how and why he knew it, and he didn’t intend to share that information. Yet.
“Where’d you go to school?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know the answer to that question, either, as he lifted his own glass to his lips.
“The University of Texas at San Antonio. Graduated with honors.” She opened her purse and took out an envelope, offering it to him. “My résumé.”
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Look at it and, if you think it’s warranted, consider writing a letter of recommendation for me.”
“Why me?”
“Because there’s an opening at Mercy Hospital and the Garrett name carries a considerable amount of weight there.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go straight to my mother,” he commented. “If you’ve done your homework, you’re aware that she’s on the hiring committee.”
“I’m aware,” she admitted.
“So why didn’t you knock on her door?” he challenged.
She traced the base of her glass with her finger. “Because a part of me was afraid she’d refuse to give a recommendation...and another part was afraid she would give it.”
He shook his head. “Every time I think I have you figured out, you say or do something that surprises me.”
“I don’t need you to understand me—I just need a letter.”
“I can’t give you that without some understanding of who you are and whether or not you’ll fit in with the rest of the staff.”
She slid off her seat. “Then I guess I should be going.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door. “Why Charisma? Why Mercy?”
“Why not?”
“You didn’t come here just for a job.”
She met his gaze evenly. “I have family here.”
“Speaking of family, what do Patrick and Connor think of your decision to move to North Carolina?”
Her eyes narrowed at the mention of her brothers. “What do you know about Patrick and Connor?”
“Quite a lot, actually,” he told her. “Patrick is twenty-seven, single and a deputy in the Echo Ridge sheriff’s department. Connor is twenty-eight, a graduate of the Thurgood Marshall School of Law currently employed as a prosecuting attorney, which is probably why he’s trying to keep his relationship with a certain young woman who works as a public defender under wraps.”
“You had my family investigated?” she demanded, her question filled with icy fury.
“Does that bother you?” he challenged. “Does it seem wrong that some stranger could come along and meddle in the lives of the people who matter the most to you?”
“Touché, Dr. Garrett.” She reached past him to pick up her glass and tossed back the rest of her wine. “I guess that means I’m not going to get a recommendation.”
“I’m not saying no,” he told her. Because he was a firm believer in the old adage about keeping friends close and enemies closer, and he wasn’t yet sure which category his half sister fit into. “I just want some more information.”
“My life’s an open book—and one that you’ve apparently already read.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Can you meet me at the hospital tomorrow?”
“What time?”
“Two o’clock. By the fountain in the courtyard.”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.”
He followed her back to the foyer and plucked her coat off the hook just as another knock sounded. Since no one had buzzed from the lobby, he assumed that it was probably Lianne from across the hall. For a woman who was always baking something—muffins or cookies or banana bread—it baffled him that his neighbor never had all of the ingredients she needed. His brother, Ryan, liked to tease that Lianne asking to borrow sugar was code for her wanting to give him some sugar, but her flirtations were mostly harmless.
But when he opened up the door, it wasn’t Lianne on the other side. It was Avery Wallace.
“You’re on your way out,” she said, noting the coat in his hand.
He shook his head. “It’s not mine.”
Her eyes flickered past him to Nora, then to the island with the bottle of wine and two glasses. Her color went frosty and her tone, when she spoke again, had chilled by several degrees. “I’m sorry—I obviously should have called first.”
He turned to hand the coat to Nora, whose gaze was openly curious as it shifted from him to his new guest and back again. Clearly she was hoping for an introduction, but he wasn’t inclined to make it.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Avery said, already turning away.
He caught her arm. “You can stay. Nora’s on her way out.”
Thankfully, Nora didn’t have to be told twice. She slipped past him. “I’ll see you at two o’clock tomorrow.”
He nodded, pulling Avery through the door before closing it.
She tugged her arm out of his grasp, looking uncertain and slightly disapproving. “She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know,” he said mildly. “How young is too young to be my sister?”
“Your—” she looked back at the door through which Nora had departed “—sister?”
He nodded.
She frowned. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“Neither did I until seven months ago.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” she mused.
“I’d tell you about it sometime, but you barely stick around long enough to finish a consult never mind an actual conversation.”
She flushed but did not respond.
“So why are you here?” he asked. And then, because he couldn’t resist ruffling her feathers a bit, he said “Did you come to count the notches on my bedposts?”
She sent him a scathing look. “You said you don’t have bedposts.”
“Because I don’t,” he confirmed. “Which I’d be happy to prove to you if you come down the hall with me and—”
She cut him off by shoving an envelope against his chest. “This is why I’m here.”
He held her gaze for a long minute
