The steps locked into place as the steward stepped up beside her. ‘You can exit now, Miss Roberts.’
Talia smiled at the man. ‘Thank you. If you’d just point me towards where I’m to meet Mr Miller…’
‘He’s waiting just over there, miss.’
Talia looked across the tarmac. A dark green Cadillac Brougham stood opposite, a portly, white-haired man beside it. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
The steward laughed. ‘Oh, no, miss, that’s not Mr Miller.’ He took her arm and turned her towards the opposite side of the tarmac. Talia had a quick glimpse of a sleek black Maserati, a car that looked more like a predator than a vehicle, and the man lounging against it, his arms crossed at his chest. ‘That’s Mr Miller, ma’am. Haven’t you ever met?’
The air seemed to rush from Talia’s lungs. No, she thought, no, it couldn’t be…
‘Miss Roberts? Are you all right?’
Talia nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said finally, in a voice unrecognisable as her own, ‘we’ve met.’
And, of course, they had.
Despite the elegant navy pin-striped suit, despite the shockingly expensive sports car, she’d recognised Logan Miller the second she saw him. His mouth curved upward as he uncoiled his lean body and began walking slowly towards her.
Logan Miller and the California drifter who had kissed her in the redwood grove were the same person.
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