In A Heartbeat (7 page)

The sound of Oreo’s nails rapidly clicking on the hardwood floor reached her.. Panic struck. If he found her here in his room, he’d know she’d been snooping. Running from discovery, of course, was impossible. Even sneaking out of the room would be difficult, given her unsteady gait.

Holding her breath to soften the pain, she hobbled slowly, quietly, expecting any moment to hear his heavy footsteps in the hall.

She made it to the door and peeked into the hallway. No Hank. Backing out, she pulled the door silently closed behind her. With a soft sigh of relief, she advanced slowly down the hall. Her secret was safe. He couldn’t accuse her of exploring where she had no right. She pasted on a smile and entered the great room. Then froze.

Hank stood by the chair in front of the newly lit fire, his hand buried deep in her handbag.

“Find what you’re looking for?” Icicles hung from her tone.

“There you are.” He smiled, oblivious to her concern. “I need your car keys. I thought I’d just…” His brows shifted to a frown as he groped in her bag. “What the hell?”

He pulled one of her many prescription pill bottles out for closer inspection…then another… and another.

Here it comes
.
He’ll want to know about the pills.
She imagined pity would soften his eyes. His voice would lower with concern. He’ll treat her like a fragile doll, an invalid, too delicate to touch, too temporary to care about. Just like her family. A lump lodged in her stomach.

He raised his gaze to hers. Four fat amber bottles sat clutched in his hands. She knew an equal number remained in her purse. She moistened her lips.

“This is the medicine you mentioned earlier.” He lifted the clattering bottles. “These pills?”

She nodded. The lump moved to her throat.

“Is it HIV?” His voice caught while concern darkened his eyes. She hobbled closer.

Gas from a hissing log popped, sending a shower of sparks to the grate. Frightened, Oreo scrambled behind her legs, knocking her off-balance. Hank was beside her immediately, catching her, offering his strength and support.

“Tell me,” he practically snarled. “Are you dying?”

“No.” Her pulse sounded in her ears, reminding her of the truth of that statement. The thought brought a faint smile. “I’m fine,” she insisted. How many times had she said that today? How many more would she have to say it until he believed her?

Her lips lifted in a slight smile. “At least, I will be as long as I keep taking those.” She tilted her head toward the pill bottles scattered on the floor.

“Well.” His audible exhale ended with a nervous laugh. His thumbs stroked the top of her shoulders in slow sensuous arcs. “Then by all means, keep taking them.”

Her heart pounded. Dangerous. It was dangerous standing this close to him. Dangerous feeling his fingers through her blouse. Dangerous knowing they’d be there alone.

With a quick smile, he got on his hands and knees to gather the fallen pill bottles and stuff them back into her purse. Oreo hampered the search, believing this to be a new game invented for her enjoyment. Angie watched their antics, trying to hold her heart in check. When he brought her the restored handbag, she pulled out her key ring with its identification heart.

His hand closed around the keys. His dimples flashed. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her on the cheek. But he didn’t. Instead he pointed to her purse.

“We’ll talk about those pill bottles when I return.”

Her lips tilted in a smile she didn’t really feel. He left her standing firmly on her own two feet.

But they didn’t talk later. He returned to an empty, dark house. She was gone.

Chapter Six

THERE WAS NO answer on her phone. He didn’t leave a message. He drove to her house, but it was dark, no one home. After a long restless night, he tried again on Sunday morning, afternoon and evening to no avail. He couldn’t find her.

Hank searched his phone for limousine services. What was the name of that company she drove for? But before his scan of the results was complete, he realized Angela wouldn’t be able to drive with her injured foot. He searched the brother’s name, but to call him would be to betray Angela’s trust, so he didn’t call.

He didn’t call, he didn’t sleep, he couldn’t concentrate and it all made him mad as hell. Why should he care so much about one mere slip of a girl? He didn’t have time for this nonsense, and he certainly couldn’t afford to get involved. Not now. His arrangement with Owens made that impossible.

Still, every time he tried to replace thoughts of Angela with thoughts of business, the reverse would happen and Angie’s face would chase other concerns away. He’d see that poorly concealed vulnerability about those intelligent blue eyes, and her slim athletic body, not bony like Elizabeth’s, but soft and feather light, made to fit in a man’s arms. His groin responded to the memory.

Stop this.
He chided himself.
It’s those pills.
They were making him half crazy. She had mentioned she carried medicine in her purse, but he’d never imagined… And now she was out there somewhere, alone and crippled.

His phone rang. He answered immediately hoping Angela would be on the other end.

“Philip?” The man’s voice was unmistakable as was Hank’s immediate disappointment.
Where was she?

“Yes, Father,” he replied with the cold formality he was taught from the cradle.

“I received notification of a bank transfer and I wondered if you knew anything about it?”

“Transfer in or out?” Hank feigned innocence. The routing he had used to transfer funds into his father’s account should have concealed his identity, but any good investigator would trace it back to him.

“In. It’s a mere drop in the bucket for the million that was lost.”
On the stock you recommended.
Hank heard the accusation in his father’s tone if not in his words. “But four hundred thousand will pay a few bills.”

“How’s Mother?” Hank asked abruptly.

“She sends her love. Listen, Philip.” Hank cringed, hating the sound of that name. “You’re not engaged in another fool-hardy scheme, are you? We haven’t recovered from that last stock deal. I don’t want—”

“—No, Father, I’m not involved in the stock market anymore.” His father’s loss in the market hung around Hank’s neck like the proverbial albatross, displaying his market speculation as a disgrace to all who could see. He’d left those days behind. Now if he could just do the same with the guilt.

“I just wondered.” His father sounded skeptical. “I saw Jim Owens the other day. He seemed to think you had some sort of announcement to share with your family.”

Hank remained silent. Damn Owens, he had said Hank had two weeks.

“Scandal crosses state lines, Philip. The only real asset a businessman has is his integrity. The family can’t afford—”

“—to have its reputation cast in disgrace.” Hank finished his father oft-spoken advice. “So you’ve told me time and again.”

“Yes, well…if there’s nothing else, I’ll bid you good night.”

“Good night, Father.”

The conversation over, Hank closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the couch. One week had already passed, and Owens was obviously watching the clock. As pleased as Hank was that this agreement with Owens would provide enough money to repay his family, he wondered if this wasn’t another rash move. The business portion of the agreement, reversing the trend of losses at Hayden Industries, would be a challenge enough. The second part of the agreement, however, regarded matters of a more personal nature and kept his stomach churning in turmoil. Rash decision or not, a deal was a deal, and it was time to put all the parties into play. He couldn’t wait any longer. He picked up the phone and dialed Elizabeth’s number.

MONDAY MORNING, THE conference room door flew open with a bang. “Where is she?”

Max struggled to catch the papers that caught the draft like sails in a regatta. “Excuse me?”

Renard glowered. “Where is Ms. Blake?”

“She had an unexpected doctor’s appointment this morning. I guess she injured her ankle over the weekend.” Max nervously tugged the end of his tie. “She should be back this afternoon, though. Would you like me to leave a message?”

“You do that.” Renard’s fists slowly unclenched. “The moment she comes in, I want to see her. You got that?”

Max nodded numbly. “The moment she comes in,” he repeated.

“Good,” Renard snapped. He hesitated as if he had something more to say, then turned and left far more sedately than he’d arrived.

“Jesus, Angie.” Max muttered after the door closed. “What have you done now?”

A SOFT KNOCK on his doorjamb broke Hank’s concentration. Damn. Ever since he had stormed the conference room in search of Angela, everyone had been tiptoeing around him, avoiding eye contact. He’d have to do something about that. Later. After the red haze filtered away from his eyes. Damn that woman.

“Mr. Renard?” Cathy, his timid secretary, nudged her head into the office. “I’m leaving for lunch. Would you like me to bring you something?”

“No,” he grumbled. Worry over Angela’s wellbeing, anxiety over her apparent health problems, to say nothing of the chaotic nature of this company’s financial statements, had his stomach in an uproar. Eating would just add indigestion. “I’ll grab something later.”

Cathy practically wilted on the spot. She began to withdraw.

“Wait…”

“Yes, sir?” She shielded her body with the office door. “Did you want something?”

He’d intended to ask her if she’d seen Angela, but the question might raise some unwanted flags. His secretary waited expectantly, half-in, half-out the door.

“On second thought.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled, stretching his arms behind his head. “A sandwich might be just the thing.”

Cathy opened the door a bit farther. “There’s a deli down the street that makes a great Reuben sandwich.”

“That sounds great.” His stomach turned at the thought of sauerkraut. He fought to maintain the smile. “Can you bring me back one of those?”

“Yes sir.” Her face brightened. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Thanks, Cathy,” he called to the closing door, hoping he’d soothed her apprehension. He fumbled for a roll of antacids in his desk drawer and popped two. Now back to business. His finger ran down a column of numbers. Something just wasn’t right. Hayden’s profits were far below industry standards. If only he could concentrate without the face of a pale, blonde angel intruding on his thoughts.

“It’s those pills,” he muttered, remembering the nest of prescription bottles in Angela’s purse. If he knew for a fact that she was well, maybe he could concentrate on business. That’s why he needed to see her, he told himself. The only reason.

A knock sounded on his door, a little more forcefully this time. Good. His friendly exchange with Cathy must have given her more confidence.

“Come in, Cathy,” he called, continuing to study the financial report. “Did you forget something?”

“I’m told you wanted to see me.”

His gaze lifted from the numbers in front of him so fast that he forgot to pretend to be disinterested. He squashed the smile that threatened his lips. Just seeing Angela lightened his spirits, but she needed to understand what she had put him through. “Come in,” he said politely and restrained. “Sit down. We need to talk.”

She smiled tentatively, then hobbled toward a chair in front of his desk.

“No crutches?” He walked around his desk to close the door. “How’s the ankle?”

She angled her body on the chair before lifting her injured ankle, now stabilized by a white plastic, only to plop her leg on the seat next to her. The very seat he had intended to use.

“The doctor gave me this plastic ankle brace. See?” She smiled sweetly up at him, almost as if she had anticipated his plan. “It fits inside a tennis shoe.”

Hank balanced his hip on the edge of the desk and raised his foot to the same chair, inches from her tennis shoe. Ignoring her uncertain glance, he rested his forearm on the bent knee and leaned forward, effectively trapping her in the corner. Now he would get some answers.

“What happened to you Saturday night?”

“Didn’t you see my note?” she said all innocent.

“Some note, all it said was not to worry. It didn’t say a word about where you had gone.”

She shifted in the chair, his gaze following her every movement. Black slacks stretched tight across her slender thighs. And beneath…His entire mouth felt as dry as the
Wall Street Journal
lying on his desk. He forgot for a moment what he wanted to ask.

“I decided to call my brother. It wasn’t right that I inconvenienced you. Oreo and I stayed at his house.”

She was too calm. Too well-rehearsed. He wanted to see her squirm and feel a fraction of the anxiety he had felt over her disappearance.

“You called your brother?” He leaned closer, cramping her space. “The idiot?”

“I shouldn’t have called him that. He just gets overly concerned for my well-being.”

“Yes, let’s talk about that well-being.” Now they were getting to the crux of the matter. “You were going to explain about those pills in your purse.”

She shifted in the chair, her eyes downcast. She didn’t speak. He wanted to reach across and shake the truth out of her. Instead, he opted for a confession. “You know, I tried to find you Sunday. I went to your house and that zombie next door said you hadn’t returned.”

“I told you.” She glanced up, her eyes narrowed. “I stayed with Stephen. It wasn’t right that I imposed upon your hospitality that way.”

“Imposed? I invited you. It wasn’t an imposition.” He stood, then paced around the perimeter of the office. “You want to talk imposition. Let’s talk about how you landed in my lap headfirst. That was an imposition, but this—”

“Will you keep your voice down!” she hissed. “Someone will hear. Besides, you know what I mean. I couldn’t stay with you. You’re involved with someone.”

“Elizabeth has nothing to do with this. I invited you to rest your ankle, not appease my perverse appetite.” He frowned down at her. “Tell me, were you afraid that I would take advantage of the situation—”