what she’d done previously.
She’d lived all her life in the same Dallas neighborhood—heavens, in the very same house. It had been cheaper to live at home while attending college, cheaper than getting a place of her own when she’d gone to work. After her father’s death, she’d stayed to help her mother, and after her mother’s death, she’d stayed because it was comfortably familiar. Just as she’d stayed at the same job all those years, sitting in the same cubicle at the same keyboard, seeing the same people. She had shopped at the same stores, followed the same routines and faced the same depressing future.
At least here things were different. Not perfect. No, she was still the same shy, quiet woman she’d always been. She still didn’t have many friends. She still got all hot and tongue-tied at the idea of dealing with members of the opposite sex unless they were old enough to be her father or young enough to be her son. She still spent all her free time alone, and she still conducted her social life—what there was of it—in cyberspace.
She’d had hopes for more—that she would fit in here in a way she never had in Dallas. That she would make friends. That she might even meet the mysterious man she’d dreamed of since childhood who would sweep her off her feet with offers of marriage, babies and happily-ever-afters. After all, her last birthday had put her squarely in her mid-thirties. Time was slipping away fast. Just yesterday she’d been a dreamy teenager, lost in the books that were her refuge, convinced that someday her life would change. Tomorrow she would be a sad old maid, lamenting life’s unfairness, regretting the emptiness and loneliness. Today was all she had.
“Excuse me.”
For a moment, lost in the future she dreaded, Juliet didn’t respond to the quiet interruption. When she finally looked up, she wished she hadn’t. Her face grew warm, her mouth went dry, and her fingers went limp on the keyboard.
“You’re the new computer whiz.”
All she could do was stare and nod dumbly.
“I’m Martin Smith.” His mouth twisted in what might have been meant as a smile but was actually a grimace. “At least, that’s who I’ve been since last June.” He came farther into the room and extended his hand.
Her palm was probably sweaty, but it would be too noticeable if she took time to wipe it on her dress. She shook his hand, then quickly drew back.
“You’re…?”
The heat in her cheeks increased a few degrees. It was a simple process. He gave his name, and she offered hers. How could she forget? “Juliet. Crandall. I’m new. I replaced—” The other archivist’s name flew right out of her memory. “Whoever used to do this. The computers and…” Sure that she had sufficiently embarrassed herself, she lapsed into silence with her hands tightly clasped in her lap. Too bad Martin Smith hadn’t approached her via computer. E-mail and real-time chats were so easy. [email protected] could easily converse with anyone in the world. Juliet Crandall, face-to-face, couldn’t talk to anyone.
Without waiting for an invitation—one she never would have thought of offering—he sat in the only other chair in the room. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about me—”
“Oh, yes.”
The abruptness of her answer made him blush. On her, a blush was just painful evidence of yet another embarrassment. On him, it was charming. It eased the hard lines of his face and gave him a boyish appeal. “Yeah, I’m the town freak.”
“I didn’t mean…”
He brushed away her words. “You didn’t say it. I did. Actually, it comes in handy. I don’t have to waste time explaining myself to anyone. Terry Sanchez—the woman who used to do this—said that you were really good with computers.”
She shrugged. She’d been computer-friendly since the very first time she’d laid fingers on a keyboard. There were times, though, when she would have given up every skill she possessed to be a little more people-friendly instead. Now was definitely one of those times.
“Can you help me?”
Not ten minutes ago she’d wondered why he’d never sought her help. Now that he had, she wished he hadn’t. Helping him meant spending time with him, and while that was certainly an appealing prospect on one level, on another, it was terrifying. She didn’t do well one-on-one, especially with someone as handsome, intense and fantasy-quality male as Martin Smith.
But if she helped him, she would get to spend time with him. Maybe they could be friends. Maybe she could even learn something from him about relating to men.
“I don’t know. If the police and Terry couldn’t help…”
“I’m not a priority with the police. They ran my fingerprints and sent out a missing persons broadcast, and that was all. They didn’t have the manpower, the budget or the interest in pursuing it any further. As for Terry…she says you’re damn good with the computer.”
She should be. The computers and the Internet were her life. She got her news and entertainment there, visited with friends, planned vacations she never took and had even sold her house in Dallas via an on-line real estate agent.
“I know there are ways you can do searches on the Internet,” Martin continued.
“But you have to have something to work with. I understand you don’t.”
His gaze shifted away and thin lines appeared at the corners of his mouth. “Then it shouldn’t take you long to hit a dead end. You won’t be out much time, and I’ll pay you for it.” His jaw tightened, and his gaze returned. “Please…”
More than that last word, which sounded as if he were unaccustomed to saying it, it was the look in his eyes that got to her. Vulnerability in a man who, she was certain, had never been vulnerable. How awful his situation must be. She wasn’t always happy with who she was, but at least she knew. It must be frightening to lose the very basis of who you are.
“All right,” she agreed, and she saw relief sweep over him. “But I can’t do it during office hours. Why—” Her voice choked, and she had to stop to take a breath. The last man she’d invited to her house had been an account executive with her previous company. He’d been charming, flattering and genuinely interested in her—or so she’d thought. After a half-dozen dates and one long memorable weekend, he had asked for what he’d really wanted: her help in hacking into another account exec’s computer. There had been a big account up for grabs, and he’d needed inside information to be sure he got it.
He hadn’t gotten the information, or the account.
But Martin Smith was being very up front about what he wanted from her. He wasn’t lying, playing her for a fool and trying to seduce her into cooperating.
More’s the pity.
“Why don’t you come to my house this evening? We’ll talk.”
“Around seven? Is that okay?”
“That’ll be fine.” She scrawled her address on a piece of notepaper and laid it on the corner of the desk closest to him. He took it with a nod, then left the office, closing the door quietly behind him.
His fingers still wrapped tightly around the doorknob, Martin drew a deep breath. He hated this feeling, this tightness in his chest,
