He’d overlooked her occasional bouts of inexperience and nerves, and the clumsiness those nerves seemed to bring out. For her part, she’d worked the long hours without protest, and often took paperwork home with her when she left for the night. And if he’d caught a hint or two that Sophie reciprocated the raw physical attraction he felt for her, they were both doing a fine job of gritting their teeth and ignoring it. They’d been working together nearly a month now, and they’d achieved a functional, if tenuous, boss-and-assistant relationship.
“The cop’s waving for us to pull over,” she said now as they rolled up to the accident. “I hope your license is good.”
“If it’s not, I’m blaming it on you,” Griffin said, only halfway joking as he stopped the rental and lowered the window.
“Afternoon, folks,” the cop said, taking a not-very-casual look from Griffin to Sophie and back. “If you’re planning on spending the night in the hotel, you missed the turn by about a mile. Nothing much up this way except pines, rocks and ice.” The officer looked to be in his late thirties. He was tall and dark-haired, with vivid blue eyes that were cool and assessing, and didn’t look like they missed much.
Griffin saw the edge of a pointed star on the cop’s uniform shirt beneath his heavy parka, and made the connection. “Sheriff Martinez?”
The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”
“We spoke on the phone when your people needed access to my estate. I’m Griffin Vaughan.” Griffin nodded in Sophie’s direction. “My assistant, Sophie LaRue.” When there was no immediate response from the sheriff of Kenner County, a flutter of long-unused instinct stirred the fine hairs at Griffin’s nape. “Do you want to see our IDs?”
Martinez shook his head, and finally relaxed a degree. “No. It’s fine. Sorry. Things have been…complicated around here lately. We’re giving everyone a second and third look.” The sheriff paused. “Are you two headed up to Lonesome Lake?”
Griffin’s new estate had been named for the large, spring-fed lake on the property, one of only a few open bodies of water in the immediate area. The lake was located near the main entrance to the sprawling grounds; the driveway cut straight across the middle, running over a sturdy cement-pylon bridge. The promise of summer-time fishing, along with a hell of a mountain view, had sold Griffin on the place. The lowball price hadn’t hurt, either, though in retrospect it should’ve been a red flag. Since he’d taken possession of Lonesome Lake, the property had been one long-distance headache after another.
Griffin nodded in answer to the sheriff’s question. “Just a quick in-and-out. I gave the live-in couple the month off because of the reno, and the construction crew has undoubtedly gone home to wait out the weather, but I wanted to get a look at the place before we sit down for a meeting with Perry tomorrow.”
“You picked a hell of a time to visit.” Martinez glanced at the sky. “They’re saying this storm could take a couple of days to blow through, maybe more.”
“We’ll be back down in the city before it starts,” Griffin said. “I don’t have any desire to be snowed in up there until after the reno is complete.” And certainly not with his executive secretary. Lonesome Lake was intended for family, not business.
Griffin had bought the estate to be a getaway for him and his three-year-old son, Luke, and Luke’s male nanny, Darryn, both of whom were waiting for him back in San Francisco. The estate was intended to be a luxurious “just the guys” cabin, a place that would let him retreat from the hoopla that came with being a multi-millionaire under the age of forty who made regular appearances on the Steele Most Wealthy list and almost all of San Fran’s “Most Eligible Bachelor” roundups.
Those lists invariably included personal tidbits such as his divorce from songwriter Monique Claire, his single father status, and the fact that he’d been a decorated marine technical specialist before taking over struggling VaughnTec and making it into a megacorporation.
Back when Griffin had been in the military, he’d built weapons and tracking tools out of whatever he’d been able to scrounge from the field. As a civilian, he focused more on handheld computers, but the gadget-building theory was the same, and the self-discipline and ruthless logic he’d learned in the battle zones had served him well in the business world.
Unfortunately, his military service only added to his dossier as far as the San Fran socialites were concerned. That, combined with his net worth and dark good looks, had made him the target of too many gold diggers to count. In fact, he’d stopped counting the wannabe Mrs. Vaughns around a year ago, right around the time he’d stopped dating. His lack of interest had only increased the pressure from the gold diggers, which was why he’d bought Lonesome Lake. He needed to get the hell away from his work and the city he’d grown up in, and he wanted someplace comfortable to do it.
Which was great in theory, but so far had been seriously lacking in practice, due to the construction glitches.
Griffin had hired Perry as his general contractor based on the Realtor’s recommendation and a handful of local references, and had signed off on a basic updating of the forty year-old structure. At first, the contractor’s reports of things needing immediate repair or replacement had seemed reasonable enough. As the months had dragged on, though, and the schedule had doubled, and then tripled, Griffin’s patience had decreased in direct proportion to the budget’s increase. Now he just wanted to put an end to whatever the hell was going on up at the estate, regardless of whether that meant a sit-down with Perry…or lining up a new contractor.
“We should get moving if we’re going to beat the storm,” he said pointedly to the sheriff.
Martinez glanced up the road, though Lonesome Lake was a good ten miles further along the two-lane track leading into the foothills. “Do me a favor and call me when you get back to Kenner City, so I know you made it down off the mountain safely, okay?” The sheriff rattled off a number. “Got that?”
Sophie nodded and entered the number in her sleek, sophisticated PDA, which was one of VaughnTec’s newer designs. “Got it.” Once she had the number keyed in, she tucked the handheld into the pocket of her stylish wool coat, keeping it close at hand.
Still, Martinez didn’t look satisfied.
Getting the distinct impression that the sheriff wasn’t at all happy with their plan, Griffin lowered his voice and said, “What aren’t you telling us?”
Martinez grimaced, and for a moment, Griffin didn’t think he was going to answer. But then the sheriff said, “Look, there have been some…incidents in this area lately. First, there was that body that turned up, the dead FBI agent?” At Griffin’s nod of remembrance, he continued, “Well, after that, we found an abandoned car with a baby in it. A baby, for God’s sake. And then one of our crime scene analysts was attacked the other day not far from here, further on toward Lonesome Lake. The weather’s been playing hell with our ability to process the scenes, which is logjamming the investigations…and to top it all off, the Feds think there’s a chance that Vincent Del Gardo might still be in the area.” The sheriff shook his head. “Logically, those incidents probably aren’t all connected, but…Just be careful up there, okay?”
Griffin muttered a curse under his breath, but nodded. “Will do.”
“Call me if you need anything.” The sheriff stepped back and waved them