style="font-size:15px;"> He’d almost forgotten about yesterday. He’d found the Quinns’s eight-year-old daughter earlier that morning. One of the informants Ben—another partner at the agency who’d come to them via the police department—had cultivated during his career had tipped them off about a little girl who fit Julie Quinn’s description being held in a nearby vacant warehouse. Rescue and reunion had taken place in a matter of hours.
Rusty shrugged. Gratitude always made him feel awkward, like someone who’d suddenly become too big for his clothes. “Place setting belongs to Ben as much as to me.”
“That’s my little brother, modest to a fault.” Affection entered her eyes as Megan reached up and patted his face. She left her hand where it was as she studied him. Had he been up all night?
“You look tired, Rusty. Why didn’t you sleep in?”
He grinned as he took her hand in his and removed it. “You’re being a mother again.”
“Sorry, habit.”
He knew she wasn’t alluding to the fact that she had a child of her own these days. The habit had been ingrained in her long before then. Megan had been more like a mother than a sister to him while he was growing up. Their own mother had slowly shrunk away from reality, retreating into a world of her own making after Chad had been kidnapped, until she all but disappeared. Discovering two years later that her ex-husband had been the one to kidnap their son had done nothing to stabilize her world. So, Megan, still a child herself, had taken over being both parents as well as sibling to him. He’d never felt himself short-changed, not even once. There wasn’t anything he wasn’t willing to do for Megan. Where it might have divided some, the crisis had only succeeded in bringing them closer.
Megan held herself in check, squelching the desire to tell him to turn around and go home. “But you’re still not answering my question.”
He knew she’d keep after him until he told her. Megan hated not knowing anything. “Client coming in this morning.”
News to her. Cade hadn’t said anything about a new client coming to the office. Which meant that he didn’t know. “You’re drumming up business in the street these days?” she asked Rusty.
“It’s my neighbor,” he told her. “Two-year-old was kidnapped last night sometime between eight and eleven. Stolen right out of his bedroom.”
Though she was juggling two cases at the moment, Megan’s interest was instantly aroused. “Do the police have any leads?”
“They weren’t called in.” He saw surprise register on his sister’s face. “Client didn’t want them.” And, whenever possible, they tried to adhere to the client’s wishes.
“Why not?”
He shrugged. She wasn’t asking anything that he hadn’t asked himself. “My guess is that the client’s running away from something.”
“Sounds like something caught up.” Megan picked up her mug and plate again. There were files waiting to be reviewed on her computer. “You going to need help?”
The offer wasn’t unexpected. They all shared time on each other’s cases. But somehow, when it came from his sister, he found himself chafing just the slightest bit. “I’ll know where to find you if I do.” He paused, then added, “I know how to ride a two-wheeler by myself now, Megan.”
He was referring to the time she’d taught him how to ride a bicycle. His coordination had been less than stellar in those days and he’d crashed a dozen times or so before finally getting the hang of it. She knew he was telling her to back off in polite terms. But she hadn’t made the offer because she didn’t think he could handle the job, she’d made it because she liked helping.
“Right.” Standing on her toes, Megan managed to reach his cheek and brushed a kiss on it. “I’m never going to get used to the idea that somebody whose bottom I diapered is now taller than I am.”
“A foot taller,” he emphasized. “And I’d just as soon you deep-sixed the diaper story if you don’t mind.”
It was all the heads-up Megan needed. She laughed. “Widowed or divorced?”
Rusty looked at his sister with complete innocence. “Who?”
He wasn’t fooling her for a second. “The woman who’s coming in.”
“What makes you think it’s a woman?” He’d deliberately used the word client.
Megan grinned, forgetting her queasy stomach for the moment. “The FBI isn’t in the habit of hiring dummies.”
“Just nosy women,” he teased. He eyed the partially consumed pastry on her plate. It reminded him that he’d completely forgotten about breakfast this morning. Until now. “You going to eat that?”
She pushed the paper plate toward him. “Be my guest. My stomach isn’t feeling quite up to par this morning. I don’t know why I even bothered buying that.”
Now that he thought of it, whenever he’d seen her this past week, Megan had looked rather pale. Rusty raised a brow just as he heard the door open behind him. “You’re not…?”
Megan knew exactly what he was thinking. Because it had been in the back of her mind for the past seven days. Ever since she’d thrown up.
“Not that I know of.” She gave him a warning look as she cut him off. The last thing she wanted was to have rumors flying around the office before she was sure there was a reason for them.
But it was too late. Sam Walters had come into the office with his wife, Savannah. Overhearing enough to piece together the rest, he came over and draped an arm over Megan’s shoulder. He and Megan went way back, to the days when he’d been on the police force and she’d been a rookie special agent.
“Another little Wichita on the way, huh? Maybe we should seriously think about opening up a nursery on the side. Certainly make a nice statement about the place.” He looked at Megan. “So, what do you want this time, a boy or a girl?”
“What I want,” Megan said, retreating into her own office, “is some peace and quiet so I can finally wrap up the paperwork on my last case.”
“Holler if you need anything,” Rusty called after her. He grinned, taking a bite of the Danish she’d surrendered as she pretended to give him a reproachful look.
“Likewise,” she echoed, closing her door.
He finished the pastry before he ever reached his office. The sound of the front door opening again caught his attention a second before he crossed the threshold. Turning, he saw Dakota walk into the main office.
Because Carrie hadn’t yet arrived, Savannah greeted the statuesque blonde, silently wishing she had the other woman’s figure. She was trim and athletic, but curves like those of the woman in the powder-blue suit were to be envied.
“May I help you?”
Dakota looked around before answering and saw Rusty. She pointed toward him. “I’m here to see him.”
Standing next to his wife, Sam said, “Lucky him,” in a
