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pursue his research projects, which seemed to help more than anything else.

      “Is that why you put me in Carleen’s bed?” Nate asked, trying to lighten the mood. “For a little romance? That wasn’t part of our plan.”

      “Plans change,” Harlan replied breezily. “I thought it was for the best.”

      “So is this a sleep study or a matchmaking project?”

      “Can’t it be both?” He smiled. “Once I met Carleen, I knew she couldn’t be the kind of woman you think she is. I thought if you got a chance to know her, you’d see that for yourself.”

      Nate knew that Harlan put high stock in first impressions. Hell, he’d picked Nate out of a pool of juvenile delinquents and given him a home fifteen years ago. It was the first time in Nate’s life that anyone had ever believed in him. Now Harlan wanted him to do the same with Carleen.

      But it wasn’t that simple. The woman had too many secrets. Besides, Nate had decided a long time ago that he was better off alone. He loved women, but like a boxer using fancy footwork, he knew that the best way to avoid a knock-out punch was to keep moving.

      “Just give her a chance,” Harlan said, reading the skepticism on his face. “You might be surprised.”

      “Don’t get your hopes up,” Nate admonished. “I’m not looking for sweet and innocent—if she is innocent. Besides, I don’t think she likes me.”

      A twinkle lit Harlan’s eye. “Oh, she likes you all right.”

      “How can you be so sure?”

      “Because science doesn’t lie.” He rose to his feet. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

      Nate followed him to the control hub in the research center, where several of Harlan’s assistants were busy analyzing the data gathered the night before.

      “Please hand me the Wimmer file, Hannah.”

      Harlan’s assistant dug through a stack of files on her desk, then pulled one out from the bottom. “Here you go, Dr. Longo.”

      “Thank you.” He motioned Nate into his office. It was cluttered with books, papers, and an assortment of feather pillows left over from his last research project.

      “Have a seat.” Harlan handed him the file folder, then hovered at his shoulder as Nate opened it.

      “Now take a look at her vitals when you got into bed with her,” Harlan said

      Nate glanced down at the file, noting a sudden spike in her pulse rate and respiration around the time that he joined her in the Elvis bed. “That’s not exactly surprising. She thought I was an intruder. Anyone would have that reaction.”

      “Yes, but notice how long those levels stay elevated. Even after she falls asleep—or pretends to fall asleep.”

      Nate’s gaze flicked from the television screen to the data report and back again. “According to this, she was awake for almost four hours after I got there.”

      “Which makes me believe that you definitely had an effect on her.”

      Nate closed the file, mentally storing the information for later use. “The only effect I want to have is closing this case. The sooner I can find out the truth about Carleen Wimmer, the better.”

      Harlan frowned. “You’re not going to intimidate her, are you? I only agreed to set this up because you made her sound like some kind of ruthless barracuda. Now that I’ve actually met Carleen, I have to admit I’m having second thoughts.”

      So was Nate. He’d let Mrs. Hamilton’s prejudices color his image of Carleen. But instead of finding a worldly schemer, she’d struck him more as a woman who didn’t know the power of her own sexuality. Or if she did, had used it so skillfully that Nate was still reeling from their close encounter this morning.

      He closed the folder. “Don’t worry about Carleen. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

      Harlan started to say something else, but Nate’s cell phone interrupted him.

      Nate looked at the number on the display panel. “I’d better take this.”

      “I’ll give you some privacy.” Harlan headed toward the door. “Go ahead and show yourself out when you’re through. I need to start studying all the data from last night.”

      “Thanks, Harlan.” He waited until the man was out the door before he answered the phone. “Hello, Mrs. Hamilton.”

      “I know it’s early, Mr. Cafferty, but I’m quite eager for an update on my case.”

      “Not much has changed since yesterday.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong.” Mrs. Hamilton’s voice quavered. “My son called me last night. Somehow that tart convinced him to cut his trip short and come home a week early. He told me they’re going to marry as soon as his plane lands.”

      “That doesn’t give you much time to torpedo the wedding.”

      “You’re the one running out of time,” she countered. “I need dirt on Carleen Wimmer and I need it as soon as possible.”

      Nate swallowed a sigh, tempted to quit the case and let Mrs. Hamilton find her own dirt. But the thought of leaving Carleen behind bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Besides, he wasn’t a quitter and Mrs. Hamilton had paid for his services.

      “I’ll see what I can do,” he said at last.

      “Please don’t disappoint me, Mr. Cafferty,” she replied. “I only have three weeks left to save my son.”

      He rang off, wondering how he could accelerate his investigation without arousing Carleen’s suspicion. She had told him only the most superficial information about herself and her family so far. Nothing solid he could go on.

      Then it hit him.

      Maybe the key wasn’t talking to Carleen, but someone who knew her. Someone who lived with her and worked with her on a daily basis.

      Nate suddenly had an irresistible urge to redecorate the master bedroom of his home. And he knew the perfect interior designer to hire for the job.

      Mia Maldonado.

      4

      MIA HIT morning rush-hour traffic on her way home from the Longo estate, so she was already in a bad mood when she pulled into her driveway and saw Ian Brock’s shiny red pickup truck parked there.

      In her haste this morning, she’d simply thrown on her clothes and left the Longo Research Center with her hair half-combed and no makeup. Not exactly the image to make Ian regret dumping her.

      “About time you got here,” he said, as she climbed out of her Miata. “It’s almost nine.”

      “I’m running a little late this morning.”

      Ian walked with her to the front door, apparently unaffected by the awkwardness that made her drop her purse on the ground, the contents spilling out on the sidewalk.

      Ian bent down to help her pick everything up, his hand finding her lip balm first. His mouth curved into a reminiscent smile.

      “Strawberry Banana,” he said, reading the label. “That was always my favorite flavor on you.”

      She remembered. Mia remembered everything about him, including how much it had shocked her when he’d dumped her for a younger woman. A nineteen-year-old model with bigger breasts and smaller hips. That had been bad enough, but even worse was how he’d treated her at the end. Brushing off her suspicions as paranoia. Making her doubt herself.

      Until she’d caught him in the act. Then he’d had the gall to dump her before she could even react. That had been three months ago and his easy dismissal of her had hurt Mia to the core.

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