"The very one," I said, grinning. "We're going out to dinner tomorrow night."

A noise behind us made me pause. I turned to see Blane standing at the corner of Clarice's desk, a stack of folders in his hand. He stared intently at me, a frown creased his forehead. Clarice and I always chatted, but I didn't want to get her in trouble. Hurriedly getting up from the chair, I cleared my throat.

"Did you have any deliveries for me?" I asked Clarice, all business.

"No, not today, thank you," she answered, turning quickly back to her computer. I think she could sense Blane's displeasure as well.

I wanted to ask Blane if he'd found out anything about Sheila but wasn't sure this was the time or place. The look on his face didn't invite friendly inquiries. I swallowed and moved to pa.s.s by him to the elevators. A hand closing around my arm stopped me.

"Can I see you for a moment, Kathleen?" Blane asked. Well, it came out a question, but was really a command. I saw Clarice look up from her computer.

"Um, sure," I said uncertainly, and followed him into his office. He closed the door behind me and headed to the desk where he set down the folders he'd been carrying. I stood nervously watching him. After a moment, he rounded to the side of the desk nearest me and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit today with a white shirt and tie that I'm sure cost more than my entire wardrobe. It made his already broad shoulders look even wider and I noticed how the pants hung low on his lean hips. Appalled at where my gaze had fallen, I jerked my eyes upward.

"How are you doing?" he asked, and his tone had lost its earlier austerity.

"I'm fine," I said. I really didn't want to talk about me. The last thing I wanted was for him to show me kindness, which would probably make me start crying again. I was quite sure he'd seen enough of me crying.

"I was wondering if you'd been able to track down anything on the person Sheila had been seeing?" I asked hopefully. It was only Monday, but I was confident that if there was any way to track him down, Blane would be someone who could do it. I'm not sure why I felt this way, I just did. Blane was someone that could be very intimidating and dangerous under certain circ.u.mstances, as I had discovered the other night when I had observed him with a gun held comfortably in his hand, but I also knew him to be the kind of man that got things done.

To my dismay, he shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not." When he saw the disappointment on my face, he stood and walked closer until he was only an arm's length away.

"I'll keep trying," he said quietly, as he reached out and took a lock of my hair between his fingers like he had Friday night. With him this close, I could smell a faint trace of his cologne again. I fought to keep my mind on the topic at hand.

"I managed to get Sheila's cell phone," I said. I'd had an idea yesterday. "I was wondering if maybe he might have called her. Or, at least, there should be a call on there from the person she worked for. Maybe I could get in touch with her. Or him." I didn't know who it would be. Pimps were usually men, if movies and television were anything to go by, but madams supposedly ran the high-priced escort services, like that Heidi Fleiss.

Blane's hand froze for a moment, then continued threading the strands of my hair through his fingers.

"Why don't you bring it in to me?" he suggested. "I can get the numbers run to see who they are." That sounded like a much better idea than me just randomly calling the numbers. But a whisper of caution made me hesitate.

"I'd better put the phone back," I said, "but I'll write down the numbers first and bring them in." I don't know why I lied, I just did. I had no intention of taking the phone back to Sheila's apartment.

"Okay," he readily agreed. "Good idea. Bring them to me tomorrow." I waited for him to step back but he didn't. Instead, he moved slightly closer. Tipping my head back, I looked up at him.

"What's tomorrow night?" he asked, and his voice had dropped lower, making me think things I really shouldn't where he was concerned. He was my boss, I reminded myself, and tried to focus. His question puzzled me. What was he talking about?

"Um, Tuesday?" I answered, my brows knitting in confusion. I saw his mouth curve slightly.

"Yes, Tuesday," he said wryly. "I meant, what were you telling Clarice about tomorrow night."

Oh. Well, this was slightly uncomfortable. Somehow I doubted Blane would approve of William Gage's son asking the lowly runner on a date. I picked a spot on his suit to look at as I answered.

"James asked me on a date." Blane didn't respond for a moment, though his fingers stilled in my hair again. When he didn't say anything, I cautiously looked up to find his gray eyes on mine.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said firmly. I was surprised at how that hurt and I responded defensively.

"I'm not good enough for him, right?" I said, my tone heavy with sarcasm. I stepped backward outside his reach. His hand dropped to his side and he watched me.

"I didn't say that," he began, but I cut him off.

"You didn't have to," I retorted. "You think I don't know that you see me as some hick that's far beneath the notice of someone like him?" Or someone like yourself, I thought but didn't say. I saw his jaw clench and his eyes spark with anger, but I ignored that.

"James at least respects me enough to ask me out on a date! You just groped me in my bed and left!" My eyes widened in shock at what I'd said. The minute the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Not because I didn't think they were true, but because I hadn't wanted to talk about what had happened that night. The flash of anger was back in his eyes and I spun on my heel and ran for the door. Throwing it open, I practically flew out of his office.

"Kathleen, wait!" I heard him call, but I ignored him. Clarice glanced up at me as I pa.s.sed, her eyes wide, but I didn't stop. I was already at the stairwell door, not bothering to wait for the elevator, when I heard Blane's door slam shut behind me.

Chapter Four.

I retreated to my cubby, grabbed the files I had for delivery, and hurried out of the building. My mind wasn't really on where I was going as I drove. I was reeling from my outburst to Blane. If I'd wanted to prove to him that I wasn't a hick but a modern, sophisticated woman, I had ma.s.sively screwed up. I groaned in embarra.s.sment. No doubt he thought I was a young, naive country b.u.mpkin after that scene.

Honking startled me and I realized I'd been sitting at a green light. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I saw a line of cars behind me waiting to turn. Grimacing, I stomped on the gas and my car lurched forward.

It took me a while to make all the deliveries and I ended up grabbing a sandwich for lunch to eat in the car. I wasn't looking forward to going back, especially if Diane was around, so I took my time.

The last firm on my list was one I really enjoyed visiting. They were situated further from the city and nestled in an area surrounded by woods. One of the things I missed most about my hometown was the trees. Autumn was my favorite season and I loved watching the leaves turn color. Although the weather was a bit dreary today, the trees still looked gorgeous with their auburn and gold burnished leaves.

After delivering the envelope I'd had for them, I lingered outside on the way back to my car, letting the peacefulness of the leaves rustling in the breeze calm my agitation. Stopping for a moment, I leaned back against a tree and shut my eyes. For a few minutes, I just stayed like that, enjoying being outside and regaining my equilibrium. I had to get a grip. My fascination with Blane would get me nowhere except even more infatuated. I had to forget about him. After all, I had a date. My lips curved in a smile. Something to look forward to. That was nice.

Pushing away from the tree, I heaved a sigh and headed for my car. As I walked, I noticed someone standing by my car. When I got close enough to see who it was, I froze.

Jimmy was leaning against the side, carelessly playing with a pocketknife. My pulse sped up and I had to fight the urge to turn and run. Looking up at me, his lips curved in a sneer.

"Kathleen Turner," he said. "It's good to see you again." Pleasant enough words, but the way he said them made my skin crawl.

"How do you know my name?" I asked. I didn't recall Blane giving out anything but my first name to the Santinis.

"We make it a point to find out things about people," he said. He was still playing with the knife and I found it hard to take my eyes off it. It made me think of Sheila and I swallowed hard.

"Blane said for you to stay away from me," I said in as threatening of a tone as I could manage. His sneer disappeared and I instinctively took a step back when he moved closer to me, shoving his face near to mine.

"I don't answer to Blane Kirk," he growled at me, his eyes furiously angry. "And he should remember who I do answer to." His hand flashed out and I screamed. I expected to feel pain, but I didn't. Cool air touched my skin and I realized he'd sliced through the fabric of my sweater near my neck.

"You tell Kirk to keep you quiet or next time, it'll be your pretty skin."

He got into a nearby car and drove away. I stood immobilized for several minutes, watching his car shrinking into the distance, before my feet would obey my command to move.

Getting into my car, I took a moment to just breathe and regain control. Finally, when I felt I could drive without crashing the car, I started the engine and drove back to the firm.

It was late afternoon by now and I wanted to make a quick dash into the building and hit a bathroom first without seeing anyone. My rearview mirror told me I looked less than ideal. My mascara had run when a few tears escaped on the drive back and there was a long tear in the top of my sweater that left the fabric gaping.

I shot a quick glance around the firm's empty lobby and gratefully slunk into the ladies' room.

I washed my face, sighing at the complete lack of makeup now. I wasn't one of those girls who carried makeup in my purse. I pulled out the headband to brush my hair and let it fall around my face. My hair was long enough that it sort of covered the rip if I wore it over my shoulders rather than down my back. I sighed at my reflection. Well, that was about as good as it was going to get. Looking at my watch, I saw I only had another hour before I could go home.

I took care to avoid Diane on my way back to my cubby. She'd probably think I'd been getting it on with someone during work hours, the way my clothes were torn. I snorted. As if I would be that lucky.

I had no further deliveries to make today and for that I was grateful. When I had no deliveries to make, I usually helped with the typing. The paralegals who worked in the office were forever overloaded with typing up briefs, motions, and the never-ending pile of other paperwork that went hand-in-hand with the profession. Peeking into a nearby cubby where Lori, one of the paralegals, worked, I asked if she had anything for me to do. Gratefully, she handed me a stack.

"If you could start on this motion, that would be great," she said.

"No problem." Disappearing back to my desk, I went to work.

A little while later, I felt a presence behind me and I turned. Diane was there, watching me.

"When did you get back?" she asked curtly.

Glancing at the clock, I said, "About an hour ago."

"You should always check in with me when you return," she reprimanded me, "I may have more runs for you."

"Do you?" I asked pointedly. Diane was such a control-freak; it drove me crazy.

"No," she said. "But I could have," she added snidely. "And they wouldn't have gotten delivered because you didn't check in." I'd had a rough few days and my patience with Diane had reached its limit.

"G.o.d forbid you come see for yourself if I've gotten back," I retorted. "Or just put the deliveries here for me when they're ready."

"That's not my job," Diane spat back. "You work for me; I don't cater to you."

"I work for the firm," I gritted out, "and no one else seems to have any problems with me except you."

"That's just because I expect people to actually work when we pay them," she said viciously.

That set my blood boiling and I had opened my mouth to fire back when James suddenly stepped into view.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, looking between Diane and me. Diane's mouth shut with a snap.

"No sir," she said, "just reminding Kathleen of her duties." With that, she turned and left. I still felt like steam was coming out of my ears when James turned toward me.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, his brow furrowing. I really didn't want to say anything, I was quite sure it would be much easier for me to be replaced than Diane.

"Oh, we just don't get along very well," I said vaguely.

"Is it something I need to address with her?" he asked, concerned. I'm sure that would go over great with Diane, I thought ruefully, and make her hate me even more. An outcome that would definitely make my life here more difficult.

"No, no," I said, shaking my head. "It's nothing. You know how women can be." That should alleviate his interest. There wasn't a man I'd met yet that didn't want to steer clear of female spats.

"What did you need?" I asked, hoping to change the subject. After all, it wasn't like he just showed up at my cubby on a regular basis.

"About tomorrow night," he said, and my stomach clenched. Was he going to break our date?

"I had something come up so I won't be able to take you to dinner straight from work. Can I pick you up at your place instead?"

"Sure." I smiled through my misgivings, wishing I lived in a nicer part of town, and gave him the address.

"I'll pick you up at seven," he said. I agreed and with a parting grin, he left. I worked for another hour or so past the official quitting time just to get the file typed for Lori. It was getting close to seven by the time I gathered up my things to leave.

Walking to my car, I shivered. It had gotten colder and the wind went right through the tear in my sweater. That really upset me. I liked this sweater and now it was ruined. With a sigh, I opened my car door and slid inside, pulling the door with a slam. Then I nearly screamed. Blane was sitting in the pa.s.senger seat of my car. I went from tired to highly p.i.s.sed off in three seconds flat.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" I yelled at him. "You nearly scared me to death!" My heart was racing in my chest.

"You should lock your doors," he said calmly, unfazed by my yelling. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me and I self-consciously tugged at my sweater, the rip fully visible. "What happened to you?" I wasn't ready to let go of my anger just yet.

"I had a run in with your friend Jimmy," I said acidly. "He had a message for me." His jaw tightened. "I'm supposed to keep quiet or else I'll get sliced to ribbons. Any idea what he was talking about?"

"What are you implying?" His voice was icy, and if I'd had more sense at the moment, I would've backed off. But I was too angry to care.

"I'm implying that you're the only one I've told about who Sheila was seeing and who I think might've killed her and now, suddenly today, Jimmy's telling me to keep my mouth shut! Do you want me dead?"

In a flash of movement too fast for me to react, Blane shifted and suddenly I was pinned in my seat, his hand wrapped around my throat. Terrified, I choked in shock, gasping. Although I had accused him of setting Jimmy on me, I hadn't really believed it. My hands had instinctively come up and grabbed hold of his arm, but I couldn't budge him. My eyes squeezed shut and I sat immobile, waiting to see what he'd do. His hand was firmly on my neck but it wasn't painful. Yet. As I waited, barely breathing, I felt his lips near my ear.

"If I wanted you dead," he whispered into my ear, "you'd be dead. And I wouldn't need Jimmy to do it for me." I shivered slightly at his words. His hand loosened around my throat but remained there. I opened my eyes and found his face inches from mine. Our eyes locked and neither of us moved. Suddenly, it wasn't just fear that was making my heart race and thickening the air in my lungs. I was sure he could feel my rapid pulse beneath his fingers.

His eyes dropped to my mouth and I knew then what he was going to do. I wasn't sure if it terrified me more or less than the threat of him killing me.

Lowering his head, his lips lightly brushed mine and I felt as though a bolt of electricity had shot through me. His mouth settled gently over mine, his lips pressing softly, urging me to respond. I fought it, unable to turn away because he still held me immobile. He was insistent, though, his tongue lightly tracing the seam of my lips. A whimper escaped me and I caved, opening my mouth beneath him. With a groan of satisfaction, his hand moved from my throat to cradle the back of my neck as he deepened the kiss. My hands crept upward, finding the lapels of his suit coat and sliding under them to touch his hard chest covered by crisp linen.

His mouth was insistent against mine, yet he took his time. Blane was a very good kisser and it seemed I'd only ever been kissed by amateurs before him. I felt heat curl low in my stomach. The taste of him was intoxicating to me. He tasted of danger and intimacy, safety and the unknown.

Blane reluctantly pulled back and I could feel my pulse racing. His eyes were focused on mine, their gray depths luminous in the deepening twilight shadows. In the absence of his body heat, I shivered slightly, the cold air seeping into me.

Sitting back, Blane shrugged out of his suit jacket and wrapped it around me. It was still warm from his skin and I could smell his cologne mixed tantalizingly with his own scent on the fabric. Sliding his hand under the collar, he lifted my hair free. The touch of his fingers against my skin sent another tremor through me and I dropped my gaze, my cheeks heating.

"You're blushing," he said quietly, the back of his hand brushing my cheek. I cursed my fair skin. "So young and innocent," he murmured, almost to himself. Not daring to look him in the eye, I focused on the slight bulge of his Adam's apple in his throat.

Fingers under my chin forced me to look up. When my eyes met his, I drew my breath in sharply, taken aback by the intensity with which he gazed at me.

"Be careful," he cautioned. "Don't get involved any further in this." With those curious words, he leaned forward and brushed my lips again. My eyes slid shut. Then there was a gust of wind and the slam of a car door. He was gone.

My fingers touched my mouth and I realized I was still trembling, but not from cold. Leaning my forehead against the steering wheel, I groaned in frustration. Blane utterly confused me even as he intrigued me. I couldn't deny it. But his words seemed to confirm what I'd already suspected, that he knew more about what had happened to Sheila than he was telling me. What that was, I had no idea. But if he wasn't sharing, then I was going to do what I could on my own to find out who had killed Sheila. While I had faith in the police, I knew better than most how overworked and understaffed police departments were. Sheila had been my friend and I felt I owed it to her to do what I could.

I drove home and took a really long, really hot shower. I let my hair air dry and dressed in the warmest pair of sweats I had. I carefully hung up Blane's jacket, my fingers lingering on the expensive fabric, and I refused to let myself press my nose against it to smell his scent. Okay, just once but that was all.

Opening my refrigerator, I sighed. Some milk, cheese, a couple eggs and a loaf of bread that had seen better days were all it contained, as well as the usual a.s.sortment of condiments. I felt the need for comfort food. Throwing on some sneakers, I grabbed my keys and headed to the store.

I wasn't a great cook but I did all right and tonight I needed something warm and filling that would remind me of home. Potato soup seemed to fit the bill and was cheap to make, an added bonus. Loading the necessary items in my cart as well as few other staples, I splurged and grabbed a pint of my favorite flavor of Haagen-Dazs Rocky Road. I paid for everything and drove home.

I only had two paper sacks and thought I could probably make it in one trip up to my apartment. Balancing one carefully in each arm, I used my hip to shut my car door. Trudging up the stairs, I tripped and nearly lost a sack.

"Here! Let me help you." Peering around the sack, I was momentarily taken aback. A beautiful, black woman stood on the stairs. She was tall, at least five-ten, with long black hair that hung straight down her back.

"Oh my G.o.d," I mumbled in shock, "you're Tyra Banks." She laughed, the sound almost musical it was so lovely.

"I get that sometimes," she said, relieving me of one of my sacks. "But trust me, I'm not. 'Cause if I were, I sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't be living in Indiana." She walked up the stairs and I followed her, still a bit stunned.