Lauren and Drew looked at each other as the elevator made its silent ascent. "Nicely done, Mrs. Creighton," Drew said.

They got out on the fifth floor and followed the hallway to number 532. Drew inserted the key Gerald lifted from the household key ring, and the door opened easily.

Drew stopped dead on the threshold.

"s.h.i.t. Someone's already been here. They tossed the place."

Lauren brushed past him, stepping over the shoes that spilled from the open front closet. "No, they didn't. This is how Meg keeps house. Now you can see why I doubted she was ever in your dad's bedroom."

Drew followed, cautiously avoiding a twelve-pack of empty Pepsi cans and a six-pack of beer bottles. "You may have a point there," he murmured.

Lauren ignored him, letting him pick his way through the mess while she zeroed in on the stack of mail on the kitchen table, then the pile of papers on the open rolltop desk. Tossing her coat on the couch, she spent the next fifteen minutes flipping through the stacks, looking for anything that seemed out of place, leaving Drew to explore on his own.

No luck.

She turned to Drew, who stood by the coffee table, sorting through a bunch of newspapers and magazines. He hadn't removed his leather jacket, and he looked slightly uncomfortable handling Meg's possessions. "Anything suspicious?" she asked.

"Not unless you call three TVs, about a hundred video tapes and DVDs, and subscriptions to four different papers suspicious."

"Meg's a news junkie."

"And a slob. How can she be so organized at work, and live like this?"

Lauren sighed, familiar with the sentiment, since she'd expressed it so many times herself. "Meg says being organized is is like work for her. She can do it as part of her job, but she doesn't want to bother at home." She nodded toward the bedroom, where she'd heard Drew poking around a few minutes before. "Was there any sign that your dad's been staying here?" like work for her. She can do it as part of her job, but she doesn't want to bother at home." She nodded toward the bedroom, where she'd heard Drew poking around a few minutes before. "Was there any sign that your dad's been staying here?"

He shrugged. "I didn't see any suits or men's shoes in the closet, but I didn't open any drawers."

"Did you check the bathroom?"

"Not yet."

Drew followed her, watching while she went through the vanity drawers. She did her best to ignore him, but in the bathroom filled with lotions, potpourri jars, and scented candles, Drew Creighton seemed overwhelmingly male. He was close enough that his clean smell cut through the cloying sweetness of the candles, causing Lauren's nostrils to flare like a mare scenting a stallion. Alarmed, she moved as far from him as she could.

It was probably the potpourri that was making her lightheaded.

Lauren pointed at the wall beside Drew. "Check the medicine cabinet," she instructed. She wasn't about to reach across his chest to do it herself.

Drew flicked open the mirrored door. She spotted the evidence they sought two seconds later. On the shelf above the pain killers and cold medicines, a man's razor, shaving lotion, aftershave, and comb lay neatly lined up along the gla.s.s shelf. Lauren felt something like relief.

"I guess your dad's been staying here after all."

"I don't think so." Drew picked up the comb and examined it closely as he spoke. "That's not his brand of shaving lotion or aftershave. And this," he pulled something from the teeth of the comb, "is definitely not his hair."

Lauren peered at the short brown strand Drew held out, recalled Senator Creighton's full head of silver hair and felt suddenly queasy. In a voice filled with apprehension, she asked, "Could it be from the man in the pictures?"

Drew's thin smile was too tight to be sincere. "You tell me, you had a better look at them than I did."

"I guess not," she told him weakly, recalling the pale blond hair in the photos. Lauren sighed at the thought of another sleep-over lover in addition to Senator Creighton and the X-rated Scandinavian stud. She'd wanted to believe the pictures had been faked. And for Meg's sake, she wanted Drew to believe that her sister was not the type who could have posed for those pictures. But it was getting harder to defend her.

"It's not what you're thinking," she told Drew.

"What am I thinking?"

"That Meg is some sort of s.l.u.t who sleeps around and indulges in kinky s.e.x fantasies."

"That's not what I think." Before Lauren could exhale with relief, he continued, "I think she's the sort of"-he hesitated before carefully amending the word-"woman who sleeps her way to the top, and who's more than willing to indulge other people's s.e.xual fantasies if it helps her get there."

In a flash, her relief turned to jaw-clenching fury. "That's so unfair! You don't even know her."

"Really?" He put the comb back and gave her his full attention. "Here's what I know about your sister." He thrust his finger in front of her face. "One. She's worked in my dad's office eight months and is already his personal staff secretary, a brilliant little bureaucratic coup on her part."

"She's very good at what she does," Lauren spat back, her eyes scrunched to narrow slits that she hoped he found evil and dangerous.

"Two." A second finger flipped up under her nose. "She has had at least three love affairs during those eight months, not counting the Scandanavian photo stud-don't look so surprised, I told you Gerald knows everything-all of whom were flush with money and on the way up the political ladder."

Lauren adroitly skipped over the number of Meg's affairs. "What do you expect? The only men she meets are in government."

"Three." His three fingers made a reversed Boy Scout salute in front of her face. She barely refrained from batting them aside. "She is quite willing to date her boss, a traditional no-no for any secretary who wants to keep her job, except for the ambitious ones who want to promote themselves to Mrs. Boss."

That one really got her steamed. "Why does Meg get the blame for that? That is such a chauvinistic, male point of view, Creighton. Maybe the lecherous old b.a.s.t.a.r.d went after her her."

He wasn't the least bit offended. "Yeah, I'll admit that could happen, except for number four." She got a close-up view of all four fingers as both his hand and his face moved in, driving home his point. "Just two weeks ago Dad was dating some divorced socialite in Virginia who had his favorite qualification-she's a former centerfold. Yes, you can thank Gerald again. Then he was suddenly getting calls at home from Meg, and having late night meetings with his dedicated secretary, who probably felt threatened by Miss f.u.c.k of the Month and decided to make her move."

"That's ridiculous!"

"And who's young enough to flatter him into thinking he's a young stud again himself, because she's pretty and ambitious, and too d.a.m.ned s.e.xy for her own good." who's young enough to flatter him into thinking he's a young stud again himself, because she's pretty and ambitious, and too d.a.m.ned s.e.xy for her own good."

"And how the h.e.l.l would you know that?" Lauren snapped.

They glared at each other as the answer sank in. He didn't know Meg. He did know her look-alike sister. Any physical impression he had of Meg would have come from Lauren, or from his brief glance at the nude photo of Meg, who they both knew was identical to Lauren in every pertinent respect.

Too s.e.xy for her own good?

Lauren felt her face go blank.

Drew's anger faded to a cautious look, and he backed away as far as he could before he hit the wall, which was about one foot. He was still too close for Lauren's comfort, judging by the fluttering in her stomach, especially since he didn't look the least bit embarra.s.sed by the implications of what he'd said. Instead, he seemed to be a.s.sessing its accuracy and looking far too interested in his conclusion.

Lauren stepped back and stared, grappling with the concept. On her best days, she felt pretty. She would never have put herself in the s.e.xy category. Even sweet, smitten Jeff, who called her beautiful and smart, had never called her s.e.xy. Before she could wonder about that oversight, she had to wiggle out from under the fascinated gaze of her nephew nephew, who was making her feel distinctly un-auntlike.

Since he hadn't actually said she was s.e.xy, she decided to pretend she'd never taken it that way.

Using her best haughty voice, she said, "Excuse me, I need to get clothes from Meg's bedroom for the emba.s.sy party."

He moved all of three inches. Lauren squeezed past him, so close she felt his breath on top of her head and detected a scent that was both spicy and warm, which made her realize how rattled she was, since warm was not a smell.

She went directly to Meg's closet and scanned the racks for her sister's best dresses.

It wasn't like shopping at Lord & Taylor, but pretty d.a.m.n close. Meg obviously had a busier social life than Lauren, judging by the number of c.o.c.ktail and evening dresses, most black, and all more daring than Lauren would have preferred. Nothing had a decently high neckline or a hint of sleeve.

She pulled out the black sheath Gerald had recommended, a figure-hugging line of clingy silk with tiny spaghetti straps.

"s.e.xy," Drew said behind her.

He lounged in the doorway of the tiny walk-in closet. His smug smile was aimed at her, not the dress.

That one word was enough reason not to wear the dress. Lauren arched an eyebrow, stuck the dress back on the rack, and blindly selected the one next to it. "Too bad. I'm wearing this one."

The smile broadened to a grin.

Lauren looked at the dress in her hands. A formfitting strapless top dipped in a low heart shape, hugged tightly to the curve of invisible hips, then flared into a long skirt. Perfect for dancing, preferably a sizzling hot tango. Lauren's mouth went dry.

Choking back a laugh, Drew said, "Excuse me. I need to order a long-stemmed red rose." He left before he could even appreciate her fuming scowl.

Lauren sighed and considered the dress. She could select a different one, but Drew would know she'd been intimidated by his reaction. Better to be intimidated by a dress than by Drew.

Another worried look at the plunging neckline a.s.sured her that she was not overstating the problem. She wouldn't have to search Meg's underwear drawers for a strapless black bra; the crisscross lacing on the back of the dress showed too much skin for that. Her modest bosom was on its own. She would have to hope the heart-shaped curves of the bodice offered adequate enhancement.

At least she could pilfer some black nylons from Meg.

Several minutes of searching made it clear that panty hose were out. Meg's preference was obviously thongs, black garter belts and stockings. It was either wear the racy underwear, or stop at a drug store for her usual package of cheap pantyhose.

Lauren ran the silk stockings across her hand thoughtfully. No one would know but her, and it might make her feel daring enough to be comfortable in the dress.

What the h.e.l.l.

Shaking off a shiver of antic.i.p.ation, she gathered them up and left before she could change her mind.

Her last hope for a demure look ended with Steven.

"Are you sure you want me to cut it?" he asked, standing back to give Lauren's hair a critical eye and speaking to Gerald. "She has enough length and volume to do a loose, wavy fall. Very feminine and pretty, especially if I weave some tiny flowers into the top."

Lauren looked up hopefully.

Gerald shook his head. "Can't do it. It has to look exactly like Meg's. Razor cut along the bottom so it curves in, feathered through here and here." Fingers lightly fluffed Lauren's hair. "And wispy bangs down to here."

Steven shrugged. "Okay. It's a flattering style, but not as s.e.xy."

She was getting used to the idea of s.e.xy and thought it sounded fine.

"Of course it isn't. She can't go to the emba.s.sy like that!" Gerald look horrified. "After you cut it, you'll have to do some sort of upsweep." His fingers danced over the crown of Lauren's head in demonstration.

"No," Drew interjected from across the kitchen, chair tipped back in what must be his usual pose. "Don't change it from the way Meg was wearing hers the last few days. We want her to be recognized. She's supposed to be Senator Creighton's wife, remember?"

"Okay," Gerald agreed reluctantly. "But it needs something something to make it look special. This is an emba.s.sy party." to make it look special. This is an emba.s.sy party."

"I didn't bring any accessories, Gerald." Steven stepped out from behind the kitchen chair so Lauren could see him without twisting around on her stool. In blue jeans and flannel shirt, Steven couldn't look more different from Gerald, who wore his standard vest and tie even though it was Sat.u.r.day. "Did you bring anything with you that we could use?" he asked her. "Ribbons, silver combs, jeweled barrettes, anything?"

Lauren mentally reviewed her meager grooming supplies. "I have a velvet band I use to tie my hair back," she said doubtfully.

Steven rubbed his neatly trimmed beard as he studied the top of her head. "I could work with that. What color?"

"Red."

Gerald smiled. "Perfect. She has a black dress, Steven. It'll be great. Very s.e.xy."

The world was conspiring to make her s.e.xy. Lauren warmed to the idea and flicked her gaze toward Drew. He looked entirely too detached and carefree, and she felt too exposed in her bathrobe, even though it covered her from head to toe. "Why aren't you getting ready?" she asked him. "What are you going to wear?"

"I have a tux upstairs. Dad usually ropes me into attending these things when I'm in town. He keeps hoping political aspirations will rub off on me." His cynical tone said it was a vain hope.

Like a typical man, he'd probably devote all of ten minutes to getting dressed, and look perfect. But letting him watch while Steven transformed her into something s.e.xy made her squirm. She'd already caught his gaze on her a bit too often this afternoon.

"Shouldn't you check with the police? I thought they were going to keep us updated on their search."

It was the right diversion.

"Yeah, you're right." Drew's chair dropped. "I'll give that cop a call."

"Detective Rasmussen," Gerald supplied, keeping a critical eye on Lauren's hair as Steven began snipping.

"That's the guy. I'll be right back."

"Take your time," she muttered to his back.

Lauren closed her eyes, prepared to sink into the luxury of being pampered, when Gerald crossed his arms and planted himself in front of her. "Okay, time to review your homework."

She stiffened. This was the scary part. "There's no way I can learn all those names and faces in the next few hours. Can't I just smile politely at everyone and avoid using names?"

Gerald scowled. "No, you cannot. You could end up being too remote to one of Senator Creighton's best friends, or worse yet, flashing a smile at Callista Featherstone and giving the whole thing away." He narrowed a sharp stare at her while wagging a finger. "I can not emphasize this enough. Callista is a petty, jealous witch-with-a-B and hates Meg with a pa.s.sion. Once you open your mouth, it will take her all of ten seconds to realize that you are not your sister. Ten seconds after that, the whole room will know."

Lauren swallowed but couldn't get rid of the lump that had suddenly developed in her throat. "How am I supposed to recognize her? Can't you come with us?"

Her desperation softened Gerald's glare. "No, I can't. Just stay away from any tall blondes with a crash-test front end."

"A what?"

"Air bags, sweetie," he said, holding his hand up to support giant, invisible b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Fully inflated. Avoid any women matching that description, especially if they have a nasty little predatory glint in their eyes." He shrugged. "That should eliminate most of the strumpets. You can be polite to the rest."

Lauren's shoulders sagged with defeat, causing Steven to poke her back to an upright posture. She moaned, "I'll never remember all those people."

"Andrew can help. He knows some of the men." A wicked grin swept across his face. "And probably most of the women."

Somehow that was more irritating than rea.s.suring, which was probably the reaction Gerald intended. While she concentrated on looking disinterested, Drew walked into the kitchen.

"The police are off the case," Drew said, not looking very happy about it. "Orders of the Secret Service. I couldn't get hold of whoever's in charge of it now."

"Is that normal?" Lauren asked.

"Probably," Gerald told her. "The Secret Service provides protection for senators and representatives if it's needed. They have a full investigative staff." He squinted critically at the side of her head. "More layering," he directed Steven. "It has to swing when she moves her head back and forth." He demonstrated, swishing imaginary layers of hair across his collar.