still on her lips. And the gleaming ring on her finger. He looked away out of self-preservation, saw her car being driven off for parking, then said, “Follow me,” without looking at her again. “I’ll take you to Wayne Lawrence. That is in my job description,” he said, and started off without looking to see if she was following.
Actually, he didn’t have to look to know she was there. He could sense her, and he kept going, through the service area, around the side of the mansion, toward the back terraces. They walked along a pathway that cut across grass and through low shrubbery, and as they turned at the back corner of the house, she brushed against him. Rafe moved quickly ahead of her onto the flagstone terrace.
The party had spilled out onto the back lawns, under the draped fairy lights, and with the French doors of the ballroom, the music seemed to be everywhere, mingled with laughter. He stopped at the edge of the terrace, scanning the groups of guests to try and spot Wayne Lawrence. Sensing Megan right beside him, Rafe turned and saw her features softly illuminated in the glow of the lights. Blue. Her eyes were a clear blue, and that damn ring was winking at him. “I can take it from here,” she said. “Thanks for the escort.”
“Sorry for the trouble at the gate.”
“You were doing your job,” was all she said, as loud laughter from the far side of the terrace drew her attention. A group of people stood there—all men, all drinking, he noted—and that was when he spotted Mr. Lawrence. Rafe had only seen him in the picture Zane had provided, but recognized the man immediately. He looked every day of his sixty years, balding as he was, and even though the picture had been head and shoulders, Rafe had guessed right about him being out of shape despite the very expensive tux he was wearing.
“Well, there he is,” he said to Megan, motioning to Mr. Lawrence. “You found him on the lower terrace.”
“Yes, I did,” she murmured.
Right then, another security guard came jogging from the upper terrace, skirting the guests by staying on the lawn. Seeing Rafe, he hurried over and said in a low voice, “A 215 at the Service.”
That was their code for a troublesome drunk—a way of communicating what was going on without the guests knowing. Rafe had started that practice when he’d actually worked the events, the way he was doing tonight. “The Service” meant the problem was at the delivery area.
He nodded to the guard. “I’ll be right there,” he said, and the other man took off while he turned back to say goodbye to Megan.
But she was gone. He looked across the terrace and saw her approaching Mr. Lawrence with her hand out. A big smile was on his face.
There was no backward glance, no hesitation on her part. Rafe was forgotten, a security guard who had bugged her, then escorted her to her date. And that was okay. He didn’t plan on remembering too much of what happened tonight, either. He headed toward the front of the house in a jog to help take care of the drunk.
Chapter Two
Monday
Megan was in her office, one of the dozen or so cubicles just off the main hallway, and right next to the rest rooms for the entire floor. Little more than three partial walls with no door, it was stocked with the usual office equipment, along with a stack of work that had been sent to her that morning. The only good thing about her work area was the window, even if it did look out onto the roof of the building next door.
Not that she had much time to look out the window. She’d been busy since she’d arrived, and was still facing two or three hours of work she’d have to take back to the hotel with her when she left.
“That was certainly a lovely party.”
Megan looked up to find her boss in the doorless entry. The receptionist, Ellen, who sat at a desk directly across from the elevators, had told Megan earlier that Mr. Lawrence liked to keep an eye on “his people.” She’d made a joke about him wearing a bell around his neck so staff would be warned when he was closing in. Megan had thought she’d been kidding, but now she knew the woman had been serious. Megan hadn’t heard the man approach.
“Oh, sir,” she said, pushing back the file she was reading, the details of the day care center incorporation to separate it from LynTech. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She brushed at her hair, which she’d caught in a low knot that morning, and tugged a bit nervously at the cuffs of the simple white shirt she was wearing with beige linen slacks.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he came into the cubicle. But he didn’t sound any sorrier for his actions than Rafe had Saturday night. Now why had she thought of the security guard? “I just wanted to make sure everything was going well for you, and to say it was a pleasure meeting you at the ball.”
“Oh, thank you so much.” She’d left the event as soon as she could, but not before Mr. Lawrence had pulled her from group to group, introducing her to so many people she couldn’t remember any of them. All she really remembered was a glimpse of Rafael Diaz going past the French doors just as Mr. Lawrence had taken her hand to tug her over to yet another group of guests. She’d seen a flash of a frown on the guard’s face, then he’d disappeared for the rest of the evening. “The ball was wonderful.”
Mr. Lawrence, dapper in a solid navy suit, matching tie and gray shirt, came to the front of her desk. “I was very glad you finally showed up.” He hadn’t been annoyed by her tardiness, but seemed to appreciate the guard being so careful with her entry to the ball. “Better safe than sorry,” he murmured soberly.
“Absolutely,” she said, not sure if she should stand or not.
He took that decision out of her hands when he motioned for her to stay sitting, then said, “I just came in to say that we’re glad you’re here, and this month should prove illuminating for everyone.” He tapped at his wristwatch with his forefinger. “It’s seven, and you’re the last one still here. I appreciate dedication, and it will go in your file.”
Was that why he’d come by? Because he’d noticed her light on when the other cubicles were dark? She pressed a hand to the papers in front of her. “I wanted to finish up the first part of the file you gave me before I left.”
“I was hoping I’d catch you and save you a trip to the hotel to get your things.”
She didn’t understand. “Is there a problem?”
“Oh, no. I just wanted to let you know that your belongings from the hotel were moved to the loft this afternoon, to save you the trouble. They should be there when you arrive.”
He’d called her to his office earlier and informed her that she was moving out of the hotel to a loft the company used. He’d explained it was wired directly to the offices, and to the legal department in particular. The rationale for the move was so she could access the database of both the day care center and LynTech anytime she wanted to from there, and the inference was she could work even if she wasn’t at the office. The details of the switch to independent status for the day care center was tedious but necessary work, and the reason she’d been sent to Houston.
She hadn’t thought much about it until that moment, but suddenly felt uneasy that a perfect stranger had gone into her hotel room and packed her things for her. But she forced herself to smile. “Thanks for taking care of that for me,” she said, and hoped she didn’t choke on the words.
“You’re very welcome,” he answered. Then he looked at his watch again. “Oh, my. I need to run. I’m meeting Abe Larson in half an hour.” She had no idea who Abe Larson was, but didn’t have a chance to ask before he said, “I’ll see you back here first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, but found herself speaking to his retreating form as he left.
She sank back in her chair, then swiveled it toward the window and looked out at the starry sky and partial moon that hung over the city below. She’d almost forgotten how beautiful Houston looked. She’d been gone for so long and had