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T he door was sleek pine with a bronze plaque embossed with the legend, S. Holmes, Accounts Supervisor .

Being the boss’s daughter certainly had its perks.

Richard knocked once, then pushed on through without waiting for an answer.

Seated at the immense leather-topped oak desk that dwarfed her and the rest of the office, Scarlet was working on her computer. Behind her, floor to ceiling windows boasted a picturesque landscape of the river below.

To a stranger, she might have looked oblivious, blind to the goings on around her, her focus dominated by her work, but Richard knew better. Scarlet was anything but oblivious. She was the sort of woman who woke up intending to conquer the world. Who missed nothing.

Without waiting for an invitation, he crossed the wood panelled floor, bypassing the plush leather sofa to take the simple leather and teak chair opposite her side of the desk.

She didn’t look up, nod, or do anything to acknowledge his presence.

Nor would she. Not yet. Not until she was ready.

It was her game, a power play to remind the minion just who was the boss.

Well, at least she didn’t make him pass her tea or pick pens off of the floor.

The office had been the department’s briefing room before her appointment. Her predecessor had made do with the windowless coat cupboard three doors down. It was simple and functional, but large enough to impress. And beige. Very beige. Beige walls. Beige rugs. Beige leather…

Beige. Safe and soothing, and not at all Scarlet Holmes.

She was as bloody crimson as her namesake. And then a dash extra.

All heat and passion and searing raw emotion. And beauty.

Scarlet flaunted flawless skin, tanned to a soft peach hue, that complimented the waves of spun gold that tumbled down to her shoulders. She wore a tight white dress that showed off plenty of leg and had a deep plunging neckline to emphasise her figure. There wasn’t a man alive who could deny Scarlet was very lovely.

The matter wasn’t up for discussion. It was a fact.

And only skin deep.

Beneath the fragile beauty, she was as hard and sharp as steel. A lioness disguised in a little bunny’s fur.

He ignored the urge to check his watch. That subtle hint would only prolong the game, though. Scarlet would see to that, sure enough. So instead, he amused himself by watching the goings on outside the tall windows behind her desk that overlooked the line of narrow boats and yachts moored along the Sharpness Canal.

The view was wasted on Scarlet.

When she turned to him, the bunny beamed up at him. “Hey Dick.”

“Hi Scarlet,” Richard smiled back, inwardly steeling himself. If she wanted to play her games, he’d play. “How was your day?”

It was a poor effort, but the best he could do on the fly. It got the job done.

“Oh, the usual, same shit, different day. You headin’ home for the day?”

“Yeah soon, just had a couple of things I wanted to finish up first.”

She ignored the prompt and just kept smiling up at him.

Sod it, she could have this round. “So, you wanted to see me?”

Her eyes were bright, and they laughed at him behind her glasses. She didn’t need them. The lenses were from a cheap pair of reading glasses she’d got in a Pound shop, but the frames were designer and worth more than he made in a month. “Yes, we need to discuss Prometheus.”

“Oh? How come?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Dick.” Despite her smile, behind the cheap plastic lenses, her eyes flared with blue fire. Behind the bunny, the lion was baring its fangs, a warning before the charge. “I told you I wanted you to make the Prometheus Account your top priority, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes? That was a month ago. The report should have taken you a few days, max. And now you send me this?” She pulled a manilla folder out of a drawer and laid it open on the desk. A quick glance confirmed it was the paperwork he’d sent her earlier. “So, what’s the game?”

“Game?”

“You could have knocked this up in a few hours. You have been, all afternoon. So, either you had a hunch, then lost your nerve, or you were slacking off to make me look bad. Which is it?” Closing the folder, she slid it aside, then leaned forward to face him, fingers tipped by perfectly manicured nails painted speckled gold, steepled under her chin.

“Scarlett I…”

“Do you have a problem working under me, Dick?”

“No.”

“Then you had a hunch?”

“It was a stupid idea, not worth mentioning.”

“You thought it was important enough to risk the contract.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the flash drive with all his research into Prometheus and laid it on the desk. He’d forgotten about it amongst everything else that had gone on in the last couple of days and had only thought of it after receiving her email. He’d brought it along just in case. “It’s nothing.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.” She took the flash drive and plugged it into her desktop. With a few clicks of her mouse, all the documents were arranged on her monitor. Spreadsheets. Invoices. Tax returns. Everything he could find on Prometheus, but would it be enough?

A tight knot of tension wound around and around his guts like a python’s coils. Financial reports. Richard watched her work. Those fierce blue eyes skimmed over the screen behind her glasses, moving from one article to the next while she caught her rose-pink lower lip between a perfect set of pearly whites.

He hated to admit it, but her look was sexy as hell.

She swivelled slowly back around in her chair to face him; her stare piercing. Not quite a lioness, but definitely not a flopsy bunny either. “All this shows is Prometheus recorded substantial profits. Hardy conclusive, Dick .”

A low shiver coursed down his spine to tingle in his crotch as his cock stirred at the way she said his growingly official nickname. The accusation behind it made him feel like he was getting a telling off from the hot teacher all the boys fantasised about.

“Since the early 90s, Prometheus has consistently recorded growing profits. Yes, however, if you look more closely, you’ll see the bulk of their earnings came from work throughout Ukraine, Estonia, Georgia, Kazakhstan, and the Baltic states. Nations recovering from the Soviet Union. Plenty of cheap labour, but a brassic economy. Prometheus’s books took a slight hit in the Global recession but remained firmly in the black until 2012, when they expanded their operations into the Middle East. Work in areas of Turkey and Syria achieved record profits, despite the numerous conflicts raging in the region.” He paused, trying to think how to put the next part.

“Go on…”

He took a breath, steeling his nerves for the plunge. “I think Prometheus has connections with Russian organised crime and is a front for criminal activity, including money laundering, drug trafficking and smuggling.”

And there it was, the complete ruin of his career. And all packed up neatly in one sentence. Who says experience counts for nothing!

For the longest moment, Scarlet let the silence drag on. Her expression impassive, unreadable, neither bunny nor lion, but her eyes, once such a vibrant blue, were suddenly steel. “I see.” Her tone was as cold and sharp as ice. “Those are very serious accusations, Dick. Ones we’re required by law to report to the proper authorities and would almost certainly result in us losing the client, even if you’re wrong. Can you prove this?”

“No,” he confessed, then added hastily. “But there are too many anomalies for it all to be just coincidence.”

“What anomalies?”

“The company was founded in the early 90s and received heavy outside funding, primarily from a now disbanded Russian-led consortium, at the same time Russian gangsters started moving west out of Moscow. They do business all over Europe but are especially affluent in areas of high Russian criminal activity and interest.”

Scarlet nodded. “And their 2012 expansion?”

“The date they began expanding was just a month after the Russian President’s second inauguration. It’s not exactly a secret he uses the crime bosses as off the book enforcers, and the countries Prometheus has expanded to have seen heavy Russian influence since.”

“They’re war zones, Dick,” she laughed without mirth, shaking her head. “Builders and developers often receive government contracts to repair and rebuild sites damaged in conflict.”

“Yes, but usually after the war is won,” Richard cut in. “I’ve heard of prudent planning, but if I’m wrong, whoever picked these deals must have one hell of a crystal ball. You should take him to the Cheltenham races next year. With this guy’s luck, you’ll make a fortune betting on the gee-gees.”

She ignored the joke, instead turning back to look over the documents on her screen. “Well, the money laundering is self-explanatory. Dirty money finances the projects on the books, then returns as profits, but what about this trafficking and smuggling nonsense?”

What? Was she actually buying this story? He couldn’t believe it; he’d half expected her to tear up his contract right there, even for suggesting it.

“They ship out their own equipment instead of hiring or purchasing on-site. A JCB is a pretty big bit of kit. Lots of places to hide something you don’t want found, if you know how.”

“But you can’t prove it. Legally.”

“No.” His throat was so tight, he had to force the word out. “After tax is accounted for, their profits are all funnelled into an account in a private Depository Bank in Zurich. I can’t track it from there without going through a long and costly legal battle.”

“So…” she rounded on him, her voice as cold and sharp as steel. “Let me get this straight, because I’m a little confused. You’re given a high value contract, told to make them your top priority, but instead of doing your job and having the report on my desk like you’re supposed to, you dig into their business records and concoct some cock and bull theory about the Russian Mafia. And just to put the icing on the cake, you have no proof? Nothing to back it up. Is that about the sum of it?”

“More or less.”

She sighed and shook her head.

That was it. She’d just fired her broadside and hit dead centre. He was sunk. He might as well go back and clear out his desk. Save the trip in tomorrow and have a lie in-

“Why did you keep digging? Why not just hand it in when you were supposed to after hitting a dead end?”

Richard had to work hard to keep his confusion from showing.

Why had he kept digging? Force of habit? Professional curiosity? His last job had done checks all the time, and he’d never let it go on for so long. There had just been something. Something not right. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. Just something. Just…

“Just a hunch.”

“A hunch?” She leaned back in her chair. “Well Dick, I don’t know what to say, except…” Her full red lips spread into a wide smile, with just the hint of a white lion’s fang. “Congratulations.”