frowned. “How old is that baby?” he asked suspiciously.
That was another question she wasn’t confident enough to answer. Sam hadn’t left behind any paperwork, not even a birth certificate.
“Her name’s Cici,” she said, stalling for time.
His glare wasn’t friendly. “Nice name. Now, how old is she?”
“About six weeks,” she said, trying to sound sure of herself and pretty much failing at it. “Maybe two months.”
He stared at her. Skepticism was too mild a term for what his gaze was revealing about his thoughts on her answer.
She smiled brightly. “Hard to remember. Time flies.”
“Right.”
She followed him out into the living room. He snagged a shirt from the hall closet as they passed it, shrugged into it but left it open. She made an abrupt turn so he wouldn’t find her staring at him, and as she did so, she caught sight of the view from the huge floor-to-ceiling picture window.
She gasped, walking toward it. It was four in the morning but the landscape was still alive with lights. Cars carried people home, a plane cruised past, lights blinking. Looking down, she was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of detached wonder. There were so many people below, all with their own lives, going on with things as though everything was normal. But it wasn’t normal. The world had tipped on its axis a few days ago. Nothing would ever be the same again. Didn’t they know?
For just a moment, she was consumed with a longing to be one of those clueless people, riding through the night in a shiny car, going toward a future that didn’t include as much heartbreak and tragedy as she knew was waiting for her once this adventure in Britain was over.
“Wow. You can see just about all of London from here, can’t you?” She was practically pressing her nose to the glass.
“Not quite,” he said, glancing out at the lights of the city. He liked this place better than most. It was close to the building where his offices were—centrally located and perfect for running the British branch of his foster father’s multinational shipping business. “But it is a pretty spectacular view.”
“I’ll say.” She was standing tall, both hands raised, fingertips pressed to the glass to hold her balance as she leaned forward, taking it all in. She looked almost poised to fly away over the city herself.
He started to suggest that she might want to keep her hands off the window, but as he watched her, he checked himself. With her long limbs and unusual way of holding her posture, she had an unselfconscious gawkiness, like a young girl, that was actually quite winsome. But she really wasn’t all that young, and in that short skirt, her legs looked like they went on forever. So he kept quiet and enjoyed his own temporary view, until she tired of it and levered back away from the glass.
“Cities like this are kind of scary,” she said, her tone almost whimsical. “You really get the feeling it’s every man for himself.”
He shrugged. “You’re just not used to the place. It’s unexplored territory to you.” His wide mouth quirked. “As the song says, faces are ugly and people seem wicked.”
She nodded as though pleased that he saw the connection. “That’s the way I felt coming here tonight. A stranger in a very weird part of town.”
He almost smiled but hadn’t meant to. Didn’t really want to. He needed to maintain an edgy sort of wariness with this woman. He still didn’t know why she was here, and her reasons could be costly to him for all he knew.
Still, he found himself almost smiling. He bit it off quickly.
“This part of town is hardly weird,” he said shortly. The real estate was high class and high-toned, and he was paying through the nose for that fact. “Maybe you miss the longhorns and Cadillacs.”
She gave him a haughty look. She’d caught the illconcealed concealed snobbery in his tone. “I’ve been out of Texas before, you know,” she said. “I spent a semester in Japan in my senior year.”
“World traveler, are you?” he said wryly. But he rather regretted having been a little mean, and he turned away. He needed to be careful. The conversation had all the hallmarks of becoming too personal. He had to break it off. Time to get serious.
He led her on into his ultramodern, wide-open kitchen with its stainless-steel counters and green onyx walls. He got down two mugs, then put pods into the coffee machine, one at a time. In minutes it was ready and he handed her a steaming mug of coffee, then gazed at her levelly.
“Okay, let’s have it.”
She jumped in surprise. “What?” she asked, wide-eyed.
He searched her dark eyes. What he found there gave him a moment of unease. On the surface she seemed very open and almost naive, a carefree young woman ready to take on the world and go for whatever was out there. But her eyes held a more somber truth. There was tragedy in those eyes, fear, uncertainty. Whatever it was that she was hiding, he hoped it had nothing to do with him.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asked again. “Why are you carrying around a very young baby in a strange city in the middle of the night? And most important, how did you even get in here?”
She stared at him for a moment, then tried to smile as she took a shallow sip of the hot coffee. “Wow. That’s a lot to throw at a girl who’s only half-awake,” she noted evasively.
His grunt held no sympathy. “You threw a six-week-old baby at me,” he reminded her. “So let’s have it.”
She took a deep breath, as though this really was an effort. “Okay. I think I already explained how I got in here. I hitched a ride with a party group and no one minded.”
He groaned, thinking of some choice words he would have with the doorman later that day.
“As I told you, my name is Ayme Negri Sommers. I’m from Dallas, Texas. And…” She swallowed hard, then looked him in the eye. “And I’m looking for Cici’s father.”
That hit him like a fist in the stomach. He swallowed hard and searched her gaze again. He knew very well that he was now treading into a minefield and he had to watch his step very carefully.
“Oh, really?” he said, straining to maintain a light, casual tone. “So where did you lose him?”
She took it as a serious question. “That’s just the trouble. I’m not really sure.”
He stared at her. Was she joking? Nothing she said was making any sense.
“But I heard from a very reliable source,” she went on, setting down her mug and putting her hands on her hips as she turned to look questioningly at him, “that you would be able to help me out.”
Ah-ha. A very dangerous mine had appeared right in front of him with this one. Careful!
“Me?” he asked, trying not to let his voice rise with anxiety. “Why me?”
She started to say something, then stopped and looked down, uncomfortable and showing it. “See, this is why this is so
