Undercover Father

by Mary Anne Wilson

  “I told you, I don’t want to lose my job, and those were the orders—to deliver you up to Mr. Lawrence.” She darted him an angry glance, and he said quickly, “Sorry, bad choice of words.”

  “Sure you’re sorry,” she muttered. This had been a mistake. But he was in it now and he’d get out as soon as he could.

  “I really am sorry,” he said.

  “You’re just sorry that I really do have a right to be going to the ball.”

  “Well, you’re no Cinderella,” he said.

  She cast him a quick look. “I’m not wearing glass slippers, true,” she said before she turned back to the driveway ahead of them.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” he asked.

  “Could I stop you?”

  “No, you couldn’t. I was just going to say that the jewelry doesn’t work with that dress.”

  Very casually, she took her left hand off the wheel and rested it on her thigh, effectively hiding the ring from him. “What about my jewelry?”

  “That earpiece just doesn’t do anything for you.”

  She reached for the device connected to her cell phone and tugged it free, then dropped it on the console with her other things. “I forgot,” she said. “I got distracted.”

  He found himself smiling. He was distracted, too, by a woman who was thoroughly stuck-up and bossy. The thing was, he was enjoying it. He hadn’t sparred verbally with a woman for a very long time, and he realized that he’d missed it. Even if she was annoying and what his mother used to call “uppity.” And even if he’d never see her again. Not that he wanted to. But this was a nice distraction for a few minutes.

  They were almost up the driveway now, and he pointed ahead to the portico just outside the ballroom entrance. “Pull in there and the valet can park your chariot for you.”

  Rafe was shocked when she actually laughed, a soft, sultry sound that seemed to fill the space around him as she pulled up to the nearest valet. That was when he looked at her, and he saw her smiling at him. A simple smile, yet it triggered so many things deep inside him that he found it hard to breathe. “Let me guess. Chariot parking is not part of your job description?”

  And responding to this woman on such a basic level wasn’t something he wanted to do. “No,” he said, and the second the car stopped, he got out.

  The air was filled with laughter and music and the scent of good cigars, but all he was aware of was Megan coming around the car when the valet let her out, and Megan standing in front of him with her purse clutched to her middle, the shadow of that smile still on her lips. And the gleaming ring on her finger. He looked away out of self-preservation, saw her car being driven off for parking, then said, “Follow me,” without looking at her again. “I’ll take you to Wayne Lawrence. That is in my job description,” he said, and started off without looking to see if she was following.

  Actually, he didn’t have to look to know she was there. He could sense her, and he kept going, through the service area, around the side of the mansion, toward the back terraces. They walked along a pathway that cut across grass and through low shrubbery, and as they turned at the back corner of the house, she brushed against him. Rafe moved quickly ahead of her onto the flagstone terrace.

  The party had spilled out onto the back lawns, under the draped fairy lights, and with the French doors of the ballroom, the music seemed to be everywhere, mingled with laughter. He stopped at the edge of the terrace, scanning the groups of guests to try and spot Wayne Lawrence. Sensing Megan right beside him, Rafe turned and saw her features softly illuminated in the glow of the lights. Blue. Her eyes were a clear blue, and that stupid ring was winking at him. “I can take it from here,” she said. “Thanks for the escort.”

  “Sorry for the trouble at the gate.”

  “You were doing your job,” was all she said, as loud laughter from the far side of the terrace drew her attention. A group of people stood there—all men, all drinking, he noted—and that was when he spotted Mr. Lawrence. Rafe had only seen him in the picture Zane had provided, but recognized the man immediately. He looked every day of his sixty years, balding as he was, and even though the picture had been head and shoulders, Rafe had guessed right about him being out of shape despite the very expensive tux he was wearing.

  “Well, there he is,” he said to Megan, motioning to Mr. Lawrence. “You found him on the lower terrace.”

  “Yes, I did,” she murmured.

  Right then, another security guard came jogging from the upper terrace, skirting the guests by staying on the lawn. Seeing Rafe, he hurried over and said in a low voice, “A 215 at the Service.”

  That was their code for a troublesome drunk—a way of communicating what was going on without the guests knowing. Rafe had started that practice when he’d actually worked the events, the way he was doing tonight. “The Service” meant the problem was at the delivery area.

  He nodded to the guard. “I’ll be right there,” he said, and the other man took off while he turned back to say goodbye to Megan.

  But she was gone. He looked across the terrace and saw her approaching Mr. Lawrence with her hand out. A big smile was on his face.

  There was no backward glance, no hesitation on her part. Rafe was forgotten, a security guard who had bugged her, then escorted her to her date. And that was okay. He didn’t plan on remembering too much of what happened tonight, either. He headed toward the front of the house in a jog to help take care of the drunk.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Monday

  MEGAN WAS IN her office, one of the dozen or so cubicles just off the main hallway, and right next to the restrooms for the entire floor. Little more than three partial walls with no door, it was stocked with the usual office equipment, along with a stack of work that had been sent to her that morning. The only good thing about her work area was the window, even if it did look out onto the roof of the building next door.

  Not that she had much time to look out the window. She’d been busy since she’d arrived, and was still facing two or three hours of work she’d have to take back to the hotel with her when she left.

  “That was certainly a lovely party.”

  Megan looked up to find her boss in the doorless entry. The receptionist, Ellen, who sat at a desk directly across from the elevators, had told Megan earlier that Mr. Lawrence liked to keep an eye on “his people.” She’d made a joke about him wearing a bell around his neck so staff would be warned when he was closing in. Megan had thought she’d been kidding, but now she knew the woman had been serious. Megan hadn’t heard the man approach.

  “Oh, sir,” she said, pushing back the file she was reading, the details of the day care center incorporation to separate it from LynTech. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She brushed at her hair, which she’d caught in a low knot that morning, and tugged a bit nervously at the cuffs of the simple white shirt she was wearing with beige linen slacks.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he came into the cubicle. But he didn’t sound any sorrier for his actions than Rafe had Saturday night. Now why had she thought of the security guard? “I just wanted to make sure everything was going well for you, and to say it was a pleasure meeting you at the ball.”

  “Oh, thank you so much.” She’d left the event as soon as she could, but not before Mr. Lawrence had pulled her from group to group, introducing her to so many people she couldn’t remember any of them. All she really remembered was a glimpse of Rafael Diaz going past the French doors just as Mr. Lawrence had taken her hand to tug her over to yet another group of guests. She’d seen a flash of a frown on the guard’s face, then he’d disappeared for the rest of the evening. “The ball was wonderful.”

  Mr. Lawrence, dapper in a solid navy suit, matching tie and gray shirt, came to the front of her desk. “I was very glad you finally showed up.” He hadn’t been annoyed by her tardiness,
but seemed to appreciate the guard being so careful with her entry to the ball. “Better safe than sorry,” he murmured soberly.

  “Absolutely,” she said, not sure if she should stand or not.

  He took that decision out of her hands when he motioned for her to stay sitting, then said, “I just came in to say that we’re glad you’re here, and this month should prove illuminating for everyone.” He tapped at his wristwatch with his forefinger. “It’s seven, and you’re the last one still here. I appreciate dedication, and it will go in your file.”

  Was that why he’d come by? Because he’d noticed her light on when the other cubicles were dark? She pressed a hand to the papers in front of her. “I wanted to finish up the first part of the file you gave me before I left.”

  “I was hoping I’d catch you and save you a trip to the hotel to get your things.”

  She didn’t understand. “Is there a problem?”

  “Oh, no. I just wanted to let you know that your belongings from the hotel were moved to the loft this afternoon, to save you the trouble. They should be there when you arrive.”

  He’d called her to his office earlier and informed her that she was moving out of the hotel to a loft the company used. He’d explained it was wired directly to the offices, and to the legal department in particular. The rationale for the move was so she could access the database of both the day care center and LynTech anytime she wanted to from there, and the inference was she could work even if she wasn’t at the office. The details of the switch to independent status for the day care center was tedious but necessary work, and the reason she’d been sent to Houston.

  She hadn’t thought much about it until that moment, but suddenly felt uneasy that a perfect stranger had gone into her hotel room and packed her things for her. But she forced herself to smile. “Thanks for taking care of that for me,” she said, and hoped she didn’t choke on the words.

  “You’re very welcome,” he answered. Then he looked at his watch again. “Oh, my. I need to run. I’m meeting Abe Larson in half an hour.” She had no idea who Abe Larson was, but didn’t have a chance to ask before he said, “I’ll see you back here first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir,” she murmured, but found herself speaking to his retreating form as he left.

  She sank back in her chair, then swiveled it toward the window and looked out at the starry sky and partial moon that hung over the city below. She’d almost forgotten how beautiful Houston looked. She’d been gone for so long and had only came back when her mother insisted she visit. San Francisco was her home now, and Megan had hopes that if she proved herself this month, she’d be promoted in the San Francisco offices.

  As she twisted the diamond on her finger absentmindedly, she felt a sudden need to talk to Ryan. She wanted to hear his voice. But when she turned to reach for her briefcase and her cell phone, she had a flashing memory of Rafe looking at her ring. Of his joke about her earpiece, and his teasing about a chariot and Cinderella.

  She took a deep breath and banished that night from her thoughts. Taking out her phone and turning it on, she dropped it in the pocket of her shirt and hooked the earpiece in place. But before she could press the microphone button and give the command to call Ryan, the device rang. She pressed the receive button on the cord and said, “Hello?” not realizing how much she wanted it to be Ryan until she heard another voice.

  “Meggie?”

  Quint was the only one to call her Meggie, and he seldom phoned her. He was so busy with his new life, she seldom got a chance to talk to him. “I haven’t heard from you since...oh, I remember,” she said. “When you told me you were going to change diapers again, and that the adoption was going through.”

  “I did, and I am.” He laughed, a rich sound on the line. “I finally remembered why you stand back when you diaper a boy.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “It’ll come back to you, sort of like riding a bike. Trust your instincts,” she said.

  “Oh, I am,” he said. “Now, where have you been? I’ve tried calling your place for hours, and your cell phone kept going to your voice mail.”

  “I was working and turned it off for a while,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  “We just got into New York to get my things from the apartment, but I wanted you to be the first to know that—”

  “Oh, no,” she said, cutting him off as she sat upright in her chair. “You and Amy aren’t pregnant, are you?”

  There was total silence on the other end, then Quint said, “Not that I know of.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Amy and I are going to live at the ranch.”

  Megan wasn’t surprised by their decision to take over the ranch where she’d been brought up. “I thought you might.”

  “I didn’t think you had any interest in taking it over.”

  “I never even thought about it,” she said truthfully. “And I don’t think Ryan would go for the ranch life, anyway.”

  “What would he have to do with it?” Quint asked abruptly.

  She hadn’t meant to do this, but since the door was open, she plunged ahead. “We’re engaged.”

  “Oh, Meggie,” he murmured, then she heard him taking a rough breath. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You love him?”

  She knew he’d ask that. “Of course.”

  “Then I won’t argue. So, when’s the big day?”

  “We haven’t even started to figure out when. We’re both trying to stabilize our careers.”

  “Now, that’s romantic,” Quint murmured.

  She looked at the ring on her finger. “It’s perfect.”

  “How about the folks?”

  “I was going to tell them later on. I’ve got so much to do right now.”

  “The San Francisco offices are busy?”

  “Actually, I’m in Houston for a month of training and evaluation.”

  That shocked him into silence for a moment. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming in? We could have stuck around for a few days,” he finally declared. “But then, we’ll be back in a few weeks.”

  “Great, but for now this is all work,” she said. “Maybe next time.”

  “What’s the evaluation for?”

  “An opening up the ladder in contracts, incorporation and diversification. So I’m working on incorporation for part of LynTech. I think they want to make sure I can handle it, and I’m—”

  “Hold it.” He cut her off. “I get the idea. You’re moving on up, aren’t you?”

  “Hopefully.”

  “And Ryan thinks this is...?” He let his voice trail off.

  “Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.”

  “Good for him,” her brother murmured, but didn’t sound as if he meant it. Then he shifted gears. “So, where are you staying?”

  “At some private loft the company has wired to the office.”

  “I’ve heard of it, but I’m not sure where it is.”

  “I can tell you in just a minute.” She looked for the envelope Mr. Lawrence had given her earlier with the address, directions and two keys. She searched in her briefcase, then on the desk, but didn’t see the envelope anywhere. She pulled open the desk drawer. Nothing. “I can’t find the address or directions. But I’m heading there tonight. They already moved my things over. Listen, I need to get going.”

  “You’re still at work?”

  “I’m just leaving.”

  “You’re as much of a workaholic as I used to be,” he said. “But if you’re serious about wanting this advancement, Zane Holden and I—”

  “No, no, no,” she said quickly. “I don’t want you to talk to anyone about anything. I can do this, Quint.”

  “Of course you can,” he said. �
�Old habits die hard. Being a big brother and all.”

  “I know. But please, just don’t say anything to anyone about me being here, or mention that I’m your sister or anything. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said. “But—”

  She cut him off. “Give Amy and the kids my love. And let me know when you’re moving onto the ranch.”

  “You got it,” he said, and Megan ended the call.

  She looked through her things one more time, then remembered where the envelope was. She’d left it in Mr. Lawrence’s office, on the desk. She’d put it down when she’d picked up more files he’d given her, and she didn’t remember picking it up again. Directions, keys and phone numbers were in it. “Stupid,” she muttered, glancing out the entry to her cubicle. Mr. Lawrence was gone, but she hoped that he didn’t lock his office at night.

  Seven o’clock. She just hoped her boss hadn’t yet gone to meet Abe Larson. She left everything on her desk and hurried through the quiet legal department, out to the main hallway, then down to his office. She tried the outer door, and it opened. Then she crossed the reception area, tried his private office door and exhaled in a rush when she found it unlocked, too.

  She looked inside and saw the room was empty. Hesitating, she finally stepped into the darkly formal area done in cherry wood, brass and various shades of beige and gold. Turning on the light, she crossed to the massive desk, disappointed to find no envelope there, just papers, folders and books neatly stacked on the polished surface. She went behind it, then tried the top drawers, but they were all locked. She reached for a deep drawer on the side, pulled on the handle and silently slid it open.

  She saw a correspondence file, a stack of company calendars, what looked like an unused day planner, and boxes of paper clips—lots and lots of boxes of paper clips. But no envelope belonging to her. She reached for the drawer on the other side and opened it. Books and papers and more paper clips. And sitting in one corner, a small bottle of very expensive scotch with a single shot glass beside it. Mr. Lawrence had his vices, she thought in surprise. Two low drawers were closed and locked.