LITMIR.BIZ

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elevator doors parted and Noah stepped inside, grateful that he was alone. This morning he had no use for small talk with the employees of his father’s multimillion dollar corporation. Anyone or anything that reminded him of Ben Wilder only served to deepen Noah’s simmering anger.

      After pushing the button for the thirtieth floor, he glared at the headlines of the financial section of the paper and reread the beginning of the article that had ruined his morning. His stomach knotted as the headline jumped up at him. “Burned” Wilder Investments Suspected of Insurance Fraud. Noah gritted his teeth and tried to control his anger. The first paragraph was worse than the condemning headline: Noah Wilder, acting president of Wilder Investments, was unavailable for comment against the rumor that Wilder Investments might have intentionally started the blaze at Cascade Valley Winery. The fire, which started in the west wing of the main building, took the life of one man. Oliver Lindstrom, the deceased, was in partnership with Wilder Investments at the time of the blaze…

      The elevator stopped, and Noah drew his eyes away from the infuriating article. He’d already read it, and it only served to make him more frustrated with his father and his decision to prolong his stay in Mexico. To top things off, Sean had taken off from school this morning and couldn’t be found. Where the hell could Sean have gone? Noah bit at his lip as his eyes glinted in determination. Regardless of anything else, Noah promised himself that he would find a way to force Ben to return to Seattle to resume control of Wilder Investments. This time Sean came first. There was just no other alternative.

      Noah stepped from the elevator and headed for his father’s auspicious office. He paused only slightly at Maggie’s desk to order a terse directive. “See if you can get Ben on the phone immediately.” He forced a smile that he didn’t feel and entered the spacious, window-lined office where all the decisions for Wilder Investments were made. Pitching the bothersome newspaper onto the contemporary oak desk, Noah shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it unceremoniously over the back of a well-oiled leather couch.

      The bank of windows behind the desk overlooked Pioneer Square, one of Seattle’s oldest and most prestigious areas. Brick buildings, set on the sides of the rolling hills overlooking the sound, boasted turn-of-the-century architecture contrasting sharply to the neighboring modern skyscrapers. The area was packed with an interesting array of antique shops, boutiques and restaurants.

      Beyond Pioneer Square were the soothing gray waters of Puget Sound, and in the distance were the proud Olympic Mountains. On a clear day, they stood as a snow-laden barrier to the Pacific Ocean. Today they were merely ghostly shadows hiding in the slate-colored fog.

      Noah cast a glance at the calm view over the rooftops of the city before sitting stiffly down in his father’s leather chair. It groaned against his weight as he leaned back and ran an impatient hand through his thick, coarse hair. Closing his eyes, he attempted to clear his mind. Where was Sean?

      He shook his head and opened his eyes to see the newspaper lying flat on the desk. The picture of the charred winery met his gaze. The last thing he wanted to think about this morning was the fire. One man was dead—arson was suspected—and the Northwest’s most prominent winery, Cascade Valley, was inoperable, caught in a lawsuit contesting the payment of the insurance proceeds. How in the world had he been so unlucky as to get trapped in the middle of this mess? The intercom buzzed, interrupting his thoughts.

      “I’ve got your mother on line two,” Maggie’s voice called to him.

      “I wanted to speak with Ben, not my mother,” was Noah’s clipped, impatient reply.

      “I wasn’t able to reach him. It was hard enough getting through to Katharine. I swear there must be only one telephone in that godforsaken village.”

      “It’s all right, Maggie,” Noah conceded. “I shouldn’t have snapped. Of course I’ll talk to Katharine.” Noah waited, his temper barely in check. Although he was furious with himself and his father, there was no reason to take it out on Maggie. He told himself to calm down and tried to brace himself against the wall of excuses his mother would build for his father. After pushing the correct button on the telephone, he attempted to sound casual and polite—two emotions he didn’t feel at the moment. “Hello, Mother. How are you?”

      “Fine, Noah,” was the cool automatic response. “But your father isn’t feeling well at all.” Beneath Katharine’s soft, feminine voice was a will of iron.

      Noah’s jaw tightened involuntarily, but he managed to keep his voice pleasant and calm. “I’d like to speak to him.”

      “I’m sorry, Noah. That’s out of the question. He’s resting right now.” His mother’s voice continued to drone in low, unemotional tones, giving Noah an updated prognosis of his father’s condition. As he listened, Noah rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and began to pace angrily in front of the desk. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand while he clutched the other in a death grip around the telephone receiver. His knuckles whitened in annoyance as Katharine continued to speak tonelessly to him from somewhere in northern Mexico. Noah cast a dark glance out of the window into the rising fog and hoped for a break in the one-sided conversation.

      It was obvious that Katharine Wilder was protecting her husband from the demands of his son. Noah could envision the tight, uncompromising line of his mother’s small mouth and the coldness in her distant blue eyes as she spoke to him from some three thousand miles distance.

      “So you can see, Noah, it looks as if we have no other choice but to stay in Guaymas for at least another two months…possibly three.”

      “I can’t wait that long!”

      There was a long unyielding sigh from his mother. Her voice sounded a little more faint. The frail telephone connection to Mexico seemed to be failing. “I don’t see that you have much of a choice, Noah. The doctors all agree that your father is much too ill to make the exhaustive trip back to Seattle. There’s no way he could hope to run the company. You’ll just have to hang on a little longer.”

      “And what about Sean?” Noah demanded hotly. There was no response. Noah’s voice quieted slightly. “Just let me talk to Ben.”

      “You can’t be serious! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Your father is resting now—he can’t possibly come to the phone!”

      “I need to talk to him. This wasn’t part of the bargain,” Noah warned, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

      “Perhaps later…”

      “Now!” Noah’s voice had risen as his impatience began to get the better of him.

      “I’m sorry, Noah. I’ll talk to you later.”

      “Don’t hang up—”

      A click from a small town in Mexico severed the connection.

      “Damn!” Noah slammed the receiver down and smashed one fist into an open palm. He uttered a stream of invectives partially aimed at his father, but mainly at himself. How could he have been so gullible as to have agreed to run the investment firm while Ben was recuperating? It had been an emotional decision and a bad one at that. Noah wasn’t prone to sentimental decisions, not since the last one he had made, nearly sixteen years before. But this time, because of his father’s delicate condition, Noah had let his emotions dictate to him. He shook his head at his own folly. He was a damned fool. “Son of a…”

      “Pardon me?” Maggie asked as she breezed into the office in her usual efficient manner. Nearly sixty, with flaming red hair and sporting a brightly colored print dress, she was the picture of unflappable competency.

      “Nothing,” Noah grumbled, but the fire in his bright blue eyes refused to die. He slumped into his father’s desk chair and attempted to cool his smoldering rage.

      “Good!” Maggie returned with an understanding smile. She placed a stack of correspondence on the corner of the desk.

      Noah regarded the letters with a frown. “What are those?”

      “Oh, just the usual—except for the letter

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