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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Synopsis

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books by Karin Kallmaker

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Bella Books

  Synopsis

  For Kip Barrett, a secret commission from her boss’s boss’s boss, CEO Tamara Sterling, shows that the respect she’s earned for her integrity and intelligence as a fraud investigator is justified. All she has to do is what she’s done successfully before: Follow the cyber-trail, find the high-tech thief, and document it so that justice prevails.

  This time, however, the embezzler is one of their own. Sterling Fraud Investigations has an unblemished reputation for ethical conduct and security. Kip must find out who and how, as soon as possible, and no one but Tamara can know what she's doing.

  As Kip gets closer to discovering the embezzler, her clandestine meetings with Tamara grow more frequent. It doesn't help that her admiration for Sterling’s work is compounded by an undeniable physical chemistry. But SFI has an iron-clad no fraternization rule, and Sterling investigators never break the rules. She needs to wrap up her findings before anyone—including her emerging prime suspect Tamara Sterling—realizes Kip is not above temptation.

  Follow the passion—and the money—from Seattle to Nassau in the latest page-turning story from Lambda Literary award-winning author Karin Kallmaker.

  Copyright © 2010 by Karin Kallmaker

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2010

  eBook released 2010

  Editor: Katherine V. Forrest

  Cover Designer: Linda Callaghan

  ISBN 13: 978-1-59493-179-6

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Also by Karin Kallmaker

  Romance:

  Stepping Stone

  Warming Trend

  The Kiss that Counted

  Night Vision / The Dawning

  Christabel

  Finders Keepers

  Just Like That

  Sugar

  One Degree of Separation

  Maybe Next Time

  Substitute for Love

  Frosting on the Cake

  Unforgettable

  Watermark

  Making Up for Lost Time

  Embrace in Motion

  Wild Things

  Painted Moon

  Car Pool

  Paperback Romance

  Touchwood

  In Every Port

  Erotica:

  In Deep Waters: Cruising the Seas

  18th & Castro

  All the Wrong Places

  Tall in the Saddle: New Exploits of Western Lesbians

  Stake through the Heart: New Exploits of Twilight Lesbians

  Bell, Book and Dyke: New Exploits of Magical Lesbians

  Once Upon a Dyke: New Exploits of Fairy Tale Lesbians

  Feel free to visit www.kallmaker.com

  Acknowledgments

  Dedicated to all the women who set out every day to right wrongs in the real world even when there’s no help, time, luck or support. Superwomen are all around us.

  For my family and, as always, most of all for my readers. If you didn’t exist I would still write. Because you do exist, no one calls me crazy.

  Squee! O Glee! We are Twenty-Three!

  About the Author

  Karin Kallmaker’s nearly thirty romances and fantasy-science fiction novels include the award-winning The Kiss That Counted, Just Like That, Maybe Next Time and Sugar along with the bestselling Substitute for Love and the perennial classic Painted Moon. Short stories have appeared in anthologies from publishers like Alyson, Bold Strokes, Circlet and Haworth, as well as novellas and short stories with Bella Books. She began her writing career with the venerable Naiad Press and continues with Bella.

  She and her partner are the mothers of two and live in the San Francisco Bay Area. She is descended from Lady Godiva, a fact which she’ll share with anyone who will listen. She likes her Internet fast, her iPod loud and her chocolate real.

  All of Karin’s work can now be found at Bella Books. Details and background about her novels, and her other pen name, Laura Adams, can be found at www.kallmaker.com.

  Chapter One

  “Here’s the last of the files, Barrett.” The clerk hardly paused as he shoehorned two more boxes into her cubicle. “What a waste of paper.”

  “Wait—take these back. I’m done with them.” Kip Barrett wearily lifted four file boxes into the clerk’s waiting hands. It was progress, at least. She was finally giving back more than she was getting and it wasn’t too often that she felt that way.

  She staged the new boxes in the precarious Jenga-like stack crowding her cubicle. She was still trying to figure out how doing her job really well meant she was assigned the mind-shredding task of numbering exhibits. “It has to be right so I want you to do it” from her boss didn’t seem like a compliment now, especially when the files in question were actual hard copy, relics of a case from the pre-digital era. A wasteland of manila folders mounded across her desk. The only spots of color were the coded file tags and the printed lettering across each file: CONFIDENTIAL PROPERTY OF STERLING FRAUD INVESTIGATIONS.

  It’s important work, she told herself. After all, this stack of paper held one critical fact supported with multiple verified source documents. When added to the next fact, and the next, and hundreds of others it meant a failed appeal and Joseph Wyndham III could go on writing his memoir in his minimum security cell.

  She swapped her pencil for an indelible fine point marker and wrote numbers on the sheets of paper in the long-used company script. This piece of paper, this fact: $19,929.17 from the account of prosecution witness 4,866, via unauthorized bank transfer initiated in Oregon moving funds through Federal Reserve District 12 from California to a bank domiciled in Zurich.

  One mistake, erasures, corrections, anything imperfect, and the defense’s contention that his
innocent, God-fearing, pillar-of-the-community client had been mistakenly prosecuted is bolstered by “shoddy, inconsistent” work by the firm of Sterling Fraud Investigations. There—4,866 files checked. Only 623 to go.

  She tried to whip up her flagging energy with the thought of her weekend plans, but that strategy had stopped working two days ago. Just a few more hours, she told herself.

  “You want to shut off that alarm?” Her cube neighbor’s raspy voice floated over the barrier. “I got plenty of alarms of my own to worry about.”

  It took her a minute to realize the comment was meant for her. Her tired brain had shut out the persistent tone of an urgent internal e-mail. Ignoring everything around her was a survival skill when confronted with this much to do. Her equally punchy neighbors had been playing a candy bar jingle most of the morning. Someone would rhythmically start it, and it would travel bit by bit along all the cubicles until it was done. It was not nearly so annoying as “Wassup!” and “Who let the dogs out?”, the two previous cubicle noise games.

  She silenced the e-mail alarm. It was probably from Emilio Woo, her boss. Please, she thought, any other day I’m happy to do whatever. But not today.

  It wasn’t from Emilio. She stared at the sender’s name and then took a deep breath. What did Tamara Sterling, the woman who stared impassively at her from the covers of SFI annual reports, want with her? Maybe it was a mistake.

  It wasn’t. The message was brief and to the point: Come to my office at precisely half past four. Please do not mention this appointment to anyone.

  Her computer put her on hold while her brief confirmation was sent and she allowed herself to wonder what the appointment was about. She’d officially met with Sterling only once since joining the banking specialists staff, though they’d said a casual word or two at meetings, receptions and office functions. A promotion? No, Emilio or his boss would have talked to her about that. There were no openings that she knew about. And from what Kip knew of Tamara Sterling, she didn’t need any help finding or balancing her accounts.

  Speculation wouldn’t get any work done and she needed to finish at least fifty more files before she left for the weekend. She caught her heavy sigh before it escaped from her lungs. She tried to tell herself she hadn’t turned into a desk jockey. Field investigations were a lot more interesting, but nobody got to do just the fun stuff. Tracing live digital signals, watching a magician programmer open trap doors for high-tech thieves to fall through, right into their waiting virtual hands—that was so very fun. And all too rare.

  Paperwork was killing her, though. After this, she had two trials coming up where she was the lead investigator and end of the month was the report deadline for the last three cases she’d worked on. She was up to her ears in schedules and exhibits with paralegals and lawyers breathing down her neck.

  She set her computer alarm to remind her of the appointment and turned back to the manila folders. Time for number 4,867.

  * * *

  There was no sign of Tamara Sterling’s assistant when Kip entered the outer sanctum of the CEO’s office. She waited a moment or two, then glanced at her watch. She would be late if the legendary Mercedes Houston didn’t return.

  After another minute ticked away, Kip straightened her shoulders and calmly knocked on the inner door. She glanced down at her favorite ivory blouse and deep plum suit combination, then patted her hair—it was as trim as the rest of her. Though her long black curls could be unruly, the fashionably knotted ponytail was in perfect order. She hoped the tidiness of her attire would mask her exhaustion.

  When a low voice called for her to enter, she pushed the door open.

  Tamara Sterling was already halfway across the office to greet her. “Please come in, Kip.”

  She was holding out her hand, so Kip shook it as she looked up at her. The sparkling collar pin at the top button of the crisp white shirt was an inch below eye level for her. That put Sterling at around five-ten. The short brown hair didn’t add to her height, but its straight, simple lines echoed the rest of her angular physique. In photographs it appeared dark brown, but the afternoon sunlight revealed a hint of red. The handshake was firm, palm dry, and her expression, while welcoming, was unreadable. The steady gray eyes seemed to be taking note of everything they saw. As usual, when considering her employer’s appearance, Kip knew why few people ever forgot meeting Tamara Sterling. She was rarely called attractive. Kip, if asked, would have said arresting was the better word.

  She mentally kicked herself for having her investigative instincts so engaged that she were describing her boss’s boss’s boss in her head as if she was a witness or suspect. She badly needed some down time. “What can I do for you, Ms. Sterling?”

  She gestured at a chair in front of her desk. “I need to—damn.”

  Her expression turned so grim as she answered the phone that Kip hoped she hadn’t done anything to jeopardize what she had thought would be a long career. There was simply no other company like SFI.

  “Have a seat,” she said as she covered the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry, but this will only take a moment.”

  Kip oozed down into the teak and burgundy leather guest chair and watched surreptitiously as Sterling fired short questions at the person on the other end of the line. The Mount Rushmore face from the Annual Report was in full evidence, and it was easy to believe the rumors that floated around about Sterling’s past in intelligence work. She was too memorable to work undercover, and the rumors suggested a more steely-eyed confrontational style—interrogation wasn’t hard to believe, though Kip was certain Sterling’s own tendency to refer to her past as “Geek with a Badge” was the truth.

  To avoid noticeably eavesdropping, Kip stared past Sterling to the iridescent panorama of Seattle and Puget Sound. The normally smoky blue-green waters of the Sound were washed with orange by the late afternoon sun. Across the expanse of Elliott Bay, past the point of Duwamish Head, she could see faint golden lights…probably Winslow. It was one of many spectacular views of the Seattle area and if this were Kip’s office, she’d always be staring out the window. Perhaps that was why Tamara Sterling had her back to it.

  Today’s afternoon rain shower had left the air pure and brisk. Outside the temperature was falling to the high forties. She thought with pleasure of her coming weekend at the cabin. There was no chance of snow and the mountain air rolling down out of the Olympic Mountains would work magic on her tired spirit. A crackling fire, steaming bowl of soup with a good book—heaven, or as close to it as she was ever going to get.

  Forcing her concentration inside the room, Kip’s brain began tallying up the cost of the office furnishings. She’d had a lot of practice at it. The bookcases, conference table and side chairs were all burnished teak—the real thing, not thin veneer over cheaper wood. The bookcases held books bound in leather that showed signs of actually having been read, and objets d’art that she guessed were costly, but not astronomically so. There was no antique commode cabinet worth $20,000 and the carpet had not cost $400 a square yard. The office would have been sterile and impersonal if not for the signed baseball under glass on a bookshelf, an attractive award Kip recognized from the company newsletter as the GLAAD Lesbian of Distinction award, and a framed, signed photo of Sally Ride on the credenza behind Sterling’s desk. The reception to honor the GLAAD recipients was one of the times they had officially met. She didn’t know if Sterling would even remember her from that event.

  The desk was large and also teak and it was a well-used piece of furniture. The surface of the desk sported several large stacks of paperwork, but the collection had an organized look to it. Her practiced eye read file names upside down, but she lacked the memory to be able to recall the coded numbers later. They were definitely SFI client files. Several, however, were names lightly written in pencil—possible new clients?

  She was trying to figure out if the Apple laptop was the latest version or one removed when she realized that Sterling had hung up and the ice-gray eyes wer
e intently scrutinizing her.

  “You’re probably wondering what this is about.”

  Kip nodded.

  “I have a special assignment and you’re the person for the job.”

  “Wouldn’t this normally go through channels?”

  Her lips twitched. “I don’t have to go through channels.”

  Kip felt herself color. Fortunately, her olive-tinted skin—the legacy of her father’s DNA—wouldn’t show it. “Of course not. I’m just startled that you selected me.”

  Sterling opened the file directly in front of her. “You’ve had the experience I need right now. Before you came to us you graduated top of your class from NYU and then went on to summa cum laude honors at Yale with a master’s in finance.” She glanced up from the file. “You returned to NYU for criminology specialty courses, then you underwent extensive training with the Justice Department.”

  Kip had schooled herself not to react. “The Secret Service, actually.”

  “Why?”

  “I was following in my grandfather’s footsteps.”

  “And you left after six months because…”

  “Personal reasons.”

  “And they are?”

  Kip paused, then said steadily, “Personal.”

  Sterling stared at her for a moment as if she would press further. The silence stretched but Kip knew it for what it was—people often volunteered information to put an end to a long silence.

  Kip could match her, stone for stone.

  Finally, Sterling arched one eyebrow as if to say Kip had not outstared her but she found continuing the silence pointless. “The training has stayed with you, I see.”

  She looked back at the file. “After leaving the government, you joined us as an Internal Controls Consultant. That was four—almost five—years ago, and you’ve been promoted steadily. Currently you’re an Internal Audit Specialist on a team that handles some of our more complicated clients. Your performance appraisals are exemplary and a year ago I authorized a sizeable performance bonus for you after some excellent work tracing transfers for Big Blue here in Seattle.”