Chapter Forty-Six

Brad Parsons

If Brittney hadn't screwed up everything by hiring a private investigator to follow her husband, none of this would have happened. He would have retrieved Jennifer's computer on Sunday as planned, and any suspicions about him would have died.

Brad paced his townhouse, craving a Scotch, but knowing that alcohol would muddle his mind. He needed a clear plan.

It was Brad's idea to set Logan up, but he'd had a plan and Brittney jumped the gun. Why had he even told her about his idea in the first place?

Because you had just had the best sex of your life in Logan Monroe's bed with Logan Monroe's wife and you wanted her all to yourself.

He should have known better. Brittney was beautiful and charming and fun and adventurous, but she wasn't smart. She'd loved the idea, and Brad thought he'd convinced her to wait until he set things in motion. He hadn't told her that Jennifer White may have uncovered his processing fee scam; he'd wanted to fix the situation first.

But Brittney went and hired a private investigator without thinking it through. When she told him Sunday night, Brad realized it was Brittney's PI who had screwed up his plans.

Britt, listen to me. Fire the PI. Get rid of her. We need to hire a prostitute to set him up. Someone we pay, and then we'll know when and where they'll be, and we can bring in a PI to take pictures. This is a process, baby, a process.

She'd sulked, but he coddled her—even though he was worried about Jennifer White and her damn computer.

And then Brittney fucked everything up again.

You told me to hire a prostitute!

I said we needed a plan and then we'd hire someone. Shit, Brittney!

She'd started crying and he couldn't stand the tears.

Now Jennifer was in the wind with the evidence of his crime, and Brittney was going to get nothing but three million from Logan in the divorce. Unless Logan learned that Brad and Brittney had been together. Where was her patience? He had patience. He'd been waiting for three years while the woman he loved beyond all measure was married to another man. He'd been embezzling money for more than a year because he was patient.

But Brittney thought she was a whole lot smarter than she actually was, and now Brad was paying for it.

Worse, Britt was going home to Logan. She'd rolled out of Brad's bed at eight to roll into her husband's.

Which really made him mad, on multiple levels. Brittney was his, had always been his. When Logan Monroe asked her out, she was still Brad's. They had planned for her to seduce him so that Brad could find his weak spot. But Brad didn't expect her to marry the man.

Don't you see? We'll have half the money!

No, they wouldn't, because she'd signed a ridiculous prenup. But Brittney convinced him that she loved Brad alone, and it would only be a year or two.

It had been three. Still, Brad hadn't really complained. Logan traveled a lot on business and Brad stayed at the house. Brittney paid for all his luxuries, they went out to dinner (not where anyone would see them), to the theater, and sometimes even went away for the weekend to New York when Brittney told Logan she was visiting her mom.

Brad liked that Brittney spent Logan's money on him.

Even now, when she screwed up everything, he loved her. He couldn't get enough of her. When he took her to bed this afternoon—after nearly throwing her off the balcony listening to her sob story about how her PI couldn't get photos of Logan and a woman—he reminded himself that they were still screwing behind Monroe's back.

He poured himself one finger of Scotch. Just one, because he had to figure out how he was going to find Jennifer, destroy the evidence, and frame her for the theft. Because now that he'd destroyed the office and Tucker had brought in some computer expert, the theft was going to be discovered. If they accused him, he would deny it. They'd never be able to prove it because they'd never find the money. He'd left no fingerprints in cyberspace. But he didn't have enough to just leave—they needed a large chunk from Monroe, and the three million that Brittney would get in a divorce now wouldn't last very long, plus it would take months to even get that money.

Brad loved his townhouse in Scottsdale, near the shopping district of Desert Ridge, where he had a view of McDowell Mountain from the expansive balcony off his bedroom. The narrow, contemporary four-story home had cost him a small fortune, but it was worth it. He walked up to the balcony because he needed fresh air, needed to think.

What he really needed was Monroe's money. It wasn't fair that he had so much and Brad had to fight and scrape for scraps that men like Logan Monroe shared with their benevolent bonuses.

Bullshit.

At least he knew Brittney preferred his bed to her husband's.

Brad recognized that he'd become obsessed about Brittney and Monroe's love life. He'd told Brittney to record herself having sex with Monroe. She made three different recordings, each one better than the last as she started acting up for the camera. The last time, she'd set up her phone to record her on top, so Brad could watch her face and her breasts bounce with each thrust. When she orgasmed, she looked right at the camera and blew him a kiss. Right with Monroe underneath her and the nerd didn't even know what she was doing.

That video always gave Brad a hard-on. Thinking about it gave him a hard-on, which went limp when he thought about how Brittney had put their entire plan in jeopardy.

Brad hated Monroe and wanted everything he had. His wife. His house. His bank accounts. He had his wife, he'd get his house—and if Brittney didn't fuck up the one thing he'd told her to do when she got home, he'd have Monroe's money.

He just had to wait for her to call.

His phone rang as he was about to pour his second Scotch. He answered, surprised that Brittney had actually done what he'd told her so quickly.

It wasn't Brittney.

"Brad?" the female voice said, quiet and nervous.

He looked at the caller ID. "Tammy?"

"Hi. Um, I'm at your gate. Can I come in?"

Tammy was Gavin O'Keefe's temporary assistant. Gavin's regular assistant, Gwen, was a ball-breaker and on maternity leave. Tammy had been there for the last two months. She was young, sweet, efficient, and cute. Not hot, but attractive with the innocent girl-next-door vibe. She had a crush on Brad. He'd encouraged it because he needed information from O'Keefe's office, and Tammy got it for him. He'd nearly slept with her once, but stopped himself, realizing that when he didn't want to see her again, she might turn vindictive and tell Gavin what he'd been asking her to do.

His restraint had earned him far more than he expected—Tammy thought he was a "total gentleman" and was now half in love with him. He'd made up an excuse, that he couldn't get involved with someone in the office, but when Gwen returned, then maybe they could go out.

He never planned to, but he definitely liked the benefit of information. Without Tammy, he would never have known that Jennifer had been prying into his business.

That Tammy had shown up here at his townhouse was very worrisome.

"Of course," he said automatically. "I'll release the gate. I'm in the middle of the second row, number twenty-four."

He walked downstairs, typed the code to open the complex gate, and waited for Tammy to drive up in her MINI Cooper. She walked up his short walkway with a nervous smile. "I'm so sorry to come here without calling first, but I didn't know what to do, and after everything that happened last night—it's just awful."

He motioned her inside.

The entry level had an office perfectly set up for a work-from-home arrangement, but he led Tammy up the stairs to the main living level—living room, dining, kitchen. The place was large and comfortable and all his.

"This is beautiful," she said, taking in his contemporary decor, her mouth slightly open.

He didn't want small talk, but needed to be polite. She had information for him, and information was power.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked.

"No, no, thank you," she said, flustered again. "I shouldn't have come, but..."

Her voice trailed and he said, "Tell me what's wrong. I talked to Ron this morning, he was justifiably upset, but our data is archived and the IT department will fix it. Though I heard Jennifer is still AWOL."

"I'm so glad you talked to Mr. Tucker." She smiled, as if his comment answered a question for her.

He hadn't actually spoken to Ron. Ron had sent out an email stating that each staff member would be interviewed by detectives and to cooperate, and no one needed to come into the office except for the IT department. Brad had talked to a Detective Capelle, told him what time he had left (5:20 p.m.) and where he'd gone (home) and who he was with (no one—he was working from home on a project). No way they could confirm any of it either way, he figured.

Brad hadn't been concerned about all that—until now. Until Tammy walked into his townhouse, face etched with worry.

"Gwen is coming back part-time starting tomorrow—can you believe it?"

"Gavin has always depended on her." Damn. Brad had hoped he'd be long gone before that battle-ax returned.

"Mr. Tucker said I still have my job because she's part-time for a few months."

"Good."

He wanted to scream at her. Why the fuck are you here, Tammy?

Instead of yelling, he said with fake concern, "What's troubling you?" He was surprised his voice was so calm. He would have reached out and caressed her shoulder in affection if he didn't fear he would squeeze too hard.

"I think..." she began, then straightened her spine. "I think that Jennifer White is trying to get you fired."

He didn't say a word.

Tammy continued. "Mr. Tucker was very concerned about her when she called in sick, and I overheard him talking to Mr. O'Keefe about data that she had downloaded without permission. He made it sound like a...acrime." She whispered the word.

"If it's proprietary data, it is a crime," he said.

"He brought in a private investigator, Jack Angelhart—I spoke to Mr. Angelhart today. He talked to all the staff."

He didn't talk to me.But Brad nodded. "And?"

"And some of his questions—he made it sound like Jennifer was investigating someone in the office. Remember when you told me last month that Jennifer was prickly and didn't like you for no reason?"

He nodded. Of course he remembered. He was working to set up his innocence in case Jennifer figured out what he'd done before he could clean it up.

"Well, Jennifer called and talked to Mr. Tucker and Mr. O'Keefe after hours tonight on a conference call. I was there only because I was waiting for my car to be done from the shop down the street. I didn't hear anything, but then the police came in and Mr. Tucker said something—I didn't hear all of it—but he mentioned your name, and it sounded like Jennifer had been talking about you. And that's not right."

That. Bitch.

"I will straighten it out," he said.

"Please, don't say I said anything," Tammy said. "I just think you should know."

"Thank you. Ron and I have worked together for years, since we helped start Desert West. We'll figure out what's going on."

He walked her back downstairs and watched her leave. He could tell that she wanted to stay, and any other night he might have wined and dined her, seen how far he could take it. He would have liked to have had sex with her at least once—she was young and inexperienced, but that could be a turn-on.

But definitely not tonight.

He stared at his phone. Brittney had better not fuck this up because Brad was going to have to leave town sooner rather than later.

And he needed Logan's money to do it.