could tell that he was reluctant to leave, but after a final kiss to her forehead, and his hastily scribbled hotel phone number, he left her alone.
After he closed the door, she listened to the sound of his shoes clicking down the steps. Silently she counted them. Finally she heard the front door open and close with a thud. A sporty engine roared to life and faded into the night. Erin felt more alone than she had in years.
Chapter 5
The morning newspaper was spread before her as Erin sat down to a light breakfast of toast and jam. Her eyes wandered aimlessly over the headlines on the front page, but her mind refused to budge from the intimate moments she had shared with Kane. What had seemed a natural and beautiful lovemaking experience in the darkness had somehow lost its enchantment in the morning light. It wasn’t that she regretted getting to know Kane, not at all. But he was her boss, and she couldn’t let her body control her mind where he was concerned. Professionally it just wasn’t sound judgment to get emotionally involved with an employer. And, although she could still conjure up the enigmatic image of his tanned masculine body and mirthless gray eyes, she wouldn’t let it control her.
She applied a healthy spoonful of raspberry jam to her toast as she turned to the financial section. As her eyes met the black-and-white photograph of Mitchell Cameron, she let the knife fall to the table. The picture was several years old, and Mitch was smiling with his pleasant self-assured grin, but the caption in black boldface print captured her attention. FINANCIAL LAWYER ALLEGED THIEF—and in smaller print—Mitchell Cameron Accused of Embezzling Bank Funds.
“Oh, no!” Erin gasped, and her eyes read and reread the newspaper article several times. “There must be some mistake,” she murmured to herself. “There has to be!” According to the article Mitch had been manipulating bank funds for the better part of two years. When the bank was sold, an audit found him out, and the new president, Kane Webster, had fired Mitch. The police were summoned and Mitch would be arraigned for indictment within the week.
Erin raced to the telephone and dialed Mitch’s number. A busy signal beeped flatly in her ear. Either Mitch had taken the receiver off the hook, or he was already being plied by inquisitive friends and reporters.
As quickly as possible she scooped up the paper, grabbed her purse and slipped on her coat. She took the steps two at a time and nearly ran over Mrs. Cavenaugh on her way out the door. On the run, she apologized to the startled old woman and hurried out to the car. She turned the ignition, the little car sparked to life and Erin proceeded on a mad dash to the bank, hampered only by the early-morning rush-hour traffic.
When she got to the bank, it was already crawling with employees. Although it was still early, it seemed that everyone had arrived with time to spare on this first day of new bank ownership. Erin pushed herself into the crowded elevator and wedged herself between two women.
“Have you seen the paper today?” a middle-aged woman with a faddish, curly hairstyle asked her friend.
“Not yet—I usually wait until coffee break. There’s just not enough time in the morning, what with getting the kids off to school, you know,” the shorter woman in a pink raincoat replied.
The elevator started its upward motion. “Then you haven’t heard about Mitchell Cameron?” the curly-haired woman asked.
“Cameron? The head of the legal department?”
“That’s right. Seems that the new president—that Mr. Webster—had him fired.”
“No!”
“That’s right,” the taller woman said with a firm shake of her head. Her voice lowered, and she looked over her shoulder as she continued. “They suspect that Mr. Cameron was involved in some embezzling scheme…”
“The head of the legal department? Are you sure?”
Erin pretended not to hear the conversation. The elevator stopped on the seventeenth floor and the two women continued their conversation as they disembarked. Erin closed her eyes for a minute. By this time the entire bank staff had heard about Mitch. Could it possibly be true? She fervently hoped that Kane was wrong about Mitch.
The elevator stopped with a jolt, and Erin walked into the legal department. She was early, and only a few of the more aggressive young employees had made it to their desks. There were a few new faces in the crowd, probably some of Kane’s imported troubleshooters from California, Erin guessed as she passed by the reception area and picked up her telephone messages. The most compelling of the notes was a handwritten memo from Kane indicating that he wanted to see her in his office immediately.
After taking off her coat, she armed herself with the newspaper and marched into his office. An eerie, nostalgic feeling gripped her when she discovered that the familiar brass nameplate of Mitchell Cameron had been torn from the door. Only two fine drill holes remained in the wood panels to remind Erin that just last week Mitch had occupied this office.
Kane was sitting behind the desk when she entered. He motioned her to be seated in one of the side chairs as he finished scribbling some notes on a legal pad. But instead, she remained standing with her arms folded against her chest. The rolled newspaper was clamped firmly under her left arm.
“Have you seen the paper?” she asked him, echoing the conversation she had overhead in the elevator.
“Yes,” he replied, looking up from his work.
“And you read the article on Mitch?” she accused.
“I’ve read several, starting last evening,” he replied evenly. His eyes searched her face and he studied her intensely.
“Is it true?” she asked, her incredulity registering on her face. “Did Mitch really embezzle? How do you know—and why did you let the press find out about it? Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve ruined his career. He worked for this bank for over twenty years, and in one clean sweep you destroyed him!”
Her voice had risen with her emotion. She flung the paper onto his desk and turned her head away, biting on her fingernail and trying to piece together her shattered poise. Kane rose from the desk and crossed the room to close the door. He came back beside her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Gently he rubbed the tension out of her neck and shoulders.
“Don’t,” she implored. “Don’t touch me—just give me answers, preferably straight ones!”
His fingers stopped their comforting motion but remained against the back of her neck. Her hair was pinned into a businesslike knot, twisted behind one ear, and Kane rested his hands on her exposed neck. Her head was bent, and she pressed a hand to her forehead as she waited for his explanation.
His voice was low and soft as he began to speak. “You’ve met my associate, Jim Haney?” His fingers felt the barest of movements as she nodded. “During the conversion, while Jim was still working here in Seattle, he…discovered that funds were being funneled out of some of the larger trust accounts. It took Jim quite a while, but finally he tracked down the culprit.”
“Mitch?” she asked in a voice that was barely audible.
“Yes.”
“But…how can you be sure?” She pivoted her head upward to find his face, and there was an unhidden pain in the depths of her eyes.
“Erin.
