

By:

Maureen A. Miller
©2015 Maureen A. Miller

Cover design by Angela Waters Art LLC

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

ISBN-13: 978-1503129375

ISBN-10: 1503129373
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
For my G, always!

PROLOGUE

Nathan Bethard.

Nathan William Bethard.

Nothing would stop him from finding Nathan Bethard. _Nothing._

Was it a vendetta? _Hell yeah._

Was he insane? _Probably._

No matter the obstacle, no matter the resistance−he was certain that he would track the man down.

And only God knew what would happen once he did.

CHAPTER ONE

Sophie Diem closed the trunk of her Corolla with her elbow. It popped back open, of course. There had to be a sensor that detected just how many shopping bags she could juggle at once. Throw in a cold October rain and she realized that the free pinky on her left hand did not possess enough power for the deed. With a sigh she dropped three bags down on the wet sidewalk and slammed the trunk shut. Stringing her fingers through the plastic bag handles, she cursed when the paper towels toppled out.

Something made her pause. That keen sense of being watched. It crawled up the back of her neck as surely as if the perpetrator stood behind her with his fingers around her throat.

_It was him_.

He was watching her again.

Her shadow.

She could not see him. She could not prove he was there. She could never prove that he was there. But his eyes bore into her back.

Would he approach her today? He had done so in the past−the tall man with eyes the color of the darkest storm. The man who moved with catlike agility, but looked as if he rarely slept. The man who evoked chills even when she could not see him.

She had told others about him. Under their encouragement, she had even approached the police. There was nothing they could or _would_ do, though. She had no name for this man. No identity. Anytime she tried to trap him, he disappeared.

Oh, she had tried. She had even attempted to record him once with the microphone on her cell phone. But what good did a voice do? In the eyes of the police there was no physical threat. There was no name or body for them to go after. And again, the man would slip back into the night.

" _Hello Sophie_."

The deep voice rumbled in the rain. The drops concealed his tread as he crossed the street to stand at her side. Dark rain coat. Dark pants. Gleaming dark hair. A face cast in shadow. He was a manifestation of the street itself−as if the pavement had morphed into this daunting figure.

She did not bolt, though. If she ran as she had done in the past, he would just let her go.

But he would always return.

He would always find her.

And he would always ask the same question−over and over and over...

Where is Nathan Bethard?

Sophie shut down the laptop and walked over to the third-story window. This was the top floor in an office building that housed an ENT, a dentist, and a podiatrist−and now, the empty bowels of Bethard Counseling.

How had life passed by so quickly after college? How did she end up in this empty office, trying to pull the pieces of an abandoned practice back together? She was thirty-two years old. _Thirty-two!_ Up to this point she had been too busy to even acknowledge her age. Now, with her job a shamble, her age was just an exclamation point on a decade wasted.

Five years ago, she had ridden the human resources carousel until she grew dizzy from the monotony. Attending a seminar for work, she watched the charismatic delivery of Nathan Bethard as he made her believe that her psychology degree could be used for something other than coaching businessmen. On that podium, Nathan had looked handsome with his sandy blond hair and scholarly glasses. He spoke of addiction and mental health, and the ability to transform people's lives. She felt that he was pointing at her when he delivered the line, " _You can make a difference_."

Shortly after that seminar, and several quote-unquote _dates_ later, she became an assistant counselor at Bethard Counseling. The relationship never panned out. It was never even a relationship to begin with. In retrospect, she felt it was Nathan's means to entice her to join his practice. She supposed she should be flattered by his persistence. But once she was ensconced in her position, Nathan threw himself into his practice and any interaction between them was simply cordial.

Behind her, the desk lamp cast her reflection in the window. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. There was no need for a professional outfit in an empty office. She wore jeans and a red sweater with a white turtleneck beneath it. Her face was indistinct in the glass, but she knew it had not been enough to attract a man like Nathan Bethard. Nope. All business that man was. Well, it suited her as well. She dove into the practice with the gusto of an Olympic swimmer.

The downside to that zeal came one day when she looked up from her desk and realized that Nathan Bethard was gone−and so was all their money−including the hefty sum she had contributed to their startup.

Clients called relentlessly. Clients who had paid upfront for long-term counseling programs. Oh sure, she could just call it quits. She could just walk away from the mess he had left behind. But she stayed on until everyone was connected with new counselors in new practices. All that remained now was for her to box up her paperwork and to seek out new employment. It shouldn't be as difficult this time. She had built up a strong resume in the past five years thanks to Nathan.

Outside, the bleak gray of a New Jersey autumn day gave way to an early nightfall. Sophie eyed the parking lot below. There were only two cars left. She had better hurry.

Throwing on her coat and grabbing her purse, she hastened out of the office and down the atrium staircase. Just inside the glass lobby doors she paused to peer out into the night. If only the external lights had a broader scope.

Shaking her head, she hauled open the door and jogged out to her Corolla. Clicking the key fob, she heard the gratifying beep of the door unlocking. It had been a week since her shadow had materialized outside her condo. The man must have finally moved on. All men, even stalkers eventually grew bored with her.

As she slid into her front seat a sinewy hand clasped the doorframe.

"No," she shrieked.

Fumbling for her cellphone, she simultaneously reached for the door. "I'm going to call the police," she threatened.

The man was eclipsed by the parking lot light. Her fingers wrapped around her cellphone, but they trembled so much she doubted that she could even dial the three necessary numbers.

"I will be gone before they come," he vowed softly. "Where is he, Sophie? Where is Nathan Bethard?"

Sophie readied herself to wrench the door. Before she did, she fired out, " _Who are you?_ If you are a client I understand your frustration. I can see to it that you are scheduled with a new counselor."

The _Shadow_ did not speak for a moment. To her surprise his hand dropped from the door. "I am not a client," he declared in a hoarse voice. "I just want to know where he is. Just tell me, Sophie, and you will never have to see me again."

I don't know, goddammit!

Sophie yanked the door shut and pressed the lock switch. Unsteady fingers managed to jab the keys in the ignition. Stomping her foot on the gas, she sent the Corolla into reverse. For one moment the headlights pinned the man. His attire was ambiguous. His hair black. Shadows scored the stark planes of his face. He did not chase her. He did not move.

Paralyzed by his steady gaze, she gave herself a mental shake and muttered, _friggin psycho_ before she peeled out of the parking lot.

"Jesus, Soph, you look like crap."

Sophie managed a sluggish smile for her best friend. Carolyn Kerr stepped back to let her into the apartment.

Unfit to drive after this most recent episode, Sophie opted for the quicker destination. Carolyn lived only two miles from her office. Her own condo was a good ten miles away in Trenton.

Dropping down onto the living room couch, Sophie grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her stomach.

"I think I'm coming down with something," she mumbled.

Carolyn stood in front of the TV with her arms crossed and a blonde eyebrow raised in judgment. "Was it him? Did he approach you again?"

Why had her _shadow_ grown to be such an embarrassment? Kind of like an ugly mole. Something she felt necessary to hide. She had done what Carolyn had suggested. She had reported him to the police. It made no difference.

"No, no. I just have a horrible headache. I didn't want to make the drive home. Plus, I haven't seen you in−"

"−two days." Carolyn filled in with her arms still crossed in a stamp of censure. "I'm not going to push you on this, but I don't want to get that phone call to come identify your body."

"Jeez, Carrie, calm down."

He had never hurt her. Even tonight, his hand dropped from the door allowing her to close it and drive away.

"Can I just take a couple of Excedrin and crash on the couch for a little while?"

Finally the flesh and bone barrier dropped from Carolyn's chest as she wrinkled her nose. "Well, I was going to have a hot date come over in about five minutes, but I guess I can call him and cancel."

Sophie leaned her head back on the couch. She closed her eyes and smiled. If Carolyn had a hot date waiting in the wings _no one_ would preempt it. _No one._

For now−for these next few hours−she could relax.

Sophie sat cross-legged on the office carpet, her back reclined against her desk. There was more room to spread out the paperwork this way. Although most customer records were logged into their software system, not every document had been scanned. There was no administrative assistant at Bethard Counseling, so it had been her "rainy day" task over the past year to attack the boxes and stack them in her closet for shredding day.

Now that Nathan had apparently left Bethard Counseling in the lurch, it was important to make sure the information in the folders synced with the software system.

Looking back, it all seemed surreal. On August 31st Nathan Bethard tapped his knuckles on her office doorframe and stuck his tow-head in, saying, "Business looked good for the month. We've got a great month ahead."

Sophie made some inarticulate acknowledgement because she was busy. On September 1st Nathan did not show up for work. Thinking nothing of it, she handled and rescheduled his workload. On the next day she attempted his cell phone. No answer. That afternoon she visited his town house. No one home. On the third day she could not locate him. To the best of her knowledge, there was no family or close contacts−no one that he had ever mentioned. It was not as if it was common of him to disappear like this. In fact, the opposite. He was a stickler for knowing where she was at all times.

Feeling she had exhausted all options, she contacted the police to report him missing. Let them do the legwork.

Yes, these were the same police she approached about her _shadow_. That would explain their reticence towards her. They thought she was a flake.

They never materialized Nathan Bethard, but in essence they told her it was a family matter and that if any information should arise, they would track down his family−not his coworker.

_Yeah, well, good luck with that_.

At the time, she had not realized that there was money missing. It was not an astronomical amount that would cause one to scurry away to Mexico and live the life of a monarch on the beach. But it was a significant amount to the parties that were missing it. The money intrigued the police. Still, they turned her away with the proverbial _don't let the door hit you in the ass_.

As she flipped through the folders fanned out on the floor, she realized that it wasn't financial records that she was combing for. It was _him_. She was looking for the _Shadow_.

A small stack of manila folders to her right represented the number of male clients over the past five years between the ages of 30 – 45. The records did not always include pictures, but for those exceptions she was able to do an internet search and successfully find images of each. None matched the man that lurked in the shadows, though. Granted, anytime she had seen him, it was always dark, or raining−or he was always in profile. But, none of these men matched the intense face captured in her headlights.

With a sigh, Sophie snapped the last folder shut. She took the whole mass and crammed them into a GO AWAY, I'M READING book bag. She could study these more at home, preferably with a glass of wine.

At the lobby doors she hesitated. The parking lot was loaded with cars. A glance at her watch confirmed that it was not yet four o'clock. There was adequate daylight left−and her shadow never approached during the day. Maybe he was a vampire.

Hiking the bag up high over her shoulder, she pushed open the door and convulsed.

" _Hello Sophie_."

So much for a bloodsucker of the night. He leaned against the wall with one leg crooked for balance. There was no trench coat today. He wore a suede jacket and a black pullover sweater, and for the first time she could clearly see his face in the light of day. Chestnut hair was cut short with no apparent style in mind. A subtle shadow across a straight chin hinted that he had not met with a razor today. Once only viewed by streetlight, she could now confirm that his eyes were a deep gray, maybe a breath away from some shade of blue. Dark eyebrows formed a dramatic clash with those intense eyes.

Perhaps he was attractive, but she couldn't get past the correlation between him and danger. Was he a harbinger of death? The Grim Reaper? Heck, he was tall and muscular, and could probably snap her in half with a mere touch of his hand.

Desperate, Sophie searched the parking lot for signs of other people. No one. She glanced back over her shoulder through the lobby doors, but the foyer was empty. Choking down a ragged breath she convinced herself that he would not hurt her in such a public fashion.

"Wh−what do you want?"

He hefted off the wall to stand before her. Her assessment had been correct. He was tall. Tall enough that she had to look up at him. Every facet of his face intimidated her. Sharp cheekbones. Full lips. Stubble. And those eyes...

"You know what I want. I want to find Nathan Bethard."

"Look," she forced fortitude into her voice, "if he owes you money, then you need to take it up with the police or the lawyers. Stop harassing me."

"The police do not know where he is."

That voice. That deep, gravelly voice. _Hello, Sophie_. That voice was permanently seared inside her head.

"And what makes you think that _I_ know where he is?" she challenged.

"I believe you do."

A car pulled into the parking lot. _Thank God!_

His head lifted and she found herself staring at the bob in his throat−and the cord of muscle that ran down the side of his neck.

"You better go," she warned.

Why am I warning him? Why am I not waving my arms in a desperate appeal to that car?

That gray gaze swarmed down on her as if he clearly heard every comment in her scattered brain.

"You can make me leave. You can cry for help if you feel that's what you must do. But I'm not going to stop, Sophie. I just want to know where Nathan Bethard is."

Despite the cool October wind, perspiration broke out on her forehead. "For Christ's sake, hire a damn private investigator!"

His lips clamped into a thin line as he watched the couple emerge from the SUV across the lot.

"Let's just say I'm covering all bases," he offered. "I _need_ to find the man."

With each step the couple took, Sophie felt assurance return. They were getting closer. She would be safe.

"Why?" she asked. "Are you going to hurt him?"

The woman's heels clicked on the pavement as the couple stepped onto the far end of the sidewalk.

"I'm going away now," the _Shadow_ proclaimed in a husky tone. "But I will see you soon, Sophie. And maybe you can answer my question then."

And just like that he shouldered past her, as she was left to gape at the oncoming middle-aged couple.

"Excuse me," the woman called. "Can you tell me which floor Dr. Schwartz, the podiatrist is on?"

Finally, a question she could answer.

"So, what's the deal with Nathan?" Carolyn asked. "Has anyone found him? How much money are you out now?"

In addition to the money Sophie had deposited in the company account when they were starting up−an account that was emptied on September 1st−Sophie had paid off the last month's utilities out of her own pocket just to keep the office up and running while she juggled the clients and located new counselors for each.

"I can manage. You know I don't have much of a life. I've built up quite a bit of savings." Sophie said as she picked at her salad.

They made it a point to meet at Applebee's for lunch every Thursday. Lately it seemed that every week was an interrogation−or perhaps she was just overly sensitive.

"That's not the point. You've got to be out what, almost ten grand now?" Carolyn pointed her fork at her. "It's such a shame. That Nathan was a cutie. I always thought you two would−"

"It's over, Carrie. The money is gone. Nathan is gone. The practice is gone. It's time for me to move on. In the scheme of things it wasn't that much."

"Hmmph," Carolyn mumbled over a mouthful of salad. She swallowed a sip of water and added. "I bet your guy is after his money too. Have you seen him again?"

Interrogation.

"No. It's been almost two weeks, so he's gone as well. I've finally got everything in order at the office. All the clients have been relocated. If they have any grievances over monies paid they have been instructed to take it up with their lawyers who will pursue Nathan. I was just an associate counselor. My name is not on any of the ownership paperwork. The money I gave to Nathan was a personal transaction. No one can come after me."

"Except for that guy."

"Let it go, Carolyn. I am." She smiled up at the waitress who came to retrieve their plates.

It was a momentary diversion. With the plates gone she was left with the sullen stare of her best friend.

Sophie sighed and added, "I'm looking for a new job." She twisted her napkin into some form of a dinosaur. "I think−I think I may move."

"Move?" Carolyn choked and then regrouped with enthusiasm. "Where, Princeton? I'd love to see you in a better neighborhood. Strange guys won't stalk you in Princeton."

Right.

"I don't know yet. Maybe−" she cleared her throat, "maybe out of New Jersey."

"Wow, this guy really did spook you. Don't let him shake you up like that."

"It's not about him."

Well, maybe it was mostly.

"I just need to get away from here for awhile," she continued. "Maybe a vacation or something."

Carolyn clapped her hands and grinned like Mickey Mouse. "We could go to Vegas! Or maybe the Caribbean."

Sophie loved her friend. Truly, she did. They had been best friends since middle school. But right now she was craving some alone time. Like _nuclear fallout shelter two miles underground_ alone time. Instead of mentioning it, she opted for a change of subject.

"So, what about you? What about the new school teacher?"

And that was all it took. Carolyn was off and running. After a ten-minute litany on the new engineering teacher, and the fact that she caught him working out in the gym− _shirtless_ −Carolyn had to cut the conversation short to head back to her afternoon class at the technical school. It still amazed Sophie that Carolyn was a certified IT instructor. Many times she had been called over to support her friend with one laptop mishap or another.

Realizing that there was nothing for her to rush back to, Sophie decided to grab the last set of folders from the office and do a little internet job hunting. There had been no responses to her most recent rollout of applications. Monday she would hand over the keys to the office. For now, though, sitting in the empty office made her feel more professional than working from home.

He watched.

Her red corolla pulled into the parking lot.

He waited.

She made her habitual scan of the area, seemingly relieved to find it empty.

Before approaching the lobby she stopped at the metal kiosk to extract the company mail.

Would there be something from Nathan there? Something to reveal his location?

With a furtive glance, she scanned the area again and then ripped open an envelope. Even from his position he could see her jaw drop slightly. She leaned closer to read and her dark hair swept over her face preventing him from analyzing her expression. As she tore at the next envelope, he caught the tiny tremble in her hands. Interesting. She usually only shook when she sensed he was near. Aside from him, he didn't think anything fazed Sophie Diem.

When her head tipped back he could clearly see the dismay stamped on her pale face.

He tried not to spend too much time on her face. It was better not to think of her in terms of her appearance or how she moved, or what her habits were. His interest in her was for one purpose. But, certainly there was no denying how attractive she was. With that long chocolate hair that whipped behind her on a windy day. And those honey-colored eyes that made him think of whisky in front of a fireplace. To date, he had detected no trace of a boyfriend. Not even Nathan Bethard. Just another dumbass mistake that the man had made.

She was on the move now. Heading towards the lobby doors.

Time to get into position.

CHAPTER TWO

Sophie climbed the stairs with the enthusiasm of a convict approaching the bench. She looked at the first letter again. It basically said, " _Thank you for your inquiry, but you suck because you worked for a practice with a terrible reputation_."

Thanks to Nathan. Without him, her reputation was exemplary. Patients would vouch for her. But what was the point? She was tarnished by proxy.

Still reading the letter, she trudged on automatic pilot to the office suite door and nearly screamed when she saw a figure standing by it. When it registered who it was, she opened her mouth to let loose a scream.

"Don't," he commanded softly.

Why the hell not?

She looked at his hands to see if he had a gun. There was no weapon.

This was definitely the opportunity to draw attention to this man. Now there were other doctors in the facility who could actually _see_ him. Credible witnesses who could testify that he was− _what?_ Threatening her? Assaulting her? Again, she could all but imagine the police rolling their eyes. It just wasn't fair!

"Can we go inside and talk for a moment?" he asked in that gravelly voice.

"Hell no."

That didn't earn her any brownie points. The man's lips narrowed and a muscle along his jaw spasmed. He had shaved today.

"You received bad news," he nodded at the letter in her hand. "Is it from him?"

"No."

Damn her disciplined upbringing. He did not deserve an answer.

"I don't think you're very happy with Nathan Bethard, Sophie. I think it's time to stop protecting him and let me know where to find him."

Sophie folded up the letter and stuck it back in its envelope, struggling to conceal how much her hands shook.

"I think it's time for these conversations to end. Clearly, I don't have the information you're looking for. I suggest you target someone else."

Dr. Schwartz' office was just across the hall. Unfortunately, this six-foot obstacle was directly in her path.

Noticing her glance, the _Shadow_ said, "It would really be better to have this conversation in your office. Let's go inside. You can leave the door open if it will make you feel more comfortable."

"More comfortable?" she squeaked. "I would feel more comfortable," her normal tone returned, "if you would leave."

"Look," he planted his hand on the wall, forming a formidable blockade. "I just want some information, Sophie. Can you tell me the last time you saw Nathan Bethard? The last place you saw him?"

She frowned and tried to cross her arms, but the letters made it awkward. "No."

The man's head tipped back in silent appeal to the ceiling.

On the floor below, a doorway opened and voices could be heard.

"Do I need to bring my test results with me next time?" Someone called out. A muffled response seemed to appease them and footsteps clamored down the corridor.

Before her, the _Shadow_ seemed edgy.

"Alright," he acquiesced. "It wasn't a good idea to approach you here. I will wait and talk to you later."

Sophie's stomach took a nose dive.

"I've arranged to have a patrol car pass by my condo every hour," she gambled.

Those full lips twitched. Why did she have to stare at them?

"Thank you for the warning. I'll take that under consideration."

For a moment he just looked at her. If she thought she had trembled before, this prolonged inspection sent a flourish of goosebumps dancing across her arms. As much as she wanted to back away, she was arrested by those eyes. In them she witnessed that surreal division between sun and rain. There were flashes of blue there, but mostly she saw the harsh slate of an oncoming storm.

"Goodbye Sophie," he whispered before moving past her.

In the tight hall his arm brushed against hers. The contact made her quake. Prior to that physical graze she could convince herself that the _Shadow_ was not real−that he was something that lurked in the obscure realm of her imagination. Shadows did not have substance, though. Shadows did not touch.

As she spun to get a glimpse of him trailing down the stairs she discovered an empty hall, and an empty stairwell.

Maybe he was a shadow. And maybe he'd never reappear.

"BURT REYNOLDS WRAP!" Sophie called out the _Before and After_ answer to Vanna White.

Vanna seemed unimpressed. Pasting on a fake smile, she turned the letters.

Reaching for the TV remote, Sophie stuck it high in the air so that the signal could reach the television in the living room from her spot at the kitchen table.

Vanna got impossibly skinnier and then disappeared altogether.

With the TV off, the only source of light was her laptop monitor. She hated this time of year when it was pitch-black by 6pm. On the monitor was an opportunity she dared not get her hopes up for. Her application would surely be rejected due to the tainted reputation of Bethard Counseling.

Sophie rose and approached the kitchen window, peering out at the neighbor's porch light. Their backyard was riddled with bicycle carcasses and a three-legged swing set. Next door was an empty lot that had become a car cemetery.

Carolyn was probably right. She could use a change in neighborhoods. If the opportunity sitting on her laptop screen came to fruition she would definitely be heading for an upgrade.

Tap.

Leftovers beckoned. A half a quesadilla was still in the fridge.

Tap.

What was that? Hail?

It was blustery out, but no precipitation had been called for. Back at the window she confirmed that the night sky was filled with stars.

Tap.

The sound came from the living room. A frantic search in the dark produced a small kitchen knife from a drawer next to the sink. She scooped it up and kept the lights off. Thick socks muffled her tread into the tiny living room. It was moments like this that she realized why the ground floor condominium had been the only unit available.

Standing still, she listened for a repeat of the sound, but silence reigned. A television from upstairs pounded the base notes of an action thriller. Had that been what she heard?

Tap.

The door? She moved up to it to peer through the peep hole partially obscured by the knit pumpkin hanging there.

It was the _Shadow_. Even now she could see the top of his hand move in for the next soft knock.

That was it. She'd had it. Forgoing stealth, she rushed into the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone, stamping out the numbers 911 as she hefted it to her ear.

"Hello, you have reached the police department's voicemail..."

What the−

Another dull knock sounded. It nearly made her claw the ceiling.

In her ear the answering machine was still proclaiming an overload.

The doorbell rang now.

Sophie trembled like a jackhammer. One hand clutched the useless cell phone while the other grasped the kitchen knife. With the utensil raised, she approached the front door to squint through the view hole. It was him all right. Tall, dark, and murky.

"I have the Police on the phone," she cried out.

He looked up directly into the view hole and she gasped as she faced his eye.

"Just let me talk to you for one minute. They won't get here in that time. One minute is all I ask."

In her ear the answering machine had switched to a loud beep. Frustrated, she pressed her thumb on the disconnect button.

"They already have someone dispatched. You can talk to them."

"Sophie−"

Did he sound tired? Despondent? Well, that was too damn bad.

"Please leave," she ordered.

"Sophie. Nathan had no family. He had no close personal relationships. He only had you." His voice was hoarse. "Please, there must be something you know about his whereabouts."

This was absurd!

"Even if I did, do you really think I would share the information with a stranger who stalks me?"

That shut him up. She swiped the view hole because she had fogged it up. Shoulders that normally were so broad on her _shadow_ now sagged in defeat.

"No," he mumbled. "No, I wouldn't."

Sophie could hear her erratic breath against the door.

"You're all I have, Sophie," he whispered. "I need your help."

For a moment she felt a tug of empathy at the desperation in that tone. She gripped the knife with renewed strength to thwart that effect.

"You won't even tell me your name," she challenged.

Through the tiny hole his head bobbed in agreement. "You're right. I won't."

Glancing over his shoulder at the street, the _Shadow_ turned and regarded her through the view hole again. "Goodnight, Sophie."

With that hushed farewell he turned and stepped out of view. Darting to the front window, she poked a finger through the drapes so she could peek out. The _Shadow_ lumbered down the sidewalk, and for a moment was eclipsed by a streetlight before being swallowed by the night. A second later she heard a car motor start up.

_License plates!_ Maybe she could get a license plate number.

Still clutching the knife, she ran to the front door, unlocked it, and burst through. A vehicle was pulling away from the curb more than a block away. She didn't have her glasses on. She couldn't even see what make it was, other than to suspect a sedan of some sort. It was a ghostly vehicle, though. Just like Batman had his Batmobile, her guy had the Shadow-mobile.

Goodnight, Sophie.

That husky voice stuck with her well into the night−well after pressing send on that job application.

Another week passed uneventfully. Perhaps this time her shadow had truly moved on. There were fewer opportunities for him to corral her. The office lease had expired and now she just sat around in the sanctity of her home, waiting for the phone to ring with an offer.

A kitchen chair was tipped beneath the front doorknob. A baseball bat sat wedged into the track for the sliding glass door. She only went out in daylight and usually waited until there was activity from a neighbor before she forayed outside. Her actions seemed ridiculous. Surely he had taken the hint and had finally come to his senses.

To pass the time, she started unloading the office records she had packed up in the trunk. It was her intention to scan everything so that she could get rid of the bulky boxes that were forming a fort in the corner of her kitchen.

A vibration like a woodpecker sounded behind her as she saw her cell phone dancing atop the Formica counter. A glimpse at the caller ID looked like a string of nonsensical numbers. Spam, no doubt. She answered, but just held the phone up to her ear without a salutation as she waited for a recording to kick in.

"Hello? Miss Diem? Is this Sophia Diem?"

Sophie's heart began to drum. The accent was clearly British.

"Hello, yes, yes, this is Sophia."

Only her father addressed her by her given name. Thomas Diem now lived in Florida with a new wife after Sophie's mom passed away from breast cancer fifteen years ago. Sophie was named after her Italian grandmother, who had passed when she was ten.

"Miss Diem. This is the assistant to Amanda Newton. I am calling about the Learning and Development position at _Blue-Link_. Are you still interested?"

Sophie dropped down onto the kitchen chair, her heart hammering now.

"Yes. Yes. _Definitely_."

"Wonderful. We would like to see you as soon as possible. Your record speaks for itself and we are in need of your onboarding and coaching skills."

There was a tiny voice in the back of her head pointing out that she had resorted to her old human resources mainstay. On the resume to _Blue-Link_ she had downplayed her most recent position as a counselor, and instead played up her past experiences. It worked. But that tiny voice nagged, _you're taking a step backwards_.

To hell with the voice. She was going to London. _London!_ Everything...every little grievous piece of discomfort associated with this area would be left far behind her. She could barely concentrate on the woman's instructions. She wanted to pack. She wanted to leave tonight!

Sophie hung up the phone and executed a little jig on the linoleum. She reached over to make sure her email inbox was up on the screen. The woman said that _Blue-Link_ would be coordinating her flight information and would connect her with a rental agent to arrange for temporary accommodations until she could coordinate housing on her own.

The phone rang again and Sophie snatched it up without looking at the number.

"Where are you?" Carolyn's voice boomed. "I'm holding our table."

Crap. It was Thursday. __

"I'm on my way now. With news!"

Carolyn didn't seem as excited as Sophie would have hoped, but eventually her friend came around when Sophie pointed out that an immediate visit needed to be scheduled.

"Hell, London will be less expensive than the Caribbean trip I had planned. What's the weather like this time of year?"

Sophie didn't want to mention that there were about six hours of solid daylight in the late fall. That didn't bother her. Images she had seen online of Piccadilly Circus lit up like Las Vegas made her eager to welcome the London nights.

They broke lunchtime protocol and shared a glass of wine. Carolyn offered to come over after work to help with the packing. Sophie had already called the owner of the condominium to explain that she would pay out her lease until the end of its term, which was next month, but that she would be vacating the premises early. She welcomed Carolyn's help, and the opportunity to spend some final quality time together.

As they parted ways, Sophie ran around taking care of relocation chores, and even purchasing a few new outfits for work. She had enough money, but she couldn't wait for an income to start rolling in again. Then she would treat herself to a shopping expedition on Oxford Street.

_Shopping on Oxford Street!_ She all but wiggled her fists in the air with enthusiasm.

"You look happy, Sophie."

Her stride came to a grinding halt. Two yards away, the _Shadow_ leaned back against her Corolla with his arms crossed. For an irrational moment she thought he looked sinfully attractive. But that had to be adrenaline doing the thinking. When the adrenaline faded her hands started to twitch. She thrust one into her coat pocket and wrapped the other around her purse strap.

"I _was_ happy." she hedged quietly.

Ignoring the implication, he asked, "Good news?"

Pressing her lips together she refused to answer. How was she going to get into her car? His hip was literally two inches from the door handle.

"I need to get in my car," she pointed out blandly.

"You have to give me some credit, Sophie." He stepped to the side, but not enough that she could open the door. "I've been leaving you alone. I've tried to do as much research on my own as I can."

"Wonderful!" Her enthusiasm was genuine.

She was leaving this country. Her shadow would never approach her again. And look−he was becoming self-sufficient. He didn't even need her after all.

"But I keep running into loose ends," he interrupted her thoughts. "Nathan just disappeared into thin air."

Where was the high that she had just been on? She didn't want to hear Nathan's name ever again. That whole mess was behind her now.

"Stop bringing his name up."

Her hand wrapped over her mouth. She hadn't even realized she had spoken out loud.

The _Shadow's_ eyebrow rose as he hefted off the car and uncrossed his arms. Those shoulders returned to their normal breadth−super wide. In the midday sun, there was little darkness to lock him to the netherworld. Here she could take him all in. Timberland shoes. Jeans that looked like the Gods had sewn them just to hang low on his hips. A white button-down shirt, loose at the slender waist, but fitted as it stretched across his chest. Above the unbuttoned collar, she noticed that the stubble had returned to his jaw. It was a reminder of this man's darker features. Forcing her gaze up above those unflappable lips she finally climbed enough to glimpse the sapphire flecks in his eyes. Oh, how riveting they were.

"Hmm, not so enamored with Nathan are you?"

"I have to go," she cleared her throat. "Can you please get away from my car?"

He obliged, but it was to take a step closer to her. Now he was near enough that she caught a whiff of soap from the gap in his collar. At this proximity she could gauge the path of the scruff dipping under his chin. It gave way to smooth flesh at the top of his throat. There lurked the fresh scent of a forest. _Irish Spring_.

"When did you see Nathan last, Sophie? Was it at the office?"

She nodded mutely. At some point in the last five seconds she had completely lost her vocal chords. And so what if she had silently answered? None of it mattered. That was not any sort of news flash. It sure as hell did not divulge staggering information about Nathan. Besides, in three days she would never see this man again.

"Okay," he released a pent-up breath and she felt it nudge her bangs. "Did he say anything? Any plans for a vacation in the near future?"

Her chin shook back and forth like a bobble-head doll.

"Cat got your tongue, Sophie?"

When she would have expected a smirk, his lips clamped down. Did the man _ever_ smile? Though she guessed him to be older than her by a few years, there were no grooves around his lips to indicate that he made mirth a habit.

With a fortifying breath, she emphasized, "I have to go."

"Did he mention any names, anything out of the ordinary?"

_Something._ Not that she would ever share, but they did have a discussion the last time she saw him. It was innocuous, though. Nathan was talking about books that were mandatory reads in high school. She found it odd because lately he never engaged in menial conversation.

"No." She jostled past him and hauled open the driver's side door. A brief flash of his reflection could be detected in the glass. He made no move to stop her.

Tossing her purse on the front seat, and sticking one leg into the car, she paused and glanced back at the _Shadow_. Stoic. Motionless. He watched her. He always watched her. This stalker never touched her. He had never threatened her. Still, he was a stalker, nonetheless, and she would finally be rid of him.

Rudimentary manners crept up and she whispered a final, "Goodbye," before dropping down into the car and yanking the door shut.

There was some satisfaction in seeing shock in those turbulent eyes. Good. Leave _him_ unbalanced for once.

CHAPTER THREE

Ding.

"We will now be dimming the cabin lights," the stewardess with the blonde bob announced. "If you require additional lighting, please press the button on your seat console. Our scheduled arrival time is 6:50am local. Sit back and enjoy the rest of your flight."

As promised, the cabin grew dark. Tucked in her window seat, the ambient light barely reached Sophie. This was her first trip over the Atlantic. It was a shame the trip from Newark was a red-eye. It would be prudent to try and rest and be fresh for the morning arrival, but that was as likely as telling a child to go to sleep on Christmas Eve.

Restless, she flipped through the movie selection on the seat monitor. Nothing riveted her. A glass of wine might help take the edge off her rampant nerves, but she needed to be sharp first thing in the morning. A _Blue-Link_ representative would be waiting for her at Heathrow to escort her to the headquarters in London.

Sophie reached down between her legs and hauled up her laptop. The image of her _Shadow_ was still lodged deep in her brain−as was his voice. Now that he was no longer a factor, she felt comfortable doing the research she never got the chance to complete. After having scanned everything, all the Bethard Counseling files were stored in her laptop. If she was going to be stuck on this plane for the next six hours, it was a perfect time to search through them. Surely the _Shadow_ was a former client.

Even though her two seatmates were sound asleep, she reduced her screen size to microscopic so that no one could eavesdrop on the confidential information. Having already searched all the male clients−there wasn't a single potential match. Now it was time to inspect the female clients. Maybe a husband or boyfriend was listed on the records.

Two hours later, Sophie stifled a yawn. She readily accepted a stewardess's offer of coffee. The laptop monitor was becoming harder to read. She tried increasing the font a tad after confirming everyone around her was asleep. The four-hour WiFi pass that she purchased was coming to an end. It would be absurd to invest more in this futile hunt.

Hastily scanning the names of the remaining clients, there were only a few left. As her original sort was by age, these were the youngest.

She drew up the next name. Gretchen Barber. 16 years-old. That was interesting. They didn't usually take on minors.

Immediately, she retrieved the parents' information. No mother. A father was listed as the primary point of contact. Glenn Barber.

Sophie reduced the font again. After all, this was a minor. The information was not too sensitive, though. These were only generic entry records−not Nathan's private notes. Still, she wanted to protect the privacy of the client. These documents were password-protected and stored in a folder that was secured by yet another password.

The client had finished up her sessions two years ago. Limited notes revealed that the girl was distraught over the recent loss of her grandmother, the only mother-figure she had known. Sophie felt immediate sympathy for Gretchen Barber. Sophie had lost her mother when she was a teenager. It was a difficult time to cope.

Glancing at the time in the lower right corner of the screen, she calculated only ten minutes left on the WiFi lease. She typed GLENN BARBER in the search bar. Plenty of diverse results came back. It wasn't a unique name. To expedite the process, she switched to _images_ and started searching the series of faces. A football player popped up. An astronaut. Photos of men getting their hair cut. And then... _him_. Even grainy, she recognized the man in the naval uniform. He looked very young in the photo, but there were enough similar traits to identify him.

_Bingo._ She had located her _Shadow_.

The date to the article was 2007. It announced Glenn Barber's commission to ensign through the Limited Duty Officer program.

The lights began to flick on around the cabin and Sophie squinted against the assault. Outside, a pale orange line slashed the horizon.

"Ladies and gentleman, we will be serving a light breakfast prior to landing."

Sophie glanced at the photo on her screen. Glenn Barber had been a handsome young man in his uniform. Now he was a shadow−albeit a handsome shadow.

So that was it. He was either one of the many clients with a grievance about monies due, or he was ex-military in need of some counseling of his own.

With a sigh she shut down the laptop. After things settled, she would try to investigate how much he was owed. Not that it mattered. She would never see him again, and the money would be locked in the courts for some time.

Reaching to lift the blind, she looked out at the strip of land now emerging in the east.

_Oh my God_. In just a few short hours she was going to be starting a new life in Britain.

"Welcome, Ms. Diem."

It was a bit of a tepid salutation from an elderly man in a rain coat. He clutched a notebook with the signature blue diamond with a _B_ logo on it.

"Hello," she held out her hand. "You are from _Blue-Link_?"

Skeletal fingers took hers as his head dipped once.

"Indeed."

That was it. The greeting didn't dampen her enthusiasm any. She tipped her head back to take in the wonder of Heathrow Airport as she tugged her suitcases behind her. Two wheelie bags contained all she needed in order to kick-start her new life. Granted, there was a storage unit back in New Jersey holding the items she had collected over the years. That unit hedged the outcome of this endeavor. If it proved a bust, at least she had something to return to.

_Blue-Link_ 's office was in the business district near the imposing Bank of England. Its stately architecture sat in stark contrast with the modern bullet-shaped "Gherkin" tower nearby. With her cheek plastered to the cold window, she stared up at the spiraling structure, conceding that it indeed looked like a pickle.

There was no narrative from the driver. No tour-guide service. All of her knowledge of these buildings came from online research executed the moment she had applied for this job.

As the utility vehicle pulled into an unmarked garage, Sophie expected James Bond to step out from one of the parked Aston Martins. Flashes of light from wire-guarded bulbs affixed to concrete columns interrupted a sedentary blackness. Clasping her hands together on her lap she focused on her breathing.

Composed. You have to look composed.

There was a sliding glass door entryway inside the parking garage. Her driver pulled up to it and announced, "The receptionist is just inside. She will show you the way."

"Thank you," Sophie beamed.

Mr. Personality offered no response. Instead, he stepped out and opened her door before rounding the vehicle to extract her bags and deposit them on the curb. With a slight bow of his snowy-haired peak, he climbed back into the sedan and drove off into the belly of the parking garage.

"Indeed," she mimicked quietly.

Escorted by the receptionist into a glass elevator that burst from the bowels of the earth into the light of day, and ultimately several stories into the London skyline, Sophie stepped out into a formal lobby. Another petite receptionist rose from behind her expansive desk and extended her hand, pointing down a marble-tiled hallway.

"Miss Newton is ready to see you."

What?

Never had she imagined that she would be meeting the CEO of _Blue-Link_ on her first day. On the initial glimpse of the org chart, Sophie was fascinated by the attractive woman listed at the top. The bio was brief and only added to the mystique of the young entrepreneurial leader of this successful global company.

Immediately Sophie was conscious of her inadequate attire. Flat-heeled boots slapped against the marble floor. With her black coat and white sweater she felt like a waddling penguin on her way to meet the Queen of England. Oh yes, and there was the screeching of her suitcase wheels to announce her arrival if the flapping boots didn't do the deed.

Focused on the hurried steps of the receptionist's red pumps, Sophie nearly barreled into the woman when she suddenly halted.

_Oh wow_.

They stood before a glass partition. Far across a plush white carpet, like a field of snow, was another glass wall that offered an exciting view of the pulse of London's financial district. Between these two glass barriers sat an office lavishly furnished with mahogany wood and steel accents. In the center, behind a spacious desk, a woman with lustrous blond hair sat talking on the phone. She made eye contact with the receptionist and nodded, waving her hand.

"Go on in," the receptionist grabbed a steel handle that Sophie never noticed.

"Thank you," Sophie murmured as she passed through the glass partition.

Hanging up the earpiece, Amanda Newton stood and offered her hand.

"We are very happy to have you here, Ms. Diem."

"Sophie," she encouraged.

"Sophie." Attractive in her posh attire and pristine makeup, the woman smiled. "I'm Amanda Newton. I'm sorry I did not get to speak with you on the phone."

Sophie fidgeted, swiping at the wrinkles in her pants. Why in God's name hadn't she stopped to clean up before leaving the airport? She felt frumpy with her dark hair loosely coiled in a knot behind her head, while across from her Amanda's glossy blonde tresses spilled flawlessly over slim shoulders.

"I−I was so excited to start that I came straight from the airport."

Shiny pink lips curled into a polite smile. "That is wonderful to hear." The soft British accent only added to the regal air. "But as eager as we are to have you begin, we are not going to throw you into the fire an hour after you've taken the red-eye."

A slender hand with a blue diamond ring patted a _Blue-Link_ folder set atop the rich wood. "One of your responsibilities will be the onboarding of US employees, so we certainly want to make sure your initiation here is a smooth and pleasant one."

Onboarding. Mentoring. Coaching. A virtual liaison for all US citizens seeking employment under the _Blue-Link_ umbrella. Yes, it meant crawling back into the comforts of her old HR job. This was by no means the challenge of counseling, but heck, she was in London! She couldn't be more excited to begin.

"We have arranged for a temporary flat in Kensington for you. Once you get settled in, you are welcome to locate your own apartment." Amanda gently nudged the folder towards Sophie. "This is your onboarding paperwork. Please take an opportunity to fill out as much as you can tonight and bring it back with you tomorrow. George will drive you to your flat and you may either call the office early in the morning to have him pick you up, or you can grab the Tube at the Gloucester Road station and take it to the Bank station."

The London Underground map was folded up inside her purse. Sophie couldn't wait to yank it out and find the stops that Amanda just mentioned. Instead, she reached for the blue folder and tucked it in next to the map.

Amanda's cerulean eyes flashed past Sophie's shoulder. Swiveling to follow them, she found Snowy-top standing rigidly in the doorway with a stamp of indifference on his face.

"George, will you please take Ms. Diem to the Kensington flat?"

His head bowed.

"Thank you," Sophie turned back to Amanda. "I will be back first thing in the morning."

Another gracious smile from the CEO, and then Amanda reached for her phone, giving Sophie a quick wave before her focus shifted.

No sense in waiting for George to retrieve her suitcases. Sophie rose and reclaimed them from their spot by the glass door. As she began wheeling them, George took the cue and pivoted down the hall with her in tow.

Quaint garden squares and rows of stately porticoes with step-up doorways flashed through the sedan windows. George pulled to the curb before a stately white Georgian building several stories high. On the ground floor five black doorways were flanked with white columns and arched roofs. The building looked romantic, and the neighborhood was blissfully quiet in comparison to the tumult of the business district.

Fortunately Mr. Personality−errr− _George_ was not looking in the rearview mirror. No sense in revealing her moronic ear-to-ear grin.

To her astonishment, George actually wheeled her two bags three doorways down where he rested them at the base of the stairs and tipped his head towards the black door with an ornate gold knocker.

"These apartments are rented out by _Blue-Link_. There is a gentleman who lives inside. A landlord of sorts. He will lead you to your room."

Room? _This isn't the door to my apartment?_

Executing an about-face, George stepped off the curb and paused to let a vehicle pass by on the narrow street. Sophie considered calling out to him with more questions, but she imagined it would be futile.

Uncertain, she grabbed the handle of one bag and walked it up the three steps onto the diminutive porch. As she started back down to retrieve its mate, the door swung open behind her. A face poked out.

The Easter Bunny?

Of course it wasn't a rabbit. It was actually a trick of the wind that whipped the man's red hair up on each side of his face into a semblance of rabbit ears. Once the breeze passed, the hair dropped back into a burnished mop. Rusty sideburns wrapped just beneath his cheekbones like the earflaps of a hunter's cap. She had no conjecture on body or height. Only this impish face peered out at her. An elfin face, red hair, and frenetic blue eyes. Those eyes followed George's vehicle as it pulled away from the curb and then sliced back towards her.

"Are you Sophia D−Deh−Deem?"

"Yes." She nodded amiably. "If you know my name, I guess that means I'm at the right place."

Her burst of enthusiasm was a defense against the nerves that roiled in her stomach.

Sophie was startled when the door swung open to reveal a five-foot tall man with a cane. He was younger than she originally assessed−maybe in his late twenties. As he plopped down onto the porch, she realized the need for the cane. One jean-clad leg seemed an inch shorter than the other. Standing one step down from him, she was able to look him in the eye.

Fluffy eyebrows hefted and splotchy cheeks rounded as his pale lips curled into a broad smile.

"Welcome!" The cane swept in an arc. Sophie instinctively ducked.

"Oh goodness! I was not going to hit you. That was a bit of a flourish on my part," he grinned.

Snapping the rubber soul of the cherry wood cane back to the ground he reached for the handle of her suitcase.

"Oh." She rushed forward. "I can handle them."

The little man peered over his shoulder and wiggled his cane in the air. "This is more of a mental crutch than a physical one. It also deters the solicitors." He winked before hoisting the bag and wobbling over the entryway. Metal wheels dropped to the floor with a clang.

Sophie jogged down the two steps and grabbed her second bag to pursue the man inside. Both sets of wheels made a raucous noise on the wood-paneled floor.

Several feet in, he stopped so abruptly she almost barreled into him.

"Can you close the front door?"

"Of course." Suffering one of those smack-your-head moments, she hastily shut the heavy door behind her.

In the suffused light of the short hall she could see that the ginger-haired man's face had turned contrite.

"I am daft," he sighed. "I didn't even introduce myself. Samuel at your service. Well, Samuel to _you_. Samuel Richard Pierce to me mum. I don't believe the woman has ever referred to me by anything less than the full three-word title. Maybe Samuel Richard once or twice on Christmas when she was feeling benevolent." He hefted his cane to point at a wooden door labeled _A_. "I live in apartment _A_. You can knock anytime. I am the fix-it guy around here. I'm also here to lend advice, coordinate logistics with _Blue-Link_ , as well as an occasional dog-sitter−" bright blue eyes rolled, "but no Great Danes or such. Basically, I'm the general task-master for this lovely suite of flats."

Sophie opened her mouth to say, _nice to meet you_ , but Samuel was still going.

"Susan Bachman lives in apartment _C_." He used his cane as a directional device. "I am going to marry her one day. She hasn't quite come around to accepting the fact. Generally, she just hands me a check once a month for rent, but I did get her to say, _Good day_ once."

He released the suitcase handle to pat his heart.

"If you see Susan in passing, put in a good word for me."

It was growing impossible not to smile at this enthusiastic cinnamon-topped man.

"Will do," she agreed.

That earned her a flash of white teeth and a silver molar. "A Yank. We haven't had a Yank in here in quite some time. It will be refreshing. You can explain to me the rules of American football."

"I'll try," she squeezed past a stairwell. "How many apartments are here?"

The screech of luggage wheels resumed, accented by the staccato of Samuel's cane. His shoulders bobbed with his uneven gait. " _Blue-Link_ sublets the entire first floor, which contains 6 apartments. Yours is apartment _E_ in back. You'll get a nice view of the gardens."

_A view of the gardens_. It sounded perfect.

Samuel paused and released her suitcase handle, preparing to enlighten her with more details.

Her problem was that she was too damn American. Always in a hurry. Hurry to see the apartment. Hurry to see the gardens. Hurry to get to work. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

Whereas, Samuel dug into coat pockets large enough to accommodate a station wagon with no sense of urgency. The baggy wool near his kneecap fluttered as he stooped over and made a sound of triumph.

"Here," he thrust something at her. "Here is your key. Actually two," his hand dipped back into the coat pocket. "This one is for the front door."

Sophie muttered a quick, _thanks,_ and slipped the items into her purse.

"I have a master," he said, "but you can throw the deadbolt once you get inside in case you find my incessant chatter tedious."

Smiling, she replied, "I can't imagine your chatter being tedious. Just remember you know more than me about−" her hand waved, "−well, pretty much everything."

Red blotches dotted Samuel's cheeks. "I doubt that. You are a smart lady if you're living here. _Blue-Link_ hires smart people for their fancy jobs."

"My job is no fancier than yours. We both mentor people."

Considering that for a moment Samuel nodded thoughtfully. "You will be a great addition here at the Marquis."

"The Marquis?"

"It's what I call this suite of flats. It makes it sound awfully regal, doesn't it?" he grinned. "The real name of this building is something god-awful. Gloucester Court. How droll." Bright eyes rolled dramatically. "The Marquis has a better ring to it, don't you think?"

Sophie smiled in collusion. "As far as I'm aware, there was a plaque outside that read, Marquis."

The roar of Samuel's belly laugh reverberated up to the rafters.

"Your royal suite, Madame." An awkward bow and a sweep of the arm introduced door _E_. He unlocked it and pushed it open.

Sophie stepped around him with her breath held. On the far wall lofty windows scaled up to the vaulted ceiling. Tarnished glass panes were flanked with burgundy brocade drapes. White crown molding ran the length of the ceiling and a wrought iron chandelier hung from the center with eight claws gripping miniature bulbs.

For as antiquated as the perimeter was, the contents of the room seemed contemporary. A stylish white throw rug lay atop the hardwood floor, flanked by two fluffy love seats. Before them a glass-topped coffee table stretched out, making for a comfortable oasis in front of the semi wide-screen TV hanging on the wall.

In the opposite corner of the airy room sat a galley kitchen with a short bank of cabinets, a sink, a stove and a refrigerator. A bistro table for two was positioned under a ray of light from one of the towering windows.

As her perusal expanded to the double bed in the far corner of the room, she voiced her theory.

"It's a studio, isn't it?"

Samuel nodded as if there was nothing unusual about an entire apartment being squished into one high-ceilinged room.

"There's a private loo, though." He beamed, and pointed to a door beside the refrigerator.

The _bedroom_ consisted of the white chenille-covered double bed, a small nightstand, a three-drawer dresser, and a wood-framed cushioned seat. It was the faux ceiling to this bedroom that intrigued her. A short ladder climbed above the bed to a suspended platform.

"What's that?" She pointed to the platform.

"Oh, we never know how many people this room will accommodate. That's an extra twin bed. Don't worry, it's very sturdy. It's not going to fall on whoever is sleeping beneath it."

"And this is the linen closet." He shuffled to a discreet doorway next to the bed. "You have all you need as far as towels and such. There is a laundry room down the hall. Two blocks from here is a grocer, but I stocked you up with some tea and crackers for starters."

Sophie walked up to one of the windows and peered through the tainted glass. There was indeed a garden, and it was perfect. It reminded her of a cloistered New Orleans courtyard with marble benches and cobblestone paths.

"It's perfect," she announced as she turned around, beaming.

"Wonderful!" Samuel clapped his hands, the cane soaring with the action.

As he stooped to reach for the handle of her bag, Sophie called out, "Oh, please just leave it there. I have to get myself settled yet."

There was no intention to patronize the man. Even though he did not rely on the cane, his occasional struggle was evident.

Following her eyes to his cane, he explained, "It's just a touch of bloody CP from childhood. It bothers everyone else more than it does me."

CP? CP? Cerebral Palsy! Such an unfair challenge.

"I mean," he tossed the cherry wood stick up like a baton and caught it at its mid-section, "this is all I've known since birth. It is normal for me. As far as I'm concerned, everyone else walks funny." He winked.

"Apartment _A_ if you need anything," he reminded as he retreated towards the door.

"Indeed." Sophie smiled. "Thank you so much, Samuel. I'll be sure to go over the rules of American football with you this Sunday."

"Excellent!" He reached up and tipped the handle of his cane to his head in salute. "You can call me Sam if you want. No one ever does, though."

Sophie frowned. "Do you prefer Sam?"

Still tapping the cane against his head, his copper eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I always rather wished someone did. I feel like a Sam, I mean inside, I feel like a Sam rather than a Samuel." The stick landed with a thud. "I'm rambling."

"Sam it is," she proclaimed. "Sam, the ruler of the Marquis."

That silver molar flashed again. "Indeed."

With a bit of a John Wayne gait, he backed out and shut the door behind him.

Silence.

It was so thickening she dared not move−not even breathe. A muffled echo of Samuel's retreat sounded out in the hall. A creak of a door. And then nothing.

For many moments she stood like a statue. Only her eyes shifted to rove over her new home. Finally she set her purse down at her feet.

There were the suitcases. And there was the bed. A ticking clock in the kitchen caught her attention. Simple. Round. White. The black hands pointed half past ten. _Really?_ Only 10:30?

With the grace of a sloth, she approached the bed. Instead of throwing herself across it, she climbed the angled wooden ladder leading up to the platform above. Childhood fantasies of treehouses beguiled her. The twin-sized bed enticed with its fuzzy blue blanket and plush pillow.

Still in her coat, she climbed up onto that mattress and viewed the room from this elevated perspective.

The past twenty-four hours had been chaos. This new world she had thrown herself into was overwhelming. She was in London, in a tiny flat that was nothing like home. Somehow this perch made her feel safe. Treehouses offered sanctuary to children. It provided comfort to this weary woman.

Sophie curled up in the small bed...and slept.

CHAPTER FOUR

The week passed like the triple fast-forward option on a DVR.

Get up early. Dress. Pour a cup of coffee− _the first necessity she had purchased at the corner grocer_ −and take the Tube to work.

Amanda Newton was pleasant enough, but she was the consummate professional and her title precluded her from something as genial as friendship with the staff. It was okay. Sophie was busy acclimating and learning the lesson plan delved out by _Blue-Link_. Next week she would meet with two new employees from the states−a task she eagerly anticipated.

Each day she felt slightly more adapted, and she loved the city. _Loved it!_ Tomorrow was Saturday. Let the exploration begin!

For now her nights consisted of the ascent into her twin-bed fortress, and an hour-long phone call to Carolyn.

"It's wonderful here. Are you sure you can't come before Christmas?"

"Hello." Carolyn knocked on the phone. "School."

"I know. I just miss you."

"You're doing this because it is a fantastic opportunity," Carolyn used that fake stern voice. It had no potency because she was never stern a day in her life. "You're doing it because anyone would collapse into a puddle of jealous green pudding, myself included, at the opportunity."

"Jealous green pudding?" Sophie repeated with her nose wrinkled.

"It was the best I could manage. You get the point. So tell me more. You didn't talk much about your apartment except for the pretty gardens in back. What's it like? Is it a lot smaller than the condo in NJ?"

Sophie glanced around the room from her roost. At this level the black chandelier still soared above her−but not high enough to conceal the cobwebs that linked it to the ceiling.

"It's smaller. I'm getting used to it. Not a lot to clean in here. Honestly, I've been putting in such long hours at work−I pretty much just come home, talk to you and go to sleep.

An unfeminine snort sounded over the phone. "You sound pathetic."

Sophie grinned. "I am."

"Alright, I'll give you that it was a hectic week and you're trying to fit in at work, but surely you're going to do something for yourself this weekend."

Sitting cross-legged atop the fuzzy blanket, Sophie picked at a piece of lint and tweaked it out into the air, watching it flutter downwards.

"I heard at work that the Christmas decorations are up on Oxford Street already. I'm thinking of checking that out, and−"

"And?"

"Well, Oxford Street is a big shopping mecca here. I thought I might get a couple of work outfits."

"Eek! That sounds like bloody fun," Carolyn attempted a British accent. "You better take me there at Christmas, woman!"

Sophie smiled and set her head back against the wall. Closing her eyes she nearly succumbed to the lure of fatigue. "I will. Definitely. Carrie, I gotta get to sleep. I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, I keep forgetting how many hours you are ahead of me. Take pictures tomorrow of what you buy and email them to me. No, email them to me while you're at the store and I'll tell you my opinion."

"I'm sure you will," Sophie chided. "Pip pip, or however they say goodnight here."

"They speak English, Sophie."

Sophie laughed. "Indeed."

Saturday!

Light poured through the gap in the drapes, a shard of sunshine impaling her thigh with its warmth. Sophie rolled over and nearly tumbled to the ground. At the last second she caught the bedframe and flipped herself back onto the mattress.

"You're really going to have to switch to the double bed, Diem," she chastised aloud.

Climbing down the ladder, she reached the bottom and took a languorous stretch. Before even reaching for the coffee maker she hauled open the drapes on each of the four tall windows. Outside, Sam was scraping a gutter with the tip of his cane. He used the stick to wave at someone calling out to him from another window. Wind chimes sounded in the distance. Nature and art colliding to create a haunting symphony.

For the first time Sophie was feeling comfortable with her environment.

Two hours later, shoulder to shoulder with a host of commuters, she exited Oxford Circus Station and saw bands of artificial snowflakes flanking the bustling avenue. They were drab in color now, but she knew that tonight everything would light up like Rockefeller Center.

Each store seemed to wage a battle for the most bodacious decorations. Sophie took pictures of some of the winners, eager to share them with Carolyn.

Toting three bags containing two new skirts, a dress, three sweaters and a pair of boots, she started to make her way to the closest underground station. Transportation around the city was so simple. On a whim, she decided to stop in Knightsbridge to see the famous Harrods Department Store. It wasn't that far away from her flat.

Sophie approached the iconic building bedecked in lights with her jaw drooping. It was so majestic. Towering Christmas trees soared above each entrance. Expansive windows revealed mannequins adorned in silver and gold. A stretch limousine pulled up to the front entrance. Perhaps royalty was shopping inside. Wouldn't that be a hoot if she got a selfie with Prince Harry? Carolyn would die.

Clutching her bags, Sophie glanced up and down the busy thoroughfare, awaiting an opportunity to cross the street. At the next gap, she darted crossways, never seeing the cab that turned onto the boulevard a block away.

It never saw her either.

The collision came without warning.

Knuckles relaxed. Coarse rope handles slipped from her fingers as a shopping bag launched into the air.

_Beep_.

Beep.

Was the power out? It sounded like a UPS... and it was so dark.

Beep.

Beep.

Pain. The incessant bell did not help her headache. Sophie tried to rub her forehead but her hand weighed a thousand pounds. Heck, her eyelids might as well have been sporting concrete eye shadow. Try as she might, she couldn't lift them. Even the attempt to frown caused something abrasive to chafe her skin.

"Dammit, Sophie, open your eyes," she whispered aloud just to prove that she wasn't asleep.

" _Hello Sophie_."

Sophie's heart clenched. A scream gurgled in her throat. That voice! It was impossible. It could not be him. Not here in London.

Beep.

Dreaming. Absolutely.

Pain be damned, she thrust open her eyes−and winced. Lights harsh enough to be military weapons sent her charging back into her cave.

"Easy," the voice encouraged.

No, it can't be him.

One more try. Opening her eyes to mere slits she peered through the narrow vista.

Green walls. White molding. Machines. The goddamn lights. Beds. _Beds?_

Her gaze finally slid to the left as terror bubbled up again. "Hel−hel− _help_." The plea was so feeble she barely heard it inside her head−which was really hurting now.

Frantic, she realized she was reclined and struggled to hoist herself up.

He touched her arm and she recoiled.

"Help me," she called out again.

"Easy, Sophie. I will let them know you're awake."

Chestnut hair and dangerous gray eyes. A shadowed blunt jaw that clenched in profile. She knew that silhouette so well. It had lurked under her streetlights. It eclipsed the view through the peep hole of her front door. It prowled in parking lots, and appeared at her office. _The Shadow_.

And now he was here in London.

It was inconceivable.

"Wh−what are you doing here?" She struggled to sit up, but her limbs felt so heavy. "Have you drugged me? Why can't I move?"

His face was stony, and his stare was stark−basically it was no different than normal. There was no telling if he was agitated or not.

"I did not drug you," the deep timbre rumbled, "but I'm sure you're on some pretty serious pain killers."

_Pain killers?_ If she was on pain killers they sure as hell weren't working.

"You were in an accident, Sophie," he explained quietly as he turned at the sound of a door opening and a woman in white rushing past him.

" _Hel−p_ ," Sophie croaked.

But the woman honed in on a ruckus in the far corner of the room−out of Sophie's view.

"They seem to be rather busy in here today," the _Shadow_ stated mildly.

_Today?_ Had he been here before? Had _she_ been here before?

"P−please call that woman over here."

"She's a nurse, and if she doesn't come soon, I will hunt down another."

"Wh−what are you doing here?" Her throat felt so dry. Her lips felt so chapped. Her head felt like a nuclear explosion had occurred inside it.

Wolf eyes fixed on her.

"You know why I'm here, Sophie. I need answers."

"My God." Panic erupted again. "You followed me all the way to England. You're a psycho. I need the police. _Po−lice_ ," she tried to cry out, but only a husky whisper was all she could manage.

"Here." To her astonishment he was holding up a cup with a straw just below her chin. "It's just water. I don't know if you can have it, but you look like you could use it."

On instinct, Sophie wrapped her lips around the straw and sucked in some blessed liquid. For a moment her eyes dropped back into her head in relief.

It was enough of a respite to rebuild her efforts. She took a deep breath, ready to−

"Don't," he uttered softly. "I know I'm scaring you. I know you believe otherwise, but I am not here to hurt you, Sophie. I have never done anything but tried to talk to you."

On the far side of the room, voices rose and the screech of curtain hooks caused the hairs on her arms to spring up. The commotion attracted his attention briefly and then those hypnotic eyes swung back to her.

"I only want to know one thing, Sophie," he whispered with the drama of a CSI actor. "Where is Nathan Bethard?"

Obscurity came calling. Sophie gratefully nose-dived into unconsciousness.

When she woke, the pain had receded, and lucidity returned with each flutter of her eyelids. Beside her, a single liquescent bag hung from an aluminum tree. She swore that the last time she peeked there had been several. That had to be a good sign.

A nurse at the next bed noticed her activity and hastened over. She was a petite, middle-aged woman with brown hair secured away from her face by a wide hairband. A stethoscope hung above the collar of her white jacket, and in her hand was a tablet−an iPad with a hospital logo on the back.

"There was a man here," Sophie started.

"Yes. You had a visitor. We couldn't let him stay too long on account of your condition at the time. Also a woman from your work place brought some clothes to the front desk. She was able to provide us with your next of kin contact. We have spoken with your father. He is unable to fly over here, but he is monitoring your condition through daily phone calls."

"Daily? How long have I been here?"

The woman consulted her tablet. "Three days now. You are well on your way to recovery, though. The first day was the worst. You had a hit to the head that we had to monitor for swelling. Fortunately, surgery was not required."

Harrods Department Store. Skyscraping radiant Christmas trees. A green bag flying through the air.

"What happened?"

"First, let me introduce myself," the woman smiled and offered a plastic-gloved hand. "I am Dr. Panos. Stephanie Panos. I was here when they first brought you in."

Sophie tentatively accepted the shake.

"You were hit by a cab. From what the report says, you ran out in front of it. Too much pedestrian traffic at Christmas. It was an innocent mistake. It's hard to manage a 360-degree view when crossing the road." She flashed a grin. "Although after that hit to your head, I'm sure you achieved it for a few seconds."

Sophie almost chuckled at the British wit.

"I−I'm starting to recall some of it. I can see the store now. I remember crossing the street−"

"Yes, Harrods is dazzling, especially this time of year." Dr. Panos stooped to look under the hospital bed. "Rest assured, the police retrieved your shopping bags at the scene. They're tucked right under your bed now."

_Thank God._ That was over two hundred pounds worth of clothes she thought she had lost. Thanks to discipline−and no life−she had accumulated a decent savings. There hadn't been an opportunity to review the insurance plan at _Blue-Link_. Surely, health insurance had to be better here than the mess back home.

"When can I get out of the hospital?" she asked aware of the desperation in her voice.

Dr. Panos offered a sympathetic smile. "You had a rather severe concussion, and recurring vertigo spells. The two fractured ribs and contusions will heal on their own, but you'll be here for a couple of days at least."

_Blue-Link_. _My God−do I still have a job?_

"You mentioned someone from my work came here?"

"Yes." The doctor consulted her tablet. "Amanda Newton? She was very pleasant and told me to assure you that you should rest and the job will be waiting."

Sophie sagged back against the pillow.

"And the man," she asked. "You said there was a man here. Did he leave his name?"

Skimming her pointer finger over the surface, the doctor frowned. "I don't see it here."

She grabbed a pocket flashlight and stepped forward to tilt Sophie's head back, flashing the beam into her eyes. Sophie recoiled.

"You don't remember his name?" Concern tightened the lines around the doctor's mouth. "I was under the impression he was very close to you."

_I remember his name_.

"Doctor," a nurse hurried over. "We need you next door."

Dr. Panos nodded. "I have to go now." Cocking her head, she gave Sophie's face an intense perusal. "Your pupils seem fine. I'll be back in a bit to check on you. We have reduced your pain medication, so if you find yourself in discomfort, just ring up the nurse and we'll adjust."

"Thank you, Dr. Panos."

Alone again, Sophie lifted the aluminum lid off of the tray on her bedside cart. Mashed potatoes along with some form of meat−and gravy. The sight made her stomach tumble.

There was no television in this room to offer a distraction. She reached for her purse and hauled out her cell phone. Only 10% charge left. She had used it just once to speak with her father to assure him that she would be okay. With her charger still at the Marquis, she asked him if he could contact Carolyn to fill her in on the situation. He must have made it through to her, because there were no less than ten voicemails from her friend.

This would be the last call she could muster out of this battery, but loneliness was kicking in. She needed to hear Carolyn's voice.

Sunlight pierced the window and sent a ray to brand her cheek. Sophie's nose wriggled to thwart the heat until finally the light caught her eyelid. She awoke, squinting.

" _Hello Sophie_."

Panic shot through her, but she quelled it. There were others around. Three beds, two of which were occupied with sleeping patients. Nurses chatted amiably at their station just outside her door. A quick glimpse of her arm confirmed that they had removed the final IV line now that she was on solid foods. There was nothing this man could do to hurt her without being detected.

Finally her eyes settled on him. With the sun behind his back, he was once again cast in shadow. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and fisting a hand beneath his chin. The sun passed over him at this angle, dusting the top of his dark hair with myriad bourbon highlights. Gray eyes studied her as intently as she calculated him. Though they were both still, they might as well have been two boxers circling in the ring, waiting for the first to strike.

"What time is it?" she asked with award-winning poise.

"7:15."

At first she wanted clarification, but the rising sun answered the am/pm debate.

"I don't imagine that visiting hours start this early."

A slight shrug of broad shoulders and the man shifted, transforming him into a formidable eclipse again. "They're used to seeing me here. Maybe they think I'm your husband."

Sophie frowned. "Did you seriously follow me to London just to ask me where Nathan Bethard is when I've already told you that I don't know?"

"Yes."

She considered his blunt response. "Well, if I had any deep dark secrets, you had the perfect opportunity to extract them while I was on all those painkillers."

"Don't think I hadn't considered that." He didn't grin. He didn't smile. His face remained as stark as ever. Was he a man or a sculpture?

"Why do you suppose I sat at your side the whole time you were unconscious?" he added quietly.

You did?

Thrown off balance, she decided to play her trump card. "Well I do appreciate that− _Glenn_."

It was hard to gauge the reaction when the backlight obscured his face. There was definitely a stiffening of his shoulders, followed by a measured nod.

"I'm impressed."

Really? Your face is emotionless.

"Anytime I was at Bethard Counseling, Nathan was alone. There was no occasion for us to meet. I wasn't a patient." As he leaned in, a whiff of moisture and pine overrode the _Eau de_ antiseptic of the hospital. "Which means that you've been doing some sleuth work."

Fighting to stave off the intimidation, she cleared her throat. A hasty sideward glimpse confirmed that the nurses were still in the vicinity.

"I checked," she explained. "Nathan did not owe you money like he did some of the current clients. So, if you have personal issues to address with Mr. Bethard, please don't involve me in any of them. If you _do_ have financial disputes−as I have suggested in the past, please seek out the law who can better assist you. Or−" she tested out a sudden theory, "−maybe you _are_ the law−or some form of it. Maybe this is an ambiguous means of interrogation. Maybe you have fallen out of favor with the authorities−maybe you're trying to validate yourself with them by using me."

Sun filled the room now. One would think that would illuminate the man, but he seemed darker than ever−if only in personality. Hooking an ankle over his knee, he reclined as much as possible in the straight-backed chair.

_Had he really sat there the whole time she was unconscious?_

A brown suede bomber jacket covered a navy pullover sweater, over which the rim of a white t-shirt was visible. For a moment she stared at the throat above that t-shirt, afraid to meet those steely eyes. There were rare occasions to actually look into them, and each time she felt as if she lost a little piece of herself. He was larger than life− _her Shadow_. And he made her feel small. So very small.

She wriggled in the bed to sit up higher. Pain lanced across her side. The _Shadow_ did not move, but his gaze slipped to her hospital gown that now gaped to accommodate the bandage beneath it.

"Are you through?" he asked.

Air hissed between her lips. His composure deflated her.

" _No_. No, I'm not through." She hugged her ribs.

"I saw your chart," he ignored her retort. "You were hit by a cab?"

If she expected sympathy it was well-concealed under an impassive veil. The only animation on his face was the raised dark eyebrow still inclined from the question. Why did she find it attractive? What the hell was wrong with her?

"Yes," she replied, tugging the collar of her gown up as casually as she could manage. Those eyes followed her fingers. "Now who is the sleuth? My chart is digital. It's not like it's hanging off the foot of the bed."

Full lips twitched, but it wasn't a smile. Not even close. "Your doctor laid her iPad down while she was attending to you. I was simply sitting here, Sophie."

There it was. That sudden jolt every time she heard him say her name. There was no explaining it. It was akin to the sharp tingle you felt when your fingers got too close to the electric socket.

A nurse entered the room, approaching the sleeping patient across from her. Sophie's breath hitched and her hand lifted from the bed.

"What are you going to do, Sophie?" he asked quietly. "Are you going to tell her that I'm stalking you? Are you going to have that nurse report me to the police?"

For the first time she recognized his fatigue. The shadow of a beard mirrored the darkness beneath those riveting eyes.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he murmured huskily. "You know that or else you would have screamed the moment you saw me."

Still aloft, her hand stayed in the air as she watched the nurse apply a blood pressure cuff to the inactive patient. Eventually her muscles grew tired and she dropped her arm back on the bed.

"Why did you leave the country?" he continued in a hushed tone.

"To get away from you," she countered feebly.

"Maybe," he pondered. "Or maybe you're not just hiding from me. Maybe you're hiding from _him_. Maybe I've been right all along and you know something−something that Nathan doesn't want revealed. Maybe−" he leaned in close enough that she could smell a trace of pine again, "−maybe your accident wasn't so innocent."

"What!" she cried out loud enough to attract the nurse's attention.

Cramming the blood pressure cuff into her over-sized white jacket, the petite redhead stepped up to the foot of Sophie's bed.

"Everything okay?" she asked with a polite but curious inflection.

No! Don't you see that there is a stalker sitting beside my bed? Does this man look like someone who would visit me? Call security. Call Scotland Yard. Call the SIS. Call someone!

The _Shadow's_ gaze did not leave hers, but he addressed the nurse.

"I think Sophie is experiencing some discomfort."

Hell yeah!

"I am." She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes on him. "But it will go away any minute now."

Still engaged in an ocular showdown, Sophie watched, magnetized as the _Shadow_ stretched his long legs and used the rail of her bed to climb more than six feet to his full height. There was a mixture of regret and determination in the eyes that stared down at her.

"I have to go now, Sophie," he declared softly, disregarding the nurse who strapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm and started to pump.

"But−"

"Your blood pressure is pretty high, Ms. Diem," the nurse frowned, reaching for Sophie's wrist and depressing her fingers against it.

"Well, isn't that an inevitable side effect?" she barked, and then felt embarrassed for taking out her aggravation on the innocent nurse. "I'm certain my blood pressure will go down once I'm released from here."

"Your elevated blood pressure can also detain you," the nurse countered with a polite smile. "I'll have the doctor come in shortly and check on you."

"Thank you," Sophie responded out of courtesy. It was way past time that she got out of this bed.

As the nurse released her wrist and started towards the door, Sophie realized that the _Shadow_ was gone.

Why didn't I report him? Why didn't I tell that nurse that he was harassing me?

Because he wasn't the _Shadow_ now. He had a name. And he had a daughter. And he had never shown any intention to harm her.

_Well, except for traumatizing me_.

No, what he had done was planted a seed. The most miniscule tillage of doubt.

It was a ludicrous suspicion. Nathan was long gone. Probably in Mexico. Yes, he was a criminal by the sheer fact that he had misappropriated clients' funds. And, even more criminal by virtue of abandoning his patients' needs. But, how absurd to propose that the man was malicious enough to mastermind an accident.

Sophie snorted. This Glenn guy was trying to scare her−to portray Nathan in an unsavory light so that she would surrender the secret knowledge she, and only she, possessed. Hah. The poor man spent all that money to chase her across the Atlantic for nothing. She had nothing.

On the bedside stand, her laptop lay beneath her purse. Amanda Newton's secretary had called and asked if there was anything Sophie would like from her apartment. Sam had let the woman in, and now Sophie was in possession of a fresh change of clothes, toiletries, and her laptop.

Initially Sophie thought it was a benevolent gesture on Amanda Newton's part, but in retrospect she wondered if the motive was to prompt her log into her _Blue-Link_ account and complete some telecommuting tasks.

Flipping open the computer, she pressed the power button and dropped her head back against the pillow. With her eyes closed she considered what her first task would be once it booted. It _should_ be to answer some _Blue-Link_ correspondence. Curiosity discarded that sage thought. Instead, she would check for news on Nathan or the investigation into his whereabouts. She doubted there would be. The money he took wasn't anywhere near enough to attract the attention of the media. No physical crime was committed−another allure for the press. And−well−the _Shadow_ was here. If there had been any developments he would not be in London.

Sophie opened her eyes, half-expecting to find Glenn sitting at her bedside. The chair was empty. On some profound level that fact made her wistful.

It was uncomfortable to raise her arms to reach the keyboard, but she couldn't figure out how to adjust the height on the tray table. Relying mostly on the mouse, she searched for headlines on Nathan Bethard. There was nothing new. Damn the _Shadow_ for planting that seed of doubt in her mind. His intentions might have backfired, though. How odd was it for him to show up in London at the same time she had been struck by a car? After all, he was a stalker—someone she had crossed the ocean to escape from.

Well−that wasn't entirely true. She was escaping her professional association with Nathan Bethard. The _Shadow_ was a manifestation of that link.

One thing was certain−if the _Shadow_ returned she was going to report him to the authorities this time.

Snapping down the laptop lid she winced at the pain. Sun poured through the windows to create a solar flare in the middle of the room. Riveted by that bright light, Sophie stared, unblinking for what felt like an eternity.

No television.

Dead cell phone.

A pile of magazines that had been leafed through twice.

A laptop that was too uncomfortable to operate.

All that was left was to stare into this solar conflux in the middle of the room.

If Amanda's administrator had left off her personal items downstairs at the main desk−that meant that the _Shadow_ had been her only visitor.

How sad was that?

Despite the tweaks of pain, Sophie badgered every doctor and nurse that passed through the door.

_When can I go home?_

Home. A room she had lived in for four whole days was now considered _home_.

Sensing that someone was standing just outside her doorway, Sophie waited expectantly−but no one entered. Two nurses could be heard discussing the assets of a _Britain's Got_ _Talent_ contestant. A food cart screeched its approach and continued down the corridor. Across from her, a male patient had his television on the highest decibel while he slept with tubes hanging from his arm.

Still, Sophie sensed someone outside her door.

"Hello?" she called.

After a few seconds the redheaded nurse marched in. "Yes, are you alright?"

"Were you just standing outside?" She felt foolish asking. Of course she was. Her station was right there.

Glancing back at the door, the redhead frowned. "No, I was behind the counter. Were you calling me? I'm sorry if I didn't hear you. That station is the hub of activity tonight." She glanced at the panel on the bed railing. "You can always push that red button if you need a nurse."

"Yes," Sophie nodded humbly. "Do you know when I will be getting out of here?"

Bright coral lips emitted a tsking sound. "You don't like it here?" she goaded with a grin.

Truth be told, the staff at St. Gabriel's Hospital had been exemplary from all that she could remember.

"It's a lovely place to visit−"

A boisterous laugh exploded from the diminutive nurse. "That it is. Dr. Panos will be in charge of your release, but I did hear it discussed that it depends on how well you can move about."

I can do backflips!

"I've been fine going to the bathroom, and I've walked the halls with a therapist."

The redhead held up her hand. "I appreciate that, but your pleas need to be presented to Dr. Panos−not me."

"Is she around?"

Glancing down at her watch, the nurse's smile drooped. "No. It's late in the day. She will be back tomorrow." Crossing over to check on the pitcher of water, she added, "Cheer up, though. It's almost dinner time."

Hooray.

Sophie sagged back against the bed. Another intolerably long night loomed ahead. When her dinner tray came, she peeked under the lid and saw peas. That was all she needed to know. She dropped the lid back onto the plate. After a moment's deliberation she realized that she needed to eat the damn peas to regain her strength. With the enthusiasm of a child being told to do chores, she poked at the puckered green pellets and devoured the stuffing. Afterwards, she felt much better for her efforts.

Visitors had extended their quiet goodbyes to the three other patients in her room. A nurse walked in and pulled a curtain around the patient in the far corner. No doubt it was bath time. Thank God, she could take care of cleaning herself.

Climbing carefully out of the bed, she slipped into the bathroom and strung her hospital gown up on the door hook. Boy would she be glad to get rid of that. It was like wearing wax paper.

The bathroom door did not lock for the patient's security. Hastily making use of the washcloth with one hand, she used the other to secure the door in case of unwanted guests. In the mirror she caught her gaunt reflection.

Yeah, I definitely need more of the stuffing.

Except for one small bruise on the left side of her jaw, her face had been spared any injury.

Normally her chocolate-colored hair looked lustrous. It had a sheen that Carolyn always envied. Not so in this mirror. It was drab and it hung lifelessly around her shoulders despite her attempt to hand wash it. Void of makeup, her eyes looked huge. Under the single fluorescent tube they appeared brown, but she knew in the sun they turned to a pale shade of gold.

Despite a thin neck and shoulders, she hadn't hit the frail stages yet. Even her breasts still looked moderately full. Any weight fluctuation always reflected in her chest first. If she gained weight, her breasts blew up. If she lost weight, they were the first to go.

That was the extent of the positive overview. Anything further south went to hell. Her torso was wrapped in an ace bandage, but tiny streaks of broken blood vessels escaped above and below the binding. A bruise the size and color of an eggplant covered her left hip. Testing its sensitivity, she gently poked at it with her finger. _Ouch_.

There were a few stray contusions running down her left leg, but they had already begun to fade. Though she didn't remember the impact, it didn't take a rocket scientist to determine she'd been hit on her left side.

Reaching up into her hair to fluff it up some, she tentatively probed her scalp with her fingertips and winced. The contusions would all heal. It was the trauma to the head that still had her in this hospital. Scans. Eye tests. Ear tests. Speech tests. They searched for any signs of brain injury. All in all, they claimed that she had been extremely lucky.

_Must be my thick skull_.

Afraid that the door was going to open, Sophie hastily donned the hospital gown again. At least she smelled clean. Wrapping a robe that Amanda had supplied, Sophie hugged it tight about her.

Making her way back to the bed, she rested her rear end on its edge, mentally preparing herself for the painful process of hefting her legs up onto the mattress. For a moment she just sat like that, staring down at her socked feet.

"Are you alright?"

The husky voice had the effect of a tourniquet around her chest. What concerned her most was that she wasn't sure the effect was from fear.

Sophie looked up.

He was still in the same attire from this morning−but there was an edge to him−a roguish aspect that came with nightfall. Adding to the ambiance was the fact that the nurses had shut off several overhead lamps to allow their patients some sleep.

"It is after visiting hours," she pointed out quietly. "How do you do it? How do you get in here?"

Glenn hitched his shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms. "Maybe they find me charming."

Sophie snorted. Peeking up at him from under her bangs she found the same unaffected expression. There was no hint of a grin. There was no trace of humor. Laughter was as synonymous with this man as was charm.

Her arms were still crooked, propping her up against the edge of the bed. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself. It hurt, but not like a knife through the rib cage as it had been.

"I've had enough," she vowed quietly. "I will not take this harassment anymore. I am walking out to that nurses' station and I am reporting you as a trespasser—and a threat. Then we will see what magic your charm can achieve."

Straight lines clung to the corners of his lips. Whether she said, _an atomic bomb is about to be dropped on this hospital−_ or− _a unicorn just walked down the hall with a saddle of hundred dollar bills and lollipops strapped to its back_ −his expression would not alter.

"Can we talk before you do that?" he asked.

Who had the thick skull now?

"We have talked," she propped herself up higher, her arms shaking with the effort. "I'll let the police do the math that my stalker followed me to London, and a few days later I was run down by a car."

For a second the tempered eyes flared and then his control clamped down again.

"I did not hit you, Sophie."

Keeping her lips fastened she tried to look past the soaring obstacle in her doorway. Soon enough, one of the feisty nurses would plow right through this hindrance−no matter how big he was.

"I arrived in London the morning after your accident. Your police will be able to determine that."

Sensing activity behind him, the _Shadow_ stepped into her doorway, but only enough to flank the doorframe. A stretcher wheeled by in the hall, pushed along by an orderly in blue.

The _Shadow_ , or Glenn as she had better refer to him, turned his attention back on her.

"There is a small lobby just down the hall," he said. "It is in plain view of the nurses' station. You will be safe there, and I imagine they probably want you to move about some. Will you take a walk with me?"

The prospect of leaving this room, even for a few feet, was as appealing as an infinity pool in the Sahara. But was she that desperate as to walk with a man she was going to turn in to the police?

Why haven't I done it yet?

"Fine." Sophie pushed herself off the bed and swayed a moment. When she saw him make a move to assist, she flashed her hand in challenge. "You have one round-trip to the end of the hallway to convince me that you are not a raving psycho."

Glenn stuck his head out the door and glanced both ways. He turned back and grimaced with resolve. "We're going to need a bigger hallway."

Using the railing that ran waist-high down the corridor, Sophie trudged like her feet were bogged down in mud. After about the fifth step her muscles woke up and remembered how to function again. She felt weak. There wouldn't be any triathlons in her immediate future−but bouts of normality were returning.

"How are you doing?" Glenn asked, reaching for her elbow.

Sophie yanked it away. The motion cost her some pain, but her point was conveyed. _Don't touch me_.

As promised, a small family lounge was cloistered across from the elevators and adjacent to a nurse's kiosk. Two green vinyl couches and three straight-backed chairs were empty. A coffee table with scattered magazines sat before a bulky TV monitor broadcasting tomorrow's forecast. 13 Celsius high. Cold air. Fresh cold air. Anything to replace the recirculated hospital scent that kicked her gag reflex into high gear.

Clutching the downy robe tight at her collar, Sophie sank down onto one of the couches, not bothering to look at the brooding man. She could feel his eyes on her, though. She could _always_ feel his eyes on her.

"There's only half a hallway left for you to convince me not to alert the police−and you haven't said a word."

"Fair enough."

Taking the chair across from her, Glenn crooked his long legs and steepled his fingers together before his knees. For a moment he stared at them seeming to grapple for a segue.

"Look, for what it's worth, I don't feel comfortable harassing you like this."

Sophie nearly snorted. "That makes me feel so much better."

Ignoring her derision, he continued. "I have tried to keep my interactions with you at a minimum, and I keep hoping that you will have some information that will send me on my way. Desperation makes the most normal of men do irrational things, Sophie. I'm not psychotic. I most certainly am not going to run you down with a car. Why would I want to do that? I don't even know you," he waited until she met his eyes, "but what little I've learned, you seem like a nice enough person."

"Gee, thanks."

Sophie tugged on the hem of the robe. It dusted across knees that were tightly squeezed.

Head aloft, she searched for a distraction. Surprisingly, there wasn't much activity. With it being after-hours no one bothered with this family meeting area. She began straightening the piles of magazines.

"Remind me again how you are welcomed here after visiting hours?" Her eyes narrowed. "You didn't seriously tell them you were my husband?"

Glenn stretched one leg out.

Eager for a diversion, she feasted on that motion. There was a subtle ripple of muscle in the jean-encased thigh. Her gaze trailed down his jeans to the rugged shoes−no, they were boots. Timberlands.

"I didn't speak much to them. I just acted like I belonged." A shrug of broad shoulders. "They surmised the rest."

How could this man go un-gawked at by a bunch of middle-aged nurses? _Heck, I'm gawking_. "Then I will need to report the security at this hospital."

"Actually, I agree."

That piqued her curiosity. She looked up from her magazine tower. Glenn's gaze was fixed on the elevator doors. Sophie followed his stare to the emerging man and woman in white jackets, their heads bent in ardent conversation.

When his focus swung back to her its force almost made her double over. Sucker-punched. Sucker-punched by slate eyes that harbored as much sensuality as severity.

She blinked when she caught herself staring.

"Don't you get it, Sophie?" The earnest tone rumbled. "If I can come into your room and sit by your side with minimal questioning from the staff−" heated eyes made her mouth go dry, "−then he can too. _He_ can approach you, Sophie."

Cold air wrapped around her exposed calves and wormed its way throughout her body. "Stop trying to shift the focus away from yourself," she uttered with waning conviction.

"I'm not shifting any focus. You know my name. You have dug into your office records, which means that you know all there is to know about me−and−" a muscle clenched in his jaw, "−Gretchen."

That bantam glimpse of pain troubled Sophie. It was there, and then the steel wall dropped down, concealing any emotion on his face.

"Your daughter?" she probed quietly.

"I'm not here to talk about Gretchen. All I'm saying is that based on what you must have read in your files, you understand that I'm not looking for Nathan to discuss money."

Had there been anything she missed in the Bethard Counseling records? The details were minimal, but that was not unusual. Looking at Glenn, she thought he seemed a little too young to have a sixteen-year-old daughter, but age-guessing was always subjective. Hard eyes spoke of an age that far exceeded physical years. What troubles lurked there? What took away his smile?

"Mr. Barber," she flicked a quick glimpse to make sure they were alone, "the files that I have are very rudimentary. Client names or immediate contacts. There is a brief statement to describe the client's request for counseling−and there it ends. Anything more in depth would have been kept in Nathan's personal records, which I have not been able to locate. The State's Attorney office took Nathan's computer as well as the office computer just before the office was closed, so they have the very same files that I had access to. Why don't you go after _them_?"

Glenn's features relaxed slightly. It was so subtle that had she not been staring at his mouth, she wouldn't have noticed the lips slacken.

"Yes," he nodded. "I've been in contact with them. Their process is slow, and I'm afraid Nathan will completely disappear before anyone is able to question him or bring him to justice."

Bring him to justice?

"We're talking maybe twenty thousand dollars as far as I can tell." Sophie flinched at her volume. She dipped her head forward. "I realize this is the hard-earned money of our clients−" _and mine_ , "−but it's not something the law will track him down to Mexico for."

"Is he in Mexico?" His eyebrow climbed.

" _No_. I don't know." Blood flooded her cheeks. "It's a figure of speech."

A commotion sounded from a nearby room. Three men in scrubs raced a crash cart in that direction. Sophie watched despondently. She needed to get out of here. For those on the mend, this environment did its best to discourage.

Aware of his gaze on her, a whole-body flush infused her with heat. Every time she felt his eyes−either from a distance or close up−there was a charge−a kinetic tickle.

"I want to get back to my room," she announced quietly.

His stark features eased. In one sinuous move, his long body rose so that she had to tip her head all the way back in order to see his face, which was eclipsed by the fluorescent bars running across the ceiling.

_Always a shadow_.

"Alright. I have until your doorway to convince you not to call the police."

Sophie nodded as she inched her butt to the edge of the seat. Gripping the arm rail, she attempted to hoist herself up. How unglamorous this was. Somehow a vision of Amanda Newton flashed in her mind. Even in a body cast, that woman would manage grace and finesse.

"Sophie−"

That voice. It stole a piece of her again.

"−take my hand."

Part of her wanted to cry, _no_. Part of her cringed at the thought of his touch. A somewhat practical part accepted that she needed a boost and would be fine once she was standing.

All those parts faded as she felt his warm fingers curl around hers. With just the right amount of tug, he prompted her off the couch. A sharp pain in her side caused her fingers to clench. His tightened in response.

"Take it easy," he cautioned. "Besides, I'd prefer it if you took your time heading back."

Chancing a quick glimpse at him, she thought she might catch a smile. Nope. No such thing on Glenn ' _The Shadow'_ Barber.

Sophie launched up, which brought her face to face with his collar. A vague trace of moisture lingered there, as if his jacket had absorbed London's mist. It was an intoxicating clash with this sterile environment and she drew in a deep breath.

"Are you okay?"

A comforting hand touched her arm. The contact was enough to break her from this spell. Now that she was on her own two feet, she didn't need anyone's support. Unsteady, she took a step back and the unpleasant blend of antiseptics and illness returned. It was foul enough to nearly pitch her into his chest again.

"I'm fine," she vowed sharply.

Loaded with adrenalin now, she started down the stark corridor, ignoring the railing along its path.

She felt her _Shadow_. He quietly matched her stride. There was no sluggishness to her step−no limping−but she wasn't about to sprint down the hall to escape him.

"So," she dipped her head down to keep their conversation exclusive, "surely by now you realize that I can't help you. Are you going to stop stalking me?"

A brief snort sounded over her shoulder. Was it derision or frustration?

"I'm not stalking you. I know it looks that way, but I'm not. Nathan will try to contact you. I want to be there when he does."

Sophie halted...and so did the _Shadow_. She glared up at him.

"Well, let's see. That could be tonight or it could be twenty years from now. I am not about to be stuck with you for twenty years."

There was no witty comeback and there was no denial. In that corridor filled with nurses' chatter and muffled televisions he stood as stoic as ever. Locked to his eyes, she watched storm clouds darken there. It was just a matter of time before she was wiped out by a full squall.

"You'll find this hard to believe," he kept his voice low, "but I _do_ realize that you are innocent in Nathan's grand scheme."

Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but the simple heft of his eyebrow cut her short.

"You don't know me. You are afraid of me." The tightness around his eyes eased. "You are a wise woman."

At the touch of his hand gently encircling her forearm, she convulsed. She did not withdraw from his grip, though. As much as it had caused her to shudder, it somehow stabilized her−empowered her. When everything in this hospital seemed out of control, this touch was a brace. And it came at the hands of a man she had feared—a man who had convinced her in the last ten feet not to call the police.

"Please understand something, Sophie. I am not here to hurt you." His mouth pinched. "I am _not_ _here to hurt you_ ," he repeated with emphasis.

"Then−" her throat was so dry, "−Then why _are_ you here?"

The contact was gone. His arms dropped to his sides.

On a deep breath he declared, "To find Nathan Bethard."

CHAPTER FIVE

Today Sophie Diem would be released.

Part of him worried that she was not strong enough yet. He had feared the worst on that first morning that he arrived at the hospital.

Planted at her side, he had come to recognize every nuance of her face in the dark repose of oblivion. The furrow between pale brown eyebrows. The spasm in the muscle below her cheek. Lips parted to speak unvoiced words. He was so in tune with her features that he realized the moment she had crept up to consciousness and was simply sleeping. Immediately, he had sprung to corral a doctor and then discreetly left the room as the staff attended to Sophie.

Was his motivation to stay at her side purely selfish—in the hopes that Nathan might show? _Perhaps._ But there was another lure, an attraction he strove to disregard.

Sometimes he would read a news magazine. Sometimes he would sort through engineering notes on his cell phone. An element of his job could be conducted anywhere−even at Sophie's bedside.

At certain intervals he would get up and scan the hallways outside−making sure there was no trace of Nathan Bethard.

Most of the time, though, he just sat and watched her. She was so beautiful in repose. Long lashes rested against porcelain skin. High cheekbones rewarded him with a hint of color as her condition progressed. And then there was that willowy pale arm draped atop the blanket. Even now it was dotted with goose bumps. Every day he would pull the crisp white coverlet up over her arms, seeing that she was chilled. In a matter of moments that arm would worm its way out of its confines—as if her subconscious hated restraints of any kind.

So what brought him here today? Which temptation beguiled him the most? The dark, desperate need to stand face to face with Nathan Bethard and condemn him to Hell for all eternity? Or the need to see Sophie rise from this trauma−and to make sure Nathan didn't interfere with her departure from the hospital?

Unfortunately, there was an overlap in the two temptations. _Nathan_.

Sophie did not realize what a vulnerable spot she was in. In her fragile state, it was too much for him to convey. Granted, she didn't act fragile. She was a feisty one. Every threat−every challenge she uttered against him was well-founded. He was proud of her for her grit. It was such a shame to meet this woman under circumstances he could never amend. If he had met her any other way−

_Why didn't you tell me, Sophie? Why didn't you just tell me where to find Nathan? You would have never had to see me again_.

She stirred. Still asleep, she fidgeted until her fingers cast aside the blanket and her arm could loop freely across her waist.

A fleeting grin toyed with Glenn's lips. It was gone before he could even recognize what his muscles were doing.

There was no family to escort her home. Undoubtedly she would be stubborn enough to walk out of this hospital and find her way back to her flat unassisted.

He would be there. Behind her. At a distance. Just to make certain that she was safe.

_And to see if Nathan followed her_.

Sophie stood by her hospital bed with her three shopping bags from Oxford Street stacked atop it. The bright bags looked worse for wear with scuffs and tears. A thick scratch scored the face of her silver-plated watch. 9:30am. At least it was still running.

Feeling slightly human in a pair of pants taken from one of the shopping bags, Sophie was still anxious. The nurse claimed she would be right along for the mandatory wheelchair escort to the front door. It seemed a rather foolish romp when the moment the sliding glass doors opened Sophie would literally be dumped on her ass on the front sidewalk.

How would she hold up out there? Would she be afraid to cross the road?

If only Carolyn were here.

Self-pity was something she tried not to indulge in, but at the moment it blanketed her. She had put herself in this solitary position though, with no family to collect her after a hospital stay.

A noise at the door caught her attention. A nurse in pink scrubs shimmied a wheelchair into the room. Sophie released her withheld breath. For a moment she thought it was him. Glenn. _The Shadow_.

Irrationally, she wished it was. Despite all arguments against it, she wanted to see the man with the square jaw and turbulent eyes. Wasn't that a classic case for a psychiatrist? An attraction to your stalker. How ironic that she should be the one who ended up needing counseling.

The nurse caught her vacant stare and glanced over her shoulder at the door.

"Are you expecting someone?"

"What?" Sophie jerked her attention back to the nurse. "No. No."

"Are you going to be okay leaving here by yourself? We don't usually suggest that. Isn't there someone you can call?"

She had entertained calling Amanda, but that was an absurd notion. The woman was running a company. She didn't have time for the likes of Sophie. Besides, she would be on her own the moment she got to her apartment, so what would a few extra minutes mean?

"I'll be fine. There is an underground station just outside the hospital. I saw it out my window−and the Circle line goes direct to my stop."

The nurse seemed unconvinced, but she pivoted the wheelchair around and swept her arm towards it in invitation. "Climb on in."

Feeling foolish when a wheelchair was absolutely unnecessary, Sophie hooked her arm through her three bags and then sat in the chair with them piled on her lap. The nurse began to nudge her forward when there was a crash just outside the doorway. Three or four green plastic water pitchers rolled by in the hall, followed by a shower of plastic drink cups that spilled across the linoleum floor.

"Well, ya know, next time you will give me a wide birth," a voice chastised just before stepping into view.

A fluffy redheaded figure hobbled through the opening and Sophie's eyes watered up.

Someone is here to bring me home!

"Sam!"

He threw his hand up in the air at a glaring nurse, and then turned and winked at Sophie. "It's a bloody hospital. You would think they would have wide enough hallways to accommodate my cane."

No doubt you were waving it around like a drum major.

"What are you doing here?" She practically gushed and then composed herself.

Sam unwound the scarf around his neck. It took three sweeps before it hung unfastened down his rain coat. "What does it look like? I've come to collect you."

He frowned and assessed her with a squint. "Amanda called with the news of your accident. I would have come sooner, but I had a bit of a bug that sidelined me for a few days." His face bottled up and she could see his nose was tomato-red. "Last thing I wanted to do was bring in germs. But it looks like I've made it just in time." A furry eyebrow dipped in collusion. "I told you I take care of the Marquis- _ites_."

"That you did." She smiled.

"How are you feeling, then?" Bright eyes scoured her face. "You have all your teeth?"

She laughed. It was one of those from-the-gut guffaws. It felt wonderful.

"That I do."

"Alright then." He nodded. "Let's get you out of here. Hold this."

As he awkwardly ambled forward, the nurse scuttled backwards.

Grasping the cane that was thrust at her, Sophie set it atop the pile on her lap. "But don't you need−"

"Nah, I'm going to push you. The wheelchair will act as my cane. But mind you−" he held a finger aloft, "I don't need the support. That cursed stick is just a mental crutch."

"Don't be like my grandmother on my Dad's side," she scolded. "She refused to use her cane strictly out of vanity."

Sam circled behind the wheelchair. "Dear Lord, I'm 27 years-old, and you're comparing me to your granny."

"Sir," the nurse injected, "I should really do that."

Sophie twisted her head to see Sam's nose squirrel up just before he sneezed into his shoulder. "Do you honestly prefer me to use my cane out there?" he challenged. "You saw what just happened. Trust me, the hospital is a safer place with me behind the wheel."

At that he shoved the chair forward and Sophie gripped the armrest with one hand. The other was comfortable clutching the cane to thwart anyone in their path.

Despite Sam's helpful warning, "Don't lean on me or we'll both topple," they managed to make it through the Underground and back to the Marquis without incident. At door _E_ , Sophie fumbled with her keys as Sam clutched her three bags. For as confident as she was that she was completely healthy, she felt exhausted from the quick journey. She sagged against the doorjamb and reached for the bags that had once been so exuberantly-colored. Now they were torn, their Christmas images scratched from the pavement. It looked like all eight of Santa's reindeer had stamped all over them.

Fatigue was surely overcoming her. No matter how hard she fought it, her eyes welled up.

"I can't thank you enough, Sam," she sniffed.

"Oh dear. You're all dribbly." His grin was nearly obscured by the scarf wrapped around his neck. "Surely you didn't catch my cold."

He was joking and it comforted her. Careless of decorum, she leaned forward and hugged the man whose head came to just below her nose. Awkwardly he reached to return the hug and his cane cracked against the wall.

"Ugg, cursed thing," he withdrew with a sheepish smile. The mirth fled his face. "I am glad you are back here safely, Ms. Diem."

"Sophie."

"Sophie," he nodded, and then added, "Some people will do anything to get out of teaching me about American football."

A door opened down the hall and a young woman with long blonde hair stepped out, her head dipped as she locked it. Sensing that she was being watched, the woman glanced up and managed a hasty, "Hello," before tucking her head back down and turning her back to them.

A few seconds later she was out the front entrance of the Marquis.

Sam clutched his chest. "Oh sigh. My heart stops every time I see her."

"A poet, are you?" Sophie smiled.

"No. No. Ms. Buchanan just takes my breath away."

Sophie set down her bags and crossed her arms. "Me thinks you're a bit of a flirt, Sam Pierce."

Rusty eyebrows vaulted up his pale forehead. "Not at all! My heart belongs to one woman. And she just said hello to me," he gushed. To make amends he added, "You are a pleasant person, Miss Sophie. I do enjoy your company. As I told you, it is my responsibility to take care of everyone in the Marquis, no matter what the task. But please, don't fancy yourself on me. I've got my eyes on someone else."

Drained, but content, Sophie smiled. "I would never get in the way of true love, Sam. You don't have to worry about me. You just don't know how much you being at the hospital today meant to me."

Sam stood with both hands gripping the cherry wood handle. "You're just lucky I had the plague. I would have had a captive audience this week had I been able to get to you sooner."

Instead, I had the Shadow.

Even now, her thoughts turned to him. She shrugged off the recollection and gathered herself. "I better get some rest, Sam. I intend to go into work tomorrow."

"Oh heavens, woman." He shook his head. "Do you want me to ride in with you?"

"Gosh no. You need your rest too."

"I'll confess that I don't often venture to that part of town. I like the west side. Not such a rush. Someone who moves at my pace doesn't fit in with the hectic rush of the business district."

Sophie empathized with Sam. She wasn't moving so fast herself. Tomorrow would be a challenge, but she needed to be busy. The idle time in the hospital had heightened her anxiety. What if her job had passed her by?

"Thank you again, Sam."

He bowed with a flourish and gave her a wink before turning away.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Sophie succumbed to exhaustion. Dropping her bags, she shimmied out of her coat and left it in a heap on the floor. Sunlight filled the kitchen, drawing her towards the bistro table as she collapsed into it and plugged her cell phone into the power outlet. In a trance she watched the lightning bolt flash as 1% registered on the display. _Charge, charge, charge_ , she chanted.

For a woman who had spent the last week sleeping, all she could think about was closing her eyes.

5%

Just a moment's rest−until the phone charged.

Sophie laid her head atop her folded arms.

A shrill ring resonated—like her head was stuck inside a belfry during a hurricane. Was it one of those cursed hospital monitors? Had she just flat-lined?

Jerking upright, she realized her cell phone was ringing. It also vibrated perilously close to the edge of the table. She snatched it up and looked at the display.

"Carolyn!" she answered with a screech.

"What!" Carolyn yelled back. "My God, what is it? You're home, aren't you? You didn't have a relapse? You're not in a heap on the side of the road?"

Sophie took a quick breath and squinted into the sun glaring through the tarnished glass. Lucidity returned as she ground her palm into her eye socket.

"I'm fine. The phone just startled me...and then I was so happy to see your name−"

Damn, she sounded like she'd been drinking. That was the only time she could ever be caught babbling.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No," she replied in affront. "I've been sleeping."

"Oh." There was a slight pause. "It's like, what there? One o'clock?"

"Yes, well, _hello_ −head injury. Rib injury. Multiple contusions−"

"You're brain damaged!"

Sophie snorted into her palm. Her smile blossomed as she confessed, "God, I wish you were here."

"So do I. I was going crazy having to resort to just emails from you."

" _Blue-Link_ sent someone to retrieve some of my necessities, but they didn't grab my phone charger. I can't complain. I was so pleased that the CEO would even think of me. Hell, I thought I was going to be fired. In fact, I'm still worried about it. I'm going in tomorrow."

An expletive made her wince.

"Are you crazy? Take your time and heal, Sophia."

_Uh-oh_. Carolyn used Sophia. That was the equivalent of Sam being referred to as Samuel Richard Pierce.

How brain damaged could she be if she remembered his full name?

"Seriously, I'm much better. Sore in some places. I won't be doing any Zumba for a few days."

"Zumba. Sheesh. Like you need that. And you probably lost more weight, haven't you?"

Sophie glanced down at the waist of her pants, noticing the gap between the material and her stomach. She hadn't needed a belt when she purchased them, but it looked like that might be the case now.

"I intend to eat an entire pizza tonight if that counts for anything."

"It's a start." Carolyn's smirk came through the phone. "So, this Amanda I've heard you talk about. Is she nice? Did she visit you in the hospital?"

"Yes, she is nice, but no−she didn't visit me in the hospital. She doesn't have time for stuff like that."

Sophie grabbed the coffee mug that had been sitting on the table since before she left for her shopping spree. She dared a peek inside and winced. Her stomach rebelled and she set it back down.

"You had no visitors?"

Yes. Every day. Even when I was asleep.

"Well, my landlord came today and brought me home from the hospital."

"Maybe I can move my flights up a day or two," Carolyn offered.

"That's still over a month away. I'm fine now, Carrie. Really. I'm eager to get back to work. I was just starting to feel comfortable when the accident happened."

"The accident. Do you know what happened?"

"Several witnesses say that I ran out in front of the cab." Sophie frowned. "I'm usually not so careless, but I was just struck by how beautiful Harrods was. And honestly, I did check, and I thought that the street was clear. They say he pulled out of a side road and that I didn't even know he was there."

A bell clanged across the connection.

"Crap. I have to get back to class," Carolyn announced. "And I didn't even tell you the news that I've been trying not to tell you."

Sophie would have squirmed with enthusiasm if she had not detected the reticence in Carolyn's voice. Whatever the news was, it wasn't something she sounded eager to share.

"What is it? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Carolyn's voice warbled. She was on the move. "But your storage unit is not. Thank God you put my name down as a backup on the account. The police called me−"

"The police!" Sophie's arm swung, nearly toppling the coffee mug.

"There was a fire a few days ago. All the units in your wing of the storage facility were destroyed. I'm so sorry to have to hit you with bad news when you just got home, but I didn't want to keep it from you either."

Before Sophie could say anything, Carolyn rushed on. "The storage facility assures me that you had their highest insurance plan, so you'll get a hefty sum of money back. I don't think you kept a lot in there, did you?"

_Just family photos. My high school band jacket with the flute sewn in it. The painting of Venice that captivated me since the moment I bought it. Boxes of paperwork_.

"No, not a lot," she whispered.

"Listen. I really have to go, but I'm calling you back as soon as classes are over."

"Okay," Sophie responded mechanically.

"It will be okay, Soph. Look at it this way. At least you got rid of your stalker."

Sophie hung up, noticing that the phone had fully charged during their conversation.

There was nothing critical in the storage bin. It was why she left it behind. Still, she felt defiled. There was a security factor in knowing that her belongings were there whenever she returned—or whenever she decided to collect them. If she required anything immediately, Carolyn was able to get it as the custodial guardian.

But it was all gone.

As she thumbed through the voice messages on her phone—what she had thought had been spam was actually the Trenton Police Department. _Great._ They knew her as the psycho who kept reporting a stalker.

After a quick call to them, she learned that the cause of the fire had yet to be determined. Anxiety did a tap dance inside her stomach.

Where was her _Shadow_ now? Funny enough−she almost wished Glenn was here. He had been with her the past three days, so she doubted that he had set fire to the storage unit. Granted these types of acts could be staged from afar, but maybe there was some credence to his paranoia. A seemingly innocent car accident. A supposedly innocent fire. She was a victim in both.

After their last conversation, Sophie had noticed a sense of acceptance in Glenn, as if he conceded that there was nothing further to be obtained from her. In some absurd respect, she wanted to give the man a nugget. A small kernel of information. Anything that might trigger a reaction from him instead of the same despondent expression.

Was it true? Had her _Shadow_ finally abandoned her? He was not in the hospital this morning, when he had been each of the past three. Maybe he had returned to the States. Maybe their talk last night had sent him away. Maybe his fixation with Nathan Bethard had worn itself out. There was still no indication of what instigated the one-man mission. What made him a judge and jury to her former boss?

_Car accident. Storage unit destroyed_.

Instead of checking her email−instead of crawling into bed for a much-needed recuperation period, she grabbed her keys and walked out the door. In socked feet, she tread quietly through the hall to reach the front door of the Marquis. Stepping outside, the portico sheltered her from the midday sun. Without a coat the chill set in immediately as she hugged her arms about her. Scanning the quiet Kensington street, all she found was an elderly man walking a Scottish Terrier. A Fiat passed by. The driver was on her side of the road so it was easy to identify that it was a woman.

Are you out here?

For several minutes she stood braving the chill, but there was no sign of him. It was for the best. Prior to the _Shadow_ entering her life everything had been peaceful. With his arrival came the onset of chaos and danger.

_No. With Nathan's departure had come chaos and danger_.

Sophie sliced one last look in each direction and turned back into the Marquis.

The week passed quickly, and were it not for the occasional wince of pain, or glimpse of fading bruises in the shower, she would have been able to put the car accident behind her. Insurance paperwork was remotely filed to secure her money from the fire damage. Amanda worked with her on the insurance paperwork for the hospital stay, but it proved to be a training session as well, so that Sophie could in turn assist future _Blue-Link_ employees with such tasks.

At the start of this venture, Sophie had researched _Blue-Link_ , but had focused mostly on her role. Now that she was growing entrenched in the company, she realized its mark in the world. With nearly 4000 employees in 300 branch offices covering all the continents, _Blue-Link_ offered global analytics and risk advisement across a multitude of industries. Business risk in global terms could account for civil unrest, health epidemics−even the impact of nature. Sophie found the scope fascinating and hoped to someday branch out further than her diminutive role as liaison to employees passing through this branch.

Amanda fascinated her. Such a young CEO of a global company—and female. Sophie would love to know the origins of this woman. How did she end up running _Blue-Link_? Was it an inheritance? Nothing in her bio indicated that. She was no tyrant. She was gracious. But every day she dressed like she was meeting with Parliament—and possessed a confidence that would most likely put them in their place.

Tucked in her corner cubicle, Sophie glanced up at the time. _6:15pm._ Where the hell had the day gone? She stood up to peek over the wall and saw a couple other prairie dogs likewise engaged. Most of the staff had left punctually at 5:00pm.

This corner nook was twice the size of the rest of the maze, with two walls for added privacy. The prime real estate was because her position demanded confidential conversations to new employees. Two guest chairs were tucked in front of her desk. Whenever they were occupied she spoke in hushed tones. As secluded as the spot was, there were still thirty people in the extensive room behind her with sonic ears.

Stooping over, she hit PRINT and waited until the printer spouted her homework for the night. It was important to be prepared for tomorrow's visitors. It put them at ease if she knew they were from Kansas City or Sacramento or Boston.

Storing the printouts in her binder, she slipped the folder into her over-sized purse and then grabbed her coat from the hook behind her desk.

Total darkness set in by 4:30 this time of year. She was very conscious of her commute at night. Now it was common practice for her to stand on the side of the street and check five times each way for oncoming traffic. If anyone trailed behind her for more than a block, she planned to slip into an alternate route.

No one had followed her, though. And _he_ was never back there.

Exiting the underground station, Gloucester Road was a stream of brake lights. A double-decker red bus passed by, blocking off the reflection of the illuminated storefronts. Sophie hastened towards a Chinese restaurant two blocks down. Their service was quick and she hadn't done any food shopping.

Although the traffic was still active, the sidewalk was less lively. Hugging the building facades, she rushed her steps, feeling a twinge in her right side with each stride.

Neon Chinese characters cast a green glow across the sleek street. Sophie saw headlights to the left and headlights coming from the right. There was no choice but to wait for her break.

In that instant she knew he was there.

It could have been anyone standing behind her in the shadows, but her arms were humming like a tuning fork. It was an effect only _he_ could produce. She did not look over her shoulder. Instead she eyed the traffic, hoping for some magical parting of the sea that would allow her across.

"Don't chance it, Sophie," a deep voice sliced through the mist.

A scrape of his tread sounded directly behind her.

Still, she did not turn. Adrenalin sent her heart into a thundering cadence. Fear wasn't necessarily the source, though. Anticipation. Exhilaration.

"I thought you went back home," she said without turning around.

The _Shadow_ stepped up alongside her and still the cars would not give her a break.

"Home?" he repeated bleakly. "No, I did not go back there."

Standing shoulder to shoulder with this man, Sophie noticed that his tall frame broke some of the wind that had pierced her on this curb.

"How are you feeling?"

_Really? A conversation?_ Here on a busy street in Kensington at rush hour? With the mist turning into a fine rain?

"In general," she asked in a hoarse voice, "or at this very moment?"

If he replied, his words were obliterated by a blaring car horn intended to prompt a dawdling vehicle along.

Finally, the breach she was hoping for arrived. Traffic lights provided a momentary gap and she started across the road, heedless of whether he followed. Of course he did. She heard his shoe hit the opposite curb one second after hers. On this side of the road, the open glass face of the Chinese restaurant beckoned. Inside were five or six green vinyl-clothed tables with an assortment of chairs, no two the similar. Only three people stood in line at the register.

Sophie hesitated with her hand on the door. "I was going to eat in here. I'm a quick eater, and it is easier than taking the bags back to the apartment."

In the light from the restaurant she could see him now. Although she was sheltered under the overhang above the front door, he was still exposed to the now increasing rainfall. His dark hair glistened black under the precipitation. Neon lights cast beguiling shadows across his face, making him look like a hero from a noir-like Marvel movie.

"I eat."

Sophie gaped. "Bravo."

Then she understood his implication and glanced edgily inside the restaurant. Wide windows exposed the interior to the public. Anytime she had been there, there was always a long line at the cash register. It would be safe. What the heck?

"I eat fast," she warned as she pulled open the door.

A wide hand reached above her head to hold it open. "I can keep up."

At the counter she glanced up at a menu panel complete with vivid pictures of the meals.

"Beef and broccoli, please. No egg roll," she ordered.

An elderly Chinese man in a white apron looked expectantly at Glenn.

"Sesame chicken," he read from the menu up on the wall.

"Egg roh?"

"No." Glenn dropped his glance to look at him. "Thank you," he added as he drew out his wallet.

"Don't you dare pay for my food," Sophie hissed. "This isn't a damn date."

Even with his head bent down she saw his eyebrow hike up as he handed the man a £5 note. "For the sesame chicken."

Sophie thrust out her own £5 note and said, "For the beef and broccoli."

The man behind the cash register eyed them for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders before counting out change and procuring it to each.

"Wait there." He pointed to the end of the counter as he turned his attention to the next person in line.

Sophie peeked through the partition behind the counter to see white-aproned chefs busily at work. _Hurry_ , she silently urged them.

As they carried their trays, Sophie navigated to a table directly against the window. It exposed her to the outside world should she need to motion for help. Glancing across the vinyl-covered table at Glenn, she wondered if it would be necessary. Dampened hair curled in near-black waves just below his ears. The broad shoulders of his jacket were dark from moisture. He drew off the garment and slung it over his seatback. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to swipe away some of the rain. It left a track of tiny black spikes instead.

Her intuition sensed danger in this man. Her sensuality noticed the attraction. Sexy dark stubble scored his jawline as a strong hand brushed that jaw in deliberation. Her gaze lingered on the full lips as she blinked quickly and returned to the safety of her food carton.

_Fool_ , she chastised. _This man is trouble_.

"You have to admit this is a tad surreal," she mentioned over a mouthful of broccoli, while glancing out the window.

Glenn looked through the window as well, and their eyes connected in the reflection. Squeezing hers shut, she jerked her concentration back to the next mouthful.

"How so?" he asked with that deep inflection. "We're two hungry adults who are casual acquaintances."

Again she searched for some trace of humor or irony in his features, but they were stone. How did he do it? How did he stay so impassive?

"You stalk me. I flee to another country and you continue to stalk me. And now we're eating with chopsticks together, which is about the most awkward thing casual acquaintances can do."

He pointed his chopsticks at her. "You need to move past this _stalking_ theory. It's unsettling."

"Unsettling!" Her palm hit the table with a loud smack.

All heads turned in their direction, but the front door opened and the heads swiveled like a pack of gazelle to a new diversion.

Sophie leaned her head in. "Do you have issues? Is that the problem? You were ex-military or something. Is there post-traumatic stress at play here? Trust me, I do understand. I was a counselor, remember?"

Glenn grabbed a mouthful of fried rice off of the plastic sticks.

"I see that you've been doing your research. Do you exert that much effort on Nathan?"

Angry, and sensitive she swallowed the lump of beef down her throat. Before she could respond, he explained, "I was a Limited Duty Officer. I commanded ashore activities, so no, I never went to war and I have no post-traumatic stress. I became an officer for my surface ship engineering skills."

Reading her puzzled look, he added. "Consider it being a glorified ship mechanic."

Officers in the Navy, even limited ones were more than just mechanics, she thought.

"You speak of it in the past tense."

"Yes. I left the Navy ten years ago. I had other obligations."

Chewing thoughtfully on her broccoli, Sophie pointed her chopsticks back at him. "If you quit ten years ago...well, you don't look that old. Don't you have to be old to be an officer?"

"Whatever I look, believe me, I feel 100 years older. But I'm 37, and no, you don't have to be old to be an officer."

Thirty-seven. Four years older than her. He sounded sane, but nothing about this situation was anywhere close to being sane. Should she share the news about her storage unit? She wanted to, but this man would only feed her paranoia. And what if he was responsible for the fire?

"I gave you a concession," he interrupted her mulling. "I answered your questions. Now it's your turn."

But I have so many more questions.

"I don't know where Nathan Bethard is," she vowed, taking a sip of her soda while glancing at her pensive reflection in the window. In normal weather, her hair fell straight below her shoulders with a little diagonal bang that occasionally covered one eye. In the London mist, or rain as it was doing now, her hair fell in belligerent waves and the diagonal bangs looked like a bird wing.

"What about his hobbies? Was he a theater man? Did he gamble? What type of places might he frequent?"

Sophie jabbed her chopsticks into the container and hit the bottom. "I asked questions about _you_. You're supposed to ask questions about _me_ , not Nathan." she complained.

When she looked up, she swore for a second that his lips quirked at the corners. It was a trick of the light, though. This man never smiled. No, instead he remained a tall, dark, handsome, brooding shadow. And he seemed to revel in it.

Jabbing her chopsticks again, she hauled up another green floret.

"Alright," he conceded. "What hobbies do you like?"

Hobbies?

"I know that you don't care−so seriously, let's move along."

Glenn set down his chopsticks and crossed his thick arms, giving her his entire focus. "I am quite interested."

"Humph," she swallowed.

"Really."

Sophie pushed aside her finished carton and frowned. "You care about one thing. Finding Nathan Bethard. And I don't know why that is."

A rugged hand that looked like it belonged to a ship mechanic moved aside the carton of sesame chicken. "The day you were released from the hospital I was there. I was watching. I wasn't watching because I was stalking you. I wasn't watching because I wanted to grill you about Nathan Bethard."

"Wh−why were you watching?" her voice was so small.

He held her eyes.

"I was watching because I thought you were all alone and that you were going to do something foolish like try to make your way home by yourself after just sustaining a head injury. Fortunately, I saw that you had a gentleman friend take you home."

"A gentleman friend," she snorted.

Glenn lifted an eyebrow.

"That was my landlord, she said. "And I could have made it on my own. What were you going to do if he hadn't shown up?"

There was a measured silence as they sat in a face-off over a table littered with rice kernels.

"I would have taken you home," he declared huskily. "I would have seen to it that you were safe."

_Stalker. Psycho. Dangerous._ And yet her body hummed like a tuning fork again.

"Why?" It sounded almost like a plea. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

He leaned in. His arms folded over the table, and his eyes leveled with hers.

"I am Glenn Barber," he vowed. "And all I want is to speak with Nathan Bethard. I'm sorry that you are in my path. I really am. I'm sorry if my methods seem clandestine. I have never _stalked_ anyone before in my life. I am not a stalker. I am just persistent."

Troubled by the intensity in this man, Sophie bit her lower lip in thought. She released it and asked, "What has your persistence gotten you? Nothing."

With that she rose from the table and hauled on her coat, eyeing the mist beneath the lights. When her glance swung back, he was watching her with eyes that mirrored the weather−yet much more tempestuous.

"I am leaving now. Thank you for a−" _What exactly would you call it?_ "Well umm−thank you."

Slipping her purse over her shoulder, she glimpsed the folder jutting out of it. It reminded her that she had plenty of homework to do. It also reminded her of all the boxes of folders that went up in flames back home. A little voice nagged at her to share that information with Glenn. The bigger voice in her head told the little voice to shut up.

"You look conflicted, Sophie," he uttered in that husky tone.

"I look like a woman who desperately needs to get some sleep."

Every minute she lingered the more riveted she became. She had to get away from him. With his gaze alone he numbed her limbs. Her extremities tingled with anticipation for something intangible.

Glenn's long body climbed until he stood looking down at her. Unwillingly, she focused on his mouth again. If only those lips would smile−it would make him ridiculously hot. Jerking her gaze back to the window, she couldn't escape his brawny reflection. No−no smiles there.

"I'm going to follow you home, Sophie."

She barely heard him over the cash register attendant barking orders in Chinese through the kitchen cutout.

"I'm not stalking you," he vowed. "I'll just feel better if I see you get home safely."

"Dammit. I _am_ safe." Rounding a chair, she made her way to the front door. Sensing him behind her, she added, "You seem hell bent on making me feel otherwise." Her elbow shoved the door open and a spray of cold mist hit her face.

Glenn trailed after her into the night. Managing an about-face, she began walking backwards against the wind. Neon revealed shades of regret in his eyes until the lights from the restaurant faded and his face was once again an element of the night.

"I don't mean to scare you, Sophie. But I also don't believe that Nathan has faded off into the sunset. If I can determine that he has, then fine−I will concede that there is nothing more that I can do, and I will go away."

Still walking backwards, with occasional glimpses over her shoulder for impending obstacles, she challenged him. "What did he do to make you a one-man avenger?"

A cab passed by, its engine sorely in need of repair. The sound swallowed any response from him−if he had even offered one.

They reached the corner near the Marquis. The streetlight was out. It was comforting not being alone in the dark—even if it was with a manifestation of the night itself.

_He has the perfect opportunity to murder me here if that's what he's after_.

Fatalism and fear rooted her until she snapped out of her spell and jogged to her door. There were no hurried footfalls behind her, but by the time she reached the Marquis portico she sensed he was nearby, watching her. Always watching her.

Relief filled her as she felt the key slip into the front door and the knob spin unlocked. Just before crossing the threshold she tossed a whisper into the dark. _Good night_.

Inside her apartment, Sophie crossed to the windows and drew the thick drapes closed before she turned on a lamp. Dumping her purse on the table she stared at the homework with dismay. The clock ticking above the refrigerator revealed it was approaching 9pm. She had to get up at six.

Using the tip of her toe to pull off her pumps, Sophie crossed the cold floor on bare feet and climbed the ladder to her lofted bed. With the single lamp casting a muted circle across the wood tiles, she felt safe up here.

As she closed her eyes and surrendered to the tug of fatigue, she pictured images of the _Shadow_ in the harsh light of a Chinese restaurant. He was as intimidating as her imagination could portray, but there was something more−something beguiling−something attractive−something− Sleep claimed her before the last thought could form.

CHAPTER SIX

Two days later, tucked in her cubicle, Sophie scrolled through her appointments for the day. Not too bad. Only three transfers passing through _Blue-Link_ on this chilly Thursday. One was an accounting manager that was heading off to the Berlin office. Another was a Supervisor of Operations being placed in the Edinburgh office. And last, a broker on his way to Ipswich.

Hitting _print_ on their paperwork, she continued through her email, and nearly spilled her coffee when her cell phone jangled atop her desk. Snatching it up, she read the incoming digits. She made it a habit to never answer anonymous numbers. Whoever it was, they could leave a message.

On cue, her phone chimed with an unheard message. Sophie listened with a frown. Detective Petrelli from the Trenton Police Department requesting that she call at her earliest convenience.

Glancing at her desktop calendar she saw that she had at least a half hour until her next appointment. As secluded as this cubicle was, it was not entirely soundproof. Sophie rose and made her way to the central lobby. Locating a bench next to a potted palm she quickly dialed the number provided.

"Petrelli," the man barked through the phone.

"Detective Petrelli? This is Sophia Diem returning your call."

"Diem," he barked again. "Diem. Diem. Diem. Oh yes, storage unit."

Confidence waned.

"Yes, did you find out any more? Was it arson? I have filed everything with the insurance company."

Another awkward pause and the man clamored, "Unit 2399?"

"Yes, that is correct."

Perhaps he shut a door because the ambient noise decreased and Detective Petrelli's inflection came through more composed.

"It appears that one unit was broken into. Unit 2399. We suspect that the fire was set either to conceal that fact, or as a result of that fact. The latch to 2399 was broken with a blunt, heavy object. Security cameras were unable to capture anyone at the unit, but the cameras are on a rotation so it would be simple enough for a party to dodge their cycle."

Speechless, Sophie sensed he was about to add more.

"I'm looking at your insurance claim. I understand that personal items may be invaluable, but I don't see anything that would tempt the common criminal," he hesitated and added, "although they probably just broke in with rogue hopes. Too many people watching these damn reality shows about self-storage treasures."

"Right," she agreed automatically, feeling blood drain from her cheeks.

"So, is there anything not documented on your insurance claims that might have enticed a perpetrator?"

No.

"I really had very little of value in there."

An audible sigh crossed the pond.

"Alright. I just had to ask. If we find out any more information we'll be in touch. And if you can think of anything−you have my number."

"Thank you, detective," she said flatly as she hung up.

A calendar reminder popped up on her screen. Five minutes until her first appointment. Slipping her hand down her ribcage she pressed her fingertips against her dress, testing for sensitivity. At least it no longer hurt to the touch. A deep breath occasionally resulted in a tiny twinge of pain, but she was healing every day.

Sophie glanced at the paperwork for the accountant manager heading to Berlin. The call from Trenton would have to wait until later to be analyzed.

Finishing up, Sophie was prepared for a rare early departure from the office. Alas, the flashing light in the bottom corner of her monitor indicated that was not to be the case. Amanda Newton posted a note on the internal messaging system requesting a meeting in her office at 5pm.

Sophie went to Amanda's office and stood courteously outside the door as the feminine British lilt could be heard engaged in a debate. The beveled glass wall allowed for a distorted image of the queen of _Blue-Link_ ruling the company behind her marble altar. The office was as posh as the woman herself, decorated in Oriental art to give it a museum flare.

A buzz alerted Sophie and the double doors opened without Amanda ever rising from her desk.

"You were looking for me?" Sophie felt as awkward and as intimidated as the first time her mother took her to confession.

"Sophia." Amanda waved her hand in invitation. "Yes, please come in."

Sophie noticed that the intriguing diamond ring was on Amanda's right hand. It was a detail she hadn't caught before. The stone bore a blue tint. It was beautiful. It matched the woman's eyes.

Self-consciously, she glanced down at her attire. A black sweater-dress with black boots that came up just below her knees. It was presentable, but it was not the same as the silky white blouse and navy pencil skirt that showed off Amanda's long legs in elegant fashion as she rose from her desk.

"Are you leaving for the day?" Amanda nodded at Sophie's pocketbook with folders popping out of it like a business woman's jack-in-the-box.

"Umm−"

Was she about to be flogged for leaving at five? The first week after her hospital stay she had struggled to work as many hours as possible to catch up. Now in her second week had she earned _slacker_ status already?

"I finished up with the last of my appointments today. I was just going to take this paperwork home and complete it."

"Paperwork?" Amanda's pink lips formed a demure smile. "Good for you. Paper is probably safer than everything we have online."

Not if it was in my storage unit.

"I have been meaning to get together with you, but the schedule has just been insane." Amanda held up one pink-nailed finger and whispered, "Just a second." She then poked a button on a console that looked like it could launch several space programs. "Liz, please hold my calls for the next hour. I'll be back at six."

With another pleasant smile, she walked on high heels to a closet secreted behind a potted tree. Emerging in a white rain coat that must have come straight from a Paris runway, Amanda smiled as she tugged her hair over the collar.

"I thought we could run to the pub next door for a few minutes to chat."

The pub? Amanda Newton in a pub?

"Sure," Sophie stammered. "Now?"

"Yes," Amanda consulted her cell phone, her thumb scrolling through pages of email. "Unless you have somewhere you need to be. I won't keep you long. I have to get back here for a meeting."

All sorts of thoughts rushed through Sophie's head. Should she come back afterwards as well? Was that expected? Was this the proverbial last supper? Was Amanda taking her out to fire her? Did she fear that Sophie was going to make a scene in this posh office?

Amanda looked up from her cell phone with one golden eyebrow perfectly arched. "No, I'm not firing you. And no, I don't expect you to work tonight. There is no reason for you to have the absurd schedule that I do."

"But−what− _how_ did you just do that?"

Slipping the cell phone into her leather purse, Amanda stepped forward and held her door open. "We all have bosses, Sophie. We all have the same fears."

Still reeling, Sophie started through the opening on numbed feet.

" _You_ don't have a boss," she hesitated, "right?"

The graceful blonde hesitated, cocking her head to the side as she replied in a sober tone, "I am accountable in ways much greater than any single boss can dictate."

A flick of her wrist and the lights went off. Behind her the London skyline came alive with twinkling brilliance. There was no delineation between floor and ceiling. There was just glass. If felt like one could just walk behind Amanda's desk and launch off the building into the cold gloves of night.

An elevator door dinged, beckoning Sophie from the magnificent view. On the street, she felt edgy. Shouldn't someone of Amanda's stature have a security corps around her? Sophie drew short of flexing her muscles in intimidation to the nameless faces trudging brusquely through this alley of skyscrapers.

The glimpse of the forest green and gold painted pub contrasted with this sterile business mecca. Sophie had never noticed it before because it was in the opposite direction of the Underground station.

Grey Wolf Pub. Est. 1896. It looked ridiculously small−tucked into a crevice between two high-rise constructions, as if they had gutted everything on this block, but the old pub prevailed.

Amanda clutched her cell phone again, her thumb performing calisthenics as she bowed her head into the wind. On that breeze traveled the scent of money. It permeated the sleek alleys between colossal banking institutions. Blending with that economic potpourri was the pungent aroma of smoked sausage and the crisp musky scent of a fireplace.

Amanda opened the door without looking up from her phone. A roar of voices filled the street. Men and women in suits, each raised their pitches an octave higher than the person next to them in order to be heard in the cramped quarters.

A blend of stale beer and musty upholstery assaulted her senses.

"This way," Amanda tugged on the sleeve of her coat as she weaved them through the horde lined up against the glossy wooden bar. The place was so compact that you either sat or stood at the bar−or you captured one of the few tables opposite it, next to the windows. Every seat and stool seemed occupied until Amanda dipped beneath a spiral staircase and gracefully climbed a barstool, hooking one long leg over the other while tossing a beckoning nod at the bartender.

Despite the protests of patrons demanding their spirits, the stout, heavily-bearded man appeared beside their tall bistro table and tossed down two coasters. Sophie watched the wolf head coat of arms wobble into place.

"A Pilsner, Miss Newton?" he handed Amanda the tall glass, seemingly familiar with her preference.

A perfunctory nod budged her sleek hair. "Cedric, this is Sophia. Treat her well."

Cedric bowed his head at Sophie as two extra chins formed beneath his beard. "What may I get you, m'lady?"

Sophie glimpsed the tall blonde ale with a momentary longing. Alas, no alcoholic beverages for her−not for a while, at least. Dr. Panos had advised that alcohol didn't mix well with concussion recovery.

"Just water, please." Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

_How lame am I? It's my first British pub_.

Not missing a beat, Amanda injected, "Sophie just had a car accident. No pilsners for her just yet."

Cedric placed a furry red hand over his white apron. " _Ock_! Water it is. Good to see you out and about." He turned and was immediately swallowed by the throng behind the bar.

"I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to speak with you," Amanda said as she took a brief sip from her glass. "I wanted to see how you were feeling, and to ask how work was going." She paused and surveyed the crowd. "Sometimes−sometimes I just like to get out of that Eiffel Tower. Sometimes business isn't so harsh if it's conducted from this stool."

Amanda Newton−drinking a _beer_. Not just drinking a beer, but drinking it in a crowded pub at Happy Hour. Sophie had so many questions. Questions like, where are you from? The accent was British, but there were moments it was infused with something sultry−moments when the lilt lifted. Also, she wanted to know how this woman was able to achieve her position at such a young age. Amanda was maybe a couple of years older than her, but it was hard to estimate because the woman looked flawless.

"Was this table reserved for you," Sophie asked instead, feeling the other questions were far too forward. "I mean this place is packed."

Amanda nodded with a quick smile.

"I rang up Cedric and let him know I'd be down here. He treats me well."

If not a direct question about the woman herself, Sophie tried a different tactic. "I certainly understand my HR role at _Blue-Link_ , but I'd love to know more about the company in general. I realize that it works with risk management on a global level, but what all does _Blue-Link_ do?"

Approval registered in Amanda's eyes. "Consider _Blue-Link_ as a mini security force to warn you, the big business man, against volatile commodity markets. We scope out competitive pricing margins in the region. We analyze and protect our customers from the unknown versus that which is in their control. Catastrophic weather is not in their control, but knowing that weather conditions in a particular region can impact business is."

Sophie followed the blue diamond ring as Amanda waved her hand.

"Some companies just don't want the burden or responsibility of research. Our personnel take that on for them."

Drawing her finger down the side of the glass, Sophie asked, "How did you get involved with _Blue-Link_?"

After the pause lengthened a buzzer blared in her head. _Bzzzzzz−wrong question_.

Amanda twisted her wrist to reveal a pearl-faced watch. "There'd never be enough time before my meeting to go over that tale."

Although the smile was polite, the color in the woman's eyes diminished slightly.

"So seriously, how are you feeling?" she quickly averted.

Still anxious, Sophie nodded her thanks to Cedric as he handed her the glass of water. "Much better," she said. Only a couple of aches and pains, but they're fading."

"You could have taken more time off." Amanda was the only woman who could make sitting on a bar stool elegant. "I know you're afraid that you've just started, but I see great promise in you, Sophia. Already it is trickling back to me that your conduct with the _Blue-Link_ transfer employees has been exemplary."

Sophie doubted anything _trickled_ back to Amanda. No doubt that flash messages appeared on the woman's cell phone the moment Sophie finished up with a client.

"Thank you," she sputtered humbly.

A group of businessmen hefted away from the bar, elbows clanging as they donned their jackets and stampeded towards the door. In single file they marched out into the night, letting a lash of cold air in behind them.

"I wish you had a better introduction to our fine city," Amanda offered a tepid wave to one of the retreating patrons. "That's Jeremy Whitmoore from Barclays. He thinks he's God's gift to banking—and to women. If that were true, I'd be first in line to return the gift."

Sophie's teeth clinked the rim of her glass as she stifled a laugh.

"I certainly don't blame London for the accident," she confessed. "The city is so beautiful, and the fact that I've come here at the start of Christmas season−well, it's like London put on a big 'ole bow just for me."

A flash of white sparked between Amanda's lips. "Perhaps it did." Her gaze leveled and the teeth disappeared. "So how far are you looking to go in this company?"

To your rank.

"I'm a firm believer in working to the best of my ability. If advancement comes from that, I am indebted for the reward. But too many people," her eyes slipped to the throng at the bar, "look for the upgrade before they even focus on the work."

Amanda pushed her drink aside. The thin line of froth had barely budged.

"Well said." Her hands splayed on the gnarled grain. "The last job listed on your resume was two years ago. I confess that I researched the gap. I can't have surprises in my company."

The water in Sophie's stomach turned into a boiling cauldron. She held her tongue. There was nothing that could be said other to curse Nathan to hell.

"It looks to me as if _you_ should have been in charge of that firm."

If Sophie was seeking a wry grin or any token of humor in the statement, Amanda's tight lips and firm gaze gave no indication.

"I−he−it was−" Fumbling, she took a deep breath and folded her hands on her lap. " _I_ should have been in charge of that firm," she confirmed quietly.

That earned an approving smile from her boss.

"So, would you have any desire to travel for _Blue-Link_? There are some branch offices that I would like to get a better grip on. I could use your candid input."

And just like that, the previous topic was literally off the table, and her tenure with _Blue-Link_ was nearly clinched. Sophie would have reached across the stand and hugged Amanda, but beer or no beer, there was still rigidity in the woman's posture. She did not look like the _hug_ type.

"Yes. I would definitely be willing to visit other offices. It enables me to understand the business better, which also translates to a more confident liaison for the new employees passing through London."

Amanda held her glass up in salute. "I knew you were going to be a great asset. Welcome to _Blue-Link_ , Sophia."

For the first time in weeks, Sophie felt like she belonged. She felt comfortable−and dare she say, safe. She raised her glass and tipped its edge in Amanda's direction. "Thank you. And I really mean that."

Another crowd of patrons stood up from the table closest to them. One woman, and four very attentive men. The woman was attractive, but she was no match for Amanda. Frowning, Sophie leaned in and murmured, "Please don't be offended by my questions, but how do you avoid that type of attention? You−you−well if I'm going to be frank," and suddenly she felt she could be with this woman−to an extent, "I would think the men in here would pounce on you−so to speak."

A feminine chuckle rumbled beneath the sound of their departure.

"I believe you extended me a compliment somewhere in there. Thank you." She sipped at her beer. "The men that frequent this pub know better."

She left it at that and set her beer aside again, barely touched.

"You see how quickly they file out of here. From 5 to 6 the Grey Wolf is packed. Happy Hour. It's not about discounted drinks or free hors d'oeuvres. What you see in here is a milieu of acronyms all beginning with C. Chief of this. Chief of that. For one hour, they come here to conduct business. To relax. To meet mistresses. But at six o'clock they return to the office to complete the tasks that cannot be executed during business hours. Such is the life of these financial leaders."

Grabbing her clutch purse, Amanda rose gracefully on high heels. "I have to head back myself." She tossed a nod at Cedric behind the bar. Either he waved back, or he was swatting down one of the tap handles. "But you stay here. Cedric is bringing you a plate of the Wolf's specialties."

"He is?" Sophie swiveled atop the barstool. "But I should get back too−"

"No Sophia." Amanda stood before her. She was tall enough for their eyes to be level even with Sophie perched atop the stool. "You are under orders by me to take it easy for a while. No late office hours." She pointed and the blue diamond glistened under the bar lights. "You heal," she commanded. " _Then_ we'll talk about your next steps."

"But−" _I am healed_.

It was too late. She was talking to Amanda's slim back. _Sheesh_. The woman might as well have said, _"Dismissed"_ with a military salute.

Not interested in staying behind, Sophie reached into her purse for some money to leave for Cedric−to cover whatever the Wolf specialty was.

"Interesting company you keep."

A current charged through her. Electrocution would have had less of an effect than the low timbre of his voice.

She didn't even bother to challenge how he came to be standing beside her. His furtive appearances were commonplace enough−like a ghost. But still, the impact of his voice and his compelling presence always proved to be a shock.

"Why don't you go stalk _her_? She's much more interesting." The rogue spike of jealousy angered Sophie.

"Not my type." He neglected the stool and stood with a hand resting on the elevated table.

"You prefer brunettes?" she baited.

Glenn met her eyes and energy crackled up her spine.

"No," his pitch was low. "I prefer women who have information on Nathan Bethard."

Uggg. Can I gouge his eyes out?

"Damn you," she seethed. "I can't help you."

To add to the madness, Cedric the bartender suddenly appeared with a plate of miniature hot dogs wrapped in bacon.

"The house special, Pigs in a Blanket," he announced as he set the steaming platter down. "They are one of Miss Newton's favorites."

Sophie felt blood flood her cheeks. This was one of those absurd moments in life. One of those instances where you thought surely a camera was filming fodder for a new reality show.

Cedric stood with a patient smile awaiting some sort of approval over the Pigs in the Blanket, while beside him, approximately six inches taller, the gorgeous _Shadow_ stood with not even a glimpse of humor on his face. Not even the crack of a grin. Nothing.

"Thank you, Cedric. They look wonderful," she choked out.

To her relief it was enough to send the bartender away with a complacent toss of a towel over his shoulder. He disappeared into a doorway at the end of the L-shaped bar.

That left her with Mr. Charm.

"Have a Pig in a Blanket." She thrust the plate at him.

Steady gray eyes watched her, his lips set in contemplation.

"Damn you," she bristled. "Smile! Laugh! Yell! Do something. Register a goddamn emotion!"

She went so far as to jab her finger into his chest. It was unyielding−probably made of cement, just like everything behind it.

And still he regarded her without a flinch. His jaw muscles remained chiseled. His lips, unyielding.

It was a face that riveted her. It was a face that was always with her−often in shadow−but always there. Always searching, demanding−

What? What does he want?

Fighting for balance atop this uncontrollable tightrope of anger, she lurched forward and kissed him.

There was a jolt. She felt his head snap back, but her hand was still on his chest, and was now used to fist around his shirt, locking him into compliance.

Initially she wanted to shock him−to draw any semblance of a reaction out of him.

_But God, his lips_. So full. They had captivated her every time she looked at them. Some wicked part of her subconscious had wondered how they would feel sliding across hers.

Curious. Powerless. She kissed him again. Longer. Slower. Careless of the waning crowd.

This was wrong. This stemmed from rage. She couldn't think. She was making a colossal fool of herself. Heck, he wasn't even touching her. As best she could tell, his arms still hung down straight at his sides.

Then she felt it.

His lips slanted across hers. Slow. Sinful. They tasted and drew from her in a heavenly way. Her hands dropped from his chest to ball into fists at her hips. Surrendering to the insanity within, she continued to kiss him.

Cold air and a boisterous greeting sounded from the door. The intrusion zapped her from the spell like an ice shaft to the heart.

What have I done?

Appalled, she tried to back away, but the barstool blocked her retreat. It was impossible to control her limbs. They trembled as if she stood atop her own personal earthquake.

She did not dare look up. She did not dare meet his eyes. The mortification was overwhelming.

Grabbing her purse, she blindly yanked out a 20 pound note and threw it on the table. Shouldering past the brawny obstacle, she hastened out into the night.

Several steps down the sidewalk the physical effects of her actions overcame her. Perspiration broke out across her forehead while her body was racked with chills. Her stomach rolled as if she stood at the helm of a ship on a tumultuous sea.

Slowly the light around her began to fade.

Somewhere the words, " _Jesus Christ_ ," sounded−and then she was weightless.

There was warmth. Instinctively, she burrowed into it. Her fingers clawed, digging, wanting to draw more of the heat around her, like a quilt. Gradually the darkness receded as blood began to flow back into her head. She was aware now that he was carrying her, moving at a brisk clip to cross the street. Each contact of his shoe against blacktop echoed between the lofty towers.

Two hours ago this area would have been bustling with corporate activity. In the evening it became part of the netherworld. Humans did not exist here.

"Put me down," she demanded feebly.

In a few strides he reached an alley between buildings where he set her on her feet. Cloistered from the wind in this narrow fissure, she rested her back against the stone wall for support.

Engaged in a stare-down, both of their chests still heaved.

"What the hell was that?" he yelled.

Thrusting a hand into his hair, he paced before her with a dark expression on his face.

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't know what came over me. I—I—I just wanted to shut you up for once. I wanted to stop your questions."

"You think you can seduce me into easing up on the Nathan questions? Is that it? Is that your ploy?"

"Goddammit, it wasn't a ploy."

"It's not going to work, you know."

"It wasn't a ploy." Desperate, her glance roved over his hard face, and his mouth, and those tumultuous slate eyes.

"I don't know what came over me," she croaked. "I just suddenly wanted to—I wanted to kiss you."

"Christ." He swiped his palm over his forehead.

"Dammit, don't act so righteous. You kissed me back! Maybe you didn't hold me. Maybe your arms stayed at your sides−but dammit, you kissed me."

Her stomach rolled at the recollection. Warmth pooled deep inside her. The darkness encroached again.

"What the hell do you expect? You're ridiculously hot."

"I'm hot. Right." Sarcasm dripped from her voice. _Did he not just see me sitting next to the hottest woman in the world?_ "So that's it? There was nothing more? That kiss felt like—"

Without warning, he leaned in and combed his hands into her hair, using his body to pin her against the wall. His lips met hers. Hot. Demanding. Consuming.

Unable to think, her eager fingers reached for him, grabbing his jacket collar. She wanted this kiss. It was a mad hunger that could not be tamed. Her lips parted and she felt him pour inside her. His whole body moved in until she was mashed flat against the stone siding. His desire pressed hard against her and she arched into it.

_More,_ her mind screamed.

As if Glenn heard, his hands dropped from her head to her rear, pulling her tight against that pressure.

They would combust. She was sure of it.

But, in the next instant cold air enveloped her. Afraid to open her eyes, blindly she tried to assimilate what just transpired. With great reluctance she finally pried her eyes open to look at him.

He stood a foot away, his lips parted with slight puffs of air coming out on every rise of his chest. Those eyes—those penetrating eyes that were always on her now pinned her to the wall as boldly as his body just had.

"Yes," his voice was raspy. " _Yes_ , I kissed you back."

Still paralyzed, she watched helplessly as he walked away.

CHAPTER SEVEN

What the hell just happened?

Glenn had to get away.

He didn't go far, fearing for her safety. Damn, she almost passed out a few minutes ago.

Slipping around the corner, he stooped with his hands on his knees and tried to suck in a breath.

_Yeah−way to save her, Barber_.

Kissing the hell out of a woman who suffered a concussion was not admirable in any respect.

In those days at Sophie's hospital bedside he had come to memorize every facet of her face. In repose it was beautiful−an exquisite cameo. But when her eyes opened and he got to glimpse that sexy, sleepy blend of sun and cognac he knew he was losing sight of his goal. Every day Sophie had become less of a means to an end, and more of a temptation. Resisting that temptation became as consuming as the will to find Nathan.

And now she had just kissed him. Holy crap−what a kiss it was. If he stayed a second longer he would sink into her and never come up for air.

Get a grip.

She was angry. She was lashing out. He had pushed too far and he respected her retaliation. But he never anticipated her expressing it in such a manner. And he _never_ anticipated his loss of control. Even now he longed to kiss her again−but that was not going to happen. He was not here for romance. Romance had not been a consideration in a long time.

Another deep breath and the chilly air began to tame his body. Feeling that he was composed enough to face her again, he rounded the corner into the alley.

Sophie was gone.

It took a moment for the cold to permeate the fog in her brain. No element of weather could subdue her racing pulse, however. Sophie raised a hand to her forehead, feeling the clash of heat there. Maybe she had a fever. At least it would account for her insane behavior.

Glancing up and down the alley she accepted the fact that he was gone. That was for the best, right? She was completely mortified. But it would have been easier to crucify herself if he hadn't returned her kisses.

It didn't matter. He was gone. Most likely for good. Surely he determined that she was a head case and no longer a viable source of information...not that she was before.

_No more Shadow. No more stalking_.

Sophie righted her purse over her shoulder. Along with her coat, it had been knocked askew by the ferocity with which he had kissed her.

_Stop it!_ Don't think about it.

A sigh escaped her lips, creating a puff of smoke in the cold alley. Orienting herself, she calculated that the Underground station was to her left and took off in that direction. A glance down at her chipped watch revealed that it was only a little past six. Originally she had intended to go shopping after work today. She didn't want to go back to the Marquis and sit up on her perch, dwelling about what happened with Glenn.

Sophie began to march with no particular destination in mind. Logic dictated that it wasn't safe for a woman to walk alone around the city at night, but as she neared the Thames there were enough tourists and activity to put her at ease. She reached the Millennium Bridge and joined several others traversing the pedestrian crosswalk that spanned the river. Strolling up to the railing, she glanced back over her shoulder at the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. It was grandly illuminated and reminded her of the Capitol Building in Washington DC. In the distance the Tower Bridge stood with its twin majestic towers connected by a lofty walkway. She wanted to see it in person, but the temperature was getting chillier−enough to cool down the flush of her cheeks and the rush of her blood.

Leaning her elbows on the metal bannister, she glanced down into the black current of the River Thames.

"Don't you dare jump," warned a deep voice from behind.

A tremor charged through her. Mutely she noted that the intricate railing would prohibit any such action.

Drawing back her shoulders, Sophie turned around to face this nighttime assailant.

There was no way to prepare for the impact of him. Exposed under the arcing lights, his solemn expression could compete with the river for most daunting character. Thick black lashes staved off the wind so that his eyes remained steadily locked to hers. And his lips−even now she felt the memory of their assertive siege on hers. The recollection alone was enough to incite cardiac arrest.

"You have no worries of me jumping," she glimpsed behind her. "I'm a big coward, and that water looks−black−and cold."

Sensing movement she turned in time to see him advance. There was a brief glimpse of steely determination and then strong hands rose and sank into her hair, while his thumb brushed her cheek. And then he kissed her−filling her with the taste of his lips.

This time, however, it was tender. This time the soft torment was painfully poignant. This time his arms came around her and the wind was cast aside−no match for the brawn that embraced her. This time, instead of clawing and yanking him closer−she collapsed against his chest and met each warm kiss with raw passion.

When he gradually drew back she whimpered.

"We need to talk," he rasped into her hair.

_Talk?_ She didn't want words right now.

His arm slipped around her shoulder and she remained tucked in that warm realm, undeterred by the maelstrom raging inside her head.

Wind reached her face, its bitter sting a harsh slap of clarity. Despite the desire to look up at him−to read his face, she had to tuck her chin in against the persistent gusts.

"I−I don't know what came over me," she stuttered. "I've never done anything like that before."

Walking so close she could feel his chuckle rumble deep inside his chest. _Chuckle?_ He chuckled?

"You were pissed at me." A smile wove into his words. "You just had a unique way of expressing it."

Her feet stopped and she pressed back against his arm so that she could see his face. "That explains my reaction. What about yours?" She raised her hand. "And don't tell me it's because you think I'm hot."

There it was−revealed by the lights of the Millennium Bridge−a grin. _My God, it was beautiful_.

Just as quickly it surrendered to the shadows. "We both know that I shouldn't be kissing you," he acknowledged soberly. "It is not what I'm here for."

She grabbed the lapel of his jacket. "Then why?"

For a moment he just looked down at her and every cell in her body wanted to merge into him. When his knuckles dusted under her chin she wanted to tuck her head down and kiss them.

What is going on with me?

"Do you feel it?" he asked huskily.

There was no need for clarification. She felt _it_. Whatever _it_ was...she definitely felt it.

"That's why," he whispered.

Cold air sliced between them as he stepped back. That frigid barrier worked on her senses. _Get a grip, Diem_.

"This is why we have to talk," he added. "So, let's get out of the cold at least. I'd offer to take you back to my hotel, but−"

She noticed his free hand reach up to rub the back of his neck. "That's probably not a good idea right now."

"You think I'll take advantage of you?" Sophie mocked halfheartedly.

"Something like that."

Again, perhaps a phantom of a smile. But like all phantoms−it would never be caught on film.

"Did you eat at that pub?" he asked.

"Umm−no." It was hard to focus on such a simple question. Was her stomach even capable of holding anything down? It was in such turmoil. "I had water."

"Good. You listened to your doctor."

As they walked, his arm brushed against hers with every stride. "I was afraid that your reaction might have been−"

Reading his thoughts, Sophie's lips twisted. "You were afraid I had some sort of traumatic brain seizure as a side-effect from my concussion?"

This time she caught a streetlight flash against his teeth. "Well," he pondered, "that does sound more logical than you wanting to kiss me."

Stooping over, she placed her palms on her knees.

"Sophie!" His hand was instantly on her back. "Are you alright?"

It began as a giggle and then she righted herself so that her lungs could expel the laugh. It rolled out of her in waves until she had to clutch at a cramp in her side. The laughter was just another facet of hysteria she had exhibited tonight.

"I'm fine. You know what? I'm starving. Will pasta work for you?"

Stunned for a moment, Glenn shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Pasta." His head nodded in consideration. "That sounds good."

As luck would have it, the first Italian restaurant they encountered oozed romance. It was dimly lit with Chianti candles on every table and soft music piped in. Targeting them as a passionate couple, the maître d' escorted them to a secluded booth beneath a faux stone archway. He handed each a tall red and gold embossed menu and asked for drink orders.

Sophie shook her head and Glenn said, "Just water for now, please."

That earned a frown from the man with slick-backed hair and a starched white shirt. As he strode away, Sophie focused on the menu to avoid meeting Glenn's eyes. What in God's name could she say to him? She had acted like a fool tonight−and at the same time she had practically made love to him up against a wall.

"This is my second dinner with you and I'm still debating whether I'm supposed to contact the police to report you."

"Quite the quandary," he volleyed in his intoxicating voice.

Sophie peeked over the vinyl binder and saw only one crooked dark eyebrow. His eyebrows were the most expressive part of his face. No, that wasn't true. It had to be his lips−the way they thinned in consideration and then filled just before he lowered his head to kiss her.

"So what is your decision?" He sat back, startling her.

No, his eyes were the most expressive part. All along she had found them to be as dark as the _Shadow_ himself−closed gates prohibiting anyone from getting a glimpse inside. Now a trace of light from the candle touched them. They weren't as harsh a shade of gray as she originally thought.

"About what to eat?" she squeaked.

"About the police."

Sophie set her menu down. The candles and the music, and indeed the man himself were thwarting all her efforts to think.

"You said we needed to talk," she deferred. "So, talk."

Glenn was offered a reprieve by the arrival of the waiter. Sophie hastily ordered fettuccine alfredo, while he ordered lasagna.

As soon as they were alone again, Glenn ran his finger around the rim of his water glass. The motion riveted her. His fingers captivated her. They had been in her hair, holding her still for his kiss.

Sophie coughed. Tapping on her chest, she murmured, "Wrong pipe."

"Sophie−" he began. The sound of her name from his mouth still made her tremble. "I'm sorry I haven't been upfront with you all along. Of course I've come across as a stalker−as you refer to me." His lips curled up at the edge and immediately fell flat again as if he was testing out the gesture and couldn't quite maintain it. "I haven't exactly been rational in the past few months. Part of me realizes that. Part of me just doesn't care."

Like her, his gaze had been traveling the bounds of the restaurant, avoiding a connection, but now he looked directly at her. The water lodged in her throat as she tried to swallow it.

His hand waved as if dismissing an internal thought. "You already know about me. You know about my daughter. You have our records."

Sophie frowned. "I'm not sure what you think I know. I told you that our records comprise of your name, your daughter's name, her age, and the reason for her visit with Bethard Counseling. They do not include the context of her visits or any of the personal communication that took place during each session...so again, I'm not sure what you _think_ I know."

Some of the tension around his eyes eased. It was replaced with shadows−the shade that only deep angst could achieve. And still he looked hauntingly beautiful.

"Fair enough," he conceded. "What do your records say are the reason Gretch−my daughter came to you?"

She caught the wince−as if his daughter's name was too painful to utter.

It was time to switch to a more clinical mindset. How could she, though? How could she divest herself when she had all but made love to this man against a stone wall in an alley in London?

"They simply said that your daughter was suffering from depression after the death of her grandmother."

The _Shadow_ was back. Stark and inscrutable. Oh, what a fortress this man built.

"That was all it said," she claimed in earnest.

The waiter appeared to inform them that their meals would be out shortly. Just what she wanted. Her stomach was churning with anxiety−not hunger.

As soon as the attendant was out of hearing range she leaned forward to repeat her statement.

Glenn was staring at her in a way that made her breath hitch. This was not the passionate zeal she had glimpsed just a short time ago. This was not a man who looked like he wanted to slam her against a wall and kiss the hell out of her. Quite the contrary. Jaw muscles were rigid, literally locked and incapable of speech. Even his posture seemed honed so tightly that he might crack. Releasing his merciless grip on the water glass, he reached up and swiped his hand over his jaw.

"May I share a tale?" he asked.

Judging by the sharp set of that mouth, she didn't think this was going to be _The Little Mermaid_. Her nod was immediate.

"When I was eighteen," he started in a hoarse voice, "I was seeing a girl. I fell head over teenage heels in love with her−and she got pregnant." Wide hands fanned in defense. "I wouldn't say that I was upset with the news. Hell, I wanted it all. Marriage. Parenting. I wanted the whole package."

With her eyes riveted on the powerful hands, she watched dismayed as they fell flat atop the tablecloth−like hunted birds dropping lifelessly to the ground.

"Darcy gave birth to our perfect little girl," he cleared his throat, "but she wanted no part of the child. She had already been accepted to UNC. She confessed that she felt nothing for me and that she just wanted out of the whole situation." Dark eyebrows inched up. "So just like that, Gretchen was mine."

Sophie watched the knot pass down his throat and fought the need to touch him.

"My mother never flinched. She uttered the only two expletives she ever used in her life to mark the departure of Darcy," he said dolefully. "And in a heartbeat, she became Gretchen's surrogate mother. It wasn't a matter of me just handing my daughter off to my mother. Not at all. I abandoned any notions of college and started working just after graduation. It was worth it to come home every night and hold my baby girl and rock her to sleep."

The image of this brawny man cradling an infant in his arms touched Sophie's heart. Observing the curve of muscles beneath his white button-down shirt, she tried to imagine someone so athletic holding something so fragile.

"After two years of that, my mother encouraged me to go to college. I was able to attend an ROTC Navy reserve program at Temple, which still let me come home every night. There were times away for boot camp and other training sessions, but my career path kept me local."

"You said you were a ship's mechanic," Sophie inserted with a thick voice.

A corner of his lips curled up. "I did, didn't I? Well, yes, I was an engineer. The training became very lucrative when I eventually went freelance."

Their meals arrived and each sat staring at the steaming plates. Glenn tried to force a smile but it better resembled a seizure.

"Let's eat. I can talk about this later."

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Sophie reached across the table and wrapped her fingers around his forearm.

"No, Glenn. Please finish. I need to know."

His glance lingered on her hand. Beneath it she felt a muscle spasm. Even his body was locked in internal conflict. Reluctant, she finally withdrew, but only to remove her touch−her hand rested only inches away from his.

"There's not much more to tell," he exhaled. "Gretchen was growing up so fast. I bought a house, but we were close enough to my mother that Gretchy could go there after school."

A poignant smile eased the stark lines on his face.

"Then Gretchen decided she wanted to play the snare drum in marching band." His eyes rose to the heavens in mercy. "All peace left both households. My mother bought an iPod and plugged it into her ears while giving Gretch a thumbs-up every time she practiced over there."

The smile evaporated.

"Then it happened." He cleared his throat and took a moment. "Gretchen went to her grandmother's house directly from school one day−and found her. It was a heart attack. Gretchen tried to perform CPR but the doctors later told us that she must have passed away earlier in the day. I rushed home. It was the longest hour in my life. I hated that Gretchen was alone−facing this with the one woman who had ever been a mother to her."

He clasped his hands together into a single fist.

"Gretchen withdrew after that. No matter how much I talked to her...no matter how much I held her...she wasn't the same girl. She gave up the snare drum, but she kept up her grades. She basically just went through the motions−" he hesitated. "So, I took her for counseling."

"Oh Glenn," Sophie's shoulders deflated.

Childhood pangs of loneliness roiled inside her chest.

"I wish I had been there the day you both walked through the door. I would have enjoyed meeting Gretchen. She sounds like a wonderful girl. I lost my mother at an early age as well. I would have talked to her. I would have shared her pains."

"Yes," he said. "It's very misfortunate that you weren't there that day."

His voice was flat. Void of emotion. But they had come this far. There was no turning back. The question had to be posed.

"What happened?"

It took nearly a minute before he hoisted his eyes. They flickered to hers for a second and she wondered briefly what they had looked like when he held that infant daughter. Surely vibrant.

"When I first mentioned counseling, Gretchen completely balked. But when I explained that it wasn't a psychiatrist−that it was really very informal, and just an opportunity to talk with a licensed stranger rather than someone close, she came around to the idea. Once the sessions started, no matter how politely I pressed, Gretchen would not reveal any of the conversation that took place with Nathan Bethard. And when I spoke to the man himself, he assured me that she was opening up and coming to terms with her loss."

"To me," he continued, "it appeared as if she was withdrawing even further. I was ready to cancel the sessions altogether when Nathan Bethard called to say she had completed her time with him−and to wish us the best of luck."

"What?" The volume of her outburst caught the attention of a nearby couple. She leaned in. "That's unheard of. The client determines when their sessions are done. No wonder you can't stand the guy."

Sophie shook her head and crossed her arms. "I'm so sorry that you received such unprofessionalism. When was this−almost two years ago, right? I'm trying to think of what he had going on, but he really never talked to me."

"Sophie−"

The glum tone muzzled her.

"My daughter passed away that week."

CHAPTER EIGHT

The shock was so staggering that the walls began to cave in. No, they began to melt. Burgundy wallpaper pooled to the floor—images of Venice weaving into a blood-colored puddle. On the table, the Chianti bottle looked like it was at the far end of a tunnel as she felt herself drawn into that vortex. Resisting the tug, she struggled to regain her wits.

"No," she whispered.

Glenn did not meet her eyes, but she saw them glow−the sheen of unshed tears. It broke her heart. It also alerted her. Was this a vendetta? Did he place the blame of his daughter's death on Nathan? Was she dealing with someone so overwhelmed by grief that he had become homicidal?

"Please don't look at me like that." He met her glance. The shadows of torment had abated. Sharing his tale proved a catalyst for relief. "I'm not on the warpath if that's what you think. I'm not using you to hunt down Nathan so that I can inflict harm. Let me tell you the rest."

Sophie slumped back in her seat, defeated. Everything about this man tore at her. She thirsted for knowledge.

"Please."

Drawing in a breath, he held it for several seconds and then stumbled forward. "An autopsy was called for because of her age and the inexplicable cause of death. I found her lying in her bed as if she was just taking a nap."

The last word cracked and he turned to avoid her searching eyes. A cord of muscle throbbed down the side of his neck as he cleared his throat.

"When it−when it happened," he rasped, "I was beyond consolable. I condemned myself for giving her an unstable upbringing. I should have married. She would have had a mother. All along I had been so consumed with taking care of her−there was never time for a woman. Life is full of irony, isn't it?" Disdain lanced his words, but he did not wait for a response.

"There was no note left behind. No angst-written message to explain her sudden departure, so I awaited the autopsy results. Eventually, I learned that she passed away from a reaction to a prescription drug. Zoraban."

Sophie frowned.

"I'd never heard of it," he admitted. "I was informed it was an anti-depressant of sorts. I told the coroner that she had never received any prescription drugs. Of course I shared with them that she had been seeing a counselor."

"But counselors are not licensed to prescribe medication," Sophie inserted, feeling helpless.

"Yes. I was told that−even from Nathan Bethard himself when I went to confront him. I was so overwrought at the time—and Nathan was so composed. By the time I left his office he had me convinced that she had probably acquired the medication from her peers. He implied that kids these days had access to too many drugs—that she was most likely distraught, and just looking for something to help her sleep−to ease the pain." Glenn rubbed a hand behind his neck again, a gesture she came to identify as nerves. "So, I believed him. I believed that she must have asked around school for it."

"And that was it−" he concluded. "There was some minimal investigation conducted with Nathan by the coroner. Likewise, at Gretchen's high school and with her friends. But, officially it was considered a self-inflicted accident. And I was basically told to move on with my life. As much as I demanded more—well, any modicum of sympathy had been exhausted. I only hit brick walls after that."

In her lap, Sophie's hands shook. Tears lurked behind her eyes, threatening to spill out. Tears of sadness. Tears of anger. Tears of injustice. Helpless, she kept her head down, unable to look at him.

"Eventually I was able to carry on like a human being," he admitted quietly. "Time doesn't heal as they claim. Ultimately the pain becomes so intrinsic that you have no choice but to tolerate it. Nearly two years had gone by and I knew it was time to move on. Literally. I had to get out of that house. As long as I stayed there I was always going to see visions of Gretchen."

The waiter approached and eyed their untouched plates with bewilderment.

"Is everything alright? Is there something wrong with your entrees?"

Managing a polite smile, amazed that her cheek muscles worked, Sophie muttered, "Yes, yes. We just realized that we have to be somewhere. Can you possibly box these up for us?"

"Of course." He tucked his head down in submission and reached for each plate.

When he was gone Glenn shifted in his seat, stretching one leg out. It brushed against hers. Their eyes met over the table. It was not a sexual exchange, but neither moved. An innocent brush of calf against calf was a degree of warmth that she could extend to him when everything else seemed so insignificant.

"I understand if you need to be someplace else, Sophie. I understand if you want to run from me right now. I'm sorry for scaring you these past couple of months." That warm connection beneath the table was lost as he straightened his posture. Conflict lurked in his eyes. "You have no idea how sorry I am. But there are things I need to address with Nathan Bethard−and I just can't rest until I do."

With a quick nod of thanks to the waiter as he set their boxes and the bill down, Sophie reflexively reached for the check. Immediately her hand was engulfed in sinewy heat. Her eyes jerked up, consumed by the _Shadow's_ turbulent gales. Strong fingers curled gently around her hand.

"I think we both can agree that this is the least I can do."

A wistful curve of his lips irrationally made her want to kiss away the pain.

Get a grip!

Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from that heat and watched as he pulled his credit card out of his wallet and set it atop the bill.

"I still don't understand," she stuttered. "I don't understand why you are after Nathan. The police exonerated him...and heck, if he had anything that he was hiding, they would have discovered it when they rifled through his history a month ago after he jumped ship and took our client's money with him."

Glenn crossed his arms and nodded, as a chorus of _'O Sole Mio_ bounced off the ceiling.

"There's more," he admitted with a twitch of his thumb. "When I finally decided to move out of the house I was like a machine−just tossing everything in boxes without looking at them. Every damn item I picked up held some private memory of Gretchen. A ceramic candleholder she made me in first grade. A Dallas Cowboys jersey." For a moment he travelled to a happier time, easing the constraint around his mouth. "I was a Giants fan. Do you know what it's like to have your daughter announce that she likes the Cowboys?" His hands rose in the air as if that notion was preposterous. "She thought that Tony Romo was cute."

After a moment the illumination faded and he continued with shuttered words. "But you just can't stop yourself. You just have to look at each one and suffer that moment of pain and remembrance. It is the beginning stages of the healing process−or so they say. And I did. I looked at everything. Every report card. Every sheet of homework−" His expression froze. Even his hands stilled in midair. "−And then I found it."

A mass contraction of each cell in her body occurred at those words. What more could the fates throw at this man?

"What did you find?" she barely voiced the question.

"A journal." Full lips compressed with resentment. "Ironically, it was inspired by Nathan Bethard. Gretchen wrote that her counselor told her to jot down her feelings−that it would help identify with them better. And yes, I felt invasive reading it−and reading how much she missed her grandmother tore at my heart."

He reached for the glass of water and took a sip, while handing the check and his credit card to the passing waiter.

"There was nothing unexpected in the journal. It was just painful to hear Gretchen's voice in text. But then−then it changed." Fisting his hand on the tablecloth, he shrugged his shoulders to try and shake off some tension.

It didn't work.

"Then she began to write that she dreaded going to the counselor. The date was about three weeks before the end of her sessions with Nathan."

It seemed like he couldn't find enough air to fill his lungs. As his head dipped down Sophie allowed a brief glimpse of horror to overtake her, but by the time he looked up she had regrouped and managed an encouraging nod.

"Gretchen wrote that he was giving her medication−"

"Oh God−" This time her control fled. Covering her face with her hands, she repeated, "Oh God."

Glenn went on. "About a week before their sessions ended she wrote that he touched her."

"Glenn!"

It was as if by crying out his name she could make him stop.

"The second to last entry she stated that going to the counselor wasn't so bad. In fact, she suspected she slept through the whole meeting. She couldn't even remember that day's session, and she didn't think he touched her anymore. The sleep was wonderful. She hadn't been able to sleep recently and what he gave her helped so much. She wrote that she was going to ask him for more−"

Perspiration broke out on Sophie's forehead. Her palms grew moist. Beneath her sweater dress she could feel goosebumps prickle her arms.

"You went to the Police, right?" she choked out.

His eyebrow cocked. "With what? A diary that I could have written myself to frame someone?"

"But−" Clamping her lips together her mind raced with the negations and vacuous promises the Police would present to Glenn.

"Yes, I went to them. I'm not bashing the police," he admitted. "I know that they have their hands tied in red tape. If I can do any legwork...then it's easier to approach the Police and they can follow through with their job."

Protests bubbled up in her throat.

"That is why I found you, Sophie. So much time had passed since Gretchen−since it happened. Almost a year and a half when I located that diary. My first impulse was to call the authorities. My second notion was to call Nathan Bethard. I followed through on the second notion first...and discovered that he had closed down his practice. Even the reports in the newspaper were ambiguous. They did reveal that he had shut down the practice without warning−or that he left clients in the lurch for money."

"He did." Sophie's head bobbed. "Even me."

Glenn sat up, his elbow clanking against the tabletop. "He took money from _you_?"

"Some. Yes."

"Goddamn Nathan Bethard." His hand fisted again.

It was a similar oath to what she was reciting in her head.

"I am not on a vendetta, Sophie." He regarded her intently. "I can't bring Gretchen back. But I want answers and I won't get those answers if I don't talk to the man directly. The law will intervene and he will be lawyered up. Please don't be afraid of me. I'm not psychotic." He collapsed back against the seat. "Well−yeah−you must think I am. I didn't want to be known as the dad who was so overwrought with grief that he'd lost his mind. I needed to approach this methodically−and I guess I've failed."

Considering him in silence Sophie sorted through the bedlam. His tale was tragic. Very tragic. And she understood his motivations. They weren't rational, but would she be rational in his position? Wouldn't she be beyond consolation and looking to lash out−to take down the man who did this?

"I'm not afraid of you for all of that−" she whispered.

Glenn's gaze darkened. Alert now, his taut frame inched forward as his glance dropped to her lips and lingered there long enough to make her tremble.

"That−" He shook his head as if to cast aside his demons. "I'm sorry that happened. I don't know what came over me. I really don't want you to be afraid of me for that. It won't happen again."

_You said I was ridiculously hot_.

"Look," he grabbed the bag of food and slid out of his seat. From this perspective, she felt like Jack at the bottom of the beanstalk. "Maybe it's best we go now. You've had quite a night."

Sophie used the table to support herself as she rose. Secure fingers wrapped around her forearm. She did not resist the aid and offered a feeble smile as she mumbled, "When you said, _we need to talk_ −you weren't kidding."

One corner of his mouth hefted. "It wasn't a conversation to have in the street in front of your apartment."

Outside, the temperature had dipped considerably. Sophie tugged the lapels of her black wool coat tightly together. Glenn walked beside her, but gone was the warm enclave of his arm. Instead his hands were tucked into his pockets and his profile had once again been consumed by the shadows.

"I'll see that you get home safely, and then I'll go."

Sophie nodded mechanically, her throat constricting.

Too many emotions. Haunting recollections of this rock hard body tight against her was tempered by the gravity of his tale. Lust to taste his lips again tore at her fallible side. The prudent side knew it could never be. That moment in the alley was a raw connection wrought from despair, sorrow and hunger. It was a recipe that could not be repeated. Though attraction curled like lava inside her−it had to be tempered. There was nothing she could offer this man to ease him on his journey. Not even her kiss.

"Glenn, I wish I knew more−more that could help."

They clamored down the steps into the Underground. In the near empty station, their tread reverberated off the tiled walls. A busker with an acoustic guitar sat on the bottom step, his case open to catch coins. About to reach into her purse for something to toss in, a tell-tale gust alerted that a train was coming. In seconds the screech of machine against steel announced its arrival.

As the doors parted, she grabbed onto a pole instead of sitting on one of the benches. The trip was only a few stops long.

"I'm not sure what you're looking for," she continued. "The records are generic−" The acrid smell of exhaust crept through the closing doors.

"Sophie." Concern scored lines around his eyes. He reached to touch her, but his hand hesitated and dropped back down to his side. "Are you alright?"

"The records," she repeated, her body swaying to the erratic rhythm of the train as it began to move. "There was a fire−they burned."

Glenn tensed, the flex of muscles in his neck pronounced. "What fire?" he asked guardedly.

Troubled by his intensity, Sophie swallowed hard. There wasn't a drop of saliva in her throat.

"My storage unit in New Jersey," she whispered. "The facility had a fire and my unit was one that was destroyed." She wrapped both hands around the pole for support. "The hard-copy records were in there. All the civil cases against Bethard Counseling had obtained copies of the cases they were trying. No one cared about the whole lot. It was old information that they had no need for. No one was filing any lawsuits for the old clients, so the paperwork was just left in the office. I didn't know what to do with it−and I only had a short time to vacate the office, so I lugged it all home." She caught her reflection in the window as black cement walls dotted with ads sped by. "And then came the relocation to London. I didn't have time to shred them all, and I was afraid to do so in case the lawyers needed something−so I put them in my storage unit."

She waited for a reaction−some calm assurance that the fire meant nothing, but strain narrowed Glenn's lips, and his eyes were averted.

"I mean," she continued, "that sort of thing happens all the time."

"As often as getting hit by a cab," he murmured.

If there was any hope that he was joking, the earnest set of his jaw dispelled it.

"Sophie−"

Still the sound of her name on his lips, no matter the context, made her erupt in goose flesh. What would it do to her if it was uttered in bed?

Lost in that ridiculous thought, the lurch of the brakes as the train pulled into station caught her off guard. She stumbled forward into his chest. An athletic arm wrapped around her and steadied her. The nearness gave him the opportunity to delve into her eyes.

"Sophie, you know that something doesn't add up. I can see it in your eyes. I can see that shrewd brain of yours trying to align the pieces. Just like me, you've got your suspicions."

"Other than Nathan bailing on all his clients and disappearing off the face of the earth? Yes, dammit, I'm curious. Yes, dammit, I'm pissed that he took my money. Yes, dammit, I'm angry because it's personal. How could you treat an associate−a sometimes _friend_ like this? And yes−dammit−something doesn't add up, but I can't figure it out. I keep playing all the last days with him over and over in my mind. There were few opportunities to talk, and there were _no_ big clues. No alerts. And now−your story−"

Lunging through the doors at the last second, Sophie jogged to a halt on the platform, spinning to see if Glenn made it out behind her.

Except for a patch of ruffled hair, he looked unfazed by the close call. Eagle eyes assessed the handful of commuters on the platform. That sharp gaze scoped out the stairwell and the opposite landing.

_I was hit by a cab because I wasn't focusing on my surroundings._

Even without Glenn's input, recently her imagination was creeping to the foreground like a tenacious snake. Whether there was a legitimate threat out there or not, it was time to practice more caution.

And still her mind resisted the notion that Nathan Bethard was capable of malice. It was one thing to embezzle from employees−but to destroy a young girl for a perversion−a sickness? It was near impossible to equate the two Nathans. All she had ever met was the reticent, but determined Nathan Bethard. Glenn made her realize that there was another side to the man.

She needed proof, though. Glenn's story was one she would never wish on anyone, and the dark pain and determination in his eyes spoke of the severity of the accusations−but she needed proof.

Was it possible that she possessed incriminating evidence? She'd looked over the records in her search for Glenn. Nothing jumped out.

That was going to be her first priority tonight−to go through the records again. Well, if she was to be honest, her first priority would be to have an absolute meltdown and remember every second that Glenn's mouth was on hers. Even now her gaze dropped to his lips and her heart lumbered at the recollection.

"Do I even want to know what's going on inside your head right now?" he probed in his husky voice.

"No." _Definitely not_.

Fire kindled in his eyes and his free hand curled up as if he was waging an internal war.

"It's probably best if you don't look at me like that," he warned. "I want you, and that can't happen."

Why?

All valid arguments fled through the underground tunnels on a swift current. Desire kicked up her pulse. She still felt every hard inch of him pressing her against the stone wall.

_Think of his daughter_.

That proved the proverbial ice bucket.

Sophie hoisted her purse high up on her shoulder and clamped tight on her _to-go_ bag.

"I−I think we better part here." _Be strong! Keep going._ "I guess if you believe that Nathan is responsible for destroying my storage unit−then you know he's back in New Jersey. So you'll most likely be heading back there now−"

Why does that thought make me so sad?

Days ago she would have been doing backflips to find that this man was finally leaving her alone.

Steady eyes held hers and then Glenn broke the connection, tipping his head back. It drew her to the sleek line of his throat. God, she wanted her lips there.

Dammit.

"I'm not heading anywhere yet," he declared softly. "And right now, there's no way in hell I'm not going to follow you to your front door, Sophie. You almost passed out tonight. I'm worried about your safety, and I−"

You what? Say that you want to be with me tonight.

Clearly she had lost her sanity. This shadow was a harbinger of chaos, and she needed to make a beeline away from him.

Glenn's eyes smoldered for a moment and then his head bowed. "Just to the front door," he reaffirmed, but then added wryly, "I promise you that the next time we have dinner, the subject matter won't be so dismal."

"The next time?" The words escaped before she could check them.

Moving in close enough to eclipse the streetlight, Glenn reached up to cup her cheeks in his palms. Heat infused her there. Instead of fear, her body hummed with anticipation. As his head dipped, her eyes dropped closed and her head lolled back.

"Yes, Sophie," he whispered so close she could feel his breath dust across her lips. "There will be a next time."

When the warmth of his hands fell from her face, she opened her eyes. His gaze was still locked to hers, but now he held her hand and was pressing a piece of paper into it.

"My cell−just in case."

"But−you're a _shadow_ ," she whispered in a daze. An enigma. Enigmas don't have cell phones."

As he took a step back, the streetlight cast a horizontal bar across his face. In this glow he was made of steel, every feature hard and tenacious. Even his half-hearted grin looked like he strained to achieve it.

"I'm a man, Sophie," his voice was husky. "Just a man."

Sophie watched his back as he rounded into the netherworld that never failed to claim him.

CHAPTER NINE

Sophie fumbled with the keys to the front door of the Marquis. Casting an edgy glance over her shoulder, she found that the street was empty. A couple's laughter wafted from further down the block, and in the distance a fire engine screeched its European siren. _Nee-noo. Nee-noo. Nee-noo._

Inside, the main hallway of the Marquis was dimly lit by brass lanterns affixed to the saffron-painted walls. Treading as quietly as possible on the wooden floorboards she reached her apartment and tried to steady her trembling hand. Suddenly she wished she had grabbed Glenn by the lapel of his suede jacket and yanked him in here−not necessarily for lust, but for safety.

Okay, for lust.

Pushing open the door, she thrust her hand inside and fumbled for the light switch before crossing the threshold. The breath she released was a gale force wind. In the glow of that single bulb, everything appeared normal.

What had she been expecting? Charred remnants of her possessions? Slashed curtains? Broken glass?

Hastily locking the door behind her, she tossed her purse on the double bed, tempted to climb to the lofted twin above it.

No, she needed to focus on work. If she were to lie down she would be eaten alive with thoughts of Glenn−of the man himself−of his tale−of his lips.

_His tale_. Was there anything in her records that could provide a clue? She stepped back to the bed to retrieve her laptop and remembered that she had left it at work in her haste to meet with Amanda. _Dammit._ There goes that plan.

Crossing over to the bedside table, she switched on the lamp...and gasped. A slow pivot revealed that there was no devastation−no slashing of cushions or wrenching of drawers. But someone had been in here. The signs were not obvious. Whoever it was had been discreet.

Sophie paced, methodically inspecting every telltale sign that something was off.

Normally a stack of paperwork from _Blue-Link_ sat on the right-hand corner of her kitchen table. Now it rested a foot away from its original nesting place against the wall. It was always tucked against the far-right corner to reduce her chances of knocking it off as she passed into the kitchen.

One of the kitchen cabinets was ajar by less than an inch. Nonetheless, a deviation such as that would have driven her mad. Call it OCD, but she would never leave a cabinet ajar. Cautiously opening the panel, she found the dishes inside untouched. Tracing her hand along the kitchen counter, she reached her bedroom. A tiny gap in the second drawer of her dresser was another conspicuous signal. Hauling open each drawer there was no doubt in her mind that the clothes had been touched. Feeling slightly nauseous, she moved on into the bedside closet. There was no light in the tiny storage area. It was too small to conceal a person lying in wait. Standing on the tips of her toes she peered at the shelf above her hanging clothes. Spare shoes were stacked there−shoes that would not be viable until spring. One burgundy strapless pump lay on its side. It would take a pretty strong aftershock to knock it over. And then there was a dark brown sandal paired with a black one−a mistake she would not make.

Sophie quietly closed the closet and crossed into the living room, grateful when her feet landed on the throw rug which muffled her steps. There weren't many areas for storage in this small apartment. Most everything she owned was out on public display. She sat on the loveseat and opened a drawer in the lamp table at its side. This contained spare matches and candles. Perhaps they were muddled through, but there wasn't enough organization in the compartment to tell.

Seated with her damp palms clamped together, her eyes settled on the bathroom door. It was the only place someone could hide. To confirm this, she dipped her head down low and peered across the floor under her bed. Nothing. Her gaze rose to catch sight of her purse on the bed. It contained her cell phone−and Glenn's phone number. It would take too long for him to get here.

So, what were her choices? She could avoid all beverages and pray she never needed the facilities, or she could stride over there with no weapon and haul open the door and be killed by some homicidal maniac. Generally the latter would happen in the movies. Not always the most sensible woman, she still liked to pride herself on being slightly more cautious than that.

Sophie snapped up from the couch and grabbed her keys. Launching into the hall, she locked her door behind her and began to tread backwards towards apartment _A_. With her eyes still glued on her door, she blindly reached out and knocked on the wall to her left.

Muttered protests were followed by an unidentified thump and a scrape of wood. A pie of light poured out around her feet and a disheveled Sam Pierce filled the doorway.

"Sophie?"

He clutched the doorframe in lieu of the cane he must have left behind. Embarrassed by her intrusion, Sophie kept her eyes down and noticed his slippers. By day he must have worn special shoes because now the slouch of the left half of his body was more pronounced. Mortified to bother him, she was about to call it off and go face her fears.

"Is it the pipes? That bloody plumber can't get anything right."

"No, no." Her eyes finally climbed and caught a glimpse of bookshelves with hundreds of books stacked every which way. The corner of a coffee table revealed a paper plate nearly diaphanous from the oil it had soaked up.

"I just uh−well, did anyone go into my apartment today?"

One blue eye came alert. The other was shrouded behind a tousle of copper hair.

"No." His grip inched up the doorframe to elevate his stature. "No one will ever be permitted into your unit without you being aware of it," he huffed. "Even if the damn pipes blew up, I would have to call you first to advise you that we have an emergency and that I will be accompanying a plumber into your unit with your permission." Red infused his one visible cheek. "Of course, there was the exception of your accident. I tried to call the hospital, but you were still unconscious. Only under the word of Amanda did I permit someone in to retrieve a few essentials−and I did accompany the lady."

"Oh, no worries, Sam." That knowledge pleased her. "I am so appreciative of that." But, it still did not explain the obvious presence in her apartment today.

"Many _Blue-Link_ residents hold high-security positions within the company," Sam elaborated. "The Marquis was chosen because of its lack of vulnerabilities−with only one main entrance. The back door to the garden is locked and can only be accessed by the six residents with keys."

"That sounds perfect." Sophie assured. She certainly didn't want Sam to get angry. He was an exemplary landlord. "The Marquis has been great. It's just−"

His eye narrowed.

She felt like a damn fool. "It's just that it looks like−perhaps−someone has been in there. I mean−things are moved−and the bathroom−" Every word she stammered was another bulls-eye in the lunatic target.

"What about the bathroom?" His frown deepened.

"I'm going to sound silly."

Sam pulled back his door and something furry shot out past her legs.

"Oh!" she cried.

"That's just Bean. Or Bean Head as I call him. You want silly? I just spent a half hour trying to teach that damn cat to shake his paw." Sam stuck his head out to see which way the feline went.

Sophie saw the reflection of two small eyes from five steps up the interior stairwell.

"He's on the stairs−should I grab him?"

Sam snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that." He waved his hand in dismissal. "No, Bean's got free reign of this complex. He'll be back after he's had his walkies."

The diversion was enough to quell some of Sophie's nerves, but a glimpse at her apartment door brought them all back.

"So, _the bathroom_ you were saying−"

"Right," she nodded. "Well−"

"Do you need me to come look at it?"

"Yes!" _Sheesh, get a grip_. Sam was awesome, but between the two of them, they weren't about to overpower some assailant. "It's just a stupid fear of mine, but it looks like someone has been in my apartment, and maybe−well, I was just afraid to open the bathroom door."

_Ding. Ding. Ding._ She could hear the warning bells ringing inside Sam's head. She didn't want to be labeled one of _those_ women. A troublemaker. The crazy lady in apartment _E_.

Sam's single eye assessed her shrewdly. The deliberation lasted long enough to make her squirm and search again for the cat. Bean.

"Well," he hoisted himself off the door jamb and limped a few steps to the couch. "Let me get my cane."

Sophie remained fixed in the hall. How ludicrous to trouble this man.

Truth be told, she wanted Glenn. He was the only man to understand her fear and she wanted to share this with him. But she had deterred him from visiting. What a fool! And he was deep in the underground by now.

"Alright then. Let's go check out the pipes," Sam beamed as he ambled through the door, closing it behind him.

Even his attire announced that he had shut down for the evening. Grey sweat pants hanging slightly longer over the left foot, and an oversized wool sweater that came down to his thighs. He swiped at his unruly hair and both eyes popped out of the tangled mess.

"I'm really embarrassed about this, Sam. I'm not a crazy lady. I just−"

"Ttt-ttt." He waved his hand. "Hush. You were just hit by a car. A concussion, I understand. I'd imagine you'd be quite gun-shy about many things," he grinned.

Sophie resisted an impulse to hug the impish man. "I can honestly say you're the best landlord I've ever had."

"I prefer, The Marquis _Prime Minister_."

"Yes, your excellency." Her head dipped in submission.

As soon as they reached her door, however, the levity vanished. Sensing her tension, Sam's posture stiffened. He reached for the doorknob. As he stepped across the threshold he released his withheld breath.

"What makes you think someone has been in here?" With his head cocked he looked like a rooster. "It's so clean. The bloody Queen could dine in here."

Sophie was going to mumble, _I just know_ , but she remained mute. Tentatively, she approached the bathroom door. Having another presence fortified her with the resolve that she needed.

Casting a quick glimpse at Sam, she saw him heft his cane in an attack stance. Someday she would look back at this moment and laugh... _she hoped_.

A soft twist of the knob produced a slight scraping sound, but nothing charged out at her as she drew the door open. Sam wobbled but regained his balance and kept the cane trained.

Reaching for the light switch, it was easy to conclude that the loo was empty. There was so little room, you could probably relieve yourself and brush your teeth simultaneously. A shower stall tiny enough to cause bruises on her elbows was empty behind the thin glass plate.

A thud startled her, as the rubber knob of Sam's cane settled on the floor.

"Well then," he cleared his throat, "that was certainly more exciting than teaching Bean how to shake paws."

Sophie's face felt like it was one meter away from the sun.

"Well," she echoed. "I feel a tad ridiculous right now."

"It's a rare day that I get to be the hero, Miss Sophie." He poked his head into the bathroom. "That damn shower faucet is leaking, isn't it?"

"Sometimes," she confirmed contritely.

"I'll get someone on that."

As Sam ambled backwards, he craned his head to inspect the room. "I was out between two and four today. I needed supplies."

"I realize my imagination must be in overdrive. I'm sure no one was in here."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "If they were−it was between two and four. I know the gait of every resident here. No unidentified strangers would get past my doorway."

Sam Pierce was a pit bull. Forget the cane. Forget the limp. Forget the impish face and shocking hair. He was a pit bull.

"Thank you." She rang her hands. "Thank you for coming in here and humoring me, and thank you for not laughing at me."

A furry red hand fell flat on the chest of his oversized sweater. "If you tell a joke. I am most certain I will laugh." He winked and then his expression sobered. "If you need me. Don't worry about the hour...just holler. I mean that. With the acoustics in this old relic, I'll surely hear you."

Unsure if she should hug him, shake his hand, or promise to wash his car, Sophie just bobbed her head. "I promised to teach you American football rules. But instead I got hit by a car."

"Ugg, Yanks and their excuses," he chortled. Tipping an imaginary hat, he took a bow and retreated to the door.

"Just holler, milady."

Sophie caught a glimpse of her cell phone as he toddled past her bed.

"I−I may actually call a friend over. I've taken up enough of your time."

"You haven't taken up my time, but I do have a bit of a deadline here shortly."

"Oh goodness, I'm so sorry."

Sam laughed and poked his head out into the hallway. In a second he retrieved it with a conspiratorial smile. "My angel from apartment C usually does her laundry on Tuesday nights. I have a load of colors to attack."

Sophie's hands steepled together before her mouth to conceal her mirth. "I can't imagine how she could resist you, Mr. Pierce."

"Right?" He rolled his eyes. "So anyway, this friend of yours−male I'm guessing?" Rusty eyebrows wriggled mischievously.

"Yes−but−" _He's just a shadow_.

Every time she tried to associate the _Shadow_ with the man who kissed the hell out of her in the alley she started to tremble anew.

"You should give him a code word," A gleam of adventure boosted the corners of Sam's eyes. "Yes! In case I run into him in the hallway while you are not around."

"A code word?" she repeated.

"Yes. Yes. It's so Bond, isn't it? How about _pumpkin_?"

"Pumpkin?"

"It just occurred to me that I have several pumpkins in the garden rotting away. Failed Jack O' Lanterns."

"Pumpkin," Sophie repeated with a smile. "I will tell him."

"Good then," he stepped out into the hall, "I'm off."

An uneven cadence thumped his retreat. She rushed into the hall after him. "Sam?"

Startled, he turned his head to look at her, but caught sight of a cobweb instead. One swipe of his cane, and the cobweb was gone.

"Hmm?"

Sophie took two steps and gave him an awkward hug. "Thank you."

Never were two words sincerer.

Even under the dim scope of the glass lanterns she could tell that his cheeks had flushed.

With a stiff pat on her back, he stumbled in retreat. "Bean, get inside!"

A calico feline slithered between his legs, her back humped with content.

"Let me go feed this wayward cat of mine."

Smiling, Sophie stepped out of the way as the two disappeared into the toasty apartment. When Sam's door clicked shut she dashed back to hers and launched at the cell phone on her bed. Unsteady fingers hovered over the keypad. Hefting her head for one final inspection, she tried to convince herself that it had all been her imagination.

I have to be certain. I can't make a bigger fool of myself.

Closing the front door, she hooked her coat up on the wrought iron rack and revisited her bedside closet. The sharp tang of mothballs made her eyes water. She crouched down to retrieve a shoebox tucked in the corner. It contained personal documentation such as her passport, a checkbook from a NJ bank account, and most recently, hospital bills. It was in the right corner where she had left it, but the hospital bills were closer to the bottom of the pile. They were the last items she had placed in this box. They had definitely been on top.

Brain trauma.

Dr. Panos' prognosis rang in her mind. Despite all the assurances that she was fine and that she was fortunate not to incur much swelling, Sophie had to wonder if she was suffering side-effects. Memory loss, perhaps? Should she wait for a follow-up visit with the doctor before calling Glenn with her suspicions?

He would be gone by then. Back to New Jersey.

Sophie's thumb jerked down on the SEND button.

CHAPTER TEN

Glenn shoved his hands into his pockets. The slap of wind against his face was welcome. It kept him alert as two raw factors tried to tear him apart. Depression and a tormenting need for justice battled with a new foe... _passion_. There was just no other way to characterize it. Kissing Sophie had kindled an emotion he thought had long run dormant.

It was just a physical reaction, right?

Oh, if only it could be that simple.

He needed to keep his torment−his despair swathed around him. It was a constant link to Gretchen.

Yes, the tiny voice in his head pointed out that his daughter would not want her existence to be forever coupled with anguish. But, any exception felt like he was cheating her.

So, what to do with this foreign battle waging inside? Sophie saw the lamenting father—so deeply entrenched in pain that he had resorted to stalking. She would never see past that. She would never see how alive she made him feel.

Deprived of sleep for too many nights, the fatigue was catching up. Still, he was reluctant to descend into the underground and return to a hotel room he had spent so little time in.

A corner mart poured a golden arc onto the sidewalk. Magazine covers were taped inside the window, and a blow-up Heineken can leaned askew on a shelf. It was the ad for coffee that drew him in.

Glenn winced against the light as he stepped inside. Locating the coffee pot, he eyed the tar-like contents skeptically. It must have been prepared twelve hours earlier. As he reached for a Styrofoam cup his pocket began to vibrate. _Work?_

Being a freelance CAD engineer allowed him to operate remotely, but such liberties came with a price. They could hound you any time of the day. Or in _any_ country.

When he saw the Caller ID he tensed.

"Sophie?" He pressed the phone tight against his ear.

Setting down the pot, he slipped out of the shop in order to hear her better.

"Glenn−"

Every fiber in his body came alert at her tone.

"Are you okay?" he asked urgently.

In the quiet West End street, the hitch in her breath was evident.

"Yes−" a hesitation, "−yes."

Already on the move, he stepped off the curb to retrace the path back to her apartment.

"It's just that−" she stammered, "well−"

"Sophie."

"Yes?"

"I'm on my way."

Her sigh of relief was unmistakable and it ignited his pace.

"Thank you, Glenn."

When the connection ended, Glenn darted out of the way of an oncoming vehicle and stalked into the shadows on the far corner of the street. On foot, he was a little over five minutes from her flat. What would he find when he got there? She said she was okay, but he recognized every nuance of her voice by now. She was afraid.

The fact that she had turned to him caused a constriction in his chest. By all rights, she should be sprinting in the opposite direction. She should still consider him a raving psycho.

But no. She called him.

Glenn's stride accelerated, his face cutting through the wind. As he entered the far end of her block he scanned the sidewalks for any signs of life−any cowardly retreats from the fool that dared to approach her. Was it possible that Nathan was back in New Jersey, responsible for the fire that claimed her storage unit? Or was he here?

Glenn had searched the public police reports on his phone. The fire took place nearly a week ago. As paranoid as it sounded, Nathan could have been here to arrange for Sophie's accident−returned to the states to see to the arson attack, and was now back in London.

Okay, maybe he did sound a tad demented.

Frenetic thoughts raced through his mind as he took the steps to the front door two at a time. Before his fist could hit the wood she was there, a slice of her face visible as she parted the door a few inches. Sloe eyes flared, but her strained features relaxed. She hauled open the panel.

"Shhh," she whispered with her pointer finger against her lips. "If my neighbor hears you, he'll come out and grill you." Quietly she added, "If you _do_ run into him, the code word is Pumpkin."

_Pumpkin_ , he mouthed.

She nodded keenly.

Following her down the hall, he saw that she had remained in the black sweater dress that clung to her body, swathing her curves as his hands had done for those mind-blowing few seconds. Slim legs were still adorned in black stockings, but she now padded down the hallway in short black socks. Were the situation not so dire, the clash of the sexy woman with the practical feet would make him smile. But her urgency spurred him on as he saw her pause before Apartment _A_ and tip-toe guardedly past it.

As soon as her door closed behind them her shoulders slipped in relief.

"That's Sam in apartment _A_. He is the landlord−no−he's more like the _shepherd_ of the Marquis. He is the dearest man alive, but I don't want to cause him any additional stress by traipsing back and forth in the hallway. After the ridiculous alarm I just put him through, he's probably got a glass against his front door, listening for strangers."

A rogue pang of jealousy startled Glenn. It was tempered only by the fact that Sophie stood before him in one glorious piece−unharmed, but definitely agitated. Unwittingly, his gaze dropped to her lips. They trembled. God help him, he wanted to kiss her.

"Why was he alarmed?" he asked thickly. "Sophie, what happened?"

When her shoulders began to quake, his fingers tingled with the temptation to reach for her.

Sophie sank onto the arm of her loveseat and dipped her face into her open hands.

"I don't know. I'm afraid now that I might be having side effects from the accident." She glanced up bleakly. "I can't afford that. I need this job. I like this job. I can't screw up because my head has been knocked off my shoulders."

Glenn released the breath he'd withheld since the moment his cell phone rang. Stepping up to her, he saw her quiver of retreat, but he ignored it and scooped his arms under her legs and behind her back and set her down on the cushion of the loveseat. Quickly seating himself beside her, his hand brushed the bangs away from her forehead, noting the warm flesh there. Warm−not the heat of fever, though.

"Do you have a headache? Are you dizzy? I'll call a cab and we'll go straight to the hospital."

Up close on the tight couch, he saw rich cognac-colored eyes searching his face, her dark lashes fanning downwards as her gaze settled on his lips. She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head.

"I shouldn't have called you," she whispered. "I had Sam check out the place. Everything is fine. I _shouldn't_ have called you."

There was a long pause in which he heard the ticking of the kitchen clock.

"And yet−" _tick tock tick tock_ , "You're the only person I want here right now."

That declaration seemed to drain her. She hugged her arms about herself and avoided his eyes. With her gaze trained on her knees she explained, "When I came home tonight−I had the feeling that someone had been in here."

Glenn's body went rigid. In his quick sweep of the modest suite he had found nothing upturned−no signs of damage or disorder. There were also no discernable weapons for immediate protection. No baseball bat. No rack of knives. No oversized umbrellas with solid wooden handles. Sophie's belongings were minimal.

Tension wormed down to his hands as they curled into fortified fists. Tonight, they would be her weapon.

Directly across from him, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the part between the blood red drapes. Why would Sophie call him? Even the Grim Reaper looked more jovial.

Casting that disturbing image aside, he focused on Sophie. Shiny streams of dark hair veiled her face as she huddled forward. He wanted to pull her onto his lap and sink his nose into that warm crook between her shoulder and neck and protect her with all that he had−his body.

Instead, he cleared his throat and tentatively touched her shoulder, urging her to recline from her tight ball. Once her back sagged against the loveseat he reached out and gently hooked a finger beneath her chin.

"Take a deep breath."

She eyed him skeptically, but her nostrils flared with a cleansing breath.

"One more," he ordered softly.

Her chest filled and she visibly relaxed.

"Okay," he said. "Tell me what you saw."

Betraying eyes sliced to the kitchen table. He followed them but found nothing amiss.

"The pile of papers tucked up against the window. I keep them there because it's such narrow access to the counter and refrigerator, and before I was always knocking the papers with my hip. I like−I still like paper. It helps me think. I print out email and items I have to tackle later, and then I sit at the kitchen table and read through them. Sometimes it's easier on the eyes than using a monitor 24 hours a day."

Glenn nodded his understanding.

"But when I came home today, that pile was neatly stacked in the _middle_ of the table."

It was enough. It was enough for him. Every second he had spent with Sophie she proved how level-headed she could be−even when the bow of life was shooting chaos-tipped arrows at her.

Still, he patiently let her continue.

"There were other things misplaced. A box in the closet on the wrong side of the floor." Her pale hand flapped like a handkerchief in the wind. "It sounds crazy, but I just know someone was in here. I could feel it. Or−I'm having a reaction to the concussion."

"Look at me."

Responding to his tone, Sophie shifted to face him. Wide eyes stared up at him. Suddenly his throat went dry under that assault.

Digging into the back pocket of his pants, he hauled out his cell phone and switched on the flashlight app. He waved it in front of her eyes. What had just been a golden halo around large dark pupils now blossomed into a boundless sunrise.

"Your pupils are constricting," he recited hoarsely.

Sophie blinked. "Are you a doctor?"

Switching off the light, he put his phone back in his pocket. "No, but I still recall a few tricks from the Navy."

As his focus seemed to always land on her mouth, he noticed that her lips flattened and the trembling returned.

"I went into the closet, but I couldn't open the bathroom door," she whispered. "I was so afraid to open the bathroom door." Even now her gaze slipped to the tiny washroom as if the devil himself was about to haul ass out of it, wielding a chainsaw.

"I called Sam to come open it with me. He−he must think I'm crazy."

Glenn managed a smile even though his heart was racing with anger and fear over this woman's safety. Nathan Bethard took his daughter. There was no way in hell he was going to hurt Sophie too.

"I'm sure he wouldn't help you if he thought you were crazy. You had your landlord here, Sophie. Why did you call me? Why didn't you call the police?"

"The police _do_ think I'm crazy. They don't believe you exist."

"If you continue to fight your battles by yourself−you may end up just like me." He reached for her shoulders, cupping them gently. "Sophie, don't turn into me."

At this close range he caught the tiny furrow between her eyebrows. There was a helluva lot of thought going on behind that pale forehead. Definitely not a concussion.

"I'm not going to turn into you, but I am damned well not going to let Nathan Bethard torment me," she affirmed. "Does he think I have something incriminating on him? Hell, you've grilled me for the same thing−and I know nothing."

It was a well-deserved verbal punch. In his desperation he had tormented this woman. The irony was that each moment he spent with her−she tormented him right back. The torture was in the temptation. Temptation to glide his fingers into that lustrous hair. Temptation to tip her head back and drag his lips down the side of her throat, and across her bare shoulder, and slip down−

"If he burned all the company records," Glenn righted himself, "what can he want from you? Did he confide something in you? Did you possibly see him with one of the girls−even inadvertently?"

"No. No." She squeezed her head in her hands. "I told you, in the past few years we had been reduced to menial conversation at the coffeemaker. I'll be honest with you−the Nathan of the past three years is not the same man who started Bethard Counseling. He's not the same man who recruited me. For the longest time I thought he was just being cool towards me because he tried to date me in the beginning−"

"Seriously?" The notion floored him.

Sophie grinned. "It did not work out. Why−" she tilted her head. "Are you jealous?"

Aww, fuck it.

Wrapping his fingers around the back of her head, he held her as his mouth crashed down on hers. The kiss was hot and urgent and Sophie's lips parted to draw every wild essence of it in. Two fevered brushes against that bliss. One. Gradually he pulled back, hating the taste of cold air that passed between them.

"Maybe a bit," he whispered huskily.

Long brown eyelashes fanned over pale flesh as her eyes remained closed and her head lingered at the angle of their kiss. The lure to dive right back in was intense enough to steal his breath.

When she sensed his withdrawal her eyes fluttered open. At this close range he could see their struggle to refocus. Clarity finally dispelled the shadows of passion.

"I see," she croaked.

His hand was still in her hair and his thumb was tracing a circle against the warm skin at the top of her neck.

"I am bad for you, Sophie. I am damaged and I've already caused you so much terror. I can never make that up to you. Regret is all I know. It's all I am."

Tentative fingers skid across his jaw.

"Do you regret just kissing me?"

"No." It was sincere. It was hopeless.

Her chin inclined and her eyes dropped closed as she tried to draw his mouth to hers.

God help me.

He touched them so briefly, scarcely a caress and then drew back completely−out of the danger zone.

The stupor of passion faded from Sophie's eyes as she pulled her shoulders back and fanned her hands out on her thighs. When she met his gaze there was intensity and determination there...and a little something extra that humbled him.

"Maybe you'll learn that life isn't filled with regret, Glenn," she said softly.

Before he could respond, she rose and hugged her arms about her, brushing her biceps to incite heat. Thick socks muffled her tread as she walked the few steps into the kitchen. At the table, she paused, deep in thought.

_Damn the temptation_. The urge to walk up behind her and draw her back against him was overwhelming.

Sophie's head jerked up.

"He must know." Pivoting around, she snapped her fingers. "He must have guessed."

"Guessed what?" _This can't be good_.

"That I scanned the records and put a copy on my laptop." She brushed her bangs away from her face. "And he came here tonight, searching this apartment for that laptop−only, I left it at work because I was going to go Christmas shopping tonight."

Adrenaline surged through Glenn's veins, and this time it was not lust at the root of it. Could Nathan really be here?

"If there was something incriminating in those records," he hedged, "then why didn't he destroy them to begin with? Before he abandoned the office?"

Sophie's bangs bobbed in agreement. "There was something about his departure−it was so unexpected. One day he was in the office, and business was as usual. The next day he was just gone. Maybe he wasn't expecting to leave so quickly. Maybe he didn't have a chance to erase everything." Her eyes widened. "He did try, though."

Glenn's eyebrows inched up.

"City officials came for his computer, which they reported had been stripped clean. So they asked me for the office records. I told them everything was on our server, which they confiscated. They searched the office and asked about the boxes of folders. I told them that they contained records from several years back that had not been stored into the database yet. As the defendants filing lawsuits were all current, the information on the server would have satisfied their needs."

A look of horror stole over her face. "My God, I wasn't withholding evidence. I offered them the boxes. They weren't interested. And still, I could have shredded everything because the business was closed, but I felt it was best to hold onto the records in case the law did come back for them. And then−"

"And then−" he prompted.

"I started scanning the old documents at home because I had nothing better to do at night." A pale hand folded over her eyes on that admission. "And finally, I knew I had a long flight ahead of me, so I wanted to have the folders on my laptop so that I could see if they linked to you."

Vivid golden eyes clashed with his under the ceiling light.

"Alright," Glenn rubbed the back of his neck. A whopper of a headache was building up steam. "Look, let's sit and write down as many details as we both know. Then we'll figure out the next step."

Fatigue stamped tiny shadows beneath Sophie's eyes. This was not a case of head trauma as she had feared, but this was a time that she needed rest the most. If it was ever revealed that Nathan was responsible for Sophie's accident, God have mercy on his soul, because Glenn didn't know how much control he could rein in if he ever came face to face with the man.

"You look tired, Glenn," she uttered softly. "I have an idea."

We go plant ourselves on that double bed and I make love to you at least eight times before falling into the first ever blissful sleep?

"Why don't we have the dinner we never got to eat earlier?"

_Or we can do that_.

Not even waiting for an answer, she rattled through the plastic bag on the counter, and reached into the cabinet, pulling out plates. Glenn grabbed his bag from the coffee table. It had only been an hour since they left the restaurant, and he had kept the food refrigerated by pacing up and down the Kensington streets in the frigid weather.

Anxious to see Sophie eat and gain strength he suddenly became conscious of his own hunger pangs. There were days where he thought he'd never have an appetite again. Now he had hunger. So much hunger.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"So, what do we do now?" Sophie forked her fettuccini. Even reheated it tasted heavenly, but fatigue was starting to overrule her senses.

Exhaustion did not cloud the view of the man sitting across from her, though. Signs of wear etched fine lines at the corners of hooded eyes. The path of dark stubble accentuated his angular jaw above which full lips were set in an insistent band.

"We go to the police," he declared, leaning back against the chair. "I truly believed the guy just skipped town. There are many countries with young women that he could have easier access to, if that's what gets him off. But if he's here, there's no way in hell I'm going to let him hurt you."

Sophie shuddered and set her fork down. "As you've pointed out, we won't have much luck with the police." Halting his outburst with a raised hand, she added, "I propose an alternate plan."

Dark eyebrows dipped. "And that is?"

Reaching for her water glass, she took a fortifying sip and announced, "I team up with you and _we_ find Nathan. Maybe he snuck in this flat, or maybe I'm just not wrapped too tight after the accident−either way, it has brought to light that my laptop is the last piece of evidence we have on Nathan Bethard. Hell, I'd go to the office right now to retrieve it, but security is heavy there. Heavy enough to assure me that my computer will be there when I get to work in the morning."

"And he may just be waiting for you to leave with it tomorrow afternoon." Glenn cautioned with a growl.

Sliding her elbows forward on the table, she took in the full force of her _Shadow_ and murmured, "Then you have until tomorrow afternoon to rest up, Mr. Barber. We have our work cut out for us."

Well I'll be damned. I think he might have just smiled.

If he did, it disappeared. A thousand protests seemed to be lurking behind his lips, waiting to spill out.

"So, we've got an issue here." His protest was replaced with candor. "It's stupid enough for _me_ to take on a criminal, but I'm not going to put _you_ in his path−"

"Stop right there, Mr. Sanctimonious." She raised her hand. "It was all fine and dandy to put me in your path every day when you were grilling me about Nathan."

"Because I would never hurt you," came the rough declaration, "I just wanted information that I believed you had."

"Bah." Her hand waved in dismissal. "We're two relatively intelligent people...a naval engineer and an ex-counselor-turned corporate mentor."

"Ex naval engineer turned private practice. God damn, I want you."

What?

Heat flooded her cheeks. Level gray eyes were trained on her so long and hard that she felt naked. No, she _wanted_ to be naked. She wanted to yank off the sweater dress that suddenly felt insufferably hot.

"Wh−what?"

Strong fingers scrubbed at the bristle on his chin. If only she could feel that bristle scrape across her chest−

"Which brings me to my original point." His tone was husky. "We have an issue here."

It felt like the entire plate of fettuccini was lodged in her throat. She tried to swallow down the obstruction.

"What is the issue?" she squeaked.

Behind her, the clock ticked. _What? What? What?_

"You." The single word wrenched from deep in his chest. From that region came a soft rumble as he cleared his throat and rose from the table, his chair scraping the wooden floorboards.

"Look," he paced on the throw rug, "When you kissed me today−" In the ambient light his eyes pierced her. "That−that just shouldn't have happened. I can't do that again. Every time I look at you, I want to taste you−and I just can't do that."

" _Why?_ " Had the word even drifted across her lips? She felt like it was still trapped.

Stepping up to one of the windows, he brushed the heavy drape aside. In the glass she saw his somber reflection. Even now−even in this state of darkness and turmoil she found him so attractive. He took the whole _tall, dark, and handsome_ thing to another level.

"Because I came here with a personal mission. Maybe it's a vendetta. You got tangled up in that, and now you're in jeopardy. Nothing good can come to you by being associated with me. I told you that I am damaged, Sophie. And I'll be damned if I allow you to be damaged too."

She was advancing on him before he could drop another word, but he tossed a black, _back off_ look over his shoulder. "Don't do it," he whispered. "Don't touch me."

Dropping the drapes aside, he turned to face her and her heart lumbered like it was bogged down in sludge. At the kitchen table she had witnessed an entrancing blend of determination, tenderness and desire in his eyes. Now, only a steel barricade remained. This was the _Shadow_. No smiles. No laughs. No passion. He was a man with one mission...and she was nothing more than an accessory to that goal.

Her shoulders slumped under the weight of that realization. Lethargy and despair were quick to consume her, and that left her vulnerable to the tears building up behind her eyes.

If he noticed, any reaction was concealed behind the gloom that clung to him so brutally.

"I'm going to sleep," she announced in a flat tone.

Maybe his eyes smoldered. But any hope of a reaction was tossed aside with his brief nod. "You need some rest."

I don't want rest. I want to feel your bare skin against mine.

"Sophie, I want to stay here on the couch tonight," he hesitated. "For many reasons."

There was some satisfaction in knowing that he was still tormented. Sure, it was a gallant and sensible offer. And honestly, she was upset about the possible break-in and welcomed his proposal.

But in the raw glint of his eyes, she recognized that it wasn't a sense of duty that prompted his suggestion. There was much more to it than that.

Good, let him chew on that for a while.

"You can have the bed. I sleep up there." Her hand swept up to the twin mattress suspended on its wooden perch.

Ignoring his perplexed gaze, she spun and headed into the bathroom.

Several minutes later she emerged dressed comfortably in Christmas tree pajama pants and a white t-shirt. The outfit was the antithesis of sexy−not that she owned anything of the sort.

All but the small bulb over the kitchen sink had been switched off. It was enough to reach every murky corner of the room. Enough to reveal his tall profile on the couch, his long legs stretched out beneath the coffee table.

So, he insists on the couch. If discomfort is his deal, then that's his prerogative.

Convincing herself that she was too tired to care−or too tired to want to cross over to that couch and curl up next to him, she grabbed the first rung of the ladder up to her sanctuary.

"Sophie." The deep tone beckoned from the shadows.

Every inch of her skin tingled at the sound of her name uttered so softly from his lips.

"What?"

"Tomorrow, when you return from work, we'll go through the laptop. Hopefully we'll have something that I can approach the police with, and you can get on with your life without looking over your shoulder all the time." Silence filled the room until he added, "In a few days, this can all be over."

And you will be gone.

"You can sleep on the bed," she reminded as she climbed up to her perch.

Tonight the loft offered her safety from temptation. "Good night, Glenn."

Sophie started at the harsh jingle reverberating off the high ceiling. _Damn, the alarm already_.

It was obnoxiously loud to compensate for the fact that it was down below on her bedside table. Barely coherent, she clumsily slipped down the ladder and stooped to grab the earsplitting device. In the process, her forehead smacked into Glenn's solid skull.

"What the−" He dropped back down on the bed, groping at his forehead.

"Oww." Sophie howled, holding her hands to her scalp as the alarm blared on.

Blindly she reached out with one hand to squeeze the cell into silence.

"Oww," she moaned, raising that hand back to her forehead.

"Oh my God, your head." A male gravelly voice called out.

Next thing she knew, she was locked by a solid grip on each shoulder. That grip gently ushered her to the edge of the double bed and encouraged her to sit. Unable to open her eyes yet, she stared at the kaleidoscope of bright colors glimmering behind her eyelids.

"I'll call a cab." The hands were gone. "We'll get you to the hospital−"

"I hit your forehead," she growled. "Not a truck. Although, now I can truly claim that you have a thick skull."

At her side the mattress depressed and she felt the brush of his thigh against hers. Even through her pajamas she felt the spasm of one of his thick muscles. It arrested her attention while the pain abated into dull throbs.

"Let me get you ice then."

The heat of his thigh withdrew. _No, come back_.

"No." Dropping her palm from her eyes, she lashed out in protest. "I'll be fine. It's getting better. It was the shock more than anything."

_Ahh, yes_. The mattress dipped again. Steel against cotton. The friction of his muscles against her thigh was maddening. Heat and moisture pooled low in her body.

"A shower will do the trick. I have to get ready for work."

With one hand splayed for balance, she rose awkwardly and felt the suction of air as he joined her. Firm fingers wrapped around her bicep.

"Sophie, this isn't something to be treated lightly."

Prying her eyes open, she found a ruffled, sexy-as-hell man standing before her. Dark hair was flattened on the side he slept. Creases from the pillow etched a Picasso-like pattern on his cheek and jaw. Gone was the black sweater, and now all he wore was the white t-shirt that molded against his chest with the affection of a garment well familiar with the body it concealed. As she inhaled a whiff of air, everything masculine filled her nose. Last night's musty rain. Soap from the quick wash in the bathroom before he went to sleep. Even the cinnamon apple candle she kept on the nightstand had wormed its aroma into the fabric of that t-shirt.

"Listen to me, Sophia."

_Uh-oh, the proper name_.

"Will you just stay home today? Just stay home and rest. You can call into your office and let them know that you're having some residual issues from your accident. Of course, they're going to understand. Have a carrier send your laptop here if you want to start reviewing it."

She gave him the decency of taking two stabilizing breaths before saying, "How about a big fat juicy, _no_?"

No smile from him. No sign of humor. It was as if last night every raw emotion he possessed was revealed. Bleak anguish. Flashes of humor. Scorching passion.

All of it was gone now. The aloof _Shadow_ had returned. Oh yes, he cared. At least she was pretty certain that he cared about her. But he was making it his mission to protect her. Emotions conflicted with that duty. And she'd be damned if she was going to be anyone's burden.

"Dammit," he wrenched his hand into his hair. "I can't watch over you while you're in the office."

"I didn't ask to be watched over− _ever_."

Meditative eyes met hers. "Point taken."

If Glenn Barber had a duty to uphold, so did she. Nathan wanted something hidden, and at what cost was yet to be determined. Anguish clawed at her insides, making her sick at the thought that she had sat in the next office, ignorant to his sickness.

She was no one's duty...and she was no one's fool. Nathan Bethard was not going to get away with destroying Gretchen Barber's life.

Ire built up to the point she thought her head might blow off like the lid of a tea pot.

"I'm going to shower and get dressed. There's coffee in the cabinet."

Don't look at him. He was starting to appear like a reflection.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sophie was in the shower. The blow to the head alarmed him. It was the last thing she needed. Sitting on the edge of the bed he listened for signs of distress, ready to tear down that door to get to her.

Glancing up at the bed suspended over him, he frowned.

_Really?_ If this situation were any different she would be sleeping above him alright, but not six feet. In the middle of the night he could hear her breathing so close that he reached for her. Now it was the stream of water on the other side of the door that tormented him. He could smell the mist of floral shampoo creeping beneath the crack.

It was intimate, knowing that just a few feet away Sophie stood under a jet of water−naked. Long brown hair, black from moisture was probably clinging to her slim back. Her face was most likely upturned, her eyes closed against the warm bath. Water was trickling down that sleek body, casting a thousand diamonds in its stream, and each drop he wanted to taste−

Christ. This was bad.

Find Nathan Bethard. Cleanse your soul. And get the hell out of this woman's life. She lived in a corporate world. Any one of those financial stiffs from the bar last night would die for a chance to be with a woman like her.

Glenn's fists curled around a coffee mug dotted with blue whales. The steam from the shower now permeated the kitchen. He closed his eyes and soaked it in.

When the door opened, a polished businesswoman emerged from the mist. In a crisp grey skirt that dusted over her knees, she walked on black-stockinged feet to her bedside closet where she stooped over to retrieve a silver pair of heels.

_Have mercy!_

That skirt hugged every curve as she leaned over. The temptation to walk up behind her and wrap his hands around her hips drew perspiration from his forehead.

"I'm leaving in five minutes," she announced.

"I'm making the commute with you."

She nodded, no doubt having already assumed as much.

"When I see you safely settled in at work, I'm going back to my hotel to clean up, change, and grab some things to take back here tonight−" he hesitated, "−if that's okay?"

For a charged moment she held his gaze−no, _penetrated_ it with golden spikes. What was she thinking?

"That's the plan," she declared in a flat voice.

Glenn rose from the table to stand before her. He wanted to touch her−to just reach for that heart-shaped chin and cup it in his hand. There was no doubt that she was overwhelmed. He could see it in her eyes. There was more there as well, but he couldn't look at that. He couldn't acknowledge that she was attracted to him.

The charged moment was broken as she yanked a strand of chocolate hair behind her ear and stalked on high heels over to the closet. Slipping into her coat, she reached up to a shelf and wrapped a wooly red scarf around her neck.

"I'm ready." She held her head up, but her lips quivered.

An unassuming woman with a whole lot of spunk inside.

He had to find Nathan Bethard soon.

If he spent any more time with Sophie Diem−he was going to fall in love with her.

"Good morning, Sam." Sophie smiled brightly at the red-haired man carrying a newspaper.

Glenn gathered from Sophie's description that this was the landlord. A genial flushed face was capped by a cyclone of rusty hair, and a sprinkle of red stubble dusted an angular chin. There was a general slouch to the left half of his body, but the engaging smile drew your eyes away from that fact.

"Good morning, Sophie," he beamed. A sharp blue glance sliced in Glenn's direction. "Is this him?" he asked in a conspiratorial tone.

Aware of Sophie's focus, Glenn cleared his throat and extended his hand.

"Yes," Sophie said. "Sam, this is Glenn."

"Pleased to meet you," Glenn offered as he pumped the man's surprisingly strong grip. "Thank you for helping Sophie out yesterday," he added in a low voice to exclude curious neighbors.

Sam leaned in and peered up at him from beneath bushy eyebrows. "The password?"

Glenn grinned and whispered, "Pumpkin."

Another hand pump and Sam beamed again. "Welcome. Please don't find me rude. I'm simply protecting the residents of the Marquis. I have to keep track of civilians."

"Civilians?" Glenn regarded the man keenly. "Do you have a military background?"

Befuddled, Sam shook his head. "No. I was just−" Following Glenn's gaze, he hefted his cane with a quick toss and a grin. "Oh this? Wouldn't that just be grand if I could claim this was an old battle wound?"

His laughter was infectious and Glenn nearly felt a tickle in his lungs, but instead he managed a polite smile.

"I mean it," he added sincerely. "Thank you."

Sam's expression sobered. "No need for thanks. It's my job."

"And he does it quite well," Sophie inserted. "But now, gentlemen, I have to get to work."

Angling her body around Sam, Sophie continued towards the front door, where sun rays poked at her hair from an arched window high up in the foyer.

Sam and Glenn exchanged shrugs.

Ahead, Sophie slipped oustside and Glenn caught the front door just as it was about to close in his face.

Wasn't that poetic?

1:50pm

The bio on the screen was nothing more than strings of blurred text. Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut.

Was Glenn outside? Waiting? The anticipation of seeing him made it feel as if a hundred feathers rattled around in her chest. What a fool she was. If she could go back twenty-four hours and decline that drink invitation with Amanda−

No, it would have delayed the inevitable. Glenn would have shown up somewhere else—with that same morose expression that she would attempt to kiss away.

There was a passionate man under there. All the glimpses last night were like hors d'oeuvres. Passion. Pain. Humor. Beneath all that grief was an ardent man capable of tearing down her inhibitions.

But grief controlled him. Grief motivated him. Grief stole his freedom. And if he did not confront it, grief would destroy him.

Dammit.

Damn Nathan Bethard.

Email came in, announced by a ding loud enough to trigger a Richter 8 quake in her arms.

Being as it was from the boss, she hastily clicked it open.

Sophie,

We have talked about you possibly traveling. I have an assignment for you in one of our branch offices. It's only an hour away by rail. It will be a one-day meeting next week with the HR staff there. I would like you to discuss some of the mentoring practices you've implemented in this office, and strongly suggest that they incorporate the same curriculum. Please let me know if this is something you would be willing to do.

Amanda

Thrilled by the compliment that Amanda thought her mentoring agenda was worth sharing with others, Sophie clamped down on the enthusiasm.

Travel?

Traveling introduced vulnerability.

This was ridiculous. Nathan was not going to control her life. There was no guarantee he was even in London. Coincidence still bore a viable argument.

Folding her arms on her desk, she rested her head against that fleshy cradle. A couple of Tylenol had eased the pain of her head-smacking incident. In the movies, aren't men and women thrust together into suggestive positions by happenstance? They don't bash heads and anger dormant concussions.

Prying open an eye, she spotted her laptop sitting on the corner of her desk. At lunch she would often exchange emails with Carolyn to compensate for missed phone calls. She didn't like using the company computer for personal correspondence, so she often lugged the laptop in. Good thing. Nathan couldn't get his hands on it.

Tempted all day to delve into the machine, her busy schedule proved an obstacle. Only a few more hours and she would go home− _with Glenn_.

How strange to know that she would be spending the night with a man. A stranger. A shadow. An incredibly attractive shadow. Even now the image of his face one second before he claimed her mouth clung to her soul. It lodged itself there, and any time she closed her eyes−there he was−kissing her again.

A calendar-reminder chimed on her monitor. Five minutes until her two o-clock appointment. Opening up the alert, she scanned the bio. _Rebecca Giordano. Little Rock, Arkansas._ An analyst bound for the Lucerne office.

Sophie brushed her hair back from her face and straightened the cuffs of her blouse. Her crazy world would have to wait until 5 to rear its ugly head again.

After typing up a response to Amanda's email, Sophie put the road trip onto the calendar for next week. Something had to give with this sordid Nathan situation by then.

Slipping her laptop into her purse, she felt a pang of anticipation. Tonight, she and Glenn would sit side by side pouring through the Bethard Counseling records.

As an additional precaution, she hitched the purse over her shoulder and pulled her wool coat on top of it. Anyone shouldering past her on the streets would not be able to snatch it.

Sophie hastened down to the lobby. Heels clicking against marble tiles, she jogged through the sliding glass doors. Slapped by the wind, she felt the sting in her cheeks as defensive tears brimmed in her eyes.

A jumble of financiers and corporate brutes forged by, long coats flapping behind them like goose wings. Raising her head, she scanned the crowd in search of Glenn's magnetic profile. Surely, he stood a foot taller than everyone here. Or was that her personal bias speaking?

Both directions yielded no sign of the man. A tiny seed of panic rooted. Any one of these faceless businessmen could be Nathan. Even though her long coat concealed her purse she felt like she had a neon arrow pointing at her. _Laptop Here!_

Starting off towards the Underground station, figuring that Glenn was caught in the rush hour stampede, Sophie tucked her head into her collar. Each shoulder that brushed against hers set her heart pounding in alert. Caught in the throng at the top of the Bank Station stairs, she was aware of every elbow, each wandering eye, and every suffocating presence. The mass moved in unison as she was dragged with the impetus.

An arm snaked around her waist and her shriek was muffled by the screech of an incoming train.

"Easy." A voice brushed against her ear. "It's me."

Relief was so overwhelming she almost caved into him. Hell, she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and mold every inch of herself to that rock-hard frame.

"I was across the street−trying to survey the crowd."

"I−I−thought that maybe you−"

"Sophie, I am not going to let Nathan get anywhere near you."

Had his lips touched her ear on purpose, or was it to be heard over the crowd? Either way, heat rose to her cheeks. Her knees lost some of their stability. The crowd and Glenn's sturdy arm kept her upright.

As they poured into the closing doors of a jam-packed train, Glenn grabbed onto a pole and drew her tight against him. The jerk of motion plied her from thighs to breasts against his sturdy body.

She gasped and her eyes wrenched up to meet his. It was like looking into a summer storm. The portent of rain loomed there, but everything else was sultry.

"How was your day?" he murmured.

Speak? He expects me to speak?

The next stop welcomed more commuters and she was now molded so tight to Glenn that the steely length of his thigh nestled between hers. Trapped within the folds of his jacket, she inhaled the birchy scent of suede.

"Busy," she croaked.

The person behind her shifted and she was able to put some air between herself and Glenn. Coughing against a strong fume of exhaust, she added, "I have the laptop."

"I can feel that." His palm splayed against the small of her back, close to where the purse hung.

This time when she looked up she caught his eyes roaming the immediate faces. Flint probes analyzed any potential threats.

"How was your day?" she countered softly, satisfied when some of the lines around his eyes diminished.

"Let's just say it's better now."

The message warmed her, but she couldn't delude herself. His day was better because he was about to find answers− _not_ because he was with her. With that sobering reality in mind she switched to the matter at hand.

"Do you really think we're going to find anything?"

Another stop−another influx of people, but some of the original throng had thinned out.

"There's nothing else he would have been looking for in your apartment, right? And he burned the original records in your storage unit."

"This is all conjecture," she reminded.

"True. But pretty strong conjecture." He glanced up at the Underground map. Theirs was the next stop. "Look," he stared down at her with those intense eyes, "we both want this over with. Nathan can't get away with what he's done. If we find something incriminating on your laptop−wonderful. But either way, we'll take what we have to the police." Dark eyebrows drew together. "I know you want me gone. You need to regain your life."

Is that what I want?

Sophie chose to stay mute.

Exiting the Gloucester Road Station, Greg's stride hesitated as they passed by the Chinese restaurant.

"We should grab some food to take back with us. It could be an all-nighter."

_On the computer−right_.

"Good idea," she replied automatically.

So much turmoil raged in her head. Eating dinner with Glenn. Having him come home with her. Having him spend the night. None of it was real−and yet she found herself wishing it was different. Wishing that it _was_ real.

Carolyn considered her life a failure if she didn't have a man to come home to. Sophie never felt like that. If it happened−it happened. But she never actively sought it out. There was plenty to keep her mind engaged.

_Like watching Jeopardy_.

Fifteen minutes later they were ensconced in the musty netherworld of her apartment. Kicking off her heels, she strode on black stockings into the kitchen area, depositing their dinner in the refrigerator. Still stooped over, she glanced over her shoulder and asked, "Wine or water?"

Heat flooded her cheeks when she found those steady eyes watching her.

"Both may be needed," he offered quietly.

"Indeed," Sophie whispered as she thrust her hand into the refrigerator.

"You can't drink, so we'll go with the water."

Setting down two Evian bottles on the table, Sophie swung back to the cabinet and hauled out some glasses.

Slipping off her coat, she hung it on the wrought iron rack and then returned with her laptop in hand. For a moment she stared blankly at the dormant device.

Would this provide the epiphany? Would it put an end to the mad swing her life had suddenly taken? Would it send Glenn on his way?

Strong fingers curled around her shoulders and gently began to knead them. At first she was startled, but his deft touch relaxed her. Her eyes dropped closed and her head fell back, luxuriating in the indulgence.

"Wh−what are you doing?" she asked hoarsely.

"Sophie," he whispered close to her ear. "You are so tense. I can see it in your neck, your shoulders−your eyes." Words and touch both hesitated. "If I am the source, then you need to tell me to leave."

His thumbs rubbed methodically at the base of her neck. Each stroke weakened her. She nearly sagged back against his chest.

_I can't_.

Suddenly his touch was gone.

Sophie stumbled forward, spinning to rest her rear against the kitchen table.

Guarded eyes watched her. Hands that had touched her so splendidly now hung at his sides, curled into fists clamped as tight as his lips.

_Hands off_.

_Hands off_.

Glenn recited the mantra until his fists unclenched.

Let's face it, he had found an excuse to touch Sophie nearly every second since she exited the _Blue-Link_ building. Not wise. Not wise at all. Maybe they were all valid reasons, but this was torture he could surely avoid.

Backing off, he grabbed a seat at the kitchen table and yanked it sideways so that he could keep his eyes on the front door.

In time, Sophie gathered herself and slipped into the chair opposite him. She took a sip of water as the laptop booted up.

"I don't even know where to start." Her fingers fanned through her hair.

He had chosen to sit across from her for two reasons. One, it curbed his desire to touch her. Two, it afforded her privacy. He didn't want to peer over her shoulder at personal records unless she invited him to.

"You said there was nothing out of the ordinary in Gretchen's file?" It was hard to get the words out, but two years of grief emboldened him. He wanted answers.

Sophie's shoulders snapped with purpose. The quiet was so pervasive, he could hear the swoosh of her thumb over the mouse pad. He followed the motion of her eyes as they scanned the text. When they hoisted to meet his it was like making contact with a beautiful doe in the woods. Alert. Wary. Curious.

"There's nothing here, Glenn. Nothing out of the norm."

She spun the computer around so that it faced him. "Here, you should see for yourself."

He took in a deep breath. Just reading his daughter's name provoked the vicious serpent wrapped around his heart.

I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.

Ignoring the serpent, he read through the brief chronicle and agreed that there was only basic information there. Perhaps this was all a pipedream. Perhaps the laptop wasn't even what Nathan sought. Maybe he had a more personal grievance with Sophie.

"Now who's tense?" came her soft whisper.

It was an accurate zinger, and he mulled it over. "I know you think I'm crazy. The police, the coroner−everyone has written my daughter off as another distraught teenager. I came close to believing them. And then I found the diary."

"I don't think you're crazy, Glenn. Maybe I came close to it−" her teasing smile stole some of the tension from the room.

"So−" She dismissed the topic and moved on. "When I was looking for you, I had divvied up the patients into groups based on sex and age. There were three girls under the age of eighteen. All of them were counseled by Nathan."

"Norah Chaucer and Cassandra Boransky." She pointed at the screen and recited, "Both were counseled for three to four weeks, one in early 2013. One in late 2013. Their records are equally vague, but that is not suspicious. As I explained, these are not the counselor's notes."

"Okay." Glenn rested an elbow on the table. "How many records in total would you say?"

Sophie rose and walked to the window, hauling closed the brocade drapes. Continuing her circuit, she stooped to turn on a bedside reading lamp. A soft glow filled the room now, blanketing her in an ethereal light.

"A little over a hundred," she sighed.

Crossing over to the kitchen she dropped back down onto her chair and her face glowed blue from the monitor.

"I'm just going to start reading names aloud. Maybe the litany will strike a chord." Drawing in a deep breath, she began. "Daniel Anderson from Bordentown. Age 45. Regina Cooper. Hamilton Township. Age 38. Stuart Wozniak. Trenton. Age 55."

Glenn reached for a water bottle and studied Sophie's face as she continued her recitation. Halfway through the alphabet, her voice cracked and she grabbed her bottle as well. Riveted, he watched her head tilt back and tiny quakes rumble down her throat with each swallow. When she finished, her tension was palpable−a beast to be reckoned with.

That beast needed air. Restless, she rose and leaned her elbows back against the kitchen counter. Angling her neck to the left, she failed to crack it. Rich brown hair slid across her shoulders, gliding over the satin blouse. With her arms locked against the counter, a gap in the neckline revealed a wedge of glossy pale flesh. Nothing could tear his eyes from that seductive fissure.

_It was going to be a long night_.

Sophie stepped up to the table and continued to recite the names aloud until she shook her head in frustration.

"This is pointless."

Rather than admit that he agreed, Glenn stood up and circled to the counter. Golden eyes widened. Pouty lips dropped open at his approach. God, he wanted to slip his arm around her waist and haul her against him. She was so close. So accessible. So tempting. Those lips beckoned with sensual allure. _Come taste me._

A rough cough cleared his throat. "Why don't we eat?"

It was impossible to meet her gaze and risk revealing a hunger that wasn't for food. Instead, he shouldered past her towards the refrigerator.

"We still have Italian food leftover. We could have that instead of the Chinese."

It sounded so domesticated. There had been dates before, but nothing that ever felt natural. In this minuscule kitchen, with this gorgeous woman−it was intimate.

Sophie snapped out of her spell and joined him, stooping over as their shoulders connected.

"I'm going to be honest," she whispered in collusion. "I could eat fettuccine every day for the rest of my life."

It was the first time in a long time that a genuine smile rooted on his face. It felt... _natural_.

Just a few inches−that was the span that separated their mouths−a slight gap charged with warm moisture. Desire pounded in his veins.

_Kiss her_.

Instead, his hand fisted around the cold Italian container as he stood upright. "I think I could eat fettuccine every day for the rest of my life too." Implication thickened his voice.

Without her heels, Sophie stood a good six inches shorter than him. A heart-shaped jaw tipped up and eyes the color an oak forest in autumn searched his.

"Glenn−" she whispered.

_What Sophie, what?_ Give me the slightest sign and I will kiss the hell out of you right now.

A soft palm landed on his chest. Was it to ward him off? Or was it to brand him?

It dropped to the container in his hand.

"I'll warm this up," she announced thickly.

_Oh, it's warm_.

Taking her queue, he stepped back from the clash of cold refrigeration and scorching woman. In the tight confines, his body scraped against hers. The effect sparked an instant ignition.

That's right. He wasn't in this alone. Each chance touch was unraveling her.

That plump bottom lip parted to sustain her shallow breaths. A pulse ticked on the soft curve of her neck. Its cadence matched the throbbing rhythm in his veins. Amber eyes flared up at him and a slow lump traveled down her throat before she turned to reach for the cabinet door. He stood behind her, his palms scorching with want.

There were two choices here.

He could go back to his seat at the table, and they could continue this ballet of denial.

Or−

It was like leaping across a fathomless crevasse. He took that step and his hands clenched about her hips, pulling her back against him.

A rush of air sounded from her. There was no concealing the reaction of his body. Rather than hide it, he nestled into the soft curves of her bottom, his palms splaying across her waist, locking her to that heat.

" _Glenn_."

Dipping his head, he nudged aside her hair as his lips reached the soft patch of skin behind her ear. It smelled of citrus, and tasted like bliss.

Satin arms trembled atop his until her palms settled on his hands, drawing them tight around her. A subtle stir of her rear was a byproduct of desire. It brushed against him in a manner that nearly brought him to his knees. With the counter locking her in place he pressed up against her and thought he would die in that valley of pliant curves.

As tempting as this torture was, he wanted to see her face. He wanted to look into Sophie's eyes. He wanted to know that this allure was mutual. Easing back his hips, the grip on her waist was used to urge her to turn around.

That brief moment of separation made him anxious. For so long grief and vindication had been his sole motivations. Now Sophie was clouding his purpose. At this moment his only incentive was to read her eyes.

She pivoted to face him. Her arms were crooked behind her so that she could grip the counter ledge. Soft brown lashes flared up and his breath ceased.

Beneath that veil of lashes her eyes smoldered. In them he saw a reflection of the heat surging through his veins. In them he saw golden sparks of passion and hope. It was a brilliant light that he walked towards readily.

Nestling his hips to hers, his hands climbed the slim abdomen and brushed the curves of her breasts, feeling her tremble. They continued up over her shoulders, gently tracing her neck until her head was captured in his grasp. She was beautiful−and she humbled him.

"Tell me you don't want me to do this," he uttered a hoarse demand.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

_Tell me you don't want me to do this_.

Strong fingers were twined in her hair. The delicious pressure of his hips pinned her to the counter. An inner voice commanded her to grind against him and satisfy what his touch had evoked.

Tell me you don't want me to do this.

This was her _Shadow_. A man who had stalked her. A stranger with his own agenda.

He was also the man who had sat by her side for days while she healed. A man who had returned the fiery combustion she inflicted on him. A man who would hold her and protect her−of that she was certain.

Tell me you don't want me to do this.

And here he stood before her, his mouth a breath away from satisfying her yearning. Here he was with his fierce slate eyes that spun her world off its axis.

Even now. Even this close−she fantasized about what his lips would feel like. Firm. Adept. Open.

Tell me you don't want me to do this.

"I can't tell you that," she rasped.

The brief second of hesitation was sheer torture.

"Sophie," he wrenched the husky word. "I want you."

With that, his mouth captured hers. A small whimper of need gurgled deep in her throat. Impatient hands climbed up his chest, kneading the rugged path of muscles along the way. Linking her arms around his neck she hefted onto her toes. The action plied her flat against him.

Glenn took advantage of that and dropped his hands down to her rear, hauling her tight to the most rigid part. Their tongues collided and matched the instinctive rhythm of their hips.

Frustrated with the barrier of his sweater, she grabbed at the collar, tugging fruitlessly.

"Do you want something off?" he murmured against her lips.

The affirmative sound she emitted was unrecognizable. Hell, her whole reaction to Glenn was unfamiliar. There had been dates with men. A couple even led to quasi-relationships. In comparison, they all seemed tepid. Polite. There had been no desperate need to tear off clothes− _now_.

He stepped back and hauled his sweater and t-shirt off in one swoop. Dark hair was spiked from the motion. That's how she liked it. It tempted her fingers. She wanted to curl them into that short hair and drag his mouth down to hers. Instead, they stood in a silent face-off. Yesterday when she had glimpsed him in his t-shirt, she had a good idea of how well-built he was. Now−now she beheld that glorious vista unobstructed. Wide shoulders were curved with muscle. A hunky chest was accentuated by the shadows. An abdomen that was like ripped steel was scored by a faint line of dark hair that trailed down to the rim of his jeans.

_Unsnap those jeans and I will die here on the spot_.

Reading the path of her eyes, Glenn unfastened the top button of his jeans.

Sophie's mouth went dry.

Over six feet of glorious man advanced on her and grabbed hold of her waist as he pulled her to him and kissed her hard.

Eager hands roamed that rugged landscape of warm flesh. Bold palms slid over his vast pecs and down the flat ladder of his stomach.

Glenn's mouth withdrew. In the dim light his eyes were like midnight. Midnight, with a flash of the moon. They slid over her blouse, the backs of his fingers following their trail.

"I've been trying not to stare at your bra through this shirt−it's been impossible." He reached for the top button, nimbly undoing it. His pointer finger caressed the exposed sliver of flesh.

Sophie gasped.

"I want to see the lace," he said thickly as he undid another button.

To her delight, he stooped and brushed his lips across her collarbone. Another button came loose and his lips glided down with feverish precision.

"So beautiful," he whispered.

Finally, the buttons were complete, and he dragged the ends of the blouse out of her skirt. Warm hands invaded the gap, wrapping around her abdomen, slowly drifting up until his thumbs traced the curved flesh above the lace bra. They chartered a blazing coarse back down her spine until she felt him snap the top of her skirt. Dexterous fingers slipped into the fabric.

As he pulled back to look at her his breath dragged in.

"Sophie, oh baby," his fingers gently traced the chain of bruises across her abdomen. "I don't want to hurt you."

"They're almost gone. They don't hurt much."

Launching onto the tips of her toes, she reached for his face and drew his mouth to hers. The bruises caused no pain. The separation did. She craved his lips. Each kiss was more erotic than the last.

"Glenn," she pleaded against his chin. " _I want you_."

It was as if that was all he needed to hear. Without warning she was hefted off her feet and gathered in his arms as he crossed the floor to gently set her at the edge of the bed.

Catching her face in his hands, he tipped her chin up and descended on her mouth. His lips caressed hers−slow sweeps that grew more languid. Everything was turning into moisture. The mist in her brain. The dew on his lips. The dampness of her palms against his flesh−and the hot liquid that burned inside.

Together they removed each other's clothing and spent minutes learning the new terrain with inquisitive hands.

Glenn reached for his jeans, which had been cast in a pile on the bed.

"I have a confession," he whispered wryly. "The other night−after we−well, I stopped for coffee later, and I noticed a box of these." He reached into his pocket to reveal a small foiled square. "I thought, _what if_? What if she wanted me?" The words were interrupted by her kiss.

"I felt like a fool," he continued. "There was no way. No way that you would. I've scared you. I'm a man consumed with my own grief." He hesitated. "There was _no way_ that you would want me."

Sophie ran her fingers down his arm and connected with his hand, reaching for the item he clutched. "Well, it's a good thing for me you hedged your bets." She leaned forward and brushed her lips against the pulse that beat in his throat. "Because I _do_ want you, and we will make use of this."

A growl vibrated beneath her lips. She felt wanton. Emboldened. Coaxing him down onto the bed she stretched out with her head on the pillow as he suspended himself on an elbow beside her. His free hand stroked her breast, toying with the peak until his mouth replaced it.

Sophie's back arched into that warm haven. Her toes curled into the quilt and her head tipped back. What had she been thinking−sleeping up in the bunk bed? This bed was divine.

Cool air dusted across her nipple as his mouth moved on to burnish a fading contusion. His trek trailed kisses down her abdomen _._

Oh God, please. I want you inside me.

The appeal went unheard as his lips maintained their erotic assault. Fisting her hands in his hair, she urged him atop her, where their mouths could mate again.

"Glenn," she rasped. " _Please_."

In that moment, he was no longer a shadow. He brought with him nothing but light.

Brilliant hot light.

Sophie woke with a start. Disoriented, she tried to sit up, but a steel band locked her in place. Groping for it in the dark, she felt the tickle of soft hair, and the sinewy flow of muscle.

I didn't dream this.

"I see you smiling−" came the lethargic rumble of his voice.

And she was. Smiling, that is. Heck, she had the impulse to pick up the phone and call Carolyn. _Guess what I've been doing for the past_ −Sophie glanced at the clock− _three hours_?

Warm lips brushed the erogenous crook between her shoulder and neck. Goosebumps erupted across her body and she nestled in closer to his heat.

"Are you alright?" Concern filled his tone.

Her immediate answer was to kiss him. That, of course, distracted them both for a few minutes until she drew back and murmured, "Indeed."

White teeth flashed in the dim light. They immediately disappeared. "This is not the way to start a relationship, Sophie."

"We should have had a few more dinners?"

A laugh rumbled in Glenn's chest.

"No," he kissed her nose. "I chased you. I terrified you." His face caved into her shoulder and his breath caressed her flesh as he continued. "None of that was my intention−and it certainly wasn't my intention to sleep with you."

Wounded, Sophie said, "Am I that bad?"

An arm swooped up around her side to draw her flush against him. "You make me want more, Sophie. You make me want to forget. I can't forget. I can never forget. But you make me want to."

Outside the patter of rain tapped against the windows. In contrast, her heart lumbered an erratic beat.

"You don't have to forget," she whispered. "It is here." Her hand squeezed into a fist over his heart. "But you can live, Glenn." Her breath caught. "She would want you to live."

Strong arms clenched about her and his cheek pressed into her shoulder. "You better watch it, Sophia." Emotion thickened his voice. "You're making me feel things for you−"

And I feel things for you, Glenn Barber. I don't ever want to leave this embrace. Ever. Let them find us locked together in this bed fifty years from now.

"So−" She nudged a knuckle beneath his chin to lift his face to hers. "Does that mean that we're starting a relationship?"

Full lips drew up into a smile against hers.

"Indeed," he vowed before driving her back against the pillow with the force of his kiss.

_Beep. Beep. Beep_.

Sophie reached for her head, anticipating the sterile feel of bandages there.

_Beep. Beep. Beep_.

Cursed machines. At least the persistent dings meant that her heart was still beating.

Prying open her eyes, she realized that it was the alarm going off−not a hospital monitor. She also realized that a sizeable man was splayed across her as he groped for the device. At his bidding, the alarm fell silent.

" _Mornin',_ " he mumbled softly, nudging her ear with his nose and mouth.

Wormhole? Parallel universe?

Was Glenn Barber really in her bed, looking so freaking sexy?

"Morning," she squeaked.

Any chagrin was wiped away by the kiss he dropped on her mouth. She stretched languidly beneath him and her arms cinched around his neck.

"I love my job," she whispered, nipping at his shoulder, "but right now I wish to God it was the weekend."

The masculine smile was such a treasure. Her _Shadow_ was smiling at her. It was as awesome and revered as a solar eclipse.

"If I suggest that you stay home today, you'll think that my motives are all founded in sex."

Sophie's lower lip popped out. "They aren't?"

"Well−" Wolf eyes devoured her, "−okay, half would be founded in that. But the other half would just like to know that you are here−safe−with me. Where no one will hurt you."

It pained her heart. She knew that she had fallen for Glenn. Heck, even when he was a shadow−stalking her at night−something about him tugged at her. Something that lurked in his eyes−something that kept her off balance when she should have concentrated on banishing him from her life.

Now her thoughts were consumed with keeping him there. Could it really happen?

"Ask me at lunch."

"Huh?" She jerked back from temptation.

"Ask me whatever question is lurking in that beautiful mind of yours at lunch." The backs of his fingers caressed her cheek. "Humor me. I will go crazy worrying about you all day. Lunch can be a compromise."

Sophie sliced a look at the digital clock. Lunch was six hours away. It was a hell of a lot better option than waiting eleven hours to see him.

"Okay." She grinned. "But now I have to get my butt moving. I'm going to be late."

"Need I point out that your butt−"

"No." A raised hand curtailed him. "You don't need to point it out."

Laughing she shimmied out from beneath his naked body and hated the cold air that assaulted her. How useless was the robe that was snagged on a hook in the bathroom?

When she turned to jog towards that door a hand stopped her. Glenn rose from the bed and took her face in his hands. Diffused light poked through the drapes. It was enough to see the intensity in his eyes. But she lost focus when he dipped and touched his lips to hers. It was a soft kiss. A gentle brush.

"Be careful today," he whispered. "Call me−for anything. I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Are you−are you going to stay here today?"

It felt odd asking that question. She didn't think she'd ever asked a man to stay in her house.

"You know that I'm seeing you safely to the office lobby. Then I've got to collect my stuff out of my hotel because−" he hesitated. "I want to come back here tonight."

_Thump_ went her heart.

"If that is what _you_ want," he added.

Sophie's head bobbed mutely.

Some of the fine lines around his eyes softened. "You better get in that shower, woman, or I'm going to do things to make you forget about work."

Back-pedaling, Sophie stumbled on the edge of the throw rug. She caught herself and spun towards the bathroom, but not before flinging a grin over her shoulder.

Glenn let out a low whistle. "Damn."

It was hard to swipe the smile from her face. Even now she caught a reflection of it in her computer monitor.

Glancing out into the maze of cubicles she checked to make sure no one saw her. The flush in her cheeks and this inane grin were dead giveaways. There was no place for blossoming love in _Blue-Link_. This was a professional outfit and everyone was under constant pressure. If you hired _Blue-Link_ to evaluate the logistics of opening your business in a foreign country, they were responsible for assessing every element of risk. Cultural demands. Skilled labor. Local competition. Regulations and red tape. If _Blue-Link_ didn't do their research, millions of dollars could be lost.

And besides, you didn't see Amanda Newton walking around all dewy-eyed, did you? No. Business was her middle name. Amanda _Business_ Newton. It was right on her name plate. Sophie couldn't even imagine the woman engaging in a romance.

A calendar alert reminded her of her own responsibilities. Sarah Chevalier was the 11:00am appointment. Sarah was an American on her way to the Paris branch of _Blue-Link_. Judging by the last name it was a perfect assignment.

A feminine clearing of the throat sounded from the door. Sophie looked up at the exceptionally tall auburn-haired woman in a yellow twill coat. Rising hastily, she extended her hand and declared, "Welcome to _Blue-Link_."

Wrapping a wool scarf around her neck, Sophie stepped through the sliding glass doors and felt her hair billow behind her. For a moment she hesitated on the sidewalk, squinting against the sun glare.

They had agreed to eat at the Grey Wolf pub. It seemed appropriate...and she was in the mood for Pigs In A Blanket. Ducking her face into the folds of her scarf, she secreted her smile.

_What the hell am I doing...grinning like a love-struck idiot?_

Nathan could be in the crowd right now, waiting to pounce. But he could pounce all he wanted...he wasn't getting her laptop.

Feeling awkward standing in the lunch hour stampede on the sidewalk, Sophie started down the road towards the pub. Had Glenn suggested that they meet there? She couldn't remember.

Hurried along by a group of businessmen on her heel, Sophie hastened her steps. A hand caught her arm. Prepared to swing an elbow into someone's gut, she wilted at the deep voice in her ear.

"Damn, you move fast." Glenn admonished with a grin.

That handsome face and husky tone filled her with a giddiness that seemed dreamlike.

"Hi," she said breathlessly.

"Hi," he countered, watching her with eyes that finally appeared blue in the midday sun.

His hand slipped down her arm so that his fingers could clasp hers and together they jogged across the intersection towards the Victorian corner tavern on the opposite sidewalk.

The front door opened on cue, but it was to emit two women locked in ardent conversation, their heads stooped into the wind. Glenn reached over Sophie's head to grab the closing portal as she ducked under his arm and stumbled into the boisterous bar.

Crowded as it may be, it wasn't like Happy Hour. They were able to grab a table by the window. Sophie's eyes locked on the bar table beneath the stairwell. Vivid memories of standing on her toes and kissing an unresponsive man came to mind.

"Yeah," Glenn followed her gaze. "That's one of those moments that I'll take with me to my grave."

A healthy blush stole over her cheeks as she grabbed one of the menus standing up on the table.

"You didn't do anything," she admonished with her nose deep in the lunch options. "You just stood there with your hands at your sides. I could have never felt more like a fool."

Strong fingers wrapped over the top of her menu and inched it down. Shrewd eyes sparked over the top of the binder.

"Maybe you just didn't see the part of me that was reacting."

An unladylike snort shot from her nose, and she heard him chuckle. God, she was happy. But happiness was tempered by the way they were brought together. This was not something conjured up from some online dating company. This was not a romantic connection over a bin of apples at the local grocery store.

Sophie tried to shrug off the anxiety that bubbled below the surface. For this moment−in this pub−with this man−she was the happiest woman in the world. And she let that fact shine through when she beamed at him.

"Pigs in a blanket?" she prompted.

When there was no response she glanced up curiously from her menu. "What?"

"You were going to ask me a question at lunch," he reminded.

The very same question that just roiled through her head mere seconds ago. _Could this really happen?_

A waiter appeared−a young man in an apron with pale blond hair trapped into a sprout of a ponytail. He took their orders and moved on to the next table.

When her eyes slid back to him, Glenn was still watching her expectantly. He looked so striking. Half his face was illuminated by the sun, the other was dark and foreboding. This was exactly how she saw the man−divided. Both sides of the line attracted her. Both held their own appeal.

"Can it wait until tonight?"

"Yes Sophie," he nodded. "It can wait until whenever you're ready."

Dipping her head to conceal her emotions she regrouped and picked up her water glass.

"So, what did you do this morning?"

Surveying the pedestrian traffic with a meditative gaze he chronicled, "I finished up a project that was due to a customer, and I started researching the alphabetical list of names we reviewed yesterday. I only made it through the B's." His eyebrow quirked. "I don't want to miss anything− _anything_. Sometimes you can't find squat about people on the internet−sometimes the internet is a trove of information."

Sophie swallowed. "What did you find out about me?"

Glenn didn't even flinch.

"Only what the internet revealed." Sounding contrite, he added, "I was desperate for information on Nathan, Sophie. You know that."

"I don't judge. I stalked you too."

Conceding the point with a tip of his head, he added, "It revealed that you were 32 years old, living in Trenton. I saw an article you wrote in the Signal while you were a student at TCNJ. I also saw your bio for Bethard Counseling." Gray eyes flashed with amusement. "Your bio picture was− _cute_."

Sophie rolled her eyes.

"But in person−" he stared hard, "−you're not cute."

"I'm not?"

She might have been wounded were it not for the heat in his gaze. There, a movie reel played every sensual moment from last night. A film of desire that flushed her throat and face.

"No, Sophie," he whispered in that sexy, raspy voice. "Your looks are like a punch to the gut."

"Is that a good thing?" she frowned.

"Now−" he sat back in his chair to make room for the plate that was being lowered before him, "−yes." Once the waiter was gone, he continued. "A month or two ago when I was trying to stay focused and find Nathan−the punch to the gut did not come in handy," he confessed.

Poking at a bacon-wrapped sausage, she hesitated before putting it in her mouth.

"Well−" she tasted it and realized that she was starving. "In retrospect, you deserved a punch in the gut...maybe a knee to a couple other places too."

Glenn laughed. "Oh, you've hit those places, baby. You've hit them real hard."

Electric bursts fanned throughout her chest. Five more hours and she could head home with this man. Yes, they had work to do, but couldn't it wait−just a few minutes− _or an hour?_

Across from her Glenn eyed the stack of pork on his dish. "Between the look in your eyes and this heaping plate of cholesterol−I'm hoping I survive the night."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Back in the office, Sophie was still grinning. Maybe the staff suspected she had a recent lobotomy.

This afternoon's appointments passed quickly, but her knee bounced in anticipation beneath the desk as she eyed the clock.

A knock sounded at the partition.

Sophie glanced up to find Amanda Newton standing there. Cool. Elegant. Professional. The crisp black jacket and matching skirt tailored to hug her sleek body. High strappy heels made her look extraordinarily tall. From Sophie's seated perspective, Amanda resembled an imperial skyscraper.

"Do you have a moment?" Amanda asked cordially.

As if anyone would say no to her.

"Of course." Correcting her posture, Sophie sat plank-straight in her seat.

Amanda stepped into the cubicle, but remained standing with her arms loosely crossed.

"I wanted to go over some of the details for next week's day trip."

Right!

Will Glenn be anxious about me leaving town?

Will he go with me?

Will he still be here?

Sophie flinched and refocused.

"Yes, Wednesday, right? I think you mentioned taking BritRail?"

"No, that won't be necessary. A _Blue-Link_ driver will take you."

Oh no, not George, the personality-challenged chauffer!

Jerking her eyes back up to Amanda, she thought she detected a quirk of the pink lips.

Psychic. Clairvoyant. Amanda read her thoughts and added, "Soon you'll be more comfortable getting around the area. You might find that the rail is a peaceful alternative to some our stodgy drivers."

Amen!

"I promise not to get hit by a car," Sophie joked.

This time Amanda actually chuckled. It complimented the woman.

"Yes, well, that is sure to make your meeting go smoother. We'll talk again about the agenda on Tuesday. Please compose an outline and send it to me, and also gather any questions you may have."

Sophie nodded with enough force to impale her chest into her chin.

As soon as she was alone, she scooted her chair up to her desk and started in on the outline for next week. It was already a plan that she had presented to Amanda, which had been met with approval. Now all she had to do was tailor it to the needs of this branch.

Sophie quickly keyed in the _Blue-Link_ branch office and her fingers paused in mid-air.

Canterbury.

The name invoked images of a rigid metal desk in Mrs. Peterson's Honors English class in high school. Even now she could still smell the stale air from the furnace alongside the bank of windows. Someone had written HELP ME with their finger in the condensation on one of those windows.

What books did you read in school?

Nathan's odd question rang in her head.

In that English class, she had read The Canterbury Tales. The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer.

Sophie sucked in air, feeling her sight funnel. The monitor before her was nothing more than a distant spec.

Pushing back from the desk she leaned over and clasped her knee caps.

Irony. That's all it was. Coincidence. Just like the cab hitting her. Just like the fire in her storage unit. Just like items in her apartment that had been touched. All happenstance.

Methodically rubbing her forehead, she glanced up at the clock. 5:10.

A shaky hand reached to shut down the computer, while she hastily rose and donned her coat. Careful not to bolt down the aisle of desks and chance looking overly enthusiastic that the work day had ended, she managed a hasty but civilized gait.

Planets could rotate quicker than the elevator moved. Eyeing the descending numbers, she blasted through the doors into the lobby. It cost her a couple of raised eyebrows to which she wanted to point out, _hey, I'm from New Jersey._

Jogging out onto the street she searched for Glenn. Night had fallen, but the sidewalk basked in the glow of lights embedded in the building's façade. He was there, just a few short feet away, his back against the building. At eye contact he hefted off and approached her.

"Are you alright?" He reached for her arm.

"We need to get home. Fast." She started walking.

"Sophie," Glenn's hand tugged. "What is it? Did you see Nathan?"

"No. No." Hastening down the station stairs, she slipped into an open train, grabbing Glenn's hand to squeeze him in behind her. "I just want to get home," she yelled over her shoulder in the crowd.

Glenn was plied against her back from chest to thighs. For as anxious as she was, that primal fact warmed her. As the train lurched into motion, his arm slipped around her waist. Never did she feel safer than in this cocoon. Her head slipped back to rest against his collarbone as she closed her eyes and listened to the rhythm of the train.

"We'll be there soon," he whispered into her hair.

At least he didn't press the issue. It was impossible to conduct a conversation over the milieu of voices and the screech of metal wheels, anyway.

Even when they exited the train and started the trek on foot to the Marquis, he silently kept pace with her. It was comforting.

Maybe− _maybe−_ she could finally offer her shadow the information he so desperately sought.

Their entrance was raucous enough to draw Sam's nose out of a crack in the door.

"Oh blast," he muttered.

"Is there a problem, Sam?" Sophie drew to a halt in the hall.

The door opened a few more inches and a bushy red head stuck out. He glanced both ways and leaned forward conspiratorially. "I thought _she_ was coming home."

Following his eyes to the Apartment _C_ door, Sophie nodded. "Ohhhh. Well, I'm sure it'll be any minute now. We won't bother you."

Hurrying down the hall, she heard Glenn murmur a hasty salutation to Sam, followed by the word, _pumpkin_.

When the door closed, Sophie kicked her shoes off and darted straight to the kitchen table and her awaiting laptop. As it booted she caught Glenn eyeing her warily.

"Should I keep my coat on as well? Is this a pit stop?"

Folding her hands in front of the keyboard as she waited for the browser to load, she regarded him intently.

"I have been waiting all day to kiss you." It was a husky declaration. She barely recognized her own voice. "But it has to wait."

That seemed to rock his world for a moment. So much so that he reached for the back of the chair as support.

"Comments like that don't help with my self-control issues." Focusing on her mouth for a second, his gaze climbed. "But judging by the look on your face−I'm going to need to sit down, aren't I?"

"Possibly." She pulled up the hidden Bethard Counseling folder. "Or−I may just be jumping at shadows."

Before he could call her on that analogy, she began to voice her suspicions.

"Next week I have to take a day trip to Canterbury. It's about an hour southeast of here."

"I've heard of Canterbury."

Sophie leaned forward. "Where? Where did you hear of it? In school?"

Glenn frowned. "Yes. Believe it or not I read a lot in school−between football, baseball, wrestling and my triathlons."

Seriously?

"No, Sophie. Just football. I wanted to sound manlier after my confession of reading."

"I don't think you have to worry about your masculinity being in jeopardy, Barber."

There. She found the name she was looking for and pasted it into the browser.

"Do you remember during one of your relentless grill-fests in New Jersey asking if I recalled anything Nathan might have mentioned out of the ordinary?"

"I might have asked that once or twenty times," he mulled.

"Right. Well I said that the only thing unusual he had asked was, _what books did you read in school_?"

The blue in Glenn's eyes gave way to storm clouds. He straddled the corner of the chair with his hands fisted together between his knees. "Yes," he replied, already following her lead.

"We all read The Canterbury Tales in high school," she recited flatly. "By Geoffrey Chaucer."

"Norah Chaucer."

As soon as he said the name, Glenn stood and began pacing. "One of three teenagers Nathan Bethard counselled."

"Right." Sophie pecked at the keys, drawing up an internet search for Norah Chaucer.

Without glancing up she felt Glenn's presence over her shoulder. The warmth grounded her.

As the first search results came up, their simultaneous gasps echoed off the ceiling.

_Norah Chaucer death ruled a homicide_.

"Oh, my God−"

Strong hands gripped her shoulders to steady her. He read aloud, "Norah Chaucer, daughter of Gerald and Lizbeth Chaucer has been confirmed by the coroner's report as 'death by asphyxiation.'"

She reached up and clasped his hand.

"At this point in the investigation, authorities have claimed that there is no suspect and no further updates available."

Sophie glanced over her shoulder. "But the date listed here is only two months ago. Norah was a client of Nathan's two years ago."

From this perspective, the sharp edge of Glenn's jaw seemed chiseled from granite. His fingers curled into her shoulder until he realized what he was doing and dropped his hands from her back.

"When did Nathan pull his disappearing act?" he asked blandly.

Oh my.

Sophie's glance fell back to the monitor. "Two months ago."

An uncontrollable tremor started to charge through her—a freight train traveling at maximum speed. To this point, everything seemed surreal. There was conjecture. Coincidence. A man in the shadows, stalking her because he believed that Nathan Bethard was evil.

Now she was staring at the word _murder_.

"Easy," Glenn reached for her arms to urge her up. As she rose, he drew her against him, wrapping her in a protective embrace. "Your whole body is shaking."

"What do you expect?" Her voice cracked. "There is almost a two-year gap. What makes you think that it is Nathan?"

Silence answered her.

"We have nothing, Glenn. Nothing but theories and conjecture."

"Two young girls are dead. They both went to the same counselor at nearly the same time. The Police will definitely be interested in that." He hesitated. "I know that they ruled Gretchen's death an accidental overdose−but surely they're going to see the correlation now."

There was pain in her heart for him. "They _have to_. They have to see it." Holding her forehead, she stuttered, "I'm just−I'm just−"

Fortifying hands wrapped around her biceps, their gentle kneading slowly calming her until she could connect with his eyes. There was an effort on his part for a reassuring smile, but it was more tepid than warm. "He was your employer, Sophie. Someone you worked with on a daily basis. Of course, you're in shock."

"No. It's not that." _God, I think I'm going to throw up_. "It's just that−I−" Delving her face into her palms, she cried, "What kind of person am I? How could I have been so close to it all and not seen it?"

"Hey," Glenn urged her back down onto her chair, and quickly grabbed the other, hauling it around so that he could sit facing her. His hands folded around her thighs and he squeezed. "Look at me."

Gradually she lowered her hands and looked into the eyes of the father of an innocent girl that she never knew, but should have been able to save.

"Do you want to play the blame game?" His voice was hoarse. "Is that what you want−because you're looking at the master. You have nothing− _nothing_ that can touch the weight of responsibility I feel."

Sophie shook her head, lost in self-condemnation. "Even _you_ suspected that I knew more," she sputtered. "You followed me relentlessly because you expected that I would have knowledge of Nathan's actions. And you were right to believe that." Feeling bleak inside, she added, "But I didn't. We worked independently."

"Stop it, Sophie," he reprimanded softly. "Just stop. We're both struggling to find the answers. Right now, there are two girls that want someone to fight−to find the answers for them." Hanging his head, Glenn released her leg and scraped his hand over his mouth. "And one of them is my baby." The last word cracked.

"Oh Glenn." She surged forward, her arms linking behind his neck.

They leaned into each other's shoulders, locked in this awkward embrace. It felt right, though. They were in this together.

Eventually they drew back into their seats. Sophie's chest twisted at the moisture in Glenn's eyes. He cleared his throat and avoided her glance for a moment.

"The third girl−"

"Cassandra Boransky," she filled in. "I'm on it." Although she dreaded the search, she feared the results even more.

Nothing came back on the inquiry.

Literally nothing.

Was that good or bad?

"There are no hits," she reported. "That has to be a good thing, right?"

"Right." He sounded skeptical, but also relieved.

Glenn stared blindly at the laptop. A furrow between his eyebrows was the only animation on his face.

"We're calling the authorities in New Jersey tonight−we'll call the precinct listed for Norah Chaucer's investigation."

For as frustrating as her interactions had been with the authorities to date, the declaration came as a relief. Reporting a _shadow_ that never did anything to hurt you was far different from reporting a potential murder suspect. This was too big for the likes of her and Glenn.

"They're five hours behind us," he said. "We have a little time. I want to make sure that we're not missing something else."

"They should have the same records I do. Or access to them."

"They can't be the same," Glenn argued. "Nathan wouldn't care about your files if the police have what you have. You said he stripped his hard drive and that the authorities took what was off the server. Who is to say he hadn't started deleting vital records off the server as well? Maybe the authorities don't even show Gretchen or Norah as clients of Nathans'. If two names were missing from the server, who would know but you?"

It was staggering, but it did make sense.

"We should run every name on my list through an internet search. There might be others. Age might not have been the factor?" she offered.

"You're right. It's best to check. Actually, I had started that already while you were working, but I only got to the C's. I had an engineer back home pressuring me."

"Those pesky day jobs." She tried to lighten the mood. In some respects, it worked.

Startling her, Glenn rose and positioned himself behind her chair. Brawny arms paralleled hers as he leaned over and gripped the seat on each side of her thighs. In one vigorous motion, he hefted the chair into position before the laptop.

_Okay then. I guess that means we're back to work_.

Before she could begin typing, soft lips brushed the hair at her temple.

"How is your head? If you have any pain, you'll let me know, right?"

She mumbled something incoherent, but held her thumb up to show she was good to go.

"Okay," he drew in a long breath, "let's do a little more detective work. The more ammunition we have−the more they'll be willing to listen." Glancing at his watch, he added, "We'll give it a cut-off of 8pm and then we'll place the call."

What if they were dismissed as flakes? Who the hell calls from Britain about a two-month old murder in the States?

Turning her attention back to the laptop, she scanned through the Bethard folder and selected the next 'C' name on the list.

"Sophie?"

"Hmm?"

"You might want to take your coat off."

_Oh. Right._ In some ways the garment protected her against the chill that persisted since the moment she saw the Chaucer murder.

Two hours later Sophie eyed the clock.

"It's almost time."

Glenn wrapped a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes.

"We've been through them all. Other than the fact that these records link Nathan to two young women who died, there is nothing implicating in them. We have to hope that the coincidence alone is enough to motivate the authorities."

Fatigue and doubt mingled in his deep voice.

"Let me just look into Norah Chaucer a few more minutes before you call. She has to be the key. Why would he go after her−hypothetically speaking−almost two years later? And she must have been on his mind when he was talking to me in the office−when he asked, _what books did you read in high school_?"

A sleek cell phone was gripped in Glenn's fist. He set it back on the table with a soft _thunk_.

"I agree, but we'll probably never find it until we find him."

Obsessed, Sophie tried all the "Chaucer", "NJ" iterations she could think of, but they all returned references to street names. Testing out an alternate approach, she keyed in Norah's father, _Gerald Chaucer_. Nothing. She keyed in Norah's mother, _Lizbeth Chaucer_.

Whoa.

"Glenn," her voice pitched. "I think I found something."

Attempting his own search on the smart phone, he dropped it and leaned in to read the monitor.

"I'll be damned."

"Lizbeth Chaucer," Sophie read aloud, "daughter of Andrew Szarko, the CEO of Szarko Pharmecuticals has just joined on with the family-owned business as Chief Marketing Officer." She stopped and looked at Glenn. "Please forgive me for asking this, but do you have the name of the drug listed−" The words, _on your daughter's autopsy_ could not form.

Bleak gray eyes met hers for a second and then he hauled up the phone again. "I'm on it," he vowed tersely.

A minute later he nodded. "Yes, the anti-depressant was a Szarko drug."

Sophie's head dropped back as she peered blearily up at the ceiling. The motion helped the tears slide back into her head. Another coincidence. But now enough had overlapped to form a cohesive theory.

"Now, Glenn." Her voice was hoarse. "Now is the time to make the call."

Throat muscles flexed, but no sound came out. Instead he nodded. The gesture was exaggerated as if he was convincing himself. Then, in a move that stole her breath, he reached for her, wrapping her tight in his arms. Reflexively she wound hers around him and tried to draw him closer. Her lips dusted his ear as she murmured sounds of consolation−assurance. They were not coherent, but they managed to lessen the tension in his muscles.

"Thank you," he murmured into the crook of her neck. "Thank you, Sophie."

The sadness tore at her, but she realized that Glenn now had a path, where before none had existed. And each step he took down that path was a step away from the grief, and a step towards purpose and a future. As she clutched him steadfastly, she realized that she had fallen in love with her shadow. But would that path lead him away?

Clasping a coffee cup in both hands she was mindless to its scalding heat against her palms. Every facet of her attention was focused on Glenn's voice and the monotone litany of facts. At one point, it seemed that he was interrupted. When he hung up without referring to all the details they had discussed, Sophie assumed the worst.

"What happened?" She released the coffee mug and her hands felt numb.

"Well−" He accepted the mug she thrust at him and took a quick sip. "That was the local police department. The Chaucer murder is a joint investigation with the prosecutor's office. Someone will be calling me from there."

"So, they didn't just hang up on you?"

"No." Dark eyebrows vaulted. "They seemed interested enough to have the prosecutor call me. I guess that has to be a positive sign."

Sophie sagged back in her chair. "Oh, thank God. Let's hope so. Do you know how long?"

"They said possibly tonight."

Tapping her thumb on the table, she studied his face. Stark eyes looked out at her from beneath black lashes. His hair was disheveled from the nervous sweeps his hand had taken across it.

Catching her perusal, a weary grin lifted his lips. "Come here," he beckoned.

Sophie leaned forward, one hand reaching for his kneecap in solace.

"No." Stringing his fingers through hers he used them as a net to draw her out of her chair. "Come _here_ ," he emphasized as he urged her down onto his lap.

This felt right. _So_ right. Sturdy thighs suspended her as if she were weightless. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he clamped his around her waist.

"You said before that you'd been waiting all day to kiss me."

That deep tone was intoxicating and it diminished some of the gloom.

"I did," she breathed.

"I've been waiting for the same thing," he said roughly.

Sophie's eyes fluttered closed as his lips touched hers. It was a soft kiss. A quiet exploration spliced only by a furtive lick of his tongue. She wilted in his arms.

This was not a _rip your clothes off and hop in bed_ kiss−although it was revving up every nerve in her body.

No, this kiss was a slow, sensual, transfer of faith. An earnest bond. The texture of his lips−the warm slide of his tongue−the sweep of his hand at the small of her back−it tempted her with dreams of eternity.

She whimpered when his mouth withdrew.

Prying her eyes open, she looked into an ocean that could so easily drag her to its depths. How gladly she would go. She would do a swan dive right into the heart of that tumultuous sea...if he let her.

"Whoa−" he growled.

"Whoa what?" Sophie blinked and sat back as far as his arms would allow.

Impassioned eyes measured her.

"That tasted like a lot of things," he murmured.

It was hard to swallow over the lump in her throat.

"Yes," she agreed quietly. "Is that bad?"

Slow in forming, his smile was a work of art. Hell, she was doing the backstroke in that glorious sea now.

"No," he whispered. "There was not one thing about that kiss that was bad."

It would have been one of those game-changing moments in life−but the damn phone clanged on the kitchen table.

It didn't distract Glenn, though. Nothing interrupted his leisurely perusal−an indolent gaze that left her vulnerable and raw. Desired.

Taking his own sweet time, Glenn reached over her lap and muttered, "I better take this."

Sophie scooted off his legs and felt his hand slide over the swell of her rear before she moved out of reach.

"Glenn Barber," he answered.

Listening to his side of the conversation was frustrating. Glenn didn't seem to be saying a whole hell of a lot. His comments were veiled and his expression was shuttered. Overall it left her anxiously ringing her hands and searching for things to do. She picked up her discarded coat and hung it on the coat rack beside the door. She went to refill their coffee mugs, but neither had taken more than a sip. She heard Glenn give a vehement _no_ , and wondered what that was in answer to.

"Will do. Thank you, sir." He signed off and sat back in the kitchen chair.

"Well?" she all but screeched.

"They want to meet. They don't wish to discuss the details over the phone for several reasons. Our options are to either go to New Jersey, or the prosecutor's office will send someone here to interview us."

Sophie felt deflated. "I guess this means you're going back."

He stood and crossed the few steps between them. Warm hands slid up and curled around each side of her neck. Against them she felt the rapid drumming of her pulse.

"No, Sophia," he declared softly. "Whatever is done−we're doing it together."

Relief shot straight to her knees, nearly buckling them. Sensing this, his hands slipped to her hips and held her steady.

"It's going to be okay, Sophie. They are sending someone from the prosecutor's office to speak with us."

She lurched against him and his arms folded around her.

"They seriously did not want to speak much over the phone, but I gather that they are dealing with pressure from the Szarkos. They seemed eager to take any lead they can get their hands on."

Her hand fisted against his collarbone. "And when they were dealing with the Barbers−why weren't they as motivated then?" _Damn, the injustice of it all_.

Glenn's lips were on her hair. "You are a feisty one, Miss Diem. It's what I−"

Before he could finish, he hooked a finger under her chin and kissed her− _hard_. Insistent hands delved into her hair. Gone was the gentility of their earlier kiss. This was raw.

"I need you," he rasped against her mouth. "God, Sophie, I need you."

It was intoxicating−being desired like that. She knew where the need stemmed from. This evening had hit upon every emotion they had. Anxiety, fear, ardor, hope. Something had to root them from this kaleidoscope−and this was it. Bare passion. A passion that went to the bone.

Her fingers clawed up his chest, up his neck and into his hair. It was coarse behind his neck, but softened as she climbed. A languorous moan sounded from the back of her throat as she felt his palms scale down her stomach and flare around her hips, where he drew her tight against his need.

Dragging his mouth away from her swollen lips he managed to speak. "Do you think we could both fit in that bunk bed of yours?"

If she wasn't overwrought with passion she might have chuckled at that, but her voice was as thick as syrup as she nipped his throat and said, "I don't think there will be enough clearance for my head when I sit on top of you."

Glenn snapped back. Gray eyes smoldered. A gap between his lips tempted her−so much so that she kept staring at it. When he remained too paralyzed for her liking, she began to attack the buttons at the top of his flannel shirt. Knuckles grazed hot flesh and a sprinkle of hair. It was a hedonistic clash.

"I want you too," she uttered in an unrecognizable voice.

Glenn stood captivated.

Soft fingers pried open his shirt and drew a line down to the rim of his jeans. When Sophie reached for the button there, he wrapped his hand over hers.

"Mmm-mmm," he murmured. "It's my turn."

Reaching beneath her hair, he located the zipper and took his time with its descent. When it reached the base of her spine he slipped his hand inside the dress and cupped the curve of flushed skin. Drawing in a deep breath tinted with citrus, he gathered enough control to slip the sweater dress from her shoulders and let it pool by her feet.

In the glow from the kitchen light she looked ethereal−something too precious to touch.

"You're beautiful," he whispered reverently.

"So are you," came her soft reply.

That staggered him. Certainly no one had ever found him beautiful. And yet, the sincerity in her voice made his chest constrict.

He reached out and dragged the back of his pointer finger from her collarbone to the swell of her breast atop the black lace barrier.

_Mercy_.

"Sophie," he had a hard time getting the sound out. "This−" Was it chance that his hand should land on her heart? "This is serious."

Her face was cast in shadow, but the light clipped her eyes. They were wide.

"I know, but we've done all we can. It will be in the hands of the authorities."

"No, baby." He dipped his head and kissed her throat. "What I'm feeling _for you_ is serious."

There wasn't enough light to read her eyes. Every second her lips stayed pressed together was another second of torture. He was a fool to believe she would want him.

Sophie cleared her throat. "I had a question that I was supposed to ask you at lunch."

If she wasn't two inches away he doubted he could have heard her soft voice.

"You just answered it," she whispered.

Glenn's head dropped forward so that they rested forehead to forehead.

"I don't deserve you." The admission hurt.

"No, you don't," she quipped with a smile that he could sense more than see. "But you're going to get me."

Now was the time to come clean. In the reverent stillness of this small apartment, he might as well have been standing in a confessional.

"I once told a woman that I loved her. She laughed in my face and left me with a beautiful daughter." It was hard to speak, but he kept going. "I vowed to never utter that statement again, and I upheld that vow−but−I'm falling in love with you, Sophie," the words ripped from his chest. "I think I have been since the hospital. Watching you sleep. Watching you breathe. Praying that you would wake."

The sound of her breath sucking in was loud in the stillness of the flat. She reached between them and placed a finger on his lips.

"When I first opened my eyes in the hospital−I saw you eclipsed by the sun. _My Shadow_. I was afraid−"

Glenn drew back, condemning himself to hell. "I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am for putting fear into you like that. I was not right. My motivations were not rational. It's why I don't deserve you. It's why you should−"

"Dammit," she interrupted. "Just hush."

Tentative fingers traced his cheek and jawline. "I was afraid when I woke up," she explained. "Afraid of you, and afraid of being alone in a foreign place. I felt so vulnerable. But, not only did I learn that you weren't someone to fear−I began to crave your presence. It was the times that you _weren't_ there that I really became nervous. When you were at my side, in that chair−that was when I relaxed. That was when I could truly sleep and heal because I knew someone was watching over me." She cocked her head. "It didn't hurt that you were so attractive."

"You had a concussion," he joked. "Anyone would have looked good to you."

"I don't have one now. And the sight of you still takes my breath away."

That floored him. Glenn reached for her shoulder, his fingers curling around the smooth flesh. "I hope to someday prove to you that I'm a pretty normal guy."

Sophie's head tipped back and he caught the flash of tears in her eyes. "You've been through so much, Glenn. You've been fighting your whole life. It's time for the fighting to end."

Warm palms cupped his cheeks and she hefted onto her toes to kiss him. That tender caress of her lips nearly undid him.

"I'm falling in love with you too, Glenn," she whispered against his mouth. "I want to help chase your shadows away."

Glenn crushed her body to his. _Mine_. In response, her arms looped around his neck and their mouths connected in a soft sweep that instantly fanned into flames.

In due time, Sophie pulled back and murmured. "You do realize that we had that entire conversation with my dress hanging around my ankles. Can we get in bed now?"

"As you wish," he murmured.

Sweeping an arm behind her knees, he lifted her to his chest. She clung to his neck and feathered kisses on his throat−his chin−his lips.

Gretchen's cherubic face invaded the moment. Bright. Happy. A drum stick was in her hand and a carefree smile snatched her lips.

The image wrenched at his heart.

I'm going to find justice for you, peanut.

She twirled the drum stick around her fingers and winked at him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sophie woke before the alarm. With one eye she peeked at the clock. 5:30. Thirty minutes to enjoy this position.

Half her face was submerged in the down pillow. Half her waist was snared by a rugged arm. The entire length of her body was wrapped in a hard, masculine glove−some parts harder than others.

She closed her one eye and sighed, snuggling her rear tighter against him.

"You're killing me," he murmured against her ear. "You know that don't you."

Yes, she knew. And it thrilled her. Tugging his arm tighter about her, she nestled in closer.

"I'm going to have to leave you in this state. I have to get ready for work."

"I didn't hear any alarms."

"It's going to go off any minute now."

Glenn hefted onto his shoulder to peer at the clock. "How many minutes?"

"Twenty-seven."

The blue glow from the digital numbers was bright enough to reveal his cocked eyebrow hovering above her.

"Seriously? Do you know what I can do to you in twenty-seven minutes?"

Sophie rolled onto her back as he accommodated the motion with a shift of his long frame. Smiling up at him, she had never felt more content.

Just spoke to the prosecutor case detective. He is flying in tomorrow morning.

Sophie read the text with her phone cradled on her lap. She quickly typed back. _Great! I'll be outside around 5:15. I have a 4:30 appointment with a newbie._

In two seconds her phone vibrated in her hand.

_I want you_.

Heat rose to her cheeks. Her lips curled up and she unconsciously glanced around as if everyone outside her cubicle knew the context of her text banter.

Rather than typing out the novel-length message that was on her mind, she settled for, _soon_.

Yanking herself back to reality before she melted into a pile of useless goo, she mulled over Glenn's original text. The prosecutor's office had to be under a lot of pressure from the Szarko Pharmaceutical machine to react this promptly.

Glancing up at her calendar, she mentally juggled tomorrow's interviews, allotting herself time for the meeting tomorrow morning.

Amanda Newton always maintained that it was not a 9-5 job. As long as all appointments were kept it didn't matter when they were scheduled. This worked for Sophie because she was an early bird.

4:28

Now if she could just wrap this one up, Glenn would be waiting outside.

She glanced up her cubicle door, but it was empty.

4:31

Dammit.

Glancing at her yellow business pad she reconfirmed her notes. Joshua Miller from Sarasota, Florida. He was relocating to the Berlin office.

4:34

Late. Dammit.

A shadow crossed her bouncing toe.

Finally!

Sophie rose and offered her hand.

The fish from lunch charged up her throat as the cubicle began to swirl.

"Sit down, Sophie." The dead voice ordered.

The man was almost unrecognizable.

Most noticeable was the gauntness of his face. The weight loss was pronounced. Then there was the blond hair−definitely from the bottle−and a poor job of it at that. But the icy blue eyes were a distinct trait. In those enthusiastic early years she considered them scholarly. Now they were sinister.

Flicking a desperate glance beyond his shoulder she found only empty desks outside her door. It was nearly five o'clock on a Friday afternoon. Many employees had already cleared out.

"I wouldn't bother." He reached inside his raincoat. When it emerged, it was wrapped around the handle of a gun.

Sophie stumbled back a step. Her heel clipped the leg of her chair and she dropped awkwardly back into the seat.

"How did you get in here?"

Chapped fingers snapped at the _JOSH MILLER_ badge on his lapel. "I applied for a job here."

"How did you get _that_ in here?" She gaped at the weapon. "They have stringent security at every entrance. A gun could never make it across the threshold."

Pale lips twisted into a smirk. "Maybe it came from _inside_ the building."

It took a second to understand that implication. A harrowing image of George the driver, or any other innocent _Blue-Link_ security guard made her start to tremble. She gripped the arms of the chair to conceal that effect.

Stay calm.

Keep him talking until someone sees me.

Damn, why did I tell Glenn that I'd be late?

It would take a while for him to grow concerned.

"You look like hell, Nathan."

All right, probably best not to poke the snake, but the man looked like he hadn't seen a meal in weeks.

"Thank you for your candor."

Taking advantage of his watchful glance over his shoulder, she searched for an alert mechanism−phone, email−a goddamn red panic button.

"Seriously, Sophie. Don't bother. If you scream or do anything to draw attention, my first shot will be non-fatal, but definitely painful. I've already checked. There are only two other people on this floor. Gotta love Fridays. If they come running, they'll get shot for your stupidity."

_This can't be happening_.

"Why are you here, Nathan? What do you want from me?"

"My departure from the office two months ago was too hasty for my tastes," he waved a pale hand. "Extenuating circumstances and all that−"

"Oh, you mean like murder?"

An eyebrow arched. "Interesting." He nodded in consideration. "What makes you say that?"

Voices could be heard in the distance, as a hearty, _have a good weekend_ rang out.

Nathan smiled. The gesture was as cold as his eyes.

"Norah Chaucer," Sophie choked. "I saw that her death two months ago was ruled a homicide. The timing coincides with your hasty departure−and the fact that she was one of at least two minors that you−"

"Enough."

The semi-automatic rose and Sophie squeezed her eyes shut.

He's not going to kill me.

He still needs me.

He's going to hurt me, though.

"I cleaned off my hard drive. I removed all details about Norah off our server, but you had boxed up the hardcopies, and God knows what methodology you used to sort them. I ran out of time trying to dig through your fucking boxes."

Realizing that she hadn't been shot, Sophie forced her eyes open. Nathan was leaning back against the wall of her cubicle. Although he was thin now, he was still taller than her. He also had the gun and a psychotic look in his eyes. There was little hope to overpower him−but she would try. She would sit here and listen to him−and wait for the moment.

"At first I panicked," he uttered thickly. "But no one had linked me to Norah. There were attorneys after me for civil suits for monies owed." His bleak laugh echoed in the cubicle. "Dumbasses−all anyone cares about is their money."

"You took mine," she stated tacitly.

Her eyes stayed trained on the muzzle of the gun. Follow its path and you can determine your move, she thought.

"I'll write you a check," he chided. "But you won't be around to cash it."

Sophie's eyes jerked up to his merciless smile. It was contorted, making him look like a stroke victim.

"By the time I was able to sneak back into the office you had taken the boxes away. I was going to break into your condo, but _he_ was there. He was always there in the shadows."

Sophie gasped. Her reaction seemed to amuse him. "Yes, I know all about Glenn Barber." The sneer was deadly. "If not for him, everything would be fine. We'd still have a lucrative business. You would not have to flee the country." Nathan looked around her office. "I must say that this has been most inconvenient. Couldn't you have relocated to New York or something?"

"What about Glenn?" she challenged.

"Oh, _Glenn,_ is it?" he taunted. "Initially I thought the guy was after you...a stalker or something. I didn't put two and two together as to who he was."

Nathan glimpsed around the corner. "Oops, your last associate has left. We're all alone." He grinned back at her.

Hauling a visitor chair over, he hefted his foot up onto it. The hand clutching the gun settled on his knee to take aim at her neck.

"Yeah, I had a relationship with Norah a couple of years ago. It didn't work out."

"You didn't use enough drugs, you mean?" she challenged.

"Whoa, aren't we the informative one." He waggled his free finger. "May I point out that Norah brought the samples in. _She_ wanted to know if they would help with her depression. Poor little rich girl. No one paid any attention to her. The kids in school hated her. Blah. Blah. Blah."

Nathan shrugged a bony shoulder. "She was getting on my nerves so I did the admirable thing. I suggested she try them." The sallow face became animated. "Damn, they worked all right. That girl was all over me!"

Revulsion pitched the food up into Sophie's throat again.

"I rode that wave−" he winked, "−for as long as I could, but she grew bored as I'm sure she did with all her playthings."

"So now that you had a taste for it, you went after the next young client." Just saying the words made her ill. She lifted a hand over her mouth in an attempt to contain it. Finally, the nausea backed down.

"I am really curious where your _Glenn_ got his information. I mean, as I understand it, his daughter died almost two years ago."

Keep the emotion out of it. Stick to the facts. Keep Nathan talking. Glenn will start to worry soon. He will come.

"Yes, she died a week after you ended her sessions. A week after you gave her the very same drug Norah brought to you."

Nathan snorted. "Conjecture."

"If it was conjecture, why did you burn the records in my storage unit? Why were you in my apartment? Why did you−"

"Run you over with a cab?"

A sharp intake of breath caused acute pain in her chest.

"That was the cabbie's fault. I had just arrived in London and I was following you, and probably not paying too much attention to everything around me. I crossed the street about a block up from where you were, and I jogged off the curb to catch up. I didn't see the cab. He swerved and gave me the finger. A moment after that I heard the screams." He shrugged. "How fortunate was that accident? It gave me time to arrange for the fire at your storage unit. Slowly all ties to those two girls were disappearing."

Tipping the gun sideways, he aimed it at her with a sneer. "I really thought I could threaten you in the hospital...but again, _he_ was always in the way." Nathan grunted. "Initially I wasn't even worried about killing you or the Barber guy. Your opinions couldn't convict me. The records though−they were proof of my association. So, they had to go."

With a loud thud, his foot landed back on the floor and he stood tall with his odd marmalade hair. "I'm starting to like Europe. I just may stay here as−" he glanced down at the _Blue-Link_ sticker on his lapel, "Joshua Miller."

" _The Miller's Tale_ ," Sophie whispered blankly.

That earned her a chuckle. "Yes, from the Canterbury Tales. Very good, Sophia."

On her desk the cell phone vibrated. Her hand twitched with the need to reach for it.

"Uh-uh." Nathan waggled the gun. "We're done with our chat here. Your boyfriend will just have to wait. I'll catch up with him when I'm through with you."

"But I still don't understand." _Keep him talking_. "What happened with Norah Chaucer? If everything ended two years ago, why did you kill her so recently?"

"You do realize that every time you open your mouth you add another nail to your coffin." He shrugged, but seemed agitated. "What's one more at this point?" His head cocked like a bird. "Two months ago, when all of a sudden I started seeing internet activity with my name all over it, I realized that I was being investigated...by the authorities. I couldn't figure out why. So what if I had a few relationships with clients...so what if one OD'd? There was nothing to tie it to me...at least I thought so until I realized I was being investigated. When I broke things off with Norah two years ago, it was ugly and she had made some pathetic threats. I told her to shut up and get on with her life. I told her that no one was going to believe a wining, conceited teenager." Staring at her cell phone as it continued its chirp, he proceeded in a monotone voice, "but she was the first one I suspected of stirring up trouble. I approached her two months ago and asked what she was up to? Why she wanted to bring me down. She denied it, but our argument became heated, and I got a tad overzealous. I might have accidentally strangled her−only to realize that she was telling the truth, and that it was your boyfriend who was investigating me."

Cold eyes bore into her. "Tell me," he commanded. "What set that man off almost two years later? Why didn't he just let his dead daughter sleep in peace?"

"Son of a bitch−" She launched from her chair.

A manacle grip latched onto her. Try as she might, she could not rest from it. Contemplating jabbing her heel into his orange sneaker, the muzzle pressed to her collarbone dissuaded her.

"She didn't rest peacefully you psycho," Sophie spat, her chest pumping with anger and adrenaline. "She reached out from the grave and told her father exactly what happened."

"Ewww−" Nathan released his grip to wave his fingers in the air. "Scary stuff, Miss Diem. Ghosts coming back to point their bony fingers at me." Jabbing the gun into her chest, he rocked her back a step. "Whatever. Just give me your goddamn laptop and let's get this all over with."

The cell phone vibrated atop the desk.

Nathan snatched it and bashed it down on the wood veneer, the back of the device splintered open. Dropping it into her purse, he sneered at her like the victor of a cutthroat chess tournament.

The clamor and violence was enough to launch Sophie into the first stages of shock.

He is unraveling.

"It−it's not here." Forcing her chin up, she refused to cower before this waste of life.

"Dammit bitch! Where the hell is it?" He hauled open the top drawer of her desk, nearly ripping it off the hinge.

"It's back at the apartment," she stammered. "I−I didn't bring it to work with me."

Feral eyes glared at her. "Then that's where we're going."

The shackle was around her wrist again. She tried to wrench free, grunting in frustration.

"Give it up, Sophie." The jerk of his hand snapped her head back, her eyes lolling and connecting with his. "We're walking out of here. The gun will be on you the whole time. If you solicit any attention, I will shoot you. I trust my odds of getting away. And now that I know where your laptop is, I have very little need for you anymore. I've already managed to find my way into your apartment without your help."

Hallowed pockets beneath his eyes seemed to make them pop out of his skull. Still possessing a shell of civility on the outside, those icy orbs hinted at the desperation within.

Responding to the tug of his hand, Sophie went along, eager to leave her office−eager for options. Glenn would be waiting outside. He would see them exit the building. Everything was going to be okay as long as she played along and encouraged Nathan outdoors.

At the bank of elevators, she grew anxious. At any second one of those three doors could open to emit an innocent employee. Would it be the catalyst to shoot her−would Nathan fire at the employee?

"No one gets shot if you play it cool, Sophie." He read her thoughts. "They can't see the gun."

True, but the crooked arm held behind his jacket didn't exactly scream, _I have an itch_.

None of it mattered. Just make it down the elevator and out the front doors. Humor him. Make your way towards the apartment. Glenn will see you. He will see Nathan. He will call the authorities.

One floor above the lobby the elevator door slid open. Nathan nudged her forward.

"Wait," she tried to draw back inside. "This is the wrong floor. We have one more to go."

"No, Sophie," he shook his head. In the stark overhead lighting his cheekbones were unnaturally pronounced. Like Cro-Magnon man. "We're not going to the lobby and out to meet your boyfriend."

Her stomach tumbled.

"I've already cased this building out. There is a stairway at the end of the hall which leads to an alternate exit." He flashed a sadistic grin. "One where your boyfriend won't be waiting."

The Cornhill Street exit. She never used it because it was an extra three blocks to the underground station.

All her conviction was funneled into the wind as the doors to the street parted and she was thrust into the brisk London night.

_Glenn_.

Dejected, she knew he was not there. He was waiting for on the other side of the colossal building.

"Come on."

Momentarily defeated, she felt like a rag doll in Nathan's grasp. As the breeze whacked her in the face with a dose of sobriety she held her head erect and jogged to keep his pace.

Stay calm. Don't rile him. Keep alive.

Repeating the mantra, she watched people pass by−faceless pedestrians on their way home for the weekend. None of them met her frantic eyes. None of them saw her hand extended in appeal.

"No attention, Sophie," The dead voice reminded.

Her next great hope was to lose Nathan in the chaos of the underground station. In a crowd like that−all you needed was one person to budge in between you−and then two−and then soon the throng has split you.

Alas, that was not to be. Nathan's relentless talon snared her arm. As the numbers pressed into the train he hauled her so tight against him that the gun must have left an impression in her skin. Repulsed by his touch, she could smell his anxiety in a blend of sweat and ammonia.

Signs that he was unraveling were in the brisk way he jostled her out of the train. Earlier he had engaged in conversation−even eager to share details of his feats. Now he was silent. Intent. He pressed her forward, urging her out of the station and onto the street.

Any hopes that Glenn would have seen her now proved futile. She was on her own. Judging by Nathan's deteriorating state she feared that once he had the laptop in his possession, she was a dead woman.

I don't want to die. This can't be happening.

Digging in her heels on the quiet Kensington sidewalk, she tried to wrench from his grip.

"I wouldn't bother," Nathan uttered in a voice clipped by exertion. "I can shoot you in the middle of the street. It's dark. No one is out."

Each second of silence meant he was mulling the notion over. Sophie gave up her struggle.

"Yeah," he snorted. "I thought that would motivate you."

At the front door to the Marquis, her hands felt like all the tendons had been severed. The keys fell to the mat and Nathan jabbed her in the ribs with the gun. Fumbling with the lock, she cried out in relief when it opened.

Ignoring stealth, she let her heels clang across the floorboard. It earned her another prod in the gut. As they passed apartment _A_ she let out a silent appeal.

_Be home Sam. Be home_.

All doors remained closed. The Marquis remained still. At her door, her trembling reached seismic proportions.

_E_ for the End.

"Hurry up," Nathan waved at the doorknob.

Trembling fingers managed the lock. Crossing the threshold, her teeth began to chatter. With a flick of the light switch, she scanned the room for anything that could be used as a weapon.

Behind her the door slammed shut. Nathan stood with his hand still on the knob.

"Okay," he hissed. "Get the laptop− _now_." Glacial eyes flashed in the ambient light. "Well, hell." His glance landed on the kitchen table. "That was easy."

The lanky figure closed in on the table, but he was mindful to keep the gun trained on her. "Turn it on and show me the files," he ordered. "And if you've made another backup you can hand it to me now. If you don't−it's no matter−I will just comb through the apartment after I shoot you."

Nausea returned with a vengeance.

_Think. Think. Think_.

There were a couple of knives in the kitchen drawer. A broom in the linen closet. Hell, she could just bash him over the head with the damn laptop.

Feeling giddy at the thought, she realized that she was losing her mind.

"Get over here," he roared.

The command tore her from her musing and she approached the table with the grace of someone with two broken legs.

"I−I have no backup."

"Right," Nathan's face looked skeletal in the dim light. "Just pull up the records. Knowing you, you've sorted them somewhere that would take me hours to locate."

Sophie bent to boot up the laptop, contemplating how she could slip her hands around it for a sturdy enough blow.

A knock sounded at the door.

Before her heart even had a chance to stammer back into place, her front door opened and Sam barreled in.

"So sorry to barge in, but that leak in the bathroom is causing damage in apartment _F_."

Ignoring Sophie and Nathan's gaping mouths, Sam hobbled across the room with his cane, pausing to pull open the bathroom door.

"Tsk. Tsk." His muffled voice drifted out. "This is a disaster."

Nathan growled and hefted his gun, taking a step towards the bathroom.

"No," Sophie cried.

"Uh, I could use a little help in here!" Sam called out over the grating sound of pipe valves.

Nathan waved her off with the muzzle as he inched towards the bathroom. In that room, a muttered expletive preceded the sound of running water.

With cat-like precision Nathan reached for the ajar door and extended his weapon.

"Sam," Sophie cried.

As Nathan lurched into the bathroom, a dull thud sounded. From her perspective, all Sophie could see were Nathan's black socks and orange sneakers slumped on the floor.

Sam strutted out of the bathroom with a Cheshire grin on his face and his cane hoisted like a baton.

"Pesky leaks," he grinned.

"Oh my God, Sam." Sophie's knees started to give way.

"Easy there, Miss Sophie." He toed the inert figure.

"H−how did you know?" she stammered.

Sam shrugged. "He didn't say the password."

Relief eluded her. Sidestepping around Nathan, she vaguely heard Sam say, "Well then−time to call the Bobbies."

Drawing a cell phone out of his wool sweater, Sam poked awkwardly at the screen with his cane still in his hand. Not trusting that Nathan would stay out for long, Sophie scrambled to find something to secure him with. Yanking her power cord out of the wall, she drew it taught and spun around just as the bark of the gun went off.

Nathan was propped on an elbow, the handgun aimed at her landlord. Sam's cane fell to the wooden floorboards with a crack as loud as the gunshot itself. In slow motion his body joined it.

"No!" she dropped to her knees and began crawling towards Sam.

Before she could touch him, something snared her waist and hauled her from the ground. Disoriented, she watched her hands flail before her in an attempt to reach Sam.

That inflexible crossbar against her abdomen dragged her backwards, her shoes slipping off as she tried to dig them into the floor. Now she had no traction, her feet sliding helplessly across the floorboards.

"I've had enough of this bullshit, Sophie," Nathan's voice was unnaturally high. Huffing as he moved, he used the gun to quell her efforts.

"Pick up the laptop," he ordered as her hip collided with the kitchen table.

Trembling fingers reached for the computer.

"Now put it in the sink, and turn on the faucet."

It was over for her. There was no doubt that Nathan would shoot her now. Her main priority was keeping him distracted from Sam. She dropped the laptop in the sink and ran the cold water.

Dumbass. This won't destroy the hard drive.

"Good." He dragged her towards the door. "We've made too much noise. You're coming with me. I think there's a park nearby. I'll have a better vantage to see if I'm being followed−" Running water muffled his words, "−and if I am, you will be my warranty. If I'm not, then−"

Then what?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

5:25

Granted, Sophie had warned that she would be slightly late−but Glenn studied the thinning crowd with growing anxiety.

Another ten minutes, and another five unanswered texts later he called the _Blue-Link_ operator and asked to be transferred to Sophie's desk.

"There is no answer there, sir."

_Dammit_.

"Can you tell me if she's still in the office?"

"There was no answer at her desk," was the slightly less solicitous response.

Not to be dissuaded, he added, "This is extremely urgent. A family emergency. I need to reach Miss Diem and she must not have her cell phone on."

A slight huff of impatience and the operator said, "Please hold."

Glenn paced before the glass entryway. Christmas trees of varying sizes glistened against the black marble lobby walls. After several seconds he checked the face of his phone to see if he had been disconnected. The call was still live. There was no flashing green indication that Sophie had texted back, though.

"Sir, there is no one left on Miss Diem's floor." the operator announced, and then added with some forced compassion, "It _is_ the weekend. Perhaps she has gone home already."

"Thank you," he answered absently.

Inside the doorway stood a security guard with his hands at his sides and his eyes trained on the entrance. Another wannabe soldier stood beside the bank of elevators. Sophie had already informed him that security was impeccable, and that he couldn't come in to meet her at her desk.

5:45

That was it. He was calling the police. Even if it blew up in his face, he'd rather know that she was safe. Attempting one last call to her cell phone, Glenn listened to her voice message again.

"Sophie, dammit, I'm worried. I'm going to call the police if I don't hear from you in the next minute−"

_Click. Thunk._ "Awwo?"

Glenn hoisted the phone away from his hear to confirm the number.

"Sophie?" he barked into it.

"Ummm−not Sophie," the male British accent sounded familiar, but the voice was distorted.

"Wh−what's the pass−word?"

The landlord? Sam? What the fuck?

"Pumpkin!" he cried. "Sam, where is Sophie?"

A soft groan followed by a scraping sound and then Sam's voice came in stronger.

"This guy took her. He had bad hair−like it was dyed or something." Another moan and then, "He bloody well shot me!"

"I'm calling the police−and an ambulance. Hang tight, Sam." Desperate he forced the words out. "Where is Sophie? Is she okay?"

"I called the police already, but I wasn't very coherent. I just heard Sophie's phone go off in her purse. I'm amazed it works. It's almost in pieces."

A pause. "Blasted water. I can't get to it." Another pause. "Sophie," he wailed. "I tried to save her."

Glenn was already in a sprint, angling his shoulder to pass by anyone in his path. Trying to rifle through the melee that Sam was tossing out, he latched onto the words, _I tried to save her_. "Thank you, Sam. Thank you so much for that. I'm on my way."

"Wait. Wait. I'm thinking."

Skipping the last three steps into the station, Glenn launched and kept running the second his foot hit the tiles.

"I was out of it when I spoke to the police, but I remember now," Sam yelled. "He said he was taking her to the park nearby. That's Kensington Gardens! You're not on the train yet, right? They were on foot, which means they're heading up to the Royal Albert Hall entrance. Umm−quickest route right now is for you to take the Circle line to High Street Kensington. I'll send the Bobbies after you as soon as they get here."

Familiar with the Circle Line, Glenn was already on that platform. Pacing maniacally, he lurched as he felt the approach of a train.

"Got it!" He slipped through the parting doors and grabbed a pole. "Sam, did he hurt her?"

"I don't think so−but−"

"But what?" The signal was about to cut out in the tunnel.

"He didn't look right. He didn't sound right. You better hurry−"

"Sam. Sam!"

The signal would not be back until he started up the platform again. By then he intended to be on an all-out sprint.

Glancing up at the Central Line map, he counted down the stations. Six more stops. Sam's last word echoed in his head.

_Hurry_.

It had to be near freezing now, but Glenn was in a sweat. The second the train came to a halt he pressed redial on the phone.

"Sam, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'll live. The bastard shot me in the leg. Like I need another challenge."

Climbing the last step, Glenn jogged through the shopping arcade at the High Street Kensington station. "I need your help, Sam. Tell me which way to go."

"Okay. Okay." A cough, and then, "I think I hear the sirens, Glenn. The police are coming."

All he could hear was his own breath as he jogged past store windows peppered with Christmas décor, their muted holiday anthems subdued by the pounding in his head.

"You should be on High Street now. In a few blocks−umm−you'll see a PC World on your right, and a block or two later, the Royal Garden Hotel on your left. Once you see the hotel, the park is next on your left."

You can tell a lot about people by the landmarks they use, Glenn thought. After running past startled shoppers he saw the sign for PC World lit up above a glass door.

_Keep running_.

"I see the hotel!"

"Glenn, I can hear the police at the main door. I'm going to send them after you."

"Get yourself in an ambulance, Sam. I can't thank you enough for all you have done. I'm signing off now."

"Find her."

The connection ended. Glenn picked up speed, the sound of his deadened footfalls amplifying as he approached the park. An impenetrable line of trees on the left formed a formidable barricade. Sparse lights inside the grounds flashed through the dense tangle of limbs, like the eyes of a hundred owls.

The first gate into the park was locked for the evening, as was the second. He paralleled the street, adhering to Sam's directions. The night had always been an ally. It seemed like only yesterday that he was crawling through the shadows in Navy boot camp. More recently he had spent an exorbitant amount of time in the dark−waiting for Sophie.

_Sophie_.

If anything happened to her...

They were so close−so close to peace−so close to happiness. If Nathan hurt her−if this man hurt the two women that he loved so much− _may God have mercy on his soul._

Finally gaining entrance to the park, crisp grass blistered under his shoes as his jog tapered down to an urgent trot. Stealth was all he had. Without a weapon, the element of surprise was his only ammunition. It was frustratingly inadequate when it came to protecting Sophie.

Hugging the edge of the commons, a three-quarter moon glistened over a manmade pond. Beyond it, a tall spruce circled with Christmas lights provided a festive clash against the solitude of the park.

_Stay strong, baby_.

Never had he met a more tenacious woman than Sophie Diem. Sweet Sophie. Smart Sophie. Funny Sophie. Determined Sophie. _My_ Sophie. _Please let me have a future with her_.

A solitary figure strolled erratically beneath one of the few walkway lights. Glenn fell in behind a tree until he noticed that the irregular gait was due to the tug of a dog on a leash. Man and dog continued down the path and Glenn resumed his cautious trek.

Car headlights flashed through gaps in the fence on his right. Every step he took was carefully cloaked by night. The shadows coveted him. Their dark gloves protected him.

Pausing, he strained to hear any deviant sound.

The distant horns of traffic and the rumble of the underground were lost in this Grimm-like arcade of tall Plane trees.

Glenn continued with vigilant steps, homing towards a steeple-crested memorial cloistered in a small clearing. Recessed lighting in the ceiling of the monument illuminated the gilded statue beneath it. That light poured out onto the sidewalk and extended Glenn's sightline.

Up ahead, an amorphous profile filled a bench. Circling the figure from the fringes of night, he realized that it was just a homeless man sipping on a bottle. There was no sign of Sophie, and no need to dawdle on this vagrant.

Having looped to the far side of the clearing, he swore he heard a woman's voice. Was it a product of the wind—or overly eager ears? Each hair on his arms rose to attention. Again, the outcry floated past with no orientation−but this time he was certain it was a woman, and nearly positive that it was Sophie's shout.

Continuing his circular trek, pausing at each statuesque tree trunk to get his bearings, Glenn heard a tremulous, " _Let go of me_."

The trees and the wind stole those words and sucked them into an acoustic maelstrom. It was impossible to locate the source. A deeper tone followed, but the words were indistinguishable.

Specters in agitation. Glenn was certain he had found them.

"Get off the path." A male voice commanded.

After the harsh order, Glenn caught the din of trampled leaves.

The turf at his feet was void of vegetation. A quick inspection of the immediate vicinity produced no sign of scattered foliage. Expanding his circuit, a scuff of shoes sounded nearby. Real close. The rhythm was uneven.

Glenn plastered his back against the closest tree.

Footsteps. Only this time they were on pavement, not vegetation.

On the walkway, a shadowed silhouette bucked and swayed. No−not a singular profile. Two. Two engaged in a scuffle.

"Nathan, let me go. If you want to get away so damn bad−just _run_. No one is here to see you."

A soft chuckle sounded on the wind. It cooled

Glenn's flesh, but boiled his temper.

" _You're_ here," it retorted. "This was the perfect place to come. I didn't realize how few lights would be in this park. No one will even notice you until the morning."

They were so close he could hear Sophie's erratic breath. "It's n−not necessary." Her voice quaked.

More scuffing and another cry of protest−fainter−not by proximity, but by a waning will.

"If I'm going to go on as Joshua Miller−you can't live, Sophie. It's really pretty damn simple."

He paused and now Glenn could make out the flash of blond hair under the moon's glow. "And I'm rather fond of Joshua. He's about to go to work for a new global company. It's all terribly exciting. I've got so much ahead of me."

They were on the edge of the walkway. Glenn was only ten feet away, but to approach them meant revealing himself.

Crouching down, his hand skimmed the frosted grass until his fingers wrapped around a rock. An attempt to pitch it at Nathan's head could be disastrous if he missed.

Instead he hefted the rock in the air as it landed deep in the trees on the other side of the walkway. Perhaps it was the oldest trick in the book, but it wouldn't be in _the book_ if it didn't work.

Nathan's head snapped in that direction, and so did his weapon.

"If you're going to shoot someone," Sophie tugged on his arm, "shoot me−not some innocent dog-walker."

"Shut up," he hissed.

This was his only chance. He had to trust Sophie.

Glenn surged from his hiding spot as stealthily as possible. Under the moonlight his hands glowed blue−nature casting a strobe light on him. Hell, the trees might as well have bent over and pointed their gnarly limbs. _Here he is!_

Where grass gave way to pavement, he feared his shoe would grate against the concrete. Nathan still probed the opposite woods, his neck craned.

Was it possible to close the gap between them without giving Nathan advance warning?

Sophie was facing his way. As a cloud lumbered past and the moon emerged, the flare of her eyes was revealed.

His pointer finger touched his lips.

"Nathan, my feet are numb−almost useless. Are you searching for the perfect spot to shoot me? Is that it?"

Dammit, don't bait him, Sophie.

"Well, it sure as hell is not going to be here," he chided. "I told you to stay off this walkway." He grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her onto the grass—towards the tree line. Towards obscurity.

Glenn jerked his head to the right. As soon as her foot hit the turf, Sophie followed the signal and stumbled in that direction.

" _Goddammit_ ," Nathan hissed.

In that split second before Nathan could reach for her, Glenn launched from the shadows. He seized Nathan around the waist, propelling them both forward. As that hostile union pitched them onto the pavement Glenn raised his arm and cracked his elbow down on the limb clutching the gun. A howl of protest was followed by the clang and scrape of metal against concrete.

Most startling was Nathan's frailty. Sure, there was resistance. The sinewy body grappled for the gun, but Glenn straddled him, lodging a kneecap into Nathan's lower back. He arrested one arm and crooked it behind the man, ignoring his wail of pain and outrage.

Sophie scrambled for the discarded gun. Her hands shook uncontrollably. It was then that he noticed she stood barefoot on the frozen grass.

"No." The word wrenched from him.

Her mouth opened and closed like a baby bird's beak. She was trying to speak but her jaw rattled with her teeth. A flash of blue scored her face, followed by a slash of red.

In the distance, Glenn noticed three police cars pulled over on the side of the road, their spiral lights pulsing. In a few seconds he could hear shouts beyond the stately memorial.

"Over here!" he bellowed.

Nathan twisted beneath him, but Glenn mashed his knee down harder, pinning him like a worm on a hook.

"G−G−Glenn," Sophie clasped her arms about her. The gun dangled from her fingers.

"I know, baby. I'm going to have my hands on you in two seconds−"

Animated silhouettes appeared against the flashing backdrop.

"H−help!" Sophie tried to call out, but it made it no further than Glenn's ears. "Help us!" The second attempt was stronger.

Pounding footsteps picked up pace. Nathan writhed against the pavement. "This is all your fault," he wheezed. "Why the hell did you start digging? I didn't even do anything to your damn daughter. I gave her a few pills to relax. I didn't cram the damn things down her throat. She took them willingly."

Glenn ground his knee, hearing a crack in Nathan's spine. It would be so easy to reach his hands around this man's neck. So easy to squeeze out his fury.

"Glenn−" the soft caution whispered across the wind.

In the moonlight he met those eyes. For her he would reign himself in. But for Gretchen−

"You touched my baby, you sick motherfucker."

"Goddamnit, get off me." Nathan panted. "I didn't sleep with her, if that's your beef. I touched her. Yeah. She wanted to be touched. She was depressed. She needed consoling. You must not have been doing a good job."

The impact of knuckles against bone happened so fast he wasn't even aware he had moved.

_Yeah, that one was for Gretchen_.

"Police!"

Rapid steps charged up to them and flashlights bounced erratic rays across the ground and trees.

Glenn eased off of Nathan only when the authorities relieved him. Men in custodian helmets and flat-top hats poured around the trio. One took the gun from Sophie's hands and uttered words of assurance, as well the request for a statement.

Approached by a tall, lean officer with a pad and pen in his hand, Glenn held up a finger. "Just give me one minute."

In two strides he reached Sophie and swung her up in his arms, carrying her to a nearby bench. Shivering, she clung to him and dipped her face into the insulation of his throat. Wrapping his hand around one stockinged foot he rubbed the cold flesh methodically.

"It's over," he whispered.

Sophie lifted her head as the police hauled Nathan up from the ground.

"This is all a terrible mistake," he howled. " _She_ was holding the gun. You saw that!"

"Sir," a deep voice resonated, "you shot a man tonight. That man has given a detailed description of you."

"There is so much more to add to that," Glenn called out. "The New Jersey prosecutor's department will be here tomorrow morning with additional charges."

One of the crossbeams streaked across the officer's raised eyebrow.

Swathed in his embrace, Sophie gained strength and clasped her arms tightly around his neck. He reached for the other foot. A policeman materialized with a blanket which Glenn hastily wrapped around her.

"I was so scared, Sophie," he murmured into her hair.

Cold fingertips emerged from the blanket to caress his face. "Somehow I knew my _Shadow_ would be there."

Glenn placed his lips to her forehead. "You know I've fallen in love with you."

"I pretty much guessed that," she smiled into his neck.

"Excuse me, but you're both going to have to come with us now." The tall officer interrupted.

A crowd had grown, and more lights materialized−some from curious bystanders with cell phones illuminating the trail.

Sophie tensed in his embrace.

"George?" her voice pitched.

An elderly man in a trench coat circled in front of the crowd, reaching a spot as close as the ring of enforcement would allow.

"Miss Diem." He dipped his head. "I've been sent by Miss Newton to make sure you are safe."

"But−how did−"

"I believe it was Samuel Pierce that alerted her."

_Sam_. Glenn owed that man so much.

"Sam!" she cried. "Is he okay?"

"I talked to Sam," Glenn explained, gently setting her feet to the ground so that she could move closer to George.

One of the custodian-capped officers called into his mouthpiece, "We need some socks or shoes here. Now."

"He led me to you," Glenn said thickly.

"Indeed," George uttered as they reached a spot near him. "I believe Mr. Pierce's words were something to the effect of, ' _That son of a bitch shot me in the leg. All I've been able to do is sit on my ass and make phone calls._ '"

Sophie snorted into the shoulder of Glenn's jacket.

Above her head, Glenn made eye contact with Nathan as he was cuffed and ushered towards a flashing red van parked near the gate.

_I got him, baby_.

Cool fingers laced through his. He glanced down to see Sophie smiling at him.

There were no words. She knew what was going through his head. That, in itself, brought solace. Not having to talk−and having someone who understood−someone who knew the dark parts−and someone who was going to bring the light. Someone who was going to chase the shadows away. All of this brought peace.

EPILOGUE

"I wanted to have this meeting to see how you are faring."

Amanda Newton folded slender pale hands atop each other on her desk. The blue diamond ring winked at Sophie as if to say, _this can be you someday_.

"I'm doing well. I never got to thank you for sending George out to Kensington Gardens to check on me that night."

Pink lips curled into a demure smile. "Samuel is one of very few people who has a direct line to me." A pale eyebrow arched. "Trust me, he used it plenty that night. I believe that I was on the phone with him from the moment Mr. Barber left your apartment until the moment the ambulance arrived−and even then, he was reluctant to give up the cell phone I'm told."

Oh, Sam.

"He is pretty much healed," Sophie reported. "For once, he's using his cane as a walking aid and not a gutter cleaner, or a sock remover from the wash, or a hard-to-reach box of cereal grabber, or to get Bean, his cat out of a tree−" she cleared her throat, "−well, you get the picture."

Amanda nodded and glanced across the desk with a sparkle in her blue eyes. "That's quite a ring."

Holding out her left hand, Sophie wiggled her fingers and felt her cheeks flush. "I still can't believe I'm engaged. I mean, to go from the most harrowing experience to being the happiest woman in the world in less than a month−" her voice dropped off when she saw Amanda studying her patiently.

"Don't worry," Sophie hastened. "This won't affect my job. Glenn wants a big wedding. I think he mentioned doves and an orchestra at some point−" Her eyes rolled, but her stomach did joyous flip flops at the recollection of his enthusiasm. He looked so damn happy, and she was so damn in love.

"Anyway−" she coughed into her fist, "all that planning will take a while. I won't be taking time off from work anytime soon. You've been so patient with all of my calamities."

"Calamities." When Amanda shifted in her chair, the tracked lighting in the ceiling flashed against her silk blouse. "That sounds like a rather tame word to describe the events. If anything, what you have been through has strengthened my opinion of you. I am proud to have you on the _Blue-Link_ team."

Sophie sensed a _but_ coming.

"What about Glenn's business? How is he managing from here?"

"He has the fortune of being able to telecommute from anywhere," Sophie answered brightly.

Amanda's eyes narrowed. That keen stare had caught the forced enthusiasm.

Although he could work remotely on CAD designs, he still needed to fly back to South Jersey on occasion. There was also the likelihood that they would be called back to the states in connection with Nathan's trial, but that was not in the immediate future. After some lengthy meetings in London, the prosecutor indicated it could be a year until their presence was required.

"I was thinking−" Amanda cut into her thoughts, "that you might consider working out of our Philadelphia office for a spell." Her hands spread wide. "Maybe even permanently if it suits you better. You would still be required to fly to London once or twice a year for corporate meetings and such−" Amanda swung in her chair, her clear-polished finger pressing against her cheek. "But London isn't so bad," she sliced a mischievous look at Sophie. "Is it?"

"London is beautiful. Truly magical," Sophie gushed with sincerity.

Twisting the ring on her left hand, she peered up from under her bangs. "But−if there is an option to work from Philadelphia−"

It would be great to be home again. Glenn wouldn't have to commute overseas. She wouldn't have to quit her job with _Blue-Link_. Thursday Applebee lunches with Carolyn could resume.

Wait a minute. Did Amanda Newton just wink? The CEO of Blue-Link does not wink.

"I thought you might like the idea," Amanda grinned. She rose from behind the desk, looking elegant in her sleek skirt and blouse. The grin had transformed into a regal beam of professionalism as she extended her hand across the desk. "We will meet again, Sophie Diem."

Sophie jumped to her feet and reached for the hand, trying not to pump it too energetically.

"I look forward to it, Amanda."

Thank you for taking time to read SHADOW. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author's best friend and earns you hugs!

Thank you again,

Maureen A. Miller

The BLUE-LINK Series

SHADOW is the first in a 3-book series featuring dealings with a fictional company called Blue-Link. This firm offers global risk management analysis. If you are a business seeking to open a branch abroad, there are factors to consider. Civil unrest, health epidemics−even the impact of nature. Blue-Link will be there to assess and advise.

SHADOW, MIST, and DUSK are three standalone romantic suspense novels dealing with employees of Blue-Link, and the challenges, romance, and danger they face.
