Destiny Unknown Read online

  "She's picky . . . like someone else I know."

  Bernadette cringed at the sound of the male voice. Without turning around, she knew Cody was behind her.

  "Morning, Bern."

  She faced him. "What are you doing here?"

  He smiled, the wind blowing a strand of his hair across his face. It caught on the stubble of beard covering his jaw, and he pushed it aside. "Seems you're always asking me that."

  "Because you keep popping up."

  He was wearing the brown leather jacket he'd had on the first time she'd met him, jeans, and scuffed work boots. His hands were stuffed into the jacket's pockets, and his shoulders were hunched forward. If she hadn't known better, she would have taken him for a street person.

  "Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?" he asked, his breath coming out as a steamy cloud.

  "No." She had a feeling he'd been outside, waiting for her, for some time.

  "I was stood up last night."

  She shook her head. "You can only be stood up if you ask someone out, she says yes she'll go, and then doesn't show. You didn't ask; I didn't say yes."

  A nod showed his appreciation of her logic. "I must say, I had an interesting evening, anyway."

  She said nothing, though her curiosity begged for details.

  He grinned. "Loren's an interesting person. We found we had a lot in common."

  "Really." She lifted her eyebrows. "Did you show him your 'shack'?"

  "We don't have that much in common." His chuckle was warm, not censuring. "What we have in common is he doesn't get along with his family either. Believe me, having just come back from visiting mine, it was nice to be able to talk to someone who understood."

  "Glad things worked out well for you."

  Her indifference irked Cody. Not that he would let her know. "Loren said he and his father disagree about everything: where Loren lives, his career choice, and his lifestyle. Sure sounded like my stepfather. Bill, of course, had his usual fit when he saw me. All week he was putting me down because of the earrings, the length of my hair, and my preference for jeans. You and he would probably get along great. Outward appearances are what count."

  "Not necessarily what counts," she said, avoiding his gaze. "It's just . . . Well . . . I do think appearances are important."

  Cody wasn't sure how that was different from what he'd said.

  "What did Loren's father want him to be?" she asked.

  A change of subject might be safer, Cody thought. "He wanted Loren to be a computer programmer. And I guess Loren tried it for a year before throwing in the towel."

  "That explains why he knows so much about computers," she said. "You ought to see what he's been doing to Morgan's Website. I thought what we had was good, but the changes he's making are fantastic." She signed. "I hate to admit I know almost nothing about computers, and when Loren starts talking about what he's doing, I'm totally lost. I'm always asking him to help me figure something out."

  Cody grinned. "He said you were cyberphobic. He also said you're doing a good job as general manager, much better than that Ben guy you replaced."

  "Loren and Ben are always at each other's throats. Talk about opposites."

  "Loren seems to feel that Ben causes more problems than he solves."

  Bernadette frowned. "Did Loren say what kind of problems Ben is creating?"

  Cody pointed at Mopsy, who'd finished her business. "He said Ben was the reason you and I met, that Ben brought the sponges into your office. He said he wouldn't be surprised if Ben had left the sponges and soup so Mopsy would get into them."

  "You're saying Ben purposefully tried to hurt Mopsy?"

  Cody wasn't sure. "I'm just saying what Loren told me, that he thinks Ben is jealous of you and would love to see you mess up. From what I heard the other day, I'd have to agree."

  "I know it hasn't been easy for Ben, having me take his job, but to actually . . ."

  She shook her head, and Cody noticed she was shivering. "Loren said some other things." He nodded toward her apartment building. "Why don't we go inside, where it's warmer, and I'll tell you everything. Had your breakfast yet?"

  "No, I don't—"

  He didn't give her a chance to finish. "Good. I make a mean omelet." A whistle caught Mopsy's attention. "Come on puppy dog." With a hand at Bernadette's back, he guided her toward her apartment. "You'll get a kick out of some of the things Loren said."

  She resisted against his hand. "Wait. I . . . We—"

  Cody dropped his hand from her back. She was going to come up with her usual arguments, all perfectly logical and reasonable. Problem was, his feelings for her weren't logical, and he'd already listened to his own arguments as to why he shouldn't see her again. Since he hadn't heeded his own counsel, why should he heed hers?

  Keeping his expression serious, he walked ahead, following Mopsy. He knew what would silence her. "By the way, what are you doing about the shoplifting ring that's been hitting your store?"

  "Shoplifting right?" Bernadette hurried to catch up.

  * * *

  Bernadette wasn't exactly sure how Cody had ended up in her kitchen, an apron covering the front of his jeans and the sleeves of his sweater shoved up to his elbows. One minute they were talking about shoplifters, the next he was hanging his jacket in her closet and getting eggs out of her refrigerator.

  "So, Loren isn't really sure there's a shoplifting ring," she said, summarizing what Cody had said.

  "He has no solid proof, if that's what you mean, just what one of his assistants told him he saw. But if Loren's right, I'd say these people are pros. From the assistant's account, one guy was doing a good job of distracting your salesclerk while two women were taking merchandise right off the counter."

  "But what about the surveillance detectors we have in place? They should pick up any merchandise being taken out of the store that hasn't been cleared at the register."

  "Oh, come on, I may not be in the retail business, but I'll bet those detectors are easy to get around if you know what to do. And didn't you say you were having problems with them?"

  "Yes." She nursed the cup of coffee Cody had given her, mulling over his words. A ring of shoplifters would explain the rise in losses off the floor. What she hated to consider was Cody's last statement. If the detectors weren't being accidentally triggered to go off, then someone inside the store was involved. Disturbed, she looked up. "Why hasn't Loren reported this to me?"

  Cody turned away from the stove to face her. "Loren said he did report it to Ben, and Ben said he would handle it. Except, yesterday, when Loren asked Ben what he was doing, Ben didn't give him a straight answer."

  "Ben never gives you a straight answer." Straight answers required decision making, which Ben couldn't handle. She sighed, not quite sure how to handle the situation herself. "I wish Loren had come to me first."

  "I'm not sure he felt he could."

  Cody went back to his cooking. Bernadette frowned at his back. "Why not?"

  "Oh, come on, Bern. You can be intimidating."

  Cody scooped half an omelet each onto two plates, grabbed the English muffins that he'd already toasted and buttered, and carried the food to the table. She watched him, his statement playing through her mind. "How am I intimidating?"

  "How?" He set one plate in front of her, placed the muffins in the middle of the table, and sat across from her. "Princess, let's face it, you don't give out a lot of warm fuzzies that invite people to get close. There's a wall around you that keeps others away. It's in your posture, your self-control, your clothes—" His glance dropped to her clothes. "Well, maybe not this morning, but usually."

  Bernadette also looked down at her clothes. Thanks to Mopsy's desperate need to get outside, all she'd taken time to put on were a pair of gray wool slacks, ankle-high leather boots, and a thick cable-knit sweater. With the sweater, she hoped its bright coral color made up for her lack of makeup, and that it was heavy enough to disguise the absence of a bra.

  "My
posture and clothes certainly didn't intimidate you that first time we met," she reminded him. "Talk about getting close. You were leaning up against me, rubbing elbows."

  He grinned. "Not because of an invitation on your part. In fact, the way you looked at me and acted screamed 'Stay away.' I got close because I liked seeing you squirm."

  "You're not only irritating, you admit it."

  "At least I'm honest about it. Every time I meet you, the messages I get are 'Don't touch, don't get under my skin. Don't find out if I have weaknesses.' "

  She sent him a leveling glare. "Then why not heed those messages?"

  "Ah, that's the rub." He grinned. "I also get another message, one that says you are interested."

  "Well, you're wrong about that message."

  "Am I?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. "Why do you make it so difficult to get close, Bernadette?"

  "Why waste our time?"

  "Maybe it wouldn't be a waste."

  She looked down at her eggs, bothered by the intensity of his gaze. "This conversation is ridiculous. And if you think you're going to talk me into going out with you, you're wrong."

  "I suppose we could skip the going out and go straight to bed."

  The suggestion should have been insulting. She shouldn't be feeling a tightening in her body or a surge of anticipation. Shouldn't feel her pulse rate increase. She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out.

  He smiled and motioned toward her plate with his fork. "Try your eggs."

  Try her eggs? She stabbed at the omelet on her plate. What she'd like to try was a stab at Cody. He didn't act like men she knew and didn't react as she expected. He showed up when he shouldn't. Didn't show up when he should. He was impossible.

  She chewed a bite of eggs and came to one more conclusion. He made a hell of an omelet.

  "Not bad," she mumbled.

  "Thank you. Oh, and you missed a good performance last night. They did scenes from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, The Sleeping Beauty, and The Nutcracker Suite."

  "I was busy," she lied, and reached for an English muffin.

  He reached for one at the same time. Their hands touched, and she jerked hers back. He smiled, picked up a muffin, and placed it on her plate, then got one for himself.

  "Weather was great in California," he said, going on as if they always had breakfast together. "Not hot, but in the high sixties. Flowers everywhere. What a shock to come back to Michigan. Here we are into March, and they're still predicting snow."

  "Maybe you should move back to California. North of your stepfather's house, of course."

  Cody grinned. "It would fit the fairy tale, but I like it here in Michigan. Too many people in California, most of them a little crazy."

  She laughed. "And you're not?"

  "Perfectly sane," he said, though he had some doubts this morning. He'd just spent an hour in freezing temperatures waiting for a woman who didn't want to see him. "Speaking of crazy, I get my truck back Monday. You heard from that nut at all?"

  "He called and apologized. Blamed what he did on the alcohol. Then he asked me out."

  "And?"

  She lifted neatly shaped eyebrows. "Do you really think I would go out with him after what he did?"

  "I hope not."

  "I'm not stupid."

  "No." He was, though, Cody thought. She'd walked away from him three times. Only an idiot would keep trying.

  Finishing his eggs, he stood. "Hate to eat and run, but I've got things to do."

  She looked up at him, confusion drawing her brows together. "You're leaving?"

  "Gotta. Just wanted to stop by and say hi and let you know you missed a good performance."

  She pushed her chair back, dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, and stood. "I didn't thank you for returning that picture of my father. Oh, and thank you for the chocolates."

  "Did you enjoy them?"

  The look in her eyes said it all. He shook his head. "You didn't eat them, did you?"

  "I, ah—I've been trying to watch my weight."

  "You gave away the chocolates, and you gave away the ticket." Her message was loud and clear.

  "I, ah—"

  "That's okay." He waved off her excuses. If she didn't want him around, he wasn't about to fight it. She might be beautiful, but beauty was only skin deep. She might have problems, but so what? Dumb John wasn't going to solve this princess's problems.

  Chapter Seven

  Bernadette watched Cody stride off. Even after he'd left the building, she stood in her doorway, not quite sure what to think. Once again, he'd popped into her life, had stirred up emotions she didn't want stirred, and then had left. How could he tease her like that? He was just like her father. Like Parker. Here today, gone tomorrow.

  "Damn you!" She quelled an urge to pound the door with her fist. She would not lose control. She would not let him get to her.

  Except, he already had.

  "What are you doing to me?" She closed her eyes, thinking back over everything Cody had said and done that morning.

  She didn't know how long he'd been out in the cold, waiting for her to come out. Hearing his voice and seeing him had triggered strange sensations in her body. "I suppose we could go straight to bed," he'd said.

  Maybe that's what they should do. Maybe if they made love, had sex and got it over with, she could get him out of her system. It didn't have to mean anything. It wouldn't mean anything. How could it? They were as different as night and day.

  Walking back to the kitchen, Bernadette smiled. The idea of making love with Cody seemed a bit anti-climatic. He'd just walked out on her. One minute they were having breakfast together, the next he was gone.

  She pushed open the kitchen door, and stared at the table. Mopsy had gotten up on her chair and was licking the last of the omelet off Bernadette's plate.

  Not only was Cody gone, so was her breakfast.

  * * *

  Tuesday, Bernadette wondered why she'd ever left Chicago. She'd never had the problems there that she was having now. The EAS systems were still giving her fits, first one surveillance unit malfunctioning downtown, then one at the Twenty-eighth street store. If someone was causing the problems, she didn't have the foggiest idea how.

  No more than she understood why a shipment of spring dresses that should have been delivered that week had been cancelled or why the supplier was swearing she was the one who'd cancelled the order. It didn't make sense. She wouldn't have cancelled that order.

  Nor would she have approved the ad that had run in Sunday's paper with all the wrong prices. Yet, the advertising department of the Grand Rapids' Press was swearing the ad was printed exactly as okayed. They'd even shown her the approved art work—with her signature.

  She couldn't have okayed those prices.

  Wouldn't have.

  Yet it was her signature in the corner. She held a copy of the page in her hand.

  Whatever was going on, she didn't like it. Shipping and receiving was upset. Security was upset. The entire sales force was upset. And the last time she'd seen Ben, he'd had a smirk on his face that almost yelled, "You're out of here."

  Which she would be if Parker were to show up any time soon. Sister-in-law or not, he would can her, and she wouldn't blame him. He'd hired her to make things easier for him, not to ruin his business.

  A headache throbbed in her temple, and she spoke to no one on her way back to her office. What she needed now was some time alone, time to think. "Hold my calls," she said as she walked past Anne's desk.

  "He's in there," Anne answered, pointing toward Bernadette's closed office door.

  Bern stopped before opening the door. "He?" She frowned. "Parker?"

  Anne shook her head and smiled knowingly. "He. Him. The one who took you to lunch a couple weeks ago. Mr. Godiva-chocolates-and-a-ticket-to-the-ballet."

  "Cody?" Bern stared at the closed door. She didn't have the energy to face Cody. Not today. Not now.

  "I wasn't going to let him in," Ann
e said. "But Loren came by and said it would be all right, that you and Mr. Good-Looking are—" She paused dramatically. "Friends."

  "Acquaintances," Bern said, though she knew they were more than that. More than acquaintances and less than friends. Certainly less than lovers, and the way Anne was grinning, it was clear she thought they were lovers. "I barely know him."

  Anne nodded, still grinning.

  "The guy wears earrings and a gold chain."

  "And has absolutely gorgeous eyes."

  Bernadette had to agree. She looked back at her door. "What does he want?"

  "Why don't you go in and find out?"

  She supposed she had to. It was her office. Though when she opened the door, Bernadette wondered about that. Cody was leaning back in her chair as if he owned the place, his boots propped up on her desk, and her telephone to his ear. He smiled when he saw her and waved. "I'll be just a minute," he mouthed.

  Bernadette carefully shut her door, then exploded. "Get off my phone! And get your feet off my desk."

  His boots came off her desk, and Cody sat straight. Watching her, he spoke into the phone. "I'll have to call you back later, Jack. We can discuss this then."

  The phone went back into its cradle, and he stood as Bernadette walked toward her desk. This was no enchanted princess in need of his help. Neatly dressed in a tailored black suit, not a blond hair out of place and her gold jewelry perfectly coordinated, Bernadette was the image of sophistication, elegance, and a woman in control. It was her eyes that told more, her anger sparking hot blue.

  "You invade my office," she said, her voice not quite level. "Take over my desk. Make phone calls. Act like you own the place—"

  She stopped on the opposite side of her desk. The breath she drew in was shaky, the lines of her mouth tight. He gave no excuses, but moved to her side. "I need to talk to you about something."

  "Well I don't want to talk to you . . . about anything."

  She was as bristly as a porcupine. He countered with a smile. "Rough day or PMS?"