Working With the Enemy Read Online Free PDF

only in court that he discovered Uncle Harry had shopped him. To save him, the old man said. The memory of how he’d hated Uncle Harry for that betrayal came flooding back—as did the follow-up, which made him smile. The old man had sent him a computer—'courtesy of his conscience', the greeting card had said. Heath had left it unpacked in his cell until one day curiosity got the better of him—and the rest was history.
His stint inside had left him wiser. He could make money, but not with his fists. Uncle Harry’s computer was the answer. On his release he set up an office in his bedroom where no one could see him or judge him, and no one knew how young he was, or how poor. All he had to do was click a mouse and the world came to him. And the world liked his games.
Heath moved on as the wall he’d been leaning against shuddered a complaint. He was stronger than he knew—which was more than could be said for the fabric of this place. One good shove and the whole lot would come tumbling down. It would be easier to flatten it and start again—
Since when had he embraced easy?
His fingers were already caressing the speed dial on his phone to call his architect when thoughts of plump pink lips and lush pert breasts intruded. Another pause, another memory—the last time he’d seen Bronte at Hebers Ghyll she’d been trying to save him from the police. She’d overheard Uncle Harry on the phone, and had run down the drive to warn him they were coming. When that had failed, she’d kissed him goodbye. He shook his head as he tried to blank the kiss. He’d better check she’d reached home safely.
He found Bronte still at the side of the road where she was having a bit of a disaster. The strap on her rucksack had given way and she was kneeling on the rolled-up groundsheet, lashing it into submission with a yard of rope and a clutch of nifty knots. Drawing the car to a halt, he leapt out. ‘Wouldn’t a regular buckle make things easier for you?’
‘The buckles broke in Kathmandu.’
He curbed a grin. ‘Of course they did.’
‘No, really, they did,’ she insisted, lifting her head. Then, remembering they weren’t quite friends, she lowered it again, by which time her cheeks were glowing red.
‘Want some help?’ he offered.
‘I can manage, thank you.’
‘Play me a different tune, Bronte.’ Having nudged her out of the way, he attached the rolled groundsheet to the top of her knapsack and started carrying it towards the car.
‘We already know it won’t fit in that ridiculous boot,’ she yelled after him.
‘Then I’ll carry it home for you.’
‘There’s no need.’ Racing up to him, she tried to pull it out of his hands.
‘Do you want that interview or not?’ he demanded, lifting it out of her reach.
‘Does this mean you’re keeping Hebers Ghyll?’ she demanded, staring up at him.
‘We’ll see,’ he said.
‘Give.’ She growled.
His lips curved as he looked down at her. ‘Is that pleasant tone of voice supposed to entice me to hand it over?’
‘Give, please,’ she said with a scowl.
‘Okay.’ He helped her to hoist the rucksack onto her back again, careful not to let his fingers do any more work than strictly necessary.
Hefting the pack into a more comfortable position, she wobbled a little as she grew accustomed to the weight and then tottered off in the direction of home. He stayed close to make sure she was safe.
‘I’m fine, Heath,’ she called back to him over her shoulder, breaking into an unsteady jog.
‘Watch out—the ground slopes away there—’
Too late. As Bronte stumbled on the treacherous bank he dived to save her. Catching his foot under a tree root, he took her with him, tumbling down the slope bound together as closely as two people could be.
‘Bloody idiot!’ she raged with shock as they thundered to a halt.
‘Thank you would do it for me,’ he observed mildly, noting the jagged rock he’d saved them from as well as the comfortable tangle of limbs.
‘Thank