When Megan Smiles. Mary Wilson Anne

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      “You love him?”

      She knew he’d ask that. “Of course.”

      “Then I won’t argue. So, when’s the big day?”

      “We haven’t even started to figure out when. We’re both trying to stabilize our careers.”

      “Now, that’s romantic,” Quint murmured.

      She looked at the ring on her finger. “It’s perfect.”

      “How about the folks?”

      “I was going to tell them later on. I’ve got so much to do right now.”

      “The San Francisco offices are busy?”

      “Actually, I’m in Houston for a month of training and evaluation.”

      That shocked him into silence for a moment. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming in? We could have stuck around for a few days,” he finally declared. “But then, we’ll be back in a few weeks.”

      “Great, but for now this is all work,” she said. “Maybe next time.”

      “What’s the evaluation for?”

      “An opening up the ladder in contracts, incorporation and diversification. So I’m working on incorporation for part of LynTech. I think they want to make sure I can handle it, and I’m—”

      “Hold it.” He cut her off. “I get the idea. You’re moving on up, aren’t you?”

      “Hopefully.”

      “And Ryan thinks this is…?” He let his voice trail off.

      “Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.”

      “Good for him,” her brother murmured, but didn’t sound as if he meant it. Then he shifted gears. “So, where are you staying?”

      “At some private loft the company has wired to the office.”

      “I’ve heard of it, but I’m not sure where it is.”

      “I can tell you in just a minute.” She looked for the envelope Mr. Lawrence had given her earlier with the address, directions and two keys. She searched in her briefcase, then on the desk, but didn’t see the envelope anywhere. She pulled open the desk drawer. Nothing. “I can’t find the address or directions. But I’m heading there tonight. They already moved my things over. Listen, I need to get going.”

      “You’re still at work?”

      “I’m just leaving.”

      “Damn, you’re as much of a workaholic as I used to be,” he said. “But if you’re serious about wanting this advancement, Zane Holden and I—”

      “No, no, no,” she said quickly. “I don’t want you to talk to anyone about anything. I can do this, Quint.”

      “Of course you can,” he said. “Old habits die hard. Being a big brother and all.”

      “I know. But please, just don’t say anything to anyone about me being here, or mention that I’m your sister or anything. Okay?”

      “Okay,” he said. “But—”

      She cut him off. “Give Amy and the kids my love. And let me know when you’re moving onto the ranch.”

      “You got it,” he said, and Megan ended the call.

      She looked through her things one more time, then remembered where the envelope was. She’d left it in Mr. Lawrence’s office, on the desk. She’d put it down when she’d picked up more files he’d given her, and she didn’t remember picking it up again. Directions, keys and phone numbers were in it. “Damn it,” she muttered, glancing out the entry to her cubicle. Mr. Lawrence was gone, but she hoped to heck that he didn’t lock his office at night.

      Seven o’clock. She just hoped her boss hadn’t yet gone to meet Abe Larson. She left everything on her desk and hurried through the quiet legal department, out to the main hallway, then down to his office. She tried the outer door, and it opened. Then she crossed the reception area, tried his private office door and exhaled in a rush when she found it unlocked, too.

      She looked inside and saw the room was empty. Hesitating, she finally stepped into the darkly formal area done in cherry wood, brass and various shades of beige and gold. Turning on the light, she crossed to the massive desk, disappointed to find no envelope there, just papers, folders and books neatly stacked on the polished surface. She went behind it, then tried the top drawers, but they were all locked. She reached for a deep drawer on the side, pulled on the handle and silently slid it open.

      She saw a correspondence file, a stack of company calendars, what looked like an unused day planner, and boxes of paper clips—lots and lots of boxes of paper clips. But no envelope belonging to her. She reached for the drawer on the other side and opened it. Books and papers and more paper clips. And sitting in one corner, a small bottle of very expensive scotch with a single shot glass beside it. Mr. Lawrence had his vices, she thought in surprise. Two low drawers were closed and locked.

      She looked at the desktop again, then went around to the In and Out baskets at the front of the desk. She rifled through the latter. Nothing there for her. “Great, just great,” she muttered, reaching for the In basket.

      She barely got her hand on the top papers when someone grabbed her from behind, a strong hand on her upper arm, and she instinctively jerked to free herself. But the action only intensified the other person’s grip as he turned her around. She spun like a top, landing against a solid wall of strength with an impact that expelled the air from her lungs. Megan heard someone scream—was that her?—then the world seemed to stop in its tracks.

      The “wall” she’d hit was in uniform, with no hat this time, but the same midnight-dark eyes. And his hand was holding her with a firmness that was just this side of inflicting pain. Rafe Diaz. Even larger than she remembered, and very real. She pushed away, freeing herself, and stumbled slightly, feeling the desk hit her at the hips. She pressed one palm to her chest.

      Her heart hammered against her hand, and her breathing came in gulps. She’d never been so shocked in her life, or so unnerved by another person. And he looked as if everything was just fine, that it was entirely normal for him to accost her.

      “What do you think you’re doing?” she managed to gasp in a hoarse voice.

      Rafe had known it was her as soon as he spotted her. Even if he couldn’t see her face, and viewed her only from the back. Megan Gallagher. In Wayne Lawrence’s office going through his desk.

      Rafe was supposed to be at the house in Houston, helping Carmella, the nanny, settle the boys for the night, but instead he’d been stuck doing rounds because one of the scheduled guards hadn’t shown up for work. It had been so long since he’d worried about schedules and time cards, but now, acting like any other employee, he was on the receiving end of an extended shift. But maybe it had paid off for him.

      He’d come up here to check things out, make sure everything was shut up tight, and had seen the open door with Wayne Lawrence’s СКАЧАТЬ