style="font-size:15px;"> “What in the world would make you think that?” Jessie said, a little more strongly than Lucy thought was called for.
“Sorry, I thought I saw a family resemblance,” Lucy said, trying to smooth over the awkward moment. “My mistake.”
Scarlet explained, “This is Jessie Clayton. She’s my intern at Charisma.”
“You know,” Jessie said, “I’ve really got an awful lot of work to do. I think I’ll skip lunch.” She tried to slide out of the booth, but Scarlet leaned over and put a hand on her arm to stop her.
“Oh, come on, Jessie, I’m not a slave driver. You can take time for lunch.”
“No, really, I have to go.” She stood and made good her escape despite both Lucy’s and Scarlet’s protests.
Lucy sat on the recently vacated leather banquette. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare her off.”
Scarlet looked perplexed. “That was strange. I wonder what got into her? Maybe she was distressed at the idea that she looks like me.”
“Oh, yes, you’re such an ogre,” Lucy said. “No one wants to look like you.”
“Do you really think there’s a resemblance? Because I thought so, too, when I first hired her, but then I decided I was imagining things.”
“Well, lots of people look similar,” Lucy said, downplaying the uncanny resemblance. “She’s probably got Irish in her, like you.”
Scarlet ordered mineral water and her favorite salad Niçoise, which came adorned with tiny eggrolls. Lucy, who continued to be delighted by the French/Asian blended menu, ordered an egg-drop soup Florentine.
“That’s all you’re having?” Scarlet asked.
“After that huge dinner last night, I haven’t been very hungry.” Not to mention the orange-chocolate-mint cake.
“So where’s Bryan today?”
“Out and about. I’m not sure.”
“So he doesn’t tell you any more about his business than he tells anyone else?”
“I don’t want to be nosy.”
“Well, I am. Honestly, the whole family is a little fed up with him. He’s been so secretive lately. We all thought maybe you were the secret, but apparently not, since he’s still doing his disappearing act.”
“He’ll be back tonight,” Lucy said, trying to mask her reaction. She wondered if Bryan knew just how worried his family had become about him. That was something he’d tried to avoid at all costs.
Scarlet asked about Lucy’s clothes, how everything was working out and whether she needed anything else. “We’re doing a shoot tomorrow with the most gorgeous Givenchy eveningwear. One of the dresses would look perfect on you. Hey, maybe you could model it. We pay well.”
Lucy laughed. That was all she needed, her picture in a national magazine. She might as well send a map to the embezzler with a dotted line leading straight to her.
“No, I don’t think so. I have work to do.”
“Oh, your novel! I’m so glad you decided to give it another try. How’s it going? I know an agent at William Morris. I could probably get you a read.”
“I’m a long way from having anything to show.” And, boy, wasn’t that the truth. “But thank you. You’re awfully nice to me.”
“That’s because I want you to stick around. Bryan clearly needs you in his life. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite as happy as he was last night. He couldn’t stop staring at you.”
Lucy blushed. She wanted to reassure Scarlet that she would stick around. But, of course, she wouldn’t.
“Scarlet, hi!” A striking woman with the brightest red hair Lucy had ever seen stopped at their table. Scarlet stood to give the other woman a hug. The redhead towered over Scarlet, no easy feat. She had to be well over six feet tall. Then Lucy realized her face was familiar. She was a supermodel. She went by Redd.
“Redd,” Scarlet said, “this is Lindsay Morgan, Bryan’s girlfriend.”
Lucy had never quite gotten over her awe of celebrities, even after the Cruz disaster. She babbled something to Redd, who eventually left to find her own table.
“It must be fun, seeing celebrities all the time,” she said.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Lucy only wished she would have the opportunity to get used to it.
Bryan didn’t get home until close to nine that night. Lucy couldn’t help herself. She launched herself into his arms the moment he got off the elevator.
“Hey, hey,” he said, returning her hug, rubbing her back. “Is something wrong?”
“I was just worried about you.”
“Why? I told you I’d be late.”
“I know. But I didn’t know what you were doing, and I have a vivid imagination. I saw you getting shot, stabbed, poisoned—”
“Oh, Lucy.” He kissed her tenderly. “I wasn’t doing anything dangerous. Just boring legwork. Checking in with snitches, trying to get a lead on Stungun. I met with Siberia.”
“Does he know Stungun’s true identity?”
“No. Only the head of the agency knows. But he’s going to find out. He’s making a case to the director tomorrow. We’ve got to find him.”
“I’ve made some progress on my end.”
“Really?”
“Do you want something to eat? Stash delivered a huge dinner. I didn’t eat a third of it.”
He didn’t let her go. “I’m starved, but not for food.”
“Hmm. I think you tend to confuse your appetites.” She slid out of his grasp. “Sit. I’ll warm up a plate and explain what I’ve found.”
As she heated up the coq au vin tempura, she told him what her research had led her to that afternoon. And she didn’t like it one bit.
“I’ve eliminated everybody but one person. I’ve double- and triple-checked, and she is the only one who has been logged in every single time there was an illegal withdrawal.”
“She?”
“Peggy Holmes, Mr. Vargov’s personal secretary. She’s a mild-mannered grandmother who’s been working at the bank for more than twenty years. I don’t really see how she could be a terrorist sympathizer.”
“You’d be surprised. One of her children is married to a man who travels frequently to the Middle East with his business. Nothing wrong with that in itself—”
