shock was in her eyes; the fear was in every darting glance over her shoulder. Something had spooked the young lady. No matter what the evidence said, Claire was afraid.
Of what or whom didn’t matter. He supposed it was the big brother instincts in him. Or maybe some sort of continual atonement for not being able to prevent or solve his father’s so-called accident. But A.J. wasn’t going to walk away until he was sure that Valerie Justice wasn’t really dead and Claire Winthrop wasn’t in any real danger.
“Do you need anything else from me, Mr. Winthrop?” Pulling on her lightweight trench coat, Valerie Justice’s replacement waltzed out of the office and joined them. She’d introduced herself as Amelia Ward, and Winthrop said she’d come highly recommended from the temp agency from which he’d hired her for two weeks. “I can’t find anything that’s missing in either your office or Ms. Justice’s. The files and the phone logs all seem to be in the same order she showed me this morning. I’ve contacted the airline and the hotel in the Bahamas, as well, asking Ms. Justice to call us as soon as she gets the message.”
The new boss offered her a reassuring smile. “Good thinking, Amelia. I’m sure everything will be fine. I appreciate you coming in so late. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“No problem, sir. I’m going to head back home and finish watching that movie I rented.” She tucked her auburn hair behind her ear and offered Josh a smile that was more than friendly. “Unless the police need me for something else?”
Subtle.
Josh made a point of adjusting the front of his jacket and showing off his wedding ring. “I don’t think so, Miss Ward.”
Rebuffed by the big, blond cop, she turned her hopeful smile on A.J. “Officer Rodriguez?”
Not his type.
“It’s Detective.” He tapped his pocket where he’d stuffed his notepad. “But we’re good. We have your name and number on file, and if we need anything more we’ll give you a call.”
She didn’t quite take the hint. “Please do. Good night, gentlemen.”
With a nod, Amelia sashayed down the hallway. A.J. watched her leave, but he wasn’t noticing the purposeful strut of her hips. Instead, he was marking off the distance in his head because, for several steps before she turned the corner to the elevators, she’d completely disappeared from his line of sight.
I hid behind the trees and aquarium. I could see him, but he couldn’t see me.
Claire Winthrop’s words replayed in his head, fueling his curiosity. Marcus Tucker had been tall enough to remain in view as he walked the length of the hallway. But the top of Claire Winthrop’s head barely cleared A.J.’s shoulder. Was she tiny enough to pull off what she claimed?
Leaving Josh and Winthrop to wrap up their conversation, A.J. drifted back to the doorway of Winthrop’s office. He rose up on tiptoe, trying to make himself as tall as the man in the black suit Claire had described. Nada.
Even looking straight at the circle of pots and furniture, she could have hidden and watched the office without being seen. Why give that sort of accurate detail if she wasn’t telling the truth? Unless she was in the habit of hiding behind potted plants and spying on her father?
Though her handicap and slender, petite build added a delicacy to her appearance, Claire Winthrop didn’t strike A.J. as a woman prone to childish pranks. Maybe it was the designer suit or the careful way she chose and articulated her words that made her seem more grown up.
Or not.
“Miss Winthrop?” His voice fell on empty air as he turned into the interior of Winthrop’s office. Maybe the boss’s daughter did make a habit of playing hide and seek. She was nowhere to be seen inside here, either.
But he could hear her—rummaging around, mumbling to herself—on the other side of Winthrop’s sized-to-intimidate mahogany desk.
Hooking his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans, A.J. circled the desk and was greeted by the elegant sway of a pink silk bottom. Bello. His initial amusement at finding the proper, ladylike heiress crawling beneath her father’s desk heated with something decidedly male as he watched the graceful shape bob up and down.
He made no apologies for enjoying the view, but heeded the voice inside his head that reminded him he was here on business. Unlike Amelia Ward’s obvious flirting, this was no practiced seduction meant to entice. It was just a nice butt. Okay, a very nice one. One that moved with an innate sense of rhythm that seemed to match the pulse beating in his veins.
Ignore it, Rodriguez. He blinked and politely looked away. Whatever pleasures he might enjoy with the opposite sex, he knew they wouldn’t be with the daughter of the man his father had once cleaned toilets for.
“Miss?” Despite her assertion that she could hear some sound, thanks to surgery and cochlear implants, A.J. raised his voice. “Miss Winthrop?”
She seemed inordinately engrossed with running her fingers around every inch of the plastic chair mat beneath the desk. Needing her attention, A.J. leaned down and tapped her on the shoulder. “Miss Winthrop?”
As soon as he touched her, she let out a yelp, smacked her head on the desk and muttered something a little less classy than he might have expected from the dainty heiress. She spun around and landed on her bottom in a graceful heap, rubbing at the back of her skull where she’d conked herself.
“Sorry.” He squatted in front of her, bracing one hand on the desk above her head. Her blue eyes looked a bit dazed. Guilt instantly replaced both curiosity and amusement. He gently touched her shoulder, needing to do something to make amends. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you hurt?”
She glanced down at his hand as if the comforting gesture surprised her. When she didn’t pull away or protest, he trailed his fingers up the side of her neck and found skin as soft as the silk she wore and a racing pulse. Or maybe that was his own heart rate speeding up with awareness and concern.
“Do you need to lie down?” Her gaze darted to his lips and searched them as if she couldn’t quite grasp what he was asking. “Miss Winthrop?” he repeated, reminding himself to focus on first aid and not the way her eyes pooled and darkened as if she was having a hard time staying focused herself. “Are you hurt?”
He reached behind her head to probe for any cut or goose egg. As he gently nudged his fingers into her hair, his palm brushed against the small plastic hearing device hooked behind her ear.
The instant he touched the device, she blinked her eyes clear and pushed his hand away. “I’m fine.”
Rightly denied the contact that had slipped beyond professional, A.J. sat back on his haunches. But he never got the chance to apologize.
Instead, Claire Winthrop moved her fingers in a frantic dance that he knew to be sign language, even if he didn’t understand the words. Fortunately, she spoke out loud as she signed. “I think the mats have been switched.”
The discovery seemed to excite her, judging by the flush of color on her cheeks. A.J. grinned in relief and rose to his feet. This woman wasn’t hurt—he’d seen that distant focus dozens of times in his sisters’ eyes. Claire Winthrop was preoccupied. Obsessed, even.
A.J. offered his hand to help her stand. “What makes you
