LITMIR.BIZ

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came to the house,’ he informed her stonily, ‘to look at your father’s collection of Crimean War memorabilia.’

      ‘So you said, but I did wonder,’ she lied, ‘when you left so quickly, whether you might not have, um, appropriated something—valuable. A first edition, maybe?’

      ‘No,’ he denied coldly. ‘I took nothing.’

      ‘Then why the sudden departure? No explanation, no reasons...’

      ‘I’d finished my research.’

      ‘Liar,’ she accused with soft hatred.

      Turning away, he dismissed flatly, ‘Go away, Abby.’

      ‘But I might wish to make an investment.’

      He gave a scoffing laugh. ‘I doubt it.’

      ‘Why? Don’t you think I might be able to afford to do so?’

      ‘Oh, yes, I imagine you can afford it. How much do you have to invest?’ he derided. ‘One million, two?’

      ‘No,’ she denied with a brittle smile, ‘but they take lesser amounts, don’t they?’

      ‘Yes,’ he agreed tersely. ‘What do you want? Roll-up? Five-year investment?’

      ‘Perhaps,’ she agreed unhelpfully.

      ‘And you chose this particular fund management because?’

      ‘Because they’re the best,’ she said reasonably. ‘And I do so like to choose the best.’

      ‘I believe you.’ Walking past her to the window, he stared down at the marina, much as she had done earlier. ‘And if that’s your car down there,’ he murmured in a voice that grated, ‘it’s illegally parked. Go away, Abby. There’s nothing for you here.’

      ‘Isn’t there? Now I wonder why I don’t believe that? And I still need to see Nathan Tabiner,’ she concluded.

      ‘Then do as I said. Make an appointment.’ Glancing at his watch, he added, ‘Tomorrow. His secretary will have left by now.’ Without giving her time to answer, or argue, he walked across to the desk. Pressing the intercom, he asked the doorman to come up, and when he arrived, only seconds later, instructed him in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘Take Miss Hunter back to her car. Straight to her car.’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ he agreed confusedly.

      Elegant and unhurried, she gave Sam one long look of derision, and left. He kicked the door shut behind her.

      Returning to the window, he continued his blind contemplation of the yachts moored below.

      The door opened behind him, and without turning, without looking, he instructed heavily, ‘Don’t say anything.’

      ‘No,’ Greg agreed. ‘Who is she?’

      ‘No one.’ No one, he repeated silently to himself. How he wished that were true. ‘Her name is Abigail Hunter.’

      ‘A blast from the past?’ he asked cautiously, and with a limp attempt at humour.

      ‘An old family friend,’ Sam corrected untruthfully.

      Joining him at the window, Greg glanced down at the red car parked below. ‘You didn’t seem very friendly.’

      ‘I was taken by surprise.’

      ‘That must be a first.’

      ‘Don’t push your luck, Hanson.’

      ‘sorry.’

      ‘And don’t keep apologising.’

      ‘No, but if she’s a friend of the family,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘how come she doesn’t know who you are?’

      ‘She does know who I am. She knows me as Sam. Everyone knows me as Sam.’

      ‘But she was looking for Nathan Tabiner.’

      Yes, and she mustn’t find him, because he suspected he knew very well why she was looking.

      ‘So how come she doesn’t know you’re one and the same?’

      He didn’t answer, merely continued his vigil. Eyes bleak, he watched her emerge from the building and walk across to her car. ‘Why was she allowed up here?’

      ‘Presumably because there’s nowhere to sit in Reception, and perhaps because the security guard didn’t yet know your rules.’

      ‘Then sack him.’

      ‘No,’ Greg denied mildly. ‘He only started today.’

      “Then why wasn’t he informed that no one, but no one, ever gets to see me without an appointment? That is mandatory—’ Breaking off, he gave a bleak smile. Mandatory. That was what she had said to him.

      Intrigued, Greg continued to watch his friend. ‘I’ll make sure he knows them now,’ he agreed absently.

      ‘Good. And if you discuss this with anyone,’ he warned, ‘you’re fired.’

      ‘Promises, promises.’

      Turning only his head, blue eyes hard and bright, he didn’t smile. Couldn’t have found a smile just then if his life had depended on it.

      Greg frowned. ‘Sam...?’

      ‘Leave it.’

      Puzzled, he glanced down through the window. ‘She’s leaving,’ he murmured helpfully.

      ‘Yes,’ Sam agreed emptily.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE need for pretence gone, no amusement now in her lovely eyes, Abby walked slowly back to her car. She felt stunned.

      Mind awhirl with speculation, conjecture, she opened the door and climbed in. And thanked God for the practised ease with which she’d been able to summon amused derision after that first initial shock of seeing him again. Essential, of course, because she would never give him the satisfaction of knowing how he could affect her. He did work for Tabiner’s. He had to. She didn’t believe in coincidence. Not of this magnitude anyway. And so, that meant that he had come to her home in the guise of a war historian to look through her father’s papers when he was obviously nothing of the sort.

      You don’t know that, Abby, she cautioned herself. No, but it was a damned good bet, wasn’t it? And if he wasn’t a war historian, what had he been doing in her home? Why the pretence? Because he hadn’t wanted the family to know that he worked for Nathan Tabiner? Which he obviously did... No, not obviously, but he knew him. And all those questions he’d asked about her father, herself... Had he come looking for the letter she carried in her bag?

      Possibly. Very, very possibly.

      Which meant she had to open it, didn’t she? Find out what it said.

      With a grim smile, she switched on the ignition and put the car in gear. At least his behaviour had killed the attraction stone-dead. That was something to be thankful for. Other men could probably kiss just as well, she told herself defiantly; she just had to meet them, that was all. And how dared he order her away like an errant schoolgirl? As if she was a nobody. Perhaps he worked there in some other capacity. As a private investigator, maybe? Nathan Tabiner had been there; she would bet her life on it. But Sam hadn’t wanted her to see him, had he? Why?

      Blind and deaf to everything but her thoughts, she continued to gaze ahead of her. Over four months since she had seen him. Four months of wondering. Hating. She’d liked him, dammit! No, more than liked, she admitted honestly, and she’d thought he felt the same. Only his tension, she thought grimly, hadn’t been sexual. Hers had. She had known that the very first time she’d seen him. She hadn’t admitted it to herself, but she had known it. He had been mocking, uncommunicative, attractive—and he’d left as abruptly as he’d arrived. Because he’d found

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