style="font-size:15px;"> “If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my run.”
“I mind,” Neville said crisply. “You ignored my messages from yesterday.”
“I was busy,” Roman said.
“Yet you found time to contact the charming Mrs. Parrish. Even to visit her cottage last night.”
“That was Slater’s order. He asked me to make sure Anya was comfortable.” Roman paced in a tight circle. “Sorry, Doc. I need to keep moving or I’ll stiffen up. We’ll have to talk later.”
“This is about your former assistant.”
“Peter Bunch.” An overqualified young man with a bright future, he’d quit two weeks ago. “What about him?”
Neville planted himself in Roman’s path, forcing his attention. “Peter Bunch is missing.”
The wind left Roman’s lungs. “Missing?”
“As in ‘missing person,’” Neville said. “The police were here, asking questions.”
Roman caught a gulp of air. Damn it! Did Peter’s disappearance have something to do with his employment at Legate? Purposely, Roman dropped his gaze to the sand beneath his feet, not wanting to betray his suspicions to a trained psychiatric observer. Especially not to Neville. The company shrink was Slater’s toady. “I’m sorry to hear about Peter.”
“How was your relationship with him? When he quit, did he express hostility toward Legate?”
“He left because he was invited to join an archaeological expedition in South America. He had a master’s degree in archaeology. Working in the field was more to his liking than running errands for me.”
“Did you have any reason to believe Peter would betray you?”
“Our personal relationship was fine.”
Roman lifted his gaze and focused on Neville. The psychiatrist’s thick black eyebrows contrasted his short-trimmed white hair and mustache. He was a fastidious man, always dressed in a suit with a conservative silk necktie and matching pocket handkerchief. His lips barely moved as he said, “You can be a hard person to work for.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means?” Neville arched his left eyebrow.
“I’ve got no clue,” Roman said.
“It occurs to me that your assistant would have access to confidential information. If he held a grudge against you, he might have attempted to sell this data. Would you have any knowledge of—”
“No.” Roman spoke with a cold finality. He didn’t want Neville trotting down this path.
“Well, I certainly hope Peter’s greed hasn’t led to unfortunate circumstances.”
“Like what?” Roman said. “Do you think he was hurt? Murdered?”
“And why would you draw that conclusion?”
“Because I’m one hell of a fatalist.” Roman started across the sand to the stairs, then turned and jogged backward. “Why did it occur to you that Peter might be selling Legate secrets?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Neville sneered. “We have a leak.”
Roman turned away and jogged toward the stairway that climbed the steep cliff. He hoped with all his heart that nothing bad had happened to Peter Bunch. Had he been selling secrets? Doubtful. And he couldn’t possibly be the leak. That honor belonged to Roman alone. He inhaled a deep breath and took the stairs two at a time.
ON HER FOURTH DAY at Legate, Anya had a bad case of the fidgets. While doing her translating work in a library cubicle on the first floor of the mansion, she checked her wristwatch dozens of times, marking the passage of each separate minute.
Today was Friday. Tonight was her dinner with Roman. At two in the afternoon, her part-time work was over, and she strolled back to the cottage with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. Not tired enough for a nap. Not energetic enough to start a project. As she sorted through the clothing in her closet, deciding what to wear, she felt a rising sense of anticipation. “I haven’t gone anywhere in four days.” As soon as the words left her lips, she frowned. Talking to herself? Not a good sign.
At four-thirty, Charlie burst through the front door. “Mommy, do you know what a polymer is? A whole bunch of molecules. That’s chemistry.”
“Right,” she said.
“We made a really stinky polymer today. Next week, we’re going to build rockets and send stink bombs to Mars.”
She leaned back in the rocking chair in the front room and listened to her son talk. His bubbling conversation gladdened her heart. She was pleased that Charlie wanted to share everything with her. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she’d have him all to herself. “Hey, sweetpea,” she interrupted.
“Jeez, Mom. Don’t call me that.”
“We’re going to Roman’s house for dinner. He’ll be picking us up in about half an hour. You ought to wash up before we go.”
“Okay.”
No sooner had he hiked up the staircase than there was a knock at the door. Roman was early. Already here.
When she opened the door, she stared for a moment. Roman really was gorgeous, much too sexy for his own good. His black hair was slightly mussed. His tawny-brown eyes shone with a warm luster, and his grin hinted at seduction. He wore a pin-striped charcoal suit with no necktie. The collar of his white shirt was open. In his hand he held a simple bouquet of white daisies. “For you.”
“But we’re going to your house,” she said. “I should be the one bringing a gift.”
“Having you there is gift enough,” he said.
She recognized his tone. “That’s your flirting voice. I remember when we were walking with Charlie’s pony and you showed me how you knocked women off their feet.”
“And?”
“Stop it,” she ordered.
“Force of habit,” he said. “When I saw you standing there in that little black dress, looking so beautiful, I forgot this wasn’t a date.”
“I don’t have much of a selection on clothes. Most of my stuff is back in Denver.” Since she hadn’t wanted to leave Charlie here alone, her mother had returned to Denver to arrange for the move. Anya shrugged. “It was either the black dress or jeans.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “You look perfect.”
“Thank you.” She enjoyed his compliments. Being around Roman reminded her that she was still a woman. She took the daisies and held the door wider so he could come inside. “And thank you for the flowers.”
Charlie clattered down the stairs
