A Matter of Trust (7 page)

“A while.” Michael looked away uncomfortably. “I had trouble sleeping.”

“I’m sorry,” Sloan said, meaning it. She’d had a rather hard time getting to sleep herself and had walked aimlessly through her fourth-floor loft apartment, the lights out, patches of moonlight the only illumination.

Inexplicably restless, she had endlessly replayed the evening and the drive to Michael’s in her mind. It had been a long time since she had spent so many hours with a woman when at least one of them wasn’t bent on seduction. But it hadn’t been like that with Michael. There had been something in the air—her skin had tingled with it—but it hadn’t been sex. Not the simple, pheromone-inspired attraction she was used to. It might have been something as simple as the fact that she liked this quietly self-contained woman and didn’t like to think of her alone in the night, awake and worried.

She straightened her shoulders and blew out a breath. “Well, let me get to work, and maybe I can give you a little peace of mind about this stuff at least.”

“There’s fresh coffee,” Michael offered.

“Thanks, I’ll get some in a minute,” she mumbled distractedly, already seated and rapidly typing in commands.

Michael watched her for a moment, enjoying the look of utter concentration on her face. She was also thinking how relaxed and at home Sloan looked in her faded jeans and slightly frayed at the cuffs white button-down shirt. The battered brown boots were decidedly lived in and completed the picture of someone who couldn’t have cared less about making the usual professional statement. No power suits in appearance
here
. She wondered if Sloan had any idea what an appealing image her obvious confidence projected. After a moment, she got up and filled two ceramic mugs with coffee and carried one over to her.

“Black okay?” she asked, setting the mug down near Sloan’s right hand.

“Huh?” Sloan did not look away from the monitor. Then the aroma of very good French Roast caught her attention, and she glanced up at Michael. “You aren’t supposed to be waiting on me,” she admonished with a winning grin, “but thanks.”

Michael returned the smile. “It’s the least I can do to repay you for last night.”

“You don’t need to repay me.” Sloan swiveled on the chair to face her, her eyes serious. “I enjoyed every minute.”

“I’m glad.” Michael blushed. She had no idea why that pleased her so much. Softly, she said, “I’d better let you work.”

It was some minutes before Sloan could concentrate on the diagnostics she was running. Even then she was acutely aware of Michael across the room, sketching something out on her drafting table. That undercurrent in the air that made her skin tingle was back again. She diligently determined to ignore it.

“Well, well, well,” she remarked almost to herself a few moments later.

Michael looked up from her work, noting the slight frown on Sloan’s face. “What is it?”

“Hang on.” Sloan held up one hand, indicating for Michael to be patient while she perused several windows she had open on the screen. “Last night before we left, I added a second-level intrusion blocker to the firewall you already had on your system, just to see if there was any activity. It looks as if you’ve had uninvited guests trying to slip in the back door.”

Michael put down her pencil and turned on her high drafting stool, her work momentarily forgotten. “Is it something serious?”

“Not necessarily.” Sloan was still frowning. “There are literally thousands of people around the world who are constantly attempting to hack into other people’s systems, just for the fun of it. They run programs that search for open networks, either private or corporate. When they find one, a scout program is launched that basically opens files on the system and allows the hacker to read through them. Since your entire system is networked, internally here and between your branch offices, Web traffic on port 80 of your server is a big point of vulnerability. And we can’t completely close those gateways.”

“No,” Michael confirmed. “We have so many interdivisional conferences, as well as design overlaps between the various physical plants, that we are constantly sharing files. The financial and personnel divisions are only accessible here, however, at the corporate headquarters, but to be honest, I never inquired as to exactly how they are secured.”

“Never mind. I’ll be looking at that.”

Sloan leaned back in her chair and rubbed her face with both hands. She needed another cup of coffee, but she was reluctant to ask for it. She had been a little surprised when Michael brought her the first one. She wasn’t used to anyone looking after her in that way.

“It sounds like I hired you in the nick of time,” Michael said only half facetiously. “I had a feeling our system had some serious problems.”

“The way your computer consultant set things up probably seemed practical at the time, but it makes you more vulnerable as well. What about your home systems? How many people can access the company network from their private computers?”

“Oh God, I don’t know.” Michael laughed at the absurdity of that thought. “Hundreds, probably. At first, we weren’t even networked, and then as our numbers grew and we needed to be able to reach each other, we just cobbled things together. We never had anyone overhaul the entire system. Didn’t seem to need to.”

She slid off the stool and crossed to Sloan’s working area, picking up her empty coffee cup. In the small alcove where the very expensive little French bistro coffeemaker was located, she poured them each another cup, then returned to stand by Sloan’s shoulder.

Depositing the cup, she stared at the monitor. “Can you tell who it is?”

“Given enough time, probably.” Sloan reached for the coffee, murmuring a thank you.

“I suppose it’s not the best use of your time at the moment,” Michael mused. “I’m afraid if there’s a sudden, obvious change that locks others out of the system—particularly Nicholas—it will merely raise his suspicions. I don’t want to do that until you have my critical data safe.”

Sloan nodded, understanding but not liking that the urgency for security had to be balanced against the larger issue of Michael’s personal situation. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but what do you think he’s likely to do?”

“I don’t know.” Michael edged her hip onto the corner of the broad workstation that held the array of electronic equipment and sighed.
I should, shouldn’t I? But I don’t know him very well anymore. Or maybe...I never did.

Sloan looked up at her, confused. How could a woman not have some idea what her husband would do when she left him? Could it be possible that she knew so little of him, or he of her? Suddenly, she had a very uneasy feeling. Situations like this could provoke the worst in people, and Michael was vulnerable in more ways than just financially.

“I know what you said earlier, but are you certain he won’t become”—she hesitated—“physical?”

For a moment, Michael looked uncertain, then she blushed faintly. “I’m sure. He has something of a temper, though generally when he’s angry, he simply becomes cold and remote. I believe he thinks that the worst thing he could do to me is to abandon me, shut me out.”

There was just a hint of pain and bewilderment in her voice, and Sloan had the feeling that Michael’s husband was correct. He knew exactly what to do to hurt her. For a moment, she despised him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“It’s all right.” Michael placed her hand briefly on Sloan’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

Sloan nodded and turned back to the computer. She needed to concentrate on what she had been hired to do and stop worrying about Michael Lassiter’s personal life. It wasn’t up to her to erase that shadow of unhappiness in Michael’s eyes or to ease the sadness that was so often present in her voice.

“Let me work on this a while,” she said, “and maybe I can give you some kind of answer to this problem at least.”

Michael silently returned to her drafting table, aware that she had been dismissed. She was a little surprised that it hurt. When Sloan failed to look up again, she forced her mind back to business. They did not speak again except to say goodbye.

*

After Sloan left, Michael sorted file folders and downloaded the work she intended to finish at home onto disks. Tucking these into her briefcase, she closed the office door behind her and paused, surprised to find Angela still at her desk.

“What are you doing here this late?”

Angela lifted her head. “Foster sent in the summary for the telecommunications project late yesterday afternoon. I knew that you’d want the portfolio to go out to Marketing first thing on Monday, so I thought I’d get started on it. I’m collating the information now. It should be ready to print soon.”

“You know I don’t expect you to work on Saturday afternoons unless it’s an absolute emergency,” Michael admonished fondly. She glanced at her watch. “And it’s officially afternoon now. I appreciate it, and you’re right—I will need it on Monday. But it can wait until you come in Monday morning.”

“Say no more—I’m on my way,” Angela said with a grateful smile. She had a date that night and a million things to do before Karen picked her up. She tilted her head and studied Michael carefully. Her boss looked weary and, strangely, sad. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course.” Never comfortable discussing herself, Michael stiffened slightly. Even though Angela had been her executive assistant for three years and knew her about as well as anyone, they were not friends. She trusted Angela, but she did not confide in her. “I’m fine.”

Angela accepted the automatic response, knowing there was no point in questioning Michael further. Besides, she was curious about something else. “By the way, I’ve noticed you’ve got a new computer consultant. Is Mayfield leaving?”

Michael hesitated, wishing she could explain. She had confidence in Angela’s discretion, but it didn’t seem fair to burden her with knowledge that she would have to conceal. Angela rarely worked directly with Nicholas, but they certainly came into contact frequently enough that it could be uncomfortable for her.

“No, it’s not about Mayfield,” Michael said casually, referring to the systems administrator they employed to handle their ordinary computer issues. “Sloan is just doing some personal work for me.”

“That’s definitely her strength.” Angela snorted slightly. “Up close and personal kind of work.”

Michael looked at her assistant in slight confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Angela shook her head. Sometimes Michael could be so naïve. “J. T. Sloan is a very smooth operator,” she remarked, not bothering to hide her bitterness. “She tends to mix business with pleasure, if you know what I mean, and women are her specialty. Although I guess that’s not likely to be an issue with you.”

For some reason, Michael blushed. She had surmised Sloan was a lesbian, but she hadn’t given it any thought the previous night. Perhaps she had been hasty in accepting her invitation to the Cabaret, although she seriously doubted that J. T. Sloan would take any notice of
her
in that way. It had seemed harmless enough and had turned out to be one of the most enjoyable evenings she could remember in a long time.

“I hardly think that Ms. Sloan would have any interest in me in that regard,” she said dismissively.

Angela stared incredulously at her, wondering if it was possible that Michael really did
not
know how attractive she was. In addition to being stunningly beautiful, she was intelligent, accomplished, and kind. Definitely a rare combination for a successful businessperson. Angela had struggled with her own attraction to Michael for months. She knew a romantic relationship was impossible, not only because her charismatic employer was married but also because Michael Lassiter seemed to have no clue as to the possible interest that others might have in her. Angela had seen any number of men, and several women, too, make fruitless attempts to entice her into an office dalliance. Michael simply didn’t recognize the overtures. She was always too preoccupied with whatever idea consumed her at the moment, literally lost in her own world.

“With Sloan, any woman is a possibility. Just don’t take anything she says or does seriously, and you’ll be fine,” she advised, getting up to gather her things.

“Thanks,” Michael said dryly. “I’ll remember that.”

Resolutely, she waved goodbye to Angela and headed for the elevators, pushing from her mind the lingering sound of Sloan’s voice and the fleeting images of that remarkable profile outlined in moonlight. As she did so often, and so unconsciously after these many years, she turned her thoughts to her latest project. Despite her ruthless determination not to focus on herself, she was vaguely aware that the hollow sound of her footsteps echoing in the deserted hallway matched the ever-deepening emptiness in her life.

“I need you to dig out some background for me,” Sloan said as she inched her way through the early-afternoon traffic on the cross-town expressway.

“Oh yeah? Who are we investigating?” Jason asked on the other end of the phone.

“I want to know what you can find on Michael Lassiter and Nicholas Burke—family and background checks.”

“I haven’t turned up anything with the usual corporate search so far. You want personal info, too?” Jason inquired, surprised by her request.

It wasn’t typical, particularly with private-sector assignments. But then, despite Sloan’s reputation as a playgirl, it wasn’t typical for her to date a client either, at least not before the account was completed. She had caught him unawares showing up at the Cabaret with Michael. Of course, there was always the chance that he’d been wrong about the way Sloan had looked at the new client the night before, and she wasn’t really taken with her after all.