According to Plan.

By Sue Barr.

Dedication.

To my husband, Rob.

I will love you always, even when you won't share your carrot cake To my writing friends.

Thank you for understanding this author's mind.

It's a twisted maze filled with ideas and dreams, and you 'get it'

According to Plan.

Shelby Stewart's been hired to find socialite, Harrison Grant.

To complicate matters her estranged husband, Jake Steele (aka Tank), shows up looking for Harrison as well, albeit for a very different reason. Harry is the prime suspect in the grisly murder of a call girl in L.A.

Frustration becomes Shelby's newest partner as she attempts to out maneuver her distracting husband in their parallel quest. Tank, on the other hand, is always one step ahead of the game-and is not what or who Shelby thought.

Their adventure escalates from attempted kidnapping to an explosion with deadly consequences. This is not your average missing person case.

Chapter One.

"Stewart Agencies. This is Shelby."

"Our son is missing."

My heart rate doubled and I grabbed a note pad. "How old is your son, Mr...?

"Grant. Raymond Grant. Harrison is thirty."

I knew who Harrison was, but it wasn't like him to stray far from the family home, or more specifically, the family money. Still....

"How long has he been missing?"

"I don't have time for small talk, Miss Stewart. Be at our home in forty-five minutes."

Before I could reply I heard the distinctive click of a phone receiver being hung up and I flopped back into my chair. Raymond Grant was one of our states most influential, behind the scenes kind of man. It was rumored he even had the ear of the President.

Why would the cream of society call my fledgling company? I'd run my own business for about a year and as my reputation grew, so had my list of satisfied clients, but I was still the new kid on the block and this didn't make sense.

With a slight shrug, I decided to take it at face value and not be so cynical. Who knows, this job could launch me into a whole new stratosphere.

I looked around the brown-paneled room which served as my office. My slice of commercial heaven was squeezed between a laundromat and a nail salon. To describe the area as long and narrow would have been generous. Bowling lanes had more s.p.a.ce. With the extra money from a high profile job like this, I could buy new carpet and spruce the place up. The curling linoleum, dotted with dubious stains, would not be missed.

A tinkle from the old fashioned bell hung over the front door, and the scent of fresh perfume, broke me out of my thoughts. Polly, my best friend and also my secretary, had returned from lunch.

"Yo, Pol," I called out and pushed away from the desk to meet her. "You'll never guess who phoned."

She settled at her desk and turned on the computer. "Prince Charming. He's finally leaving what's-her-name and needs you to help rule his magical kingdom."

"All princes are charming, they're just not sincere. Would you believe Raymond Grant?" I waited for her reaction. Polly's family rubbed shoulders with folks like the Grants, not me. Her daddy was into oil, lots and lots of oil.

"Wrong number?"

"Aren't you the comedian? Harrison is missing and he's hired us to find him."

"Why?" Polly grabbed the stack of mail and began sorting it.

"I don't know." I said. "Maybe they want someone local. You know, keep it off the front page of gossip magazines. I'll find out soon enough, I'm going there right now."

"Okay. Don't forget, movie and pizza tonight, my place."

"You got it."

Headed for the door I stopped mid-step, my mouth instantly dry. A large man sauntered up the front walk and I'd recognize that swagger anywhere, Jake Steele, aka Tank. My heart began pounding against my ribs. From excitement or fear, I wasn't sure.

Why couldn't it be anger that had my blood pumping a thousand miles a minute?

"Where are you going?" Polly asked when I swiveled toward the rear of the building.

"Cover for me," I yelled over my shoulder. "Tell him I'm out."

With luck I'd escape through the back door before he saw me. I sidestepped the photocopier and practically flew down the narrow hallway. For one millisecond a twinge of guilt skittered through me, but I quashed it with a vengeance.

Six months ago I returned home from staking out a divorce case and he'd met me on the front porch. Said he had to think over some things. With that, he'd walked away from me, our home and our life. I didn't have to be hit over the head to know he didn't love me. At least not the way I loved him.

I blew out the rear door and had gone almost three steps when strong arms grabbed and twirled me around. He rocked his lips over mine, exerting just the right amount of pressure to make my head swim.

Liquid fire spread through my limbs and I ached to melt into his familiar embrace. When his hands slid down, my brain finally kicked into gear and I pushed against his chest. I may as well have shoved a brick wall.

"Get off."

"Is that any way to say h.e.l.lo?" With one arm around my waist, he dipped his head and attempted to steal another kiss.

I executed a quick side step taught to me by my dad and twisted out of his arms. His lips met nothing but air. I took a small step back and ignored the rapid tattoo of my heart. Tank had a way of making me forget things, like breathing.

"What are you doing here?" I said and spared him a glance.

Well over six feet, he had the physique of an oil rigger, built rock hard around pure muscle and adrenalin. A day's growth of stubble darkened his jaw and hair the color of burnished oak brushed his shoulders. Although mirrored gla.s.ses hid his eyes, I knew one was green, the other blue, and they missed nothing.

"I was in the area and thought I'd come see y'all." His voice poured over me like rich chocolate. Its deep timbre, as always, turned my insides to mush. My breath hitched and his knowing smile indicated he'd seen that too.

Without so much as a backward glance, I pivoted and started walking back to the office. He turned with me, pacing his steps to match mine. Awareness crackled along my skin when his arm brushed mine. If I were Super Girl, he'd definitely be my Kryptonite.

The bell above the door jangled as I entered, and Polly, all perky now that Tank was here, sat behind her computer with a wide smile. I glared and mouthed, 'You're fired', but she ignored my dark look and batted her eyes.

I continued into my office with Tank right behind. He shut the door and stood in front of it while I moved around my desk to put some s.p.a.ce between us. He shoved the sungla.s.ses on top of his head and crossed his arms, his stance reminding me of eunuch guard.

I sat and kicked my feet out on the cluttered desk. "Spill, what do you want?"

The image I wished to portray was confident and mildly condescending. As long as he stayed on his side of the room, I had this in the bag and he'd never know how much he hurt me. It seemed he had other ideas.

Pushing some papers out of the way, he hitched his hip on the edge of the desk. "I got this lead on one of my cases and it brought me into your neck of the woods. Ever hear of the Grant family?"

My suspicions rose again. Tank still did PI work, but his client list read like a who's who from Forbes Magazine. Was it coincidence the Grant's hired me to find their son, and Tank showed up, asking about them? This may not be the quiet little missing person case Mr. Grant wanted me to believe. I decided to stonewall until I figured out what was up.

"I have. They pretty much own the whole town, maybe the whole state."

I watched his face and body language for any tells. Would his eye twitch if he was lying through his teeth? Would he fidget, like I did? Nope. Calm and cool as usual, his smile all laid back like he didn't have a care in the world. That smile lied and I'd like to know why.

"I need your feminine intuition to ride shotgun with me, feel old lady Grant out. Something doesn't feel right and I'm itching in my don't-wanna-itch-place."

Tank had a sixth sense when it came to his work, so I was none too pleased to hear he'd be sniffing around my case.

"What's the tie-in?"

"I'm freelancing for a detective buddy of mine, L.A.P.D. They had a pretty grisly murder of a call girl, lower east side. Word on the street is she had a new john called Harry. Bought her nice clothes, jewelry, all the fixings. I've narrowed the suspect list down to our socialite, Harrison Grant. Thought I'd go rev his motor for a while, see what I could shake loose. Wanna come along for the ride?"

Two things became crystal clear. Tank had to be side-tracked and I needed to talk to the Grant's before he did. One word from Tank and they'd clam up about finding Harrison.

Now I knew why they wanted a small-timer like me. I wouldn't raise any suspicions while I poked around. They obviously hadn't counted on my big bad ex showing up on the same case. If I didn't want to lose the retainer, I had to get there first.

I also had to avoid Tank while he scouted the area for Harrison, which meant he'd be around twenty-four-seven.

A horrifying thought popped into my head and I blurted out, "Where are you staying?"

Tank gave me 'the look', the sultry one that made me ache to kiss him. Used to. I used to want to kiss him. Bad brain.

"Our house," he shifted closer and I stopped breathing.

Oh, not good. I really needed to breathe. I leaned back further in my chair to put s.p.a.ce between me and his stubble darkened chin, his oh-so-kissable mouth, his windblown hair, his...his...everything.

"No." I pushed the word through stiff lips.

Last thing I needed was him under my roof, sticking his nose in my business.

"Considering I hold the deed, this is a moot point."

For the zillionth time, I wondered what the statute of limitations was on stupid decisions. Marrying him had to top the list.

He pushed off the desk and moved around to stand in front of me. Too late, I realized my error. By sitting behind the desk, I'd boxed myself in. That Tank was aware of this became evident by the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Testosterone and male awareness poured off him and my heart clawed its way to the back of my throat. He drew close enough that I caught his scent.

Peppermint!

I stifled a deep groan. I used to love peppermint.

Minty breath brushed my temple and I kept a death grip on the arms of the chair. This time I'd stay in control. No good-looking, drop-dead, gorgeous man would turn me into a wilting female. No way, not this time... Warm lips covered mine.

Blank. My mind went blank when he began nibbling my lower lip. He was such a good kisser. Wanting more, I leaned forward. My eyes flew open when he broke off the kiss. With his face mere inches from mine and his eyes twinkling with humor, I knew I'd been had.

"We'll talk later. I'm going to drop off my gear." He straightened and swaggered out, looking like he kissed girls senseless all the time. Bemused, I watched him. His jeans, low on his hips, the material faded and worn, caressed him like an old friend. He really filled those Levis out nicely. Oh Nantucket! I forgot to tell him where he could stay. Why did my noodle go on vacation whenever he was around?

"Guest bedroom only," I called after him. "Tank?"

The front door slammed. Heavy sighing could be heard in the next room. Most likely my newly fired secretary, drooling over Tank again.

"Pull it back in, Polly. I can hear dripping from here."

"Oh my. He's the most gorgeous man ever." She sighed out in a breathy whoosh. I had an instant mental image of her all gooey and dreamy eyed, watching Tank through the front window. "I don't know why you won't take him back, honey. If he was mine, I'd be in his front pocket all day."

Well, those days were over. I grabbed the keys to my car. I should have about an hour head start on him. By the time he got to my place, dropped off his stuff and made it out to the Grant's, I'd be long gone.

I loved it when a plan worked.

Tank swung his leg over the motorcycle, slid the sungla.s.ses on and looked toward Shelby's office. A touch of pride swelled his heart for a brief moment. She'd done pretty well and he knew it'd been rough. First, she'd had to get past the hurt of him leaving and then continue the fledgling business they'd started.

He didn't regret leaving her, even though it was the toughest thing he'd ever done in his entire life. When he saw the confused hurt in her eyes the night he'd walked out, he almost turned back, but with her life in danger he had to go.

That was the risk you took when you worked undercover and a slime ball member of a mafia run business got spooked. Carlos began nosing around, asking a lot of questions and it would have been only a matter of time before he found out about Shelby. To keep her safe, Tank made everyone think they'd split. Not a perfect plan, but one that worked.

And worked too well, she believed he left her for another woman.

Then last week, Carlos had permanently retired, without a pension. He wouldn't need it at Mount Pleasant Cemetery. After Tank wrapped up this case with Harrison, he planned on telling Shelby why he left. Nothing would stop him from breaking down walls to recapture the trust of the only woman who made his knees buckle.

He started the bike and rumbled down the street. When he was sure he was out of Polly's sight, he backed into an alley with a clear view of Shelby's office and car, and waited.

Shelby was as beautiful today as the first time he met her. Clear blue eyes and blonde curls that fell to her waist when it wasn't bunched into a messy top knot, like today. And he knew that although pet.i.te, she'd lay you out faster than you could blink. Her father had been a cop, a good one, and before he died, he made sure his little girl could take care of herself.

The cough and sputter of a familiar engine caught his attention. Hearing the death bucket she drove brought a smile to his lips. He knew she could afford a better car, but she clung tenaciously to her beat-up baby. The Blue Bomb, as she lovingly called it. Shelby inherited it and the payments when her mother died.

Keeping a few cars between them, he followed the Blue Bomb through town, dropping back a bit further when she hit the outskirts and then stopped completely once he knew for sure where she was going. She was headed for Cedar Heights, where Raymond and Estelle Grant lived.

He figured he had time for a coffee and pie, so he executed a lazy U-turn and went back to a little diner tucked by the side of the road. From there he had a clear view of the highway and if she left before he was done, he'd see her go by in a haze of blue smoke.