This time, her flinch was barely palpable. He reminded himself to keep his hand on the fabric of her dress as much as he could . . . all evening.
His eyes traveled to the sway of her firm hips. The thick material of her gown kept him from seeing what she wore underneath.
Attraction in this game would be lethal, not to mention useless. The woman hated him, and rightly so.
He was a bastard.
The worst kind.
Yet he plowed forward, his goal in mind.
The line released its hold on them, and they spilled into the hall of the famous restaurant. Hunter gave their names to the attendant and kept hold of his charge.
“I’m not here with you,” she hissed through the crush of people.
He grinned. “You are now.”
Escaping Hunter Blackwell was akin to running from rain during a hurricane. It didn’t matter where she went, what she said . . . he was always there.
She accepted sparkling water and lime, sipped the beverage, and allowed Mr. Blackwell to introduce her for over an hour before she couldn’t stomach any more.
She excused herself to the ladies’ room, knew he was close behind, but detoured when she rounded the corner through a staff door. After pleading with an attractive young waiter, he helped her back into the main dining hall through another door, and she slid out of the venue.
Before long she was tucked back inside the limousine on her way back home.
The moment she arrived at her doorstep, she set her alarms, shut off all the downstairs lights, and retreated to her office.
Hunter Blackwell’s cell phone information was in his file. Instead of making him chase her, which she innately knew he would, she drafted a text before he could knock on her door.
Contracts require time to construct. I will contact you in the morning.
Within two minutes, his brief reply read, Until then.
It took some time, but she managed to find the offshore account Blackwell told her about.
How stupid of Alonzo to set up passwords associated with his birthday. Everyone knew not to do that.
Then again, the man was dead . . . his stupidity eventually killed him.
Over five million euros infused the account.
Worse, someone was depositing and removing money from the account one thousand at a time.
Mr. Alonzo Picano and Mrs. Gabriella Picano . . . the account held a name she briefly claimed.
She wanted nothing to do with the blood money but knew sending it to a charity, any charity, might suggest she was scared and running. Maybe even prove that she was using the account and evading taxes in her own country.
Like every time she backed out of an online account, Gabi shifted the sequence of numbers and changed the passwords. She moved to a second computer and started an international search of her name. And that of Gabriella Picano.
A name she never claimed publicly.
She typed slowly, feeling her hands shake as she reached the O in Picano, and paused.
A cold sweat started at the nape of her neck and down the back of her evening gown . . . a gown she’d yet to change, even hours after the fundraiser.
When she hit enter, she released a long-suffering breath.
He’s dead, Gabi, she told herself. He can’t hurt you now.
Chapter Five
She was screwed. Before falling into a fitful sleep, she’d found a second account under Gabi Picano, one smack in the thick of Colombia. This one had a steady stream of money coming and going. The infusion of funds correlated with the withdrawals of the larger offshore account, which led her to believe that they were tied. Whoever was playing with one account was playing with the other.
Gabi woke with the intention of dragging Samantha into her troubles, only to find a message on her cell phone telling her to take care of any and all Alliance needs. Jordan had been transferred to the ICU and everything Alliance had to wait.
When she lifted the phone to call her brother, she stopped herself. Val had fished her out of hot water once before. A mess she made by trusting the wrong person. If blowing off Blackwell and landing in prison would only affect her, she might consider taking her chances.
But it wouldn’t.
Alonzo had taught her that she could do nothing without it affecting everyone around her. Her trust in him nearly got her sister-in-law killed.
Instead of pulling in others to shovel her out of her past, Gabi decided it was time to dig herself out.
She brought up the boilerplate contracts Alliance used and started to modify them.
Two hours later she contacted the Alliance attorney and sent her an e-mail. Before Gabi could shower, Lori Cumberland called. “What in the world is this?” she asked in disbelief.
“It’s a contract.”
“A contract someone will actually sign?”
“Did I add something that’s illegal?” Gabi was fairly certain that every clause that had ever been placed in an Alliance contract was legal. She decided a few other conditions needed to be in writing.
“Not illegal . . . just . . . wow. Am I reading this right? This is between you and Hunter Blackwell?”
The thought of marriage made her shudder. “That’s correct.”