help. I don’t have access to the kind of equipment necessary to bypass Dominic’s state-of-the-art security system, and it’s not something I can buy.”
Matt really didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “But I do have access?”
She made an of course sound. “Don’t make me quote questionably obtained intel reports about the recent rescue of an American businesswoman who was being held hostage in South America. The only way the military and the Justice Department could have gotten her out was if they’d used the exact kind of jamming equipment that we need.”
He scowled at her. “And you think the Justice Department just leaves this equipment unsecured so anyone can use it?”
“No. But I think you can get it if it becomes necessary. And guess what? That little girl in the picture makes it necessary.”
Matt leaned in. “Yet another example of totally faulty reasoning. Or maybe it’s just a lie.”
She groaned. “I wish you’d stop accusing me of lying.”
“Sorry.” An apology Matt definitely didn’t mean, and his tone conveyed that. “It’s just that I get a little testy when someone breaks into my house, holds a tranquilizer gun on me and then demands that I steal classified equipment, break ranks and join in a halfassed, stupid plan that would almost certainly get both of us killed.”
“It’s not a half-assed, stupid plan.” But then she paused, shrugged. “Okay, maybe it does have some half-assed, stupid elements to it, but I’m doing the best I can with what I have. And what I have is you, Matt Christensen. You’re a highly trained federal agent. You can get us into that estate.”
In most cases, that would be true.
But not this time.
Judging from the intel reports he’d read, Dominic Cordova’s estate was a fortress. With reason. The man had enraged at least a dozen people, criminals, who killed as easily as they breathed. And that kind of situation made a person paranoid about security.
“Why didn’t you just ask the authorities to check out Dominic’s place, huh?” Matt asked. “If the evidence is there, they could find it—legally.”
“First of all, the authorities wouldn’t believe me. And if by some miracle they did, they wouldn’t risk offending their new ally by requesting the necessary documents to do a search of his estate. Plus, I’m about ninety-nine percent sure there’s a leak in communications. I think Dominic may have an insider in the Justice Department, and this person might be feeding him official information.”
Interesting. Matt hadn’t heard that particular accusation. Perhaps because she’d just made it up. He certainly wasn’t about to assume it was true. “Is that a guess, or do you actually have proof?”
“Proof. I did a test a few days ago and phoned in some bogus info to a person I thought I could trust in the Justice Department. Then, I timed it. In less than an hour, Dominic received a call on his secure line at his estate. The caller spoke through a computer voice scrambler so I have no idea who he or she is, but the person relayed the bogus info verbatim to Dominic.”
Matt considered all of that and decided it could mean nothing. It did, however, warrant some further investigating. “Do I dare ask how you gained access to Dominic’s secure phone line?”
“No.” She had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “That’s not a good question to ask.”
If this entire conversation hadn’t been so frustrating, Matt would have smiled. But he doubted he’d be doing much smiling tonight. “How’d you ever hook up with Dominic Cordova in the first place?”
She angled her head and stared at him. “Is this small talk?”
“In a way.” Matt checked his watch. “I’m waiting on my friend to call back. If he doesn’t within the next ten minutes, I’m phoning the cops. I figure this is as good a way as any to pass the time.”
For a moment Matt didn’t think she’d answer. Strange, since she’d volunteered everything else. But then, he’d probably riled her with that threat to call the cops. Which wasn’t exactly a threat. He would call them.
As soon as Ronald verified that she was lying.
“Dominic,” she mumbled, saying his name as if it were a persistent infection. She thumped a tiny Santa figure dangling from the Christmas plant and sent the Santa swaying. “He sought me out, attending the same parties, the same social functions. He pursued me. At the time, I didn’t realize it was a setup, that he wasn’t interested in me nearly as much as my multimillion-dollar trust fund.”
“He’s that good an actor?”
Her sigh was laced with regret. “He’s that good, and I can usually spot a phony. My parents might have been wealthy, but they weren’t born that way. They were streetwise, and before they died they were always warning me about guys like Dominic.”
“But you missed the signs with him,” he pointed out.
“Obviously.”
She quickly looked away after her gaze landed on his bare chest, making him wish he’d taken the time to rebutton his shirt after he’d realized he had an intruder in the house. This was not good. Even with all the unreasonable demands, Cass Harrison was still a woman.
An attractive woman who had a unique way of reminding him that he was a man.
“I missed the signs because I was thinking with the wrong part of my body,” she explained. “It took me seven weeks to realize that Dominic wanted to use my money and business contacts to carry out illegal activities.”
Matt didn’t doubt that part, but he also believed that Cass had loved getting involved with a dangerous man. It was what bored socialites like her did. And he should know. Vanessa had done the same thing to him.
She’d loved his job. The danger of it. The excitement. It’d gotten her hot. But that heat had fizzled out very quickly when she grew bored with him and his lack of massive amounts of money.
That was something he had to accept. And it was a realization that still caused Matt to curse himself for ever getting involved with a blue-blood heiress in the first place. At least it was a lesson learned.
And one he wouldn’t repeat.
Ever.
Even if the heiress across from him was causing him to have a few lustful thoughts.
Cass pulled in a hard breath and stood. “You’re not going to help me, are you?”
“No.”
She slipped her hands into the back pockets of her well-worn jeans. It was a little maneuver that had her navy blue sweater tightening across her breasts and hitching up to expose an inch or two of her stomach. No bra. And how did he know that? Because the sides of her jacket were far enough apart that he could see the outline of her erect nipples.
Oh, man.
Why didn’t he just hit himself in the head? He shouldn’t be looking at her. She was
