LITMIR.BIZ

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spread cream cheese evenly on both sides and started a second pot of coffee. Jamison was perhaps the only person on earth who loved coffee more than she did. She had her cup and her bagel balanced in one hand and had just slung her purse over her shoulder when she heard the front door close again.

      She eased the kitchen door open and glanced down the narrow hallway. Empty. All the office doors remained closed. “Hello?”

      No answer. She walked down the hallway, knocked on Jamison’s door and then tried the handle. It didn’t turn.

      She walked down the steps to the lower level. Her office door and all the others were shut. “Good morning?” she sang out, a bit louder this time.

      The only sound she heard was her own breathing.

      Liz ran up the stairs, swearing softly when the hot coffee splashed out of the cup and burned her hand. She checked the front door. Locked. Alarm set.

      She relaxed. It had to have been Jamison. What would have possessed him to come in so early and leave so quickly? She hoped nothing was wrong. She walked back downstairs and unlocked her office. It was darker than usual because no light spilled through the boarded-up window.

      She had to admit that the wood made her feel better. Maybe she’d ask Jamison to leave it that way for a while. At least until she got her nerves under control.

      Rationally, she didn’t put much stock in the letter. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that one of her clients or their partners had decided to jerk her chain a little. It didn’t make her feel any better, however, to think that the shooter had been aiming for Mary.

      She intended to somehow make the girl open up to her, to tell her if there was any connection between her and Dantel Mirandez. But in the meantime, she needed to get busy. She sat down behind her desk and opened the top file. Mary was not the only client who was close to delivery. Just two days before, Melissa Stroud had been in Liz’s office. They’d reviewed the information on Mike and Mindy Partridge, and Melissa had agreed to let the couple adopt her soon-to-be-born child. Liz needed to get the necessary information to Howard so that he could get the paperwork done.

      At twenty minutes to eight, she heard the front door open again. Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs, and within seconds, her boss stuck his head through the open doorway.

      “Hey, Liz. Nice window.”

      She shook her head. “Morning, Jamison. How are you?”

      “Exhausted. It ended up being a late night. We didn’t leave the hotel until they pushed us out the door. Then Reneé and I and a couple others went out for breakfast. I didn’t want to say no to any potential donors. I’ve got a heck of a headache, though. It was probably that last vodka tonic.”

      “Jamison, you know better.” Liz smiled at her boss. “Had you been to bed yet when you stopped by here this morning?”

      “This morning? What are you talking about?”

      “You stopped in about six. I had coffee made, but you left before I could catch you.”

      “Liz, how many glasses of wine did you have last night?”

      Liz dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “Two. That’s my limit.”

      “Well, you may want to cut back to one. Reneé had set the alarm for seven, and we slept through that. I barely had time for a two-minute shower just to get here by now.”

      Liz shook her head, trying to make sense out of what Jamison said. “I heard the door. The alarm didn’t go off. I’m sure I heard your office door open. But when I came out, there was nobody around.”

      “It must have been a car door.”

      “No, it wasn’t,” Liz protested.

      “Then it was Cynthia or Carmen or one of the other staff. Although I can’t imagine why anybody would have gotten up early after last night. What were you doing here?”

      “Mary Thorton is coming at eight. I wanted to get some stuff done first.” No need to tell Jamison that she’d been running from her dreams. He already thought she was losing her mind.

      “Have you talked to her since the shooting? Poor kid. She must be pretty shook up.”

      “I’m sure she was. Detective Montgomery thinks she knows more than she’s letting on.”

      “Is that why he came to the dance last night?”

      Liz was surprised. Jamison rarely noticed anything that didn’t directly concern him. But then again, Detective Montgomery had a way about him that commanded attention.

      “Yes.”

      “At least he wasn’t in uniform. That wouldn’t have been good for donations. How do you think the party went?” Jamison asked, sitting down on one of Liz’s chairs.

      “People seemed to have a good time,” Liz hedged. When his eyes lit up, her guilt vanished. He could be a bit selfcentered and pushy, but Liz knew he’d do almost anything for OCM. She would, too.

      Even spend an evening with Howard Fraypish, who had been Jamison’s college roommate. After college, Jamison had taken a job in social services and married Reneé. Howard had gone to law school, graduated at the top of his class, married his corporate job and produced billable hours. Lots of them, evidently. The man had a huge apartment with a view of Lake Michigan, and he’d opened his own law office at least five years ago.

      The two men had stayed connected over the years, and when Jamison had been hired as the executive director of OCM, he’d hired Howard’s firm to handle the adoptions.

      “Want a warm-up?” Jamison asked, nodding at Liz’s empty cup.

      “Sure.”

      They walked upstairs to the kitchen. Liz had poured her cup and handed the glass pot to Jamison when his cell phone rang. Liz started to walk away, stopping suddenly when she heard the glass pot hit the tile floor.

      She whirled around. Jamison stood still, his phone in one hand and his other empty. Shards of glass and spilled coffee surrounded him.

      “Jamison?” She started back toward her boss.

      “There’s a bomb in my office.” He spoke without emotion. “It’s set to go off in fifteen minutes.”

      Chapter Three

      Detective Sawyer Montgomery arrived just minutes after the bomb squad had disarmed, dismantled and disconnected—she wasn’t sure of the technical term—the bomb that had been left in the middle of Jamison’s desk. It had taken them eleven minutes to arrive. The longest eleven minutes of Liz’s life.

      Beat cops had been on the scene within minutes of the 911 call that Liz had made from Jamison’s phone after she’d pulled him, his phone and herself from the building. They’d blocked off streets and rousted people from their apartments. OCM’s neighbors, many still in their pajamas, had poured from the nearby buildings. Mothers with small children in their arms, old people barely able to maneuver the steps, all were hustled behind a hastily tacked-up stretch of yellow police tape.

      Liz had wondered if Detective Montgomery would come. She hated to admit it, but she’d considered calling him. In those first frantic moments before help had arrived, she’d desperately hoped for someone capable. And Detective Montgomery absolutely screamed capable. She doubted the man ever encountered anything he couldn’t handle.

      But now that he’d arrived, Liz wanted to run. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to run to him to seek shelter in his embrace or run far from him to protect herself from his intensity, his questions, his knowing looks.

      Liz watched him get out of the car and scan the crowd. He said something to the man who rode with him. Liz knew the exact moment he spotted her. It didn’t matter that three hundred yards separated them. Liz felt the shiver run up her arm just as if he’d touched her.

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