Supporting. Encouraging. Nathan couldn’t have asked for a better father. Or protector.

Protector. Nathan shivered as if he’d been doused in ice water. At his core, Jackson Tremayne was a protector. Son of a . . .

Gentlemen. Five foot eight inches of feminine confidence headed toward them in the form of Veronica Harrison, chief legal attorney for TechInter Network, one of the top technology companies in the country. My apologies for the delay, but I wanted to have as much information as possible. Her voice carried the barest hint of a British accent. Light auburn hair fell in perfect waves around the shoulders of her crisp yellow designer dress, an ode to femininity that was reinforced with a spine of steel. Has my client been advised of his rights? she asked Evan in way that was part scorn, part charm, and all confidence.

Your client isn’t under arrest. Evan rapped his knuckles on the window. A few seconds later, two suited detectives stepped out of the room. Not yet at least. You’re welcome to speak with him—

Then I take it you haven’t printed him either? Her tone caught Nathan’s attention as she gave the odd-couple detectives—one was as wide as the other was tall—one of her I know something you don’t know smiles. Gentlemen. Veronica pulled a file out of her briefcase and handed it over. This is a copy of Mr. Tremayne’s business license renewal from 2010. If you would be so kind as to compare these prints to the ones found at museum?

You mean print. Evan looked at Nathan.

One print? Nathan breathed a sigh of relief at Evan’s clear confusion. "How does someone leave one print at the scene of a crime?"

An excellent question. Veronica didn’t give any hint of surprise. Mr. Marshall was kind enough to email me a copy of the evidence report. At my request, of course, she added when the taller detective glared at the D.A. I think once you compare the two prints, you’ll notice a significant anomaly. Mr. Tremayne? Veronica shifted slightly and poked her head through the interrogation room door. Would you join us? The taller, older detective’s jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed.

Jackson stepped through the door, eyeing her suspiciously.

May I see your right thumb, please? The detective asked. Jackson held out his hand, as he seemed to avoid Nathan’s questioning gaze.

As you can see, Veronica said. The print found at the scene of the crime bears no scar. Mr. Tremayne, when did you sustain that injury? Veronica asked as if she already knew the answer.

Thanksgiving, 2009. Jackson rubbed at the scar. Carving the turkey.

My mother had neglected to thaw it before she put it in the oven, Nathan added, the bittersweet memory had his lips twitching. We spent a good three hours in the emergency room.

And picked up pizza on the way home, Jackson added.

There’s also a copy of his medical record from that visit. Just there, in the back. Veronica leaned over and tapped a long fingernail against the file. Given the clarity of the print from the crime scene, I think we can agree there’s serious doubt as to its authenticity, Veronica said.

You’re saying you think his print was planted? Evan asked.

I’m saying I think you have some more investigating to do before you question my client further. Against my advice, my client hoped to stave off any media speculation with his ill-advised visit to the police commissioner. I can assure you, this won’t happen again—especially seeing as you now have actual proof Mr. Tremayne was outside the museum at the time of the crime. Honestly? I don’t see you have much of a case. Unless there’s additional evidence we’ve not been made aware of?

You’ve seen it all. Evan took the file from the detective and waved them away. I apologize for any inconvenience, Jackson. But you’ll understand if we continue to pursue our investigation.

I wouldn’t expect any less, Jackson said.

Excellent. Veronica guided Jackson ahead of her. We’ll consider this matter closed for now, then. Here’s my card. She plucked one out of the pocket on her hip. If you have any further questions for my client, please call to arrange a time. Nathan, Mr. Tremayne. Shall we go?

Not about to contradict her, Nathan trailed silently behind as she led the way out of the station house, her thin heels tapping along the linoleum as they stepped out into the late-afternoon sun.

Veronica— Nathan began, only to have her spin around and aim laser hot eyes at the two of them.

Whatever you two have to discuss, I suggest you take it far away from here. She flicked her gaze up to the black surveillance camera over the double-paned glass doors. And you. She pointed a finger at Jackson. No more visiting D.A.’s offices or police stations without your lawyer present, do you understand me?

I do. For the first time, Nathan heard an unease in his father’s voice, one that did nothing to quell the nerves sparking in his own system. Thank you, Veronica.

Craziest bloody family I’ve ever met, she muttered, giving them a wave and swishing her way down the street.

Are you sure you and she— Jackson said to Nathan with an arched brow.

I’m sure, Nathan said. Some days he felt as if he’d adopted another sister since Veronica had hit town with Sheila’s now-husband. But Veronica’s right. He cocked his head to the side and led the way down Santiago Street toward the Tremayne Investments and Securities building.

Do your sisters know what’s going on? Jackson asked.

"I don’t know what’s going on. Nathan cringed. But if you mean do they know you’ve put yourself smack dab in the middle of the Nemesis investigation? Sheila was there when I got the call. It had taken every ounce of persuasive power he possessed to convince his sister to let him handle the situation. Sheila had enough on her plate these days without having to worry about their suddenly-gone-rogue father, but that didn’t mean Nathan wasn’t expected to report back, preferably at dinner tonight. What the hell, Dad? Exacting revenge as Nemesis not enough for you anymore? Now you’re pulling jobs on the side?"

Nathan—

There it was. The tell he’d been watching for, hoping for. His father’s slight askew glance, a darting of blue eyes that eased the pressure building in Nathan’s chest as a new ball of worry formed. Evan was right. Sort of. And so was Nathan. Thank God. You’re being set up. Jackson let out a long breath.

Glad I don’t have to explain.

You have plenty to explain. That said, if you had stolen the crown, you wouldn’t have left a print, let alone allowed yourself to be caught on tape. Weeks of pent-up frustration bubbled to the surface. This has something to do with those sudden disappearances of yours, doesn’t it? What you’ve refused to talk about when we’ve asked. Except whatever it is had you turning yourself in to the police instead of coming to us so we could be prepared. Now we’re all at risk.

I’m afraid I put you all at risk a long time ago, Nathan. The lines around his father’s tired eyes hinted at the strain he was under. I was hoping I could find a way to work it out on my own, that I could keep you and your sisters out of this, especially now that they have their own families to consider.

You let me worry about Sheila and Morgan. Nathan waved away his father’s concern with a dismissive hand even as he imagined the potential fallout. Marriages, businesses, charities . . . where would it end? Just tell me what’s going on. If you weren’t at the museum that night to steal the crown, why were you there?

To meet someone, Jackson said in a low voice. Someone who never showed. Now we know why.

To frame you for stealing the crown. Only now did Nathan realize what he’d previously identified as grief in his father’s eyes was more of a hovering ghost.

When I first talked to you and Sheila about the idea of Nemesis two years ago, Jackson said. I told you I was looking for something to focus on after your mother died. But that wasn’t my first foray into that arena. Everyone has a past, Nathan. Jackson took a deep breath, dropped his head back for a moment to look at the cloudless sky. And mine has come back with a vengeance.

Chapter 2

I’m sorry, but this section of the museum is closed until further notice.

The female voice drifted over Nathan with the same softness as the jasmine scent wafting down the tiled hall of the Wellington Museum. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes skimming the curvy figure of the brunette standing behind him. Polished, his sister Sheila would say; bordering on stylish from her tailored button-down white blouse and snug, knee-hugging black skirt, all the way to her sharp-toed patent black pumps. Every inch of this woman said collected and professional. Had it not been for the suspicious glint in her curious brown eyes and the fact he needed to get into that display room, Nathan might have let his gaze linger—and enjoy—longer.

Yeah. He pushed away from the door frame and turned on the double-dimpled smile that had sent numerous women tumbling into his bed. The crime scene tape kind of gave it away.

Her deep red lips didn’t curve. They didn’t even twitch. Instead, she tapped long, manicured fingers against her waist, kicking out a hip as she arched a brow. Her hair fell down her back in soft waves, hints of copper catching the recessed lighting of the museum’s ceiling. Sable, he thought. He’d bet her hair would feel like sable sliding between his fingers.

Nathan resisted the urge to clear his throat, something he tended to do when uncertainty descended. He prided himself on being able to read people; it was after all, part of his job as a security expert and thief. Looking at this woman, however, filled his mind with an odd kind of static that prevented him from pinning her down. Appearances aside, there was something electric yet unreadable about her. One sparked his blood. The other . . . well. Nathan grinned. There was little he enjoyed more than a challenge.

It’s been two weeks since the theft. That seems a long time to keep an exhibition closed. He kept his tone even and calm. Damn it, he figured it would be easy enough to examine the room and try to find out how the thief—or thieves—managed to abscond with the crown. Veronica’s fingerprint revelation might have taken some of the heat off his father, but without any other leads, there wasn’t anyone other than his father for the investigation to focus on.

He pushed away from the wall. With those metal gates in his way, he’d either have to pay the museum an after-hours visit, an action that would only tempt fate or . . . Nathan looked at the woman beside him. Or maybe there was another way in. It’s a shame to keep the rest of the collection under wraps even without its centerpiece.

I agree, the woman said. Unintended consequences to people’s reckless behavior I suppose. She stepped back in a silent signal for him to leave.

A signal he ignored.

While Nathan understood Jackson’s desire to protect the family by turning himself in for questioning, he also believed his father had set the timer on a family bomb. If they weren’t careful, their real secret was going to come out, and exposing the Tremaynes as Nemesis would have far-reaching—and devastating—consequences.

Nathan shifted sore and tired muscles beneath his suit jacket. At least he’d managed to get ahead of the press where his father’s arrest was concerned with what he hoped was an elaborate excuse. If people were focused on the supposed reason for Jackson’s interactions with the police, hopefully they’d veer off the real story. The media didn’t care who they crucified for the theft as long as someone was hanging from the cross. That Jackson Tremayne was one of the most respected and well-liked men in Lantano Valley wouldn’t matter. None of the good his family had done in the past would matter. There wasn’t anything the public liked more than watching those they admired fall from grace. Have there been any developments in the case?

There will be a public announcement well in advance of the exhibit reopening. The gentle chime of classical music emanated from the hidden speakers in the hallway. This way, please, Mr. Tremayne.

That she knew his name shouldn’t have surprised him. I know I would have remembered us meeting before, so I can only assume my reputation precedes me.

Delicate fingers trailed lightly across the banister as she clicked her way down the curving marble staircase, Nathan nipping at her heels. I’ve spent the last couple of days familiarizing myself with everyone who’s ever stepped foot in or has a connection to the museum. I find it interesting that you, the son of the prime suspect, were one of the security consultants for the recent system upgrades.

My father didn’t steal the crown. Nathan’s gaze was pulled to the gentle sway of her hips and the effortless way she glided on heels his sister Sheila would have considered training wheels. His hands flexed inside his pockets and as he lifted his gaze to her face, he caught a glimpse of a sly smile over her shoulder.

A son defending his father is hardly surprising.

He’s innocent. The words shot out of his mouth like supersonic bullets, fast, quick and more than a little hot. Whoever she was, clearly she hadn’t been brought up to date on the developments in the case. She didn’t know his father’s fingerprints hadn’t passed muster.

No one is innocent, Mr. Tremayne. Not in my experience.

Perhaps we need to expand your experience. Let me in that display room and I’ll prove it.

She slowed her pace to walk beside him as she guided him toward the front door past an elaborate exhibit of Aztec statuary and hand-hammered copper pottery. You’ll understand if I don’t allow the son of a suspected thief anywhere near what’s left of that collection.

Tell you what. Nathan took a step closer. Instead of moving back, she stood her ground and straightened her spine. Oh, yeah. Very interesting. How about we continue this conversation over dinner? There are some great bistros a few blocks from here, right in the heart of the art district. He glanced at his watch and cringed. Sheila had told him if he didn’t show at her place by five-thirty she’d send a hunting party after him. Time to get a move on. Tomorrow night?

I appreciate the offer. He was struck by the hint of mystery he saw behind perfectly outlined eyes. He’d seen that seductive look before—in ancient paintings, in portraits of regal queens from Cleopatra to the legendary owner of the Crown of Serpia, Princess Kasha herself. Her smile widened, this time with a touch of humor, approval, and more than a little flirtation. But I don’t go out with strange men.

Who says I’m strange? He couldn’t seem to stop grinning around this woman. What was it about her? He didn’t have time for distractions, didn’t need them. And yet . . .

She grasped the brass handle behind him. I don’t go out with men I don’t know.

Nathan Tremayne, remember? He covered her hand with his and felt her fingers freeze beneath it. For an instant her gaze skittered from his, as if shocked he’d be so bold as to touch her. For that instant, the mask dropped away and he wondered if she felt the connection, too. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined and he could feel the confidence coursing over her, calling to him as loudly as a weekend heavy metal concert. Security consultant and vice president of Tremayne Investments and Securities. He tightened his hand. Potential troublemaker as evidenced by my penchant for venturing into forbidden areas.

Troublemaker I’ll attest to. She plucked his hand off of hers. Since you’ve already deduced I’m new to town, I’ll take your invitation under advisement. But for now, I have a job to do. She pulled open the door. And you, Mr. Tremayne, are in my way.

Nathan glanced outside, not quite ready to raise the white flag of flirtation surrender and leave. When was the last time he’d been rebuffed by a woman so eloquently? So elegantly? At least tell me your name.

Laurel Scott. She pushed open the glass door. Senior investigator for TransUnited Insurance.

You’re the insurance investigator? Whatever warmth had been working its way through his body chilled at her words. This was the investigator Evan Marshall had called a hard-ass? The one who could very well have Nemesis in her sights? Boy, his radar must have short-circuited in the last few minutes not to pick up on this. She wasn’t a mere museum employee with access. She was the guardian at the gate.

I see my reputation precedes me as well. There was a different spark in her eyes as she smiled at him, one that moments ago might have sent Nathan to his knees, but instead he steeled his softening heart. There wasn’t time for distractions—not with his family’s future hanging in the balance. He may have missed the target on a lot of things in regards to this woman, but he was right about one thing: she was definitely going to be a challenge. Time to reevaluate his tactics and figure out exactly how useful Miss Scott could be. Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Tremayne. That softness had returned to her voice. It would be quite interesting to have dinner with the man whose father I plan to put in jail. Have a good evening.

Nathan took a stumbling step onto the sidewalk and watched, dumbfounded, as she closed the door, turned the key and gave him a little wave of her fingers before she disappeared into the museum.

With a bag of J & J Market’s Italian takeout in one hand, her briefcase and oversized designer hobo bag in the other, Laurel kicked the door to her city-view room at the Empire Hotel closed and dropped out of her skyscraper heels with a relieved sigh. What a day.

Her cell phone rang from deep inside her purse, that distinctive, stomach-clenching graveyard tune that eroded her appetite. She dipped down and dumped everything to the floor to dig for the phone, taking an extra moment to center herself before answering. Yes, Mr. Manville.

We had an agreement, Laurel. The sharp-edged masculine voice sliced through her and she sagged to the floor. What she wouldn’t give never to hear his voice again. I haven’t heard from you in almost a week. I’d like an update on your progress where Jackson Tremayne is concerned.

The accusation triggered hatred and fear, throwing them into a battle in her too-tight chest. Laurel swallowed hard and pressed white knuckles against the throbbing above her left eye. I haven’t had anything to report until today.

You’ve made contact then?

With the Tremaynes? Yes. Nathan came into the museum this afternoon. An image of Nathan’s healthy chiseled face and longish blond hair that spoke to a bad-boy edge she hadn’t quite expected flashed through her mind. He’d shot that tempting smile in her direction in a way that almost made her forget what she’d been sent to do. Almost. He wanted access to the display room. He swears his father is innocent.

Jackson Tremayne is anything but innocent.

The cold loathing she heard in Manville’s voice whenever he spoke of Jackson Tremayne chilled her blood. Contrary to what you told me, there’s strong evidence proving Jackson Tremayne didn’t steal the crown, Laurel protested. The call from the D.A. less than an hour ago had thrown her firmly into flux. Yes, he was in the vicinity of the museum, but I just learned he turned himself in for questioning in regards to the Nemesis theft that took place at the same time. He couldn’t have been in two places at once. Not that Jackson committing either crime made any sense to her. Then again, nothing made sense to her these days. She just did as she was told.

The stretch of silence had her squirming. Interesting development. Manville sounded almost amused when he spoke. And clever. Apparently he’s decided to play along after all. No doubt this will call for a change of plans. I don’t need to remind you, Laurel, that your job with TransUnited is merely a cover. You work for me.

No, you don’t need to remind me. Being a plant