Deadly Force by Beverly Long

Author:Beverly Long
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-10-22T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

At fifteen minutes before three, Claire’s intercom light buzzed. “Claire Fontaine,” she answered, keeping her eyes on her computer.

“Claire, there’s a Sam Vernelli here to see you. He wasn’t on the schedule of today’s visitors. I told him that our staff doesn’t usually see people without an appointment.”

Sam. His coming to her office couldn’t be good news. “I’ll be right out,” Claire said, trying to quell the sudden panic. When she got to the reception area, he had his back to her, looking out the seventh-floor window. The fall sun was high in the almost-cloudless blue sky and the long reach of its rays caused the whitecaps of Lake Michigan to sparkle.

When she’d stood before that same window, she’d always felt tiny in comparison to the wide expanse of the lake, like an inconsequential piece of matter that could be swept away. But now she was struck by how Sam filled up the small space, not small at all. It wasn’t just his physical size, although six feet of pure muscle was pretty hard to ignore, it was also his presence. His air of competence, his sense of purpose, his demeanor of calmness.

Then he turned around and she suddenly wasn’t so sure that he was all that calm. He looked almost agitated.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he rushed to assure her. “You, uh, forgot your linner, you know, lunch and dinner.”

She’d realized that shortly after arriving at the office. It had been one more reason why Cruz’s dinner invitation had sounded good. She stared purposefully at Sam’s empty hands.

“I meant to bring it to you,” Sam added, “but I forgot it on my desk. So I thought maybe you and I could go out and grab a bite.”

Face-to-face, with only a small table between them. They’d knock knees and she’d spontaneously combust. “That’s not necessary,” she said. “I’m going out to dinner.”

“I know. That’s...uh...what I want to talk to you about.”

“Why?”

“Claire,” he said, clearly exasperated with her. He looked over toward the receptionist desk where Marcy was clearly listening to everything. “Can we please just go get something to drink? Is that too much to ask?”

He had no idea. “Fine,” she said finally. “Let me get my purse.” When she turned to go back to her desk, he fell in step next to her. “I’m not going to run out the back door,” she said.

He shrugged. “I’m not worried about that. I’d like to see your work space. Is that where you put your outgoing mail?” he asked, pointing toward the office mail bin.

God, he was such a cop. “Yes.”

“Does she get your incoming mail?” Sam asked, cocking his head in Marcy’s direction.

“Yes. Sorts it and then puts it in the mail trays on our desks.”

“I’ll probably want to talk to her.”

Marcy would love that. Heck, maybe Sam wouldn’t find it all that objectionable either. He didn’t need to feel responsible for Marcy. And she was definitely closer to his age.

The whole idea of it infuriated Claire. “Maybe you’ll want to check my coworkers’ desks, too,” she suggested.

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