Undercover Bachelor. Rebecca Winters

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СКАЧАТЬ at the Sharp and Rowe law firm would be shocked to see their newest attorney, who had just passed the Utah bar, passing herself off as a teenager. But no one could know she was on a mission to expose the man responsible for getting Christine pregnant.

      Of course it was possible her plan wouldn’t work. But better she use the vacation time coming to her since studying for the bar to try and track down the culprit, than stay at home brooding over her sister’s pain.

      It wasn’t fair that a man got off scot-free in a situation like this. It happened all the time, all over the world, but that didn’t make it right. If she could carry out this tricky scheme for her sister’s sake and discover his identity, it was possible the father might suffer an attack of conscience and help pay child support. If nothing else, Whitney felt it would have been well worth the subterfuge for that much satisfaction.

      Her family believed she was taking off to Mexico with a couple of friends she’d met while going to law school. If she couldn’t find Greg’s biological father, Whitney didn’t want to tell her family what she’d done. But if she was successful, that would be a different story.

      Therefore, instead of sending the occasional postcard home which would give away a European location, she intended to make a couple of phone calls to the family so they wouldn’t become suspicious or worry. Christine had promised to go by Whitney’s apartment every day to check the mail and water the plants.

      John Warren, a fellow attorney who’d been one of her study partners through college and had passed the bar at the same time as she had, was the only person who knew her plans.

      When he heard what had happened to Christine and listened to Whitney’s idea to catch the teacher responsible, John applauded her plan, but he didn’t buy the teacher theory. Rather he tended to believe that the tour guide or the driver had been the one to charm her sister into bed.

      To Whitney’s surprise, she discovered that John didn’t like or trust European men. Apparently he’d had a cousin who’d gone to Europe on a music tour and had gotten involved with some Austrian tour guide in Vienna who had only been playing around. It ruined her life for a long time.

      Happy to help Whitney even the score, he volunteered to subpoena STI’s records on some pretext to obtain the names of the tour guide and bus driver on Christine’s tour.

      Armed with the necessary information, Whitney had been able to request a tour that included the same teacher, driver and tour guide who’d been on Christine’s trip. It was leaving June fifth.

      That day was almost here, Whitney mused as she stepped inside the doors of one of the library meeting rooms. At a glance it seemed forty or so students were standing in separate lines before tables placed around the room.

      Pennants in different colors with teachers’ names had been mounted alphabetically on the walls above each table: Ms. Ashton, Mr. LeCheminant, Mrs. Donetti, Mr. Hart, Mr. Grimshaw, Mr. Smith, Mr. Bowen and Mr. Sorenson.

      The teachers hadn’t come in yet.

      Whitney was probably the last student to arrive and took her place behind a couple of boys talking animatedly about how much spending money they were taking with them.

      On their tags she saw that the one named Jeff from Ephriam High was her height, five feet nine. The other named Roger from Dixie High was maybe an inch taller with a more robust build. Both had dark brown hair and they were cute.

      As soon as they saw her, they stopped talking and just stared.

      “Hi, guys.”

      “Hi!” they said in unison, their faces breaking into huge smiles. “Are you one of Mr. Smith’s students?”

      “No. I had planned to go with Mr. Bowen’s group, but I signed up too late, so they put me with Mr. Smith.”

      “The same thing happened to us.” They spoke in unison again and the three of them laughed congenially.

      “Where’s Union High?”

      “Up in Park Valley. Box Elder County.”

      “How many years of French have you taken, Whitney?” Jeff asked.

      “Two.” Junior high seemed an awfully long time ago. “How about you?”

      “Six years for me.”

      “Me, too,” Roger chimed in.

      “Wow. You guys must be good.”

      “Of course.” Jeff grinned.

      Roger said, “My French teacher goes over to France every summer, but she doesn’t want to take kids around, so she called STI and they assigned me to Mr. Smith who teaches in St. George.”

      “We thought we were the only ones going with him. Looks like we thought wrong.” They grinned as if they’d just won the lottery.

      Had she ever been this young and immature?

      “I was afraid there would only be girls on the tour,” Whitney murmured, deciding she’d better start doing her share of flirting. That’s what teenage girls did all the time. Shamekssly. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

      “This is already turning out to be a great trip and we haven’t even left yet,” Roger enthused.

      “Since the three of us will have rooms by each other and eat meals together, we can help you out with your French in case you have any problems.”

      “Thanks, Jeff. I might have to take you up on that.” She smiled into his eyes.

      “No problem.”

      “Have you guys met Mr. Smith yet?”

      “Yeah. He’s awesome.”

      “I like him a lot better than my own teacher,” Roger stated.

      “I’m glad you said that because my teacher in Park Valley was an old battle-ax.”

      “Battle-ax?” Jeff laughed

      Uh-oh. Whitney realized that wasn’t a word today’s teenager used. “That’s what my dad called her when he had her for French.”

      Before her father had died of a stroke and her mother had married Christine’s father, Whitney adored listening to her dad’s amusing tales about his school days. She would always miss him.

      “Your French teacher used to teach your dad?” Roger demanded incredulously.

      That part was a lie, but Whitney nodded without any compunction. The guys thought it was hilarious and both of them laughed. While she waited for them to calm down, the teachers filed in the room toward the tables, carrying stacks of manila-colored packets.

      There were eight adults, but Whitney saw only one person—a man with dark blond, fairly short-cropped hair and a bronzed complexion who had to be at least six feet three inches of hard muscle.

      He was dressed in a silky-looking gray suit with a charcoal-colored shirt open at the neck, very sophisticated and cosmopolitan. Sporting an expensive-looking gold watch, he didn’t look like any teacher she’d СКАЧАТЬ