and squashed them. All he would see was a tall blonde, with cool grey eyes; he would have no knowledge of the turmoil within. Despite feeling like death warmed over, she knew she looked totally in command of herself. Dressed in an elegant lightweight, thankfully uncrushable suit that matched her eyes, she stared at the yachts in the marina below.
‘He shouldn’t be much longer,’ he murmured. The poor man sounded almost desperate.
Turning her head, she gave a faint smile.
‘I could get you a cup of coffee—or something.’
‘No, I’m fine. Really. Have you worked here long?’ she asked, merely for something to say.
‘Five years,’ he said cautiously.
Her smile enigmatic, she returned her attention to the view, wished Tabiner would hurry up. Wished it were over. ‘Tell me about him,’ she encouraged. When he didn’t answer, she turned towards him again, forced amusement into her eyes when all she really wanted to do was run away. ‘Not allowed?’
‘No. Yes. I mean...’ Flustered, he muttered inarticulately, ‘What’s to tell? He’s a private man, self-contained. He’s always polite, always remembers people’s names, their families—’ Breaking off, he gave an embarrassed shrug, ‘I don’t know what he’s like! I’m his legal adviser, friend; he’s terrifyingly clever—and I can sometimes surprise him into a smile.’
She wondered if she would be able to. It sounded very much as though Greg Hanson didn’t know him at all. Not a good sign. She didn’t much like the sound of ‘terrifyingly clever’ either. If he didn’t hurry up, she was definitely going to run away.
The door opened behind them and they both turned. Greg with a nervous start, because he hadn’t heard him coming, and Abby with nervous relief—until she saw who it was. Sam Turner.
Tension leapt between them, immediate and stifling. She didn’t speak, didn’t think she could have spoken just then, just continued to stare in blank shock at the man standing in the doorway. Disbelief turned her bones to jelly.
She was vaguely aware of Greg Hanson speaking, introducing her perhaps, but she found herself quite unable to drag her eyes away from a man she had never expected to see again.
‘How did you find me?’ he asked softly, but with considerable menace.
Mind still blank, disbelieving, fourteen years of practice came to her aid. She gave a derisive smile.
‘And, more importantly, why?’
She didn’t answer for a moment, just continued to stare at him, and then she drawled softly, but with a shake in her voice that she hoped wasn’t apparent to anyone else, ‘I wasn’t actually looking. I had absolutely no idea you were here.’ Taking a deep breath, she continued forcefully, ‘So why are you? You vet Mr Tabiner’s guests, do you?’
He went very still, his eyes hard, and definitely hostile. ‘What?’
‘I said—’
‘I heard what you said,’ he interrupted impatiently. ‘Why do you want to see him?’
She heard Greg make some inarticulate sound, and ignored it, as—apart from a silencing wave of his hand—did Sam. Leaning forward slightly, suddenly furiously angry, not only at her own reaction to him but at his arrogance, she whispered derisively, ‘It’s a secret.’
Mouth even tighter, he said flatly, ‘Then make an appointment.’
‘Who with? You?’
‘No.’
Tilting her head slightly to one side, she continued to regard him with cool mockery, and the effort it took was enormous. She couldn’t think what to ask, what to say, and so she settled for, ‘You know Mr Tabiner?’
‘Yes.’
‘In what capacity?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
She gave a dismissive smile. Turning to Greg, she asked, ‘Mr Tabiner is coming?’
‘He’s not here,’ Sam put in curtly.
Returning her eyes to Sam, she murmured insolently, ‘Mr Hanson said he was.’
‘Mr Hanson was mistaken.’
‘I see.’
‘Good.’ Without looking away from her, he requested flatly, ‘Greg, leave us, would you?’
Hesitating only momentarily, Greg asked quietly, ‘Should I let everyone know that Mr Tabiner is no longer in the building?’
‘Please.’
He nodded, and left.
‘You have the necessary clout to give orders to Mr Tabiner’s staff?’ she asked, with the same sweet insolence.
‘Yes. Now tell me the truth.’
Still staring at him, eyes speculative, she asked, ‘You think I followed you?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Why would I follow you, Sam?’
‘I have no idea.’
With another small smile, she asked, ‘You work here?’
‘No,’ he denied stonily.
‘But you being here is not a coincidence, is it?’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘What makes you think so?’
A letter, she could have said, but had no intention of doing so.
‘And if your business with Tabiner is legitimate,’ he countered, ‘why so secretive?’
‘Perhaps I’m taking a leaf out of your own book,’ she murmured. ‘You were secretive, weren’t you, Sam? Did you come to the house to look for something?’
‘Such as?’
‘Oh, I don’t know...’ she murmured vaguely, and realised that he was fencing as much as she was. Why? Just what was the connection between him and Tabiner?
‘I came to the house,’ he informed her stonily, ‘to look at your father’s collection of Crimean War memorabilia.’
‘So you said, but I did wonder,’ she lied, ‘when you left so quickly, whether you might not have, um, appropriated something—valuable. A first edition, maybe?’
‘No,’ he denied coldly. ‘I took nothing.’
‘Then why the sudden departure? No explanation, no reasons...’
‘I’d finished my research.’
‘Liar,’
