Deadly Valentine Read online

  “Taylor?”

  “Come on in, Mark,” she said.

  The cheerfully brilliant young designer/programmer stepped into her office. That alone was an oddity; Mark Carstairs rarely came out of his large office in the opposite corner of the building. He spent his days there making J.W.’s ideas work, and he was a genius at it.

  He also wasn’t much for small talk.

  “I don’t mean to complain, but that new guy…” he began.

  She just couldn’t seem to get Kincaid out of her way today. “I know he’s not up to speed yet—”

  “It’s not that. I mean, I know distribution’s important, but it’s not on my screen, you know?”

  “Then what? Besides his general weirdness?”

  Mark, who belied the stereotypes, being a fit, buff and sexy jock type who ran marathons for fun, shook his head.

  “He’s…always poking around. Interrupting. I can’t concentrate when I’m wondering if he’s going to butt in at any second.”

  She frowned. “He’s actually coming into your space?” If there was a place at WhitSys more sacrosanct than Mark’s domain, she didn’t know what it was. J.W. had always said he’d rather people interrupted him than Mark, and everyone here knew it. Especially now, when they were in the midst of final testing of Watchdog, their new, cutting-edge network security system. Mark was spending most of his days now trying to hack into a system protected by Watchdog, and so far the results had been promisingly negative.

  “He sticks his nose in every day. Sometimes more than once.”

  “Why?”

  “Dunno. Maybe he’s just trying to be friendly, but he freaks me out. He’s always looking around, poking into stuff while he’s talking.”

  “Talking about what?”

  “Same stuff he gets on to everybody. If I like working here. Don’t they work me too hard, pay me too little. That kind of stuff.”

  Taylor blinked. “Do we?”

  “What?”

  “Work you too hard and pay you too little.”

  Mark laughed. “Are you kidding? With such cool toys to play with, it’s hardly work at all.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” she promised.

  And she would, although the thought made her groan inwardly. But Mark was a critical—perhaps the most critical—cog in the workings of WhitSys. He deserved to have his time and space respected. And it was her job to be sure that happened.

  After he’d gone back to his domain, Taylor waited until an opportunity arose, when Kincaid was away from his cubicle. It didn’t take long; he soon wandered off toward the elevator, perhaps to go get one of his fluffy coffee drinks. She watched him go, his hands stuffed in the pockets of those baggy pants, his lime green and pink shirt flapping around him.

  She left her own office then, and made a circuit of the outer offices, stopping to chat with everyone who wasn’t on the phone. She did this periodically anyway, as part of her campaign to keep everyone happy, so it shouldn’t raise any eyebrows. Although she began to wish she’d held off until tomorrow, given the number of times people brought up or showed off flowers, candy and sappy Valentine cards. Even a couple of the guys had cards on their desks.

  But during each chat, she worked the conversation around to the new guy. And got variations on the same theme each time. Kincaid was nosy. Or at least, had been; it seemed he had tapered off, perhaps sensing the lack of welcome.

  Maybe he was just completely inept, socially, she thought. She recalled the first week he’d been here, a day when she’d given him a ride home. She’d been startled when he asked, and more so when he explained that he lived in the same general direction she did. How had he known that? Once they were in her car, she’d asked and he’d answered rather vaguely that someone had mentioned where she lived. And that was about the last question she’d asked, because the rest of the ride was filled with his questions about her.

  Some had been the routine kind people asked to find out about somebody new, but some had been nosy and personal to the point of inappropriateness. What did it matter to him whether she owned her car or house, or how many hours a week she put in? By the time she’d dropped him off—at one of those coffee shops he said was near his apartment—she was thoroughly irritated, and wondering what on earth J.W. had been thinking when he hired the guy.

  Now she knew.

  She hoped those who said he’d backed off a bit were right. Maybe he was just a slow learner.

  When she had worked her way back to her office, Kincaid was back at his desk, no fluffy drink in sight. She told herself to knock it off. Because she didn’t drink the stuff didn’t give her the right to snipe at those who did.

  “Give it a rest, Burke,” she muttered under her breath, wondering where this unlovely mood had come from and wishing it would go back.

  She pulled the door closed behind her, needing the privacy as she pondered what approach to take. And rather sourly wondering if it would do any good. Perhaps being related to the boss made Kincaid feel like he didn’t have to produce, didn’t have to do anything. Except snoop into everybody’s business.

  Don’t they work you too hard…

  Or try to foment discontent, she thought.

  She wondered if J.W. knew his hapless nephew seemed to be looking for kindred souls, malcontents who wanted to complain about their work. Or perhaps about having to work at all. Had her generous boss been sucked by family ties into hiring a slacking whiner who could turn into a major problem for them?

  She was frowning again, she realized as she walked toward her desk. She had better get out of this mood before the meeting. She had to greet all the visitors with the deference due potentially large customers, any one of whom could make a sizeable difference to their bottom line this year. She would—

  Her thought ended abruptly when she saw the large, pink envelope lying atop her desk calendar. Her first name marched across it in handwriting she didn’t recognize, bold, sharp lines with a decidedly energetic tilt.

  Obviously a Valentine’s Day card.

  Almost warily she picked up the envelope. She was glad she’d shut her office door this time. She tugged the flap open, and pulled out the card inside. She’d meant to immediately open it and find out who had left it, but the card itself startled her. Because it wasn’t a Valentine’s Day card.

  It was—in a clever, thankfully clean, and rather Dr. Seuss-like limerick—an Un-Valentine.

  She found herself smiling.

  Exactly, she thought as she read the verse again, the rhymed bemoaning of exactly what she’d told Carrie.

  “Okay, points for that, whoever you are,” she said aloud, and opened the card in a considerably brighter mood. And sat for a moment, staring in shock at the inscription in the same bold hand.

  Sorry. No more elf. A. Kincaid.

  She flipped the card closed, read the verse that so matched her sentiments again. Opened it, read the name again, still a bit in shock. How had he known? How had read her so accurately? It wasn’t like she walked around advertising her dislike of the day. In fact, except for Carrie, she hadn’t mentioned it at all this year, and she doubted Carrie would have passed that on to the new guy she clearly thought too geeky for her ubercool self.

  Carrie. Who had been in her office just yesterday, while Taylor rattled on about her feelings about Valentine’s Day. Had he somehow overheard?

  She frowned. True, his cubicle was right outside, but her door had been closed. The only way he could have heard was to loiter right outside, probably with an ear pressed to the door. Not something that would go unnoticed.

  “Oh, please,” she muttered aloud in the safety of her office. Now she was suspecting him of skulking outside closed doors with his ear pressed to the crack? Eavesdropping? Spying?

  She nearly laughed at herself. She must be more tired even than she thought. She obviously wasn’t thinking clearly. The guy might make her nervous, but he was probably nothing more than what he appeared to be, a family leech who felt entitled and
was taking advantage.

  Maybe the card was his way of trying to ingratiate himself with her, since she had the boss’s ear. Although as a relative, wouldn’t he, as well? And maybe that was what all the nosiness was about; he was looking for ways to curry favor without having to actually work.

  She shook her head sharply. She was spending way too much time on this, and him. Resolutely she put the card back in the envelope and turned to toss it into her wastebasket. At the last second her hand veered and she dropped it on the credenza behind her instead; it was a clever card, expressed her sentiments nicely, and it wasn’t the card’s fault who had bought it.

  And, Taylor told herself, just because he made her nervous, and she didn’t like the way he had gotten his job or the way he was doing it, didn’t make Angus Kincaid some kind of sneaky, dangerous character. That settled, she went back to work.

  But she kept her door closed.

  And tried not to wear herself out wondering if she should have told her boss about seeing what looked like that list on his nephew’s desk.

  Chapter 4

  T aylor finished up the final prep for the meeting, taking care to add on J.W.’s copy of his agenda her private notes for him. Her research had netted some useful information about the attendees, including that Mr. Perez from Perez-Benchley was an avid golfer and where he usually played; that Ms. Clarkson from Quick Solutions had been an accomplished equestrienne in her teens, trying out for and nearly making the Olympic team; and that Martek’s Mr. Martin was a political junkie and not to let him get started or he’d hijack the meeting with his opinions. The list went on with pertinent facts on all the attendees.

  Once she’d delivered it to her boss, she headed to the ladies’ room to freshen up. She wasn’t obsessive about her appearance, but neither did she want to greet their guests with her mascara flaking or spinach from her lunch salad in her teeth. She ran fingers through the short, fringed hair that required little else thanks to the skills of her longtime stylist. That was the main reason she kept it short despite the inevitable pixie, elf and other comparisons. That and the fact that her hair was very thick and longer styles looked huge and oddly disproportionate on her small frame. One last check in the mirror and she pronounced herself ready.

  On her way back she stopped by the sales office, where they were bustling around getting their own presentations ready. Video, PowerPoint and a couple of old-fashioned charts on easels—Mr. Martin preferred them, she’d learned—they covered all the bases, and would do their usual stellar job, she was sure. Then she checked the table at the back of the meeting room, where Charlotte, from the café downstairs, was setting up coffee and snacks ranging from small sandwiches to tempting pastries.

  “Looks great,” she commented.

  “Thanks, Taylor. And thanks again for having us in for this.”

  “We like buying local, and it doesn’t get much more local than you,” Taylor said with a grin.

  Within the hour, Taylor was greeting and escorting and generally playing welcoming hostess. She didn’t mind, saw it as part of her job to give the first impression of WhitSys. When everyone was settled and J.W. gave her the nod, she retreated back to her office, where she would stay until the meeting was over. And get a start on tomorrow’s work, she thought.

  The meeting went on, and on, until she thought she could just about take tomorrow off with what she’d accomplished. J.W. had already told her to. Usually after a late night she showed up at her regular time anyway, but this time, maybe she would just do exactly that. Actually sleep in, maybe, and get a few things done at home. She could—

  The sounds from the meeting room changed, and she heard movement. She instinctively glanced at the clock. After a moment, her boss opened the door from his office to hers. She stood up.

  “How did it go?”

  “Well,” he said, sounding pleased, “Matt and Drew did a great job, as usual. You should have seen Jorge’s face when the video got to how the side app could be used to track and analyze your golf scores.”

  Taylor grinned. “I knew that might come in handy.”

  “It did. I think it made the deal for Perez-Benchley.” He handed her the papers in his hand, and she saw that they were indeed a sales contract. “The others are taking the data back to their bosses, but two have made verbal commitments right now.”

  “It did go well,” Taylor exclaimed.

  “And Martek still wants to hire you away.”

  “Not a chance,” she said firmly.

  Whitney smiled, but sounded serious when he added, “They’re bigger, he could probably pay you more.”

  “You pay me just fine. And money isn’t everything. I’m not going anywhere unless you throw me out.”

  “Not a chance,” he echoed, making her smile in turn. “But I do need a favor. I hate to ask, it’s already so late, but—”

  “Don’t worry. What is it?”

  He nodded at the papers she now held. “There are a couple of fairly minor changes, mostly wording and dates, that need to be inserted before the final signing. Could you—”

  “Consider it done. You want them on your desk?”

  “A copy, yes, for the contracts office, but go ahead and email them to Perez-Benchley.”

  “It’ll be done tonight.”

  “You’re a treasure, pixie. And you take tomorrow off. I mean it, you’ve more than earned it. I’ll muddle through without you somehow.”

  She smiled anew. “I just might,” she promised. “But I’ll definitely take you up on coming in late.”

  “You do that. You’ve more than earned it, and you so rarely take time away. I’m the one who should be lecturing you about working too much and too hard.”

  When she finally stepped out of her office an hour and a half later, the rest of the place was silent, the lights dimmed. Not even Mark, who often lost track of time when he was deep into a project and had to be reminded it was time to leave, was there.

  And thankfully, the cubicle opposite her office door was long empty. She thought of the card she’d tucked into a side pocket of her purse. It was clever, she thought. And made her wonder anew if there was more to Kincaid than met the eye. Not that it mattered, as long as his intrusiveness with other employees had stopped. She would have had to deal with that, eventually. As for his lack of work, well, J.W. would only tolerate so much of that. Even for a relative.

  At least, she hoped that was the case. She couldn’t believe he’d really—

  A tall shadow swept over her. Her heart jumped, pulse picking up as a man seemed to loom up out of nowhere.

  “Working late again, Taylor?”

  She took in a deep breath as Henry, the head of the night janitorial staff, turned to face her. She nearly laughed inwardly at herself; she’d never met a sweeter, less threatening man.

  “So it seems, Henry. How are you? And how’s that adorable granddaughter of yours? Any new pictures?”

  The question would guarantee she’d be even later getting out of here—the man always had new pictures—but he was so proud of the newest addition to his large family she couldn’t resist. She dutifully looked at the new display on the music player he used to get through the quiet nights. Taylor wasn’t one who thought all babies were cute by definition, but this one was.

  “Oh, you’re going to have your hands full when she grows up,” she said when the new batch had rotated through the slide show.

  “Not sure we’re going to allow that,” Henry said with a grin as he slipped the device back into his pocket. “Now, when are you going to get yourself a good man and start a family of your own?”

  Taylor laughed. It was a reflex, covering her wry thought that the likelihood of that happening was next to nil.

  “You should be out with an adoring man tonight, not working late. It’s Valentine’s Day, girl.”

  “I’m running a little short on adoring men these days,” she admitted glumly.

  “One of these days,” Henry said, “you’re going to
find one who isn’t afraid of the brains behind that pretty face of yours.”

  “If you come across him, let me know,” Taylor said, keeping it light to cover her surprise at the old man’s perceptiveness. She knew she wasn’t unattractive, but her appearance seemed to make people surprised to find out she was also smart.

  As she waited for the elevator to the underground parking structure, Taylor found herself feeling wryly—or perhaps ruefully—glad she was living now and not in the age when a woman who hadn’t done what Henry suggested—found a man and started her family—at thirty would have been considered an old maid. A spinster. Doomed to a life alone, obviously because of some huge flaw in her that made her unwantable, unlovable—

  The faint ding and the doors sliding open stopped her thoughts. She stepped into the waiting elevator.

  “Gee, no floor labeled ‘self-pity,’” she chided herself aloud as she hit the button with the G beside it.

  Her mood had to be brought on by Valentine’s Day, she thought as she rode down the seven levels. It was messing her up. She didn’t normally spend much time thinking about such things. Her life was full with work, family and friends, and she told herself that should be enough. Besides, her forays into serious dating nearly always ended in failure. It was more often because of her dedication to her job than, as Henry had said, that men were afraid of her brains.

  She smiled as the words echoed in her mind. And she had to admit there was some truth to them, just as she had to hope it wasn’t always the truth, because if it was she truly was doomed to a life alone, because she wasn’t about to change herself, hide who she was—

  The elevator chimed the announcement that they’d arrived at the subterranean garage. Just as well, she thought; she was getting far too esoteric for this late in the day.

  She fished her keys out of her bag as the doors slid open. There were still a few cars scattered about, others who were working late, or some, she suspected, who simply stored vehicles here, since they rarely seemed to move. She heard a couple of people talking rather urgently off to the left, near her parking spot, then heard footsteps approaching from the other direction, heading toward the elevator she had just vacated. She recognized the attorney who worked for the firm on the floor above them, clearly in a hurry. She didn’t pause to chat, just waved, and Taylor waved back at the woman who worked even more hours than she did.