in the supposed smuggling operation.
The whole case would most certainly turn out to be nothing. Rafton and Hamilton were probably involved in some minor quarrel, and this was the attorney’s idea of revenge. Maybe Rafton had cut Hamilton off in traffic or carelessly blocked the driveway with cans on trash day or any number of other ridiculous things that people got worked up over.
For her, this trip was merely another hoop to jump through in order to get her career back on track.
She turned the brass knob on the door to Hamilton’s office and entered to find herself in a small but elegant reception area. Malina’s footsteps echoed across dark oak hardwood floors as a quick glance took in the emerald curtains, pale gold walls and expensive-looking antique furniture.
A woman with dark brown hair, streaked with silver, sat behind an antique cherry desk. She looked up with a polite smile. “May I help you?”
Malina pulled her badge from her jacket pocket. “Special Agent Malina Blair. I have an appointment with Mr. Hamilton.”
The polite smile never wavered, leading Malina to wonder if the cops came calling frequently or if she was simply unruffled by any visitor. “Of course.” She lifted the phone on her desk. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” After a brief conversation, she rose and hung up the phone. “This way, please.”
The receptionist/secretary turned away toward the door in the back of the room. Her tailored brown suit showed off her trim figure, just as her matching heels highlighted her confident stride.
Malina had discovered she could glean valuable information about the person in charge by watching subordinates. If that observation held true in this case, she could expect Carr Hamilton to be self-assured, efficient and sophisticated. Not exactly what she’d expected from simple little Palmer’s Island.
She followed the receptionist into the office and barely resisted gasping at the man who rose from behind the massive mahogany desk at the back of the room.
He was beautiful.
At a trim six foot two with wide shoulders and narrow hips, his body alone could cause a woman to wax poetic, something Malina never felt moved by but finally understood why others did. He wore an exquisite charcoal suit, and his thick, silky-looking, inky-black hair set off a face sculpted like the statue of an ancient god, even though nothing about him was cold.
In fact, he radiated heat—especially from his dark brown eyes, sharp and intelligent, standing out from that spectacular face, absorbing her from head to toe.
Moving gracefully, he rounded the desk and extended his hand, which was tanned and long fingered, elegant as everything around him. “Thank you for coming, Agent Blair.”
Jolted into remembering she was there on a professional mission, she managed a nod as she took his hand. A shock of desire raced up her arm. “Sure thing.”
His gaze lingered on her face, and she resisted the urge to pull her hand from his. There was something powerful, even meaningful, about that stare, and she didn’t like the sensation that she’d lost control and perspective so quickly. In that moment, she was a woman, not an agent, and that was entirely the wrong tone for this meeting.
“Coffee, Mr. Hamilton?” the receptionist asked from behind Malina.
“Yes, Paige. Thank you. I imagine Agent Blair would prefer the Kona blend.”
Paige turned and left the room, presumably to get coffee, and Malina forced herself to both step back from Hamilton’s enticing touch and simultaneously hang on to his compelling gaze. “Kona?” she asked.
“You are Hawaiian, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
She clenched her back teeth to avoid asking him how he knew her heritage, but he simply nodded in response to the unspoken question.
“I’m good with faces.” He extended his hand to one of the club chairs in front of his desk, then returned to his position on the other side, lowering himself into his blood-red leather chair only after she’d done the same. “Also, Sam mentioned you’d grown up on Kauai.”
Gorgeous, intelligent and honest. Three very good reasons to get to know a man. Unfortunately, he was part of her professional and not her personal life.
And never the twain shall meet.
She’d seen too many careers wither and die from office bed-hopping. And falling into the wrong bed in the world of politics landed the offenders a one-way ticket to early retirement. No way was she going down that road.
“I understand the SAC is a personal friend,” she said, leaning back in the club chair and tucking her neglected libido neatly away.
He nodded. “Special Agent in Charge Samuel Clairmont.” He lifted his lips in a smile that made Malina’s heart jump. “He’s come a long way from third string on the Yale fencing team.”
“I guess you were first-string.”
“Of course.”
From any other man, that admission would be bragging at best, pretentious at worst. In the capable, elegant hands of Carr Hamilton, it was charming.
Paige returned at that moment with a silver tray, holding a pitcher, mugs and tiny silver spoons.
She set the service on Hamilton’s desk, then turned and left the room. As he poured the coffee, Malina took a moment to let her gaze roam the office, noting the dark wood floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with volumes, a few pictures and knickknacks. A wide-screen laptop sat on the left side of his desk. A sideboard served as a bar, displaying cut-crystal glasses and decanters filled with amber liquid.
Class, style and old money permeated the room.
“Cream and sugar?” the man across from her asked.
She almost said yes simply to watch those graceful hands move. “No, thank you.”
“Strong coffee for a strong woman.”
Since she had no idea what to say to that statement without heading the conversation down a personal path, she sipped from her mug. The Kona was bold and flavorful, just as it should be.
He looked amused as he settled back into his chair, no doubt realizing she was attracted to him. A man with his looks and style wouldn’t miss such an obvious detail.
Despite the near certain futility and mundane nature of her task, she had to be careful not to take the wrong step with this man. He stirred something in her better left unturned. She had a singular goal and couldn’t afford any distraction.
But she so hated being careful.
“So, what do you think of my observations?” he asked.
“I’m not sure what to think at this point. I’d like you to tell me what you saw in detail.” From her pocket, she pulled out a microrecorder, which she set on the desk in front of him. “For the record.” She recited the standard warning about testimony and giving false information to law enforcement, then settled back to listen.
He gave a report as organized
