Читать книгу A Stetson On Her Pillow - Molly Liholm - Страница 9

“YOU WANT ME to marry the cowboy?” Laura asked. “You expect me,” she punctuated the word with a tone of disbelief, “to marry him?”

Even as she spoke in her low, cultured voice and brushed a strand of blond hair off her face, securing it back into the neat French braid she favored, Clint Marshall knew their boss had already made up his mind. They had been called into his office to receive their marching orders—not to debate whether or not they wanted the assignment.

Still, he found it downright amusing to watch patrician Laura Carter try to wiggle her skinny behind out of the assignment. Her cold-blue eyes, a color that reminded Clint of the silver blue of a Texas sky just before a storm, swept over him, quickly dismissed him and returned to Captain Clark.

Clint slouched farther down on the hard wooden chair and crossed one well-worn cowboy boot over the other. He felt Laura’s gaze fall on the scuffed leather. He swung the foot back and forth as if he were relaxing on a rocking chair on his mother’s porch and wished he had a cowboy hat he could tilt forward and drive little Miss Prim and Proper plum crazy. Not that she showed it, but he knew his good old boy routine had gotten to her as she sat even straighter in her chair. Not for the first time he wondered what a Boston blue blood was doing on the Chicago police force.

Or why in the world their captain would be assigning the two of them to work together.

Undoubtedly the skinny, pale man standing in the corner of the office had something to do with this. From the stranger’s expensive, but ill-fitting, suit and polished shoes Clint knew he wasn’t a regular cop. He didn’t look like a guy who knew what the inside of a patrol car looked like much less smelled like. He reminded Clint of an accountant.

In fact he reminded Clint of Jason Fairmount, a nervous tweedy fellow who arrived in Two Horse Junction twice a year to offer his accountancy services. Clint’s mother always had Jason over for dinner whenever he was in town, saying she admired him, and that she wished one of her sons could be as responsible and reliable as Jason.

The skinny, pale man wiped his brow and waited for Captain Clark to speak. Clint kept his mouth shut. There was no point in asking why he and the ice princess had been chosen for this confidential assignment. Captain Clark would tell them when he was ready. If there was one thing Clint knew how to do, it was how to wait.

Instead he smiled at Laura and settled back in his chair, still pretending that it was a comfortable rocker and not a bare-boned, hard-assed flimsy excuse for a chair. Why, such a chair wouldn’t even last through one fight at the Two Horse Watering Hole back home.

Laura glanced at the stranger who was standing silently behind them, opened her mouth, but then closed it again without a word of protest. Clint knew she was annoyed at being assigned to work a case with him. For some reason, Laura Carter had taken one look at him six months ago and decided she didn’t like him.

Of course, he didn’t like her much better.

But if successfully completing this assignment meant that he had a chance to move up to the vacant detective position in Homicide he would work with anyone—including Laura Carter.

He wondered if the rumors about her were true. She had transferred into their unit six months ago after an alleged affair with her boss. Her new boss, Sam Clark, hated having the brass chose his officers for him. Anytime the captain had joined the team for drinks Clint had heard him say that the reason his unit had such a good arrest record was because he chose his detectives without political interference.

Until Laura Carter.

Clark had given her all the crappy assignments, like looking for bond jumpers and investigating small-scale burglaries and purse snatchings. When she’d caught a burglar who’d been stealing from local businesses for over a year, Clark had grudgingly commended her on a job well done.

Laura took a deep breath, looking like a particularly ornery mule about to set out on its own path, ignoring the fact that it would never find its way back home. Clint decided to rescue her before she made another mistake and complained about the assignment further—especially the part about being married to him.

“Darlin’, most of the single women on Chicago’s finest would jump at the chance to be Mrs. Clint Marshall. If there’s one thing us Texas men are known for, it’s for treating a woman right.”

She stiffened even more. He wondered if any man ever got her to loosen up enough to uncross her gorgeous legs and… Well, he wouldn’t let his thoughts continue on their ungentlemanly path. No matter what Ms. Laura Carter thought about his manners, his mother had raised him right.

He let his lips quirk in a half smile as Laura studied him coldly. Her porcelain skin turned even whiter as a slash of pink burned along her high cheekbones. “First, no matter how foolishly some of the other women in this department behave, I’m not part of your female fan club,” she said. “Second, I wouldn’t identify myself by my husband’s name even if he was a Nobel Prize winner for establishing world peace and finding a safe, nonpolluting, inexpensive form of energy.” She tightened her lips in a thin line as she contemplated the unappealing prospect of being married to him. “Mrs. Clint Marshall. That is so outdated and macho! Finally, the last thing I would ever want from you would be to be treated just right.”

She thrust out her chin and glared at him, sparks sizzling from those blue eyes. For the first time Clint saw that there was a tiny ember of fire in her. What could be more fun than to make it burn higher—to make the rigid, frigid Laura Carter burn with anger—and then maybe something else? He wondered what she would be like in bed, with those long, slim legs wrapped around a man, her hair loose and wild about her face. Startled out of his unexpected fantasy about Laura, he winked at her. “Trust me darlin’, if you don’t want it, then you’ve never been treated just right.” He drawled the last two words in his best Texas twang.

“Stop calling me darling,” she said between gritted teeth.

Her angry gaze locked on to his amused eyes, and Clint felt a jolt jump between them. Hot damn, he sat up a little straighter. There might be more to this filly than he’d imagined.

Laura, however, had not felt any similar connection as she turned to appeal to their captain. “Sir, pretending to be Detective Marshall’s wife seems unnecessary for this case, why we could—”

“It is completely necessary.” Clark was only in his late forties, but the lines in his face and the ever-increasing amount of white in his salt-and-pepper hair proved to Clint that he was right in his own plan to return to his hometown before the constant unrelenting pressures of big-city policing had him looking the same. The captain shoved aside the salad he was having for lunch and poured two Advil capsules into his palm from his always open bottle.

Laura frowned. “You shouldn’t take so many—”

She snapped her mouth shut when Clark glared at her.

He chewed the tablets and swallowed. “Trust me, if it was up to me, the last officers I would team up would be you two—not because I care what either of you thinks of the other, but because you are both new to my department and I don’t particularly like either of you. Now, however, you’re coming in useful. So you’re going to do exactly what I say.” He glared at them.

Clint kept on his good old boy face and Laura never twitched a muscle in hers. She was tough, he had to give her that.

Clark picked up a glass of murky greenish brown liquid and, holding his breath, swigged it. A newlywed, he’d taken to drinking the green bile as part of a health kick. He put down the glass and grimaced. “Damn, this stuff tastes so terrible it has to be good for you. Now, listen good while I go over the facts of the case—the faster I have you out of my office the better. Peter Monroe is target of the Special Financial Investigation’s case,” he nodded at the slim, blond-haired man.

“Peter Monroe of Monroe Investments?” Laura asked, a note of admiration in her voice. “He started out with nothing and has a multibillion dollar empire today.”

“That’s him,” the skinny man said. “Special Agent Vincent Garrow, SFI. I’ve been on the Monroe case for twenty months.”

So he was right, Clint thought. Garrow was an accountant or some kind of financial expert. SFI were police officers with briefcases and business degrees working on insider trading, embezzlement, scams and other financial shenanigans. It was not a department Clint wanted to be part of. He preferred people to numbers. “He must be very good to have avoided being caught doing anything guilty in that time,” Clint said. “In almost two years he must have at least cheated on his expenses.”

Garrow ignored Clint and tossed a folder on Clark’s desk. “This is everything on Monroe, including lists of his investments and businesses he’s bought and sold.”

Laura opened the file and scanned a few pages. As Clint suspected, she fit in with the pencil pushers. “Monroe’s wealth is even greater than Fortune magazine said it was, but why do you think he’s doing anything worth investigating?”

Garrow wiped his palms with his handkerchief. “We received a tip almost two years ago about Monroe laundering Russian mob money through his investment divisions.”

“If the information was solid enough for SFI to begin a full-scale investigation,” Clint asked, “why haven’t you brought charges against him?”

Garrow leaned over Laura’s shoulder and picked a piece of paper out of the file. Clint noticed Garrow linger, a little too long, close to Laura. Garrow saw Clint watching him and dropped his gaze. “Russian Mafia money definitely went through Monroe’s companies, but we can’t connect it directly to him. In fact, every piece of dirty money we’ve followed into Monroe Investments has been tied to a different division. We haven’t been able to connect anything directly and specifically to Peter Monroe—only to five of his senior executives.”

“So he’s very smart—and you can’t pin anything on him. I’m surprised you still have a full investigation on him,” Clint said. “Why don’t you arrest the suits and sweat them until one talks.”

Garrow smiled sourly. “Our case isn’t strong enough—the clues add up but broken down it’s just circumstantial evidence. High-priced lawyers will poke enough holes in our case to keep each of our suspects out of jail. We want the brains behind the money.” He stroked his upper lip and Clint wondered if he’d been on assignment recently where he’d worn a mustache. “We don’t have a complete team on Monroe anymore. In fact, for the past six weeks, I’ve been the only investigator. I’m being reassigned in one week.”

“So you came up with one last-ditch effort to find the incriminating evidence you need,” Clint concluded.

“Last ditch is perhaps a little desperate sounding.” Garrow straightened his tie.

“He’s desperate,” Clark interrupted. “The only solid piece of information the numbers guys have on Monroe is his psychological profile. Two years of investigation and they have absolutely nothing on him.” Clark guffawed, a loud burst of noise, and then grinned in pleasure at another department’s failure. Clint knew that like most cops, Clark resented the SFI’s impressive budget and habit of stealing news headlines. “Two years and nothing. Nada. Zilch.” He made a zero with his fingers. “That’s why they’ve come crawling to us. Us ordinary cops with no special titles or secret budgets. The guys who are out there on the streets, taking it every day for the safety of the city of Chicago. Specifically for you two. The cowboy and the heiress.”

Clint saw Laura move ever so slightly and almost leaned forward to stop her, but checked himself. Let her make her own bed. He’d always reckoned it was better to go along until he could figure out how to suit the circumstance to his own needs.

Laura smiled winningly at her boss. “Captain Clark, if I could interrupt here for a moment, I’ve studied financial—”

“No, you may not,” Clark shouted.

The smile dropped from Laura’s face, in fact Clint would have sworn she shut herself off. Clint didn’t know any other way to describe how she was looking at their boss. She had just thrown off a switch in herself. She was still listening, but he could tell part of her wasn’t there anymore.

“You may not say another word,” Sam Clark continued. Clint could have told her there wasn’t any point in trying to change their senior officer’s mind, but she would never listen to his advice. As far as he could tell, Laura never listened to anyone’s advice.

More importantly he wanted to hear more details of the case. This could very well be the opportunity he’d needed to get him back home. He’d spent the past year in Chicago and while he genuinely liked the windy city, he heard Texas calling to him more and more often.

If he and Laura were successful on this case, he might be promoted to Homicide, which was the best of the best. If he solved the case quickly, Captain Clark would have to recommend him for the spot. With his record in Dallas and his work in Chicago, he figured he was the prime candidate. Once he’d plugged in a year or two in Homicide, no one back home could ever claim that there was anyone more qualified than himself to be sheriff of Two Horse Junction. In fact the only downside to this whole situation was being forced to spend a lot of time with Laura Carter.

Mind, if she had to wear a couple of pretty dresses, hang off his arm and admire him, he didn’t think the assignment would turn out all that bad. “Perhaps you could share with us exactly how the cowboy and the heiress fit into your investigation?”

Garrow nodded. “You’re going to attend a society wedding and make contact with Peter Monroe.”

“Who’s getting married?” Laura asked.

“Penelope York and Kyle Chandler.”

“Penelope York of York Construction?”

Garrow nodded. “Do you know the family personally?”

“No,” Laura said. “I’ve never met them, but my uncle owns stock. He likes to talk about his investments. Have we been invited to the wedding?”

“Yes. I’ve made arrangements for your invitation. Since it’s a big society event, your family connection,” he looked at Laura, “was the entry we needed. The bride’s father was more than happy to cooperate with the SFI, especially after we found a few irregularities with one of his deals. He’s the only one who will know the two of you aren’t married.”

“So York gets his case closed and a cop from a good family on the guest list,” Clint said. “Won’t other guests know that Laura is a cop?”

“No,” Laura said quickly. “People from my family’s social set don’t know I’m a cop.”

“What do they think you do?”

“Nothing.”

“They think you’re just a party girl?” he asked disbelievingly. While he didn’t much care for Laura, no one could deny she was a hard worker.

“Something like that.” Laura pushed that errant strand of hair back into her braid. “What exactly are Clint and I supposed to do at the wedding?”

“With all the parties celebrating the nuptials it’s a week-long affair. Donald York has gone full-out with the celebrations and the Chandler family has thrown in what money they have as well.” Garrow waved the Monroe file at them accusingly. “Let me state the assignment more clearly. You’re going to do more than make contact, you’re going to become Mr. and Mrs. Monroe’s new best friends.” Garrow stared at the file he held in his hands. “We’ve had agents in his company studying every move Peter Monroe makes. Another operative became a social friend at his country club, but nothing. Hell, one of our best agents has spent hours shopping with Mrs. Monroe, but she doesn’t know anything.”

“Or she’s too smart for your operative,” Laura said, but the men ignored her.

“Clint and Laura Marshall are attending all the festivities of the York-Chandler wedding because the Yorks are important business associates. What’s more, Donald York revealed that Monroe asked for Nicholas Vasili to be invited to the wedding ceremony and reception. Vasili is Russian Mafia. This is the closest we’ve ever been to getting Monroe and Vasili in the same room.” Garrow’s face grew animated as he revealed his case. “You two are going to figure out why Monroe wants Vasili at the wedding and uncover what they’re up to. I suspect Vasili will be handing over another load of money for Monroe to launder through his companies—and you’re going to catch them at it.”

“That sounds about as likely as convincing a goat to keep out of the garbage. Surely you have some kind of a better lead?” Clint asked, wondering what kind of a crazy assignment SFI was running.

Garrow mopped his brow with a white handkerchief. “This is our last chance. After this weekend the budget for this case is gone and I have to move on to a more likely candidate, but I want to get Peter Monroe.”

“Why is he so important to you?” Laura asked.

Garrow looked at her, and for a second Clint thought he was going to tell the truth. But then Garrow said, “Because he’s breaking the law.”

Laura tilted her head to the left and studied the skinny man; clearly she, too, knew there was more to the story. “I don’t understand why Clint and I need to pose as a couple to attend the wedding.”

Sam Clark smiled with genuine pleasure as he studied the two of them. Clint didn’t like the man’s assessment. “Because you two, as a couple, fit Peter Monroe’s fantasies. He’s a boy from Jersey who grew up dreaming about the wild west. And cowboys.”

“That explains him,” Laura nodded toward Clint, “but how do I—”

“I’m from Texas,” Clint interrupted. “That doesn’t necessarily make me a cowboy.”

“You could have fooled me,” Laura muttered and stared at his boots.

Captain Clark took another swig of his green health drink, grimaced and pointed at Clint. “I don’t care whether you can shoot a lasso or brand a haystack, you walk and talk like a cowboy and you’re going to do your best to convince Peter Monroe you’re the genuine article.”

Clint wondered if he should point out his many years of police experience and several commendations, but decided not to give Clark more reason to punish him.

Laura crossed one elegant leg over the other and Clint noticed the other two men watching her. “Fine, Peter Monroe wants to play cowboy. I don’t see—”

“If you’d let me finish a sentence you’d learn how you fit in. Damn, your last captain never said anything about you being such a chatterbox.” Captain Clark ran a tongue over his teeth and grimaced as he tasted the remnants of the health drink. “Peter Monroe has two driving fantasies. He comes from a working-class family. His father was a factory worker and his mother was a waitress who used to make extra money by hiring herself out as service help for large society parties. Peter went with her, helping in the kitchen. Clearly that’s when he became obsessed with high society. The longer a family’s been in America the more impressed he is.”

“But…” Laura started to interrupt again but quickly thought better of it.

“Yes?” The captain smiled at her predicament but Laura wisely decided not to ask how she fit into the scenario. At least the woman acknowledged the silver spoon she was born with.

Clint wondered what it would be like to be accepted because of one’s family name. He was placing extraordinary demands on himself because of how badly his own family was perceived. His father had run off with the life savings of too many people in Two Horse Junction for him to be comfortable accepting the sheriff’s job just because he was a good cop. He needed to show that he was a great cop.

Captain Clark smiled. “Unfortunately the Chicago P.D. isn’t overrun by socialites. Luckily you transferred in. In fact it’s good that the pair of you transferred in. I never dreamed I’d be happy to have a cowboy and an heiress working for me.”

“I’m not…an heiress. My mother—” Another look at Captain Clark’s face and Laura stopped. She didn’t bite her lip or fidget or anything. She just waited. Clint had to admit he liked how calm she was. It was the only thing he liked about Miss Nose-Stuck-Up-In-the-Air Laura Carter. When she’d transferred in from Boston he couldn’t help but admire her beauty. But her ice-maiden attitude didn’t appeal to him. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to laugh out loud, who wasn’t afraid to step in a puddle in order to cross the road. He preferred having a warm loving body in his bed, not a prickly cactus. She had about as much personality as a cactus, too.

It hadn’t taken long for the rumors about her to spread. Clint didn’t believe every story he heard, but there were so many of them about Laura Carter—and her relationship with her last boss—that he had wondered. She had been transferred out of Boston to Chicago very quickly—and under a cloud of secrecy. He knew how much paperwork was involved in switching from one city to another. It had taken him over a year to get himself approved for the move from Dallas to Chicago and that was only after he’d received a hero’s thank-you for rescuing a kidnapped baby.

Clearly Little Miss Society had been sent to Chicago because of her misdeeds. He had seen her having dinner with the police superintendent just last week, probably thanking him for her job. Having dinner with the highest-ranked police officer in Chicago certainly didn’t hurt her career. None of the other officers in their department had ever had such an honor, yet there she’d been, only a couple of months after joining the Chicago force.

He’d been having dinner with his own date, and unfortunately had become bored with her too quickly. He found that happening a lot recently. Probably because he missed home and was looking forward to finding himself a sweet Texas gal. A woman who appreciated a man like him.

The SFI agent took the center of the room. “The wedding of two of Chicago’s most established families will be playing into Peter Monroe’s psyche. It’s the perfect opportunity for Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, the personification of his ultimate fantasy, to become his new best friends.”

Laura frowned. “What you’re saying makes a certain kind of logic, but once Clint and I worm our way into Monroe’s circle then what? He’s not about to confess his well-thought out criminal activities to us.”

“The psychologists think he just might.” Garrow shrugged. “I admit, the plan is kind of crazy, but it’s our last chance. You can have all the paperwork on the profile, but our psychologist suggests that if Clint and Peter could become friends and then enter a one-upmanship contest—which Clint must win—Peter might show his own hand. At the very least he may be more careless than usual at the wedding when he meets with Vasili. This is the first time that we’ll be able to prove that these two men have even been in the same room together. I need you two to be there and take advantage of whatever the situation may offer.” Vincent ran a hand through his hair, “I realize this sounds desperate and—well it is. Basically you’re going to have to improvise—including how to get Peter Monroe to show his hand.”

Laura stood. “We’ll do it.”

When had she turned so sympathetic? Clint stood as well. “Well Captain, I’m honored to have the opportunity to work with an officer as fine as Ms. Carter. Plus, as my dear mother always says, the sooner we get started the sooner we’ll be finished.”

Laura glared at him.

“The most important thing is to convince Peter Monroe that you two are madly in love,” the captain said.

“I’ve usually found the fillies do fall madly in love with me,” Clint said in his very best Texas drawl.

Laura harrumphed. Clint slid an arm around her, hugging her to him. “Now, honey, was that any way to show enthusiasm for this project?”

She stiffened against him. He felt her take a deep breath and he counted to five before she disengaged herself and moved away from him slightly. It figured Laura didn’t have to count to ten like a regular person; she regained her composure in five. “Cowboy, there’s nothing I would like better than to be married to you for the weekend.” She smiled sweetly and he felt incredible pain—and realized she’d ground one heel of her pump into his boot.

Determined to show her he wasn’t the hick she thought he was, and wondering why he wanted to prove otherwise, he limped to the office door and opened it. She swept past him, her chin up in the air and her back ramrod straight as she marched away. He let his gaze fall to her buttocks which nicely filled out the tailored navy skirt but there was no seductive sway of her hips.

Damn, he had to admit she was beautiful, especially when she was mad at him, but she was not the kind of woman he was attracted to.

Laura Carter might be gorgeous but she was also a royal pain in the butt.

She kept going past his desk to the women’s bathroom while he picked up his messages. His brother Ben had called, as had Amber, a working girl who sometimes had good tips. Naturally she hadn’t left a number for him to return her call, but he knew that if it was important she’d find him.

Stan Lesky stopped at his desk and grinned. “Score man. You got assigned to Carter.”

“Only for this assignment. There’s nothing permanent about us as a team.” In his year with the Chicago P.D. he’d had three different partners. Willy and he had partnered up for six months before Willy’s retirement. Contrary to popular cop movies, they’d thrown a nice goodbye party and Willy had retired to the suburbs to annoy his wife. Then Clint had partnered with whoever was available, most often with Lucy Wong, a veteran of fifteen years in the department, and with Jeff Knight on his first rotation as a plainclothes officer. Despite the fact that Jeff Knight had grown up in Chicago, Clint knew he had never been as young or enthusiastic as Jeff.

It wasn’t only the big city that had hard lessons to teach. Anyone looking at Jeff and Clint side by side at age twenty-two would assume Clint was the sophisticated, cynical man from the big city and optimistic Jeff the bumpkin from Two Horse Junction, Texas, population five hundred and eighty-seven.

Every year the population of Two Horse fluctuated by five to ten. Some years it decreased as the young people left; then it would swell again as some disillusioned souls came back home. Clint planned to increase the number by one very soon—his brothers needed him, and more importantly he needed to be back home. And once he was back he planned to find a nice local girl to marry—he knew his mother had a list of suitable single women—and to increase the population of his hometown even further with a houseful of kids. A sweet and loving wife he would treasure, look after and never leave. And he would be sheriff.

Sheriff in a small town was much better than being a detective in Chicago. Both jobs were important, he acknowledged, but back home he would know the people in his town. He’d be able to help in a real way—and be able to stop trouble before it grew out of hand. A small-town sheriff was a law enforcer, the first administrator of justice, a social worker, marriage counselor and role model.

Unlike his father he wanted the respect of his town. He loved his hometown but he needed its respect even more. When Sheriff O’Conner retired next year and Clint was offered the job, he wanted everyone in town to say that he was the best man for it. If he succeeded with this case—made some kind of breakthrough that the SFI had not—if he joined the homicide squad, then no one in Two Horse Junction could doubt that a full-fledged Chicago detective hadn’t earned the position of sheriff.

Lesky grinned even wider, showing off his big shiny white teeth. The man could be found in the men’s room flossing several times a day and recently he’d even bleached his teeth. “Carter is a fine piece of woman.”

“More like an iceberg.”

“Sometimes melting an iceberg can be appealing. All that fresh, untapped water.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“You’re forgetting what happened to the Titanic. I, however, remember my history. My only interest in Laura Carter is whether or not she’s a good cop.”

“I’ll bet she’s good all right—at least that’s what her old captain believed.”

“That’s a rumor,” Clint replied, feeling a twinge of guilt at his own hypocrisy. “We’re cops and are supposed to follow the facts, not gossip.”

Lesky grabbed a chair and straddled it. “Fact number one, Laura Carter is a very beautiful woman. Fact number two, she moved up the chain of command faster than usual—faster than either you or me. Fact number three, she had a very close relationship with her captain in Boston.”

Clint put his phone messages into his desk drawer. Lesky was tiresome. “That’s pure speculation. The captain may simply have been her mentor.”

“You’ll be the one to judge how good she is…at police work.” Lesky loved the sound of his own voice, and a small crowd was gathering around Clint’s desk. The only way to stop Lesky was to let him finish.

Lesky looked around at his fellow officers. “Back to the facts. Fact number four, most of her unit believed she was having an affair with the captain, apparently including his wife. Fact number five, his wife began divorce proceedings and fact number six, because of Laura’s family connections, she was transferred to us. How long did it take the paperwork to get you from Dallas to here?”

“A year.”

“It took Laura two weeks.”

Lesky had a valid argument but Clint never believed all the stories told about a person. Stories could be vicious and mean, even when they were based on truth.

He knew all about living with a reputation. “The facts could also indicate that she was—is—a damn fine cop.”

“But that body. She’s got great legs and—” he cupped a pair of imaginary breasts. “I’d love to lose myself in her body for a few hours.”

“That’s where we’re different. I don’t believe every rumor.” Clint stood. “And trust me, the last thing I want to do is get my hands on Ms. Carter’s body. Us Texas boys don’t like frostbite.” He pretended to shiver but saw that Lewsky wasn’t smiling. He took a deep breath and turned around.

Clint reminded himself that his mama had taught him better. If you spoke your mind you had to accept the consequences. Laura stood in front of him, looking like she always did.

Her face wasn’t flushed with anger, she didn’t sweep her gaze disdainfully over him or even turn on her heel and stalk out.

Instead she looked cool and imperial. When she opened her mouth he braced himself for her cutting remarks. “What time do you want to pick me up tomorrow? It will make our cover story more believable if we arrive in one car.”

He thought about apologizing, but she didn’t look like she cared about what her colleagues thought of her. “Does noon work?” he asked instead.

“Can you make it a little later, say one-thirty? I have to organize a lot of clothes to play my part.”

“Sure, that’s okay.” He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

She took a pen and piece of paper from his desk and wrote something on it. “My address. I’ll be in the lobby at one-thirty.” She handed the paper over to him and their fingers brushed. For a moment she eyed Lesky, then walked away.

This time Clint wanted to shiver for real. Laura Carter was even colder than he’d imagined.

No matter what the next few days held at the society wedding, it would be no honeymoon.