Passion and Peril. Suzanne Brockmann

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      Which meant that he’d just have to keep calling.

      Because he needed Maggie Stanton, and this time he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

      * * *

      LADEN WITH FILES, Maggie staggered back into her office at five o’clock the next afternoon after a six-hour meeting with a client.

      She pulled the wad of phone messages off her spiked message holder with a sigh, taking them with her into the former closet that was her office. She closed the door, dumped the files in the only other chair in the room, and, sitting at her desk, spread the message slips on the desk in front of her.

      Brock had already called twice. Seven of the messages were from clients she knew, three were names she didn’t recognize.

      There was a brand-new pile of files on her desk, with a casually scrawled note atop saying, “Deal with these before tomorrow, will you?”

      Oh, yeah, sure. No problem—if she stayed here at the office until midnight.

      Maggie let her head fall forward onto the desk. “I hate this job,” she whispered, wishing she were brave enough to say it loudly enough for either Andersen or Brenden to hear.

      There was a knock on her office door.

      Maggie lifted her head. This was where he’d make the scene. Her jungle man. She’d say, “Come in,” and the door would open and he’d be standing there, just looking at her with those golden-green eyes.

      He’d step inside and close the door behind him and say, “Ready to go?”

      And she wouldn’t hesitate. She’d say, “Yes.”

      And he’d smile and hold out his hand and she’d stand up and slip her fingers into his and...

      The door opened a crack and Janice Greene, the firm’s receptionist, peeked in. “You are still here.”

      “Oh, yeah,” Maggie said. “I’m still here.”

      “You missed one,” Janice told her, handing her the phone-message slip.

      “Thanks,” Maggie said as Janice went back out the door. She glanced down at the slip and... “Whoa, wait a minute, please— Didn’t he leave a number?”

      Matthew Stone, read the slip in Janice’s neat handwriting.

      “He said you would know it,” Janice said. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

      “No,” Maggie said. “It’s all right.” The only number she knew for Matt was the one for the big old house he’d once shared with his father, down by the water.

      As Janice shut her door, she picked up her phone and started to dial.

      But then hung it back up.

      She’d always felt a little funny about the fact that she’d taken Angie’s side during her and Matt’s last big fight—the one that had broken them up for good and even managed to disrupt Maggie’s own friendship with him.

      Angie had never gone into detail about what it was that Matt had supposedly done.

      All Maggie knew was that Matt and Angie had had the mother of all fights shortly after rehearsals for West Side Story had started. And that was saying something because theirs was a very stormy relationship, filled with conflict.

      Angie had come running to Maggie’s house for comfort. And soon after, Matt had shown up, too.

      Maggie could tell he’d been drinking from the aroma of alcohol that surrounded him. It had been whiskey she could smell, which alarmed her. Usually he only drank beer.

      “Are you okay?” she’d asked him, coming out onto the front stoop.

      He sat down heavily on the steps, and she knew as she sat next to him that something was really wrong. In addition to having too much to drink, he looked anxious and ill at ease.

      He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Mags, there’s something I have to tell you,” he said.

      “Get the hell out of here, you creep!”

      Maggie turned to see Angie inside the front door. Her eyes were blazing and her arms were crossed as she glared down at Matt.

      He swore softly. “I should have figured you’d be here.”

      Maggie had looked from Angie to Matt, feeling hopelessly caught in the middle. She stood up. “Look, you guys, why don’t I go inside? This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

      Matt started to laugh, and Angie kicked him, hard, in the back. He fell off the steps, landed in the shrubbery and came up mad.

      “Damn it!”

      “Stay away from me,” Angie shouted back at him. “And stay away from Maggie. I’m warning you, Matt!”

      Maggie had never seen such venom in her friend’s eyes.

      Matt turned deliberately away from her and looked at Maggie. “I would like to talk to you. Alone. Will you come for a ride with me? Please?”

      “I wouldn’t let her go for a ride with you even if you were sober,” Angie shouted. “Get lost, you son of a bitch!”

      “I wasn’t asking you,” Matt shouted back. “Just shut the hell up!” He turned back to Maggie. “Come on, Mags. If you don’t want me to drive, we could take a walk.”

      “I’m sorry,” Maggie said as Angie pulled her back into the house.

      After that, she’d only seen Matt at rehearsals.

      She’d urged him to patch things up with Angie, but he’d simply smiled. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he’d asked.

      Finally, she did get it. Matt and Angie were through, and their three-way friendship was over.

      The next year, Matt went off to college. Angie found a new boyfriend and life went on. Maggie had kept track of Matt for a while.

      The last address Maggie had had for him was from nearly seven years ago, when he was living in Los Angeles. Since then, she’d heard nothing of him, as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth.

      But now he was back.

      Maggie picked up the phone and dialed.

      It rang four times before a breathless voice answered it. “Hello?”

      “Hey, Matt.”

      “Mags!” he said, genuine pleasure ringing in his voice. “Thanks for calling back so quickly. How are you?”

      Awful. “I’m fine. Welcome back to the East Coast.”

      “Yeah, well.” His voice sounded subdued for a moment. “I, uh, actually, I’m back in Eastfield on business and, um, СКАЧАТЬ