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Receptionist Under Cover
C.J. Carmichael
One missing person. One handsome adventurer.And one big case of mistaken identity: the detective's. Because Nadine Kimble isn't actually a private investigator–she's a receptionist. To prove herself, she's determined to solve her first case without everyone else at the Fox & Fisher Detective Agency or the distracting Patrick O'Neil–her client–finding out.Easier said than done, especially when it's clear she's going to have to traipse across the continent following clues. That's going to involve a lot of lying to her coworkers…and to Patrick, a man she's fast developing very unprofessional feelings for. But once she solves the case, she can come clean and finally act on those feelings. Well, if she solves the case…



Patrick wasn’t convinced he’d come to the right person
Nadine could see that, looking into his eyes.
Keeping her gaze direct and confident, she said, “Like I said earlier, finding missing persons is a specialty of our firm. As it happens, I’m between cases right now and I could start on this immediately.”
Okay, technically that was a lie, but Nadine told herself it wouldn’t matter, not as long as she found Patrick’s son for him. Which she was determined to do.
Patrick’s eyes held hers a moment longer, then he nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. What’s the first step?”
She struggled to keep her excitement contained. “We sign a standard contract and you pay a retainer.” She mentioned the base amount. When Patrick indicated his agreement, she asked him to wait while she drew up the papers.
“Too bad your receptionist isn’t here to do that,” Patrick commented.

Dear Reader,
When I started THE FOX & FISHER DETECTIVE AGENCY series, I knew that Nadine Kimble was destined to be more than a receptionist. She knew it, too. She’s waited patiently for the opportunity to advance her career, only to be put off time and again.
What I love most about Nadine is that she turns her back on money and social status in order to follow her dream. And she steps well out of her comfort zone to make that dream happen.
Speaking of stepping outside her comfort zone, have I mentioned Patrick O’Neil? He’s the kind of rugged hero you don’t want to mess around with. So what’s he going to say when he finds out the private investigator he hired to find his son is really the firm’s receptionist?
I love hearing from readers, so send me an e-mail sometime. Also, do check my Web site, www.cjcarmichael.com, regularly for news about my next trilogy and to enter my “Surprise!” contests.
Happy reading!
C.J. Carmichael

Receptionist Under Cover
C.J. Carmichael

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hard to imagine a more glamorous life than being an accountant, isn’t it? Still, C.J. Carmichael gave up the thrills of income tax forms and double-entry bookkeeping when she sold her first book in 1998. She has now written more than twenty-eight novels for Harlequin Books, and invites you to learn more about her books, see photos of her hiking exploits and enter her surprise contests at www.cjcarmichael.com.
With love to Mike Fitzpatrick…who never
turns his back on a good adventure

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER ONE
NADINE KIMBLE WATCHED as the office printer spewed out a certificate proving she’d aced the online private investigation course she’d been taking the past six months. She knew her boss—Lindsay Fox, founder of The Fox & Fisher Detective Agency—was in her office. It was now or never, unless she wanted to be a receptionist for the rest of her life. Which she didn’t, since she was only twenty-seven and the rest of her life would hopefully involve many more decades.
With the certificate still warm in her hands, Nadine marched up to Lindsay’s office, rapped briefly on the door, then opened it.
Lindsay wasn’t alone. Her partner and fiancé, Nathan Fisher, was sitting in the chair usually reserved for clients, while she paced the room in bare feet, her high heels, as usual, strewn on the floor next to her desk. They were arguing in a civilized yet heated manner, and didn’t stop on Nadine’s account.
“Printed invitations are classier than e-mail, Fox. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I care about trees more than I care about ‘class.’ What do you think, Nadine? Should we send out stuffy printed invitations to our wedding—or speedier, cheaper and more environmentally friendly e-mail invitations?”
“We’re having such a small wedding, all we need is a dozen invitations. What’s that—a twig? Plus, we can use recycled paper.”
“Nadine?” Lindsay asked.
“Oh, no. I’m not falling for this again.” Nadine thought the printed invitations would be nice, but no way was she stating her opinion. Getting between Lindsay and Nathan in one of their “discussions” was never a good idea.
While Lindsay and Nathan loved each other passionately and made excellent business partners, they had opposite ideas about many subjects…especially their upcoming wedding.
And both of them sulked like kids if she took one side over the other.
“We’ve left this so late. The wedding is in two months.” Lindsay flipped the pages on her day-timer. “Do we even have time to get something printed?”
“The only reason we’re late is because you keep putting me off.” Nathan leaned forward in his chair, planting both hands on his well-muscled thighs. “I have a friend with a graphic-design shop two blocks from here on Amsterdam. She said if we come over right now, she can help us choose a design and have the invitations in the mail in three days.”
Lindsay made a face, then puffed out a sigh. “Fine. But the wedding cake will be chocolate. No fruitcake. No fancy white icing that tastes like plastic.”
“What about carrot cake with thick cream-cheese icing?”
Lindsay’s mouth tightened obstinately. “Chocolate.”
Nathan looked as if he was going to argue some more. Then he changed his mind and nodded. “Printed invitations and chocolate wedding cake.”
Lindsay reached for her shoes. “All right, then. I guess we better go talk to this friend of yours.”
Nadine realized her opportunity was about to be lost—again. “Um, before you go, I wanted to discuss something.”
“What’s up?” Lindsay asked as she slipped into her heels. She was a practical woman with a weakness for impractical shoes. One of several quirks to her character that kept her interesting.
Nadine showed Lindsay her latest certificate. “I want to start working on my own cases. I think I’m ready.”
The two partners exchanged a quick look, and Nadine, recognizing their skepticism, knew she had to speak fast. “I know you did me a favor, hiring me as a receptionist when I’d never held a job before.”
She’d had only her liberal arts education, and a lot of experience planning dinner parties and charity galas for her wealthy parents. Her father had always planned for her to work for the Waverly Foundation after graduation, but at the last moment Nadine had rebelled.
She had a dream. Her parents thought it was silly, reckless and potentially dangerous.
But Nadine still wanted to be a private detective.
“Despite my lack of experience, I think I’ve done a good job.”
“More like an excellent job,” Lindsay said. “But there’s a world of difference between working in an office and handling a case from start to finish.”
“You already do a lot of our research and record keeping,” Nathan added. “Plus you handle the calls from clients and keep track of us when we’re out in the field. We really couldn’t operate without you.”
Nadine heard what they were saying, but she wouldn’t be mollified. Not this time. “This is because I don’t have police training, isn’t it?”
Lindsay, Nathan and their third partner, Kate Cooper, had originally all worked at the Twentieth Precinct of the New York Police Department. “I’ve asked around. There are plenty of excellent P.I.’s in this city who didn’t start out with the force.”
“That’s true.” Lindsay ran her fingers through her delicately colored, blond hair. The blunt style ended at her jawline, emphasizing her determined chin. “I’m just not sure you’re ready.”
“But we’re drowning in work,” Nadine pointed out. “And Kate will be taking maternity leave soon.” She and her commercial pilot husband, Jay Savage, were expecting their first baby in four weeks.
“We’ve been gradually increasing your investigative responsibilities,” Nathan said.
“Yes. And I’m glad for everything you’ve thrown my way.” She knew how to do background checks now, and she was often asked to do research for the others. “But I’m always in the office. Always behind my desk.”
“But who would deal with the calls and the clients if you weren’t there?” Lindsay asked.
Nadine swallowed. She wasn’t quite brave enough to suggest that one of them could man the lines if she was out.
Nathan glanced at his watch. “We’ve got to get going. Let’s talk about this later when we have more time, okay?”
Same old story. Nadine sighed as they left. She had no illusions about what would happen later. More lip service to the notion of allowing her more responsibility. Then, in a couple of weeks, they would hire someone new, someone to cover for Kate, and Nadine’d be back to the same administrative jobs she always handled.
Nadine sank into her chair, frustrated. She loved working at Fox & Fisher. Lindsay, Nathan and Kate were friends, not just coworkers.
She didn’t want to leave.
But at the same time, she had a dream, and she was ready. She might not be a rabble-rouser like Lindsay, or steely minded like Kate, but she had talents, too.
Nadine went to the coffee station to rinse out the pot and start a fresh brew. Making coffee, answering phones, checking stuff on the Internet and writing up reports—yeah, she was great at that stuff. She wanted more, though. And she knew she could do it.
But no one here was going to believe it because they all thought of her as a receptionist. Worse than that, their opinions were colored by her background—her rich family and privileged upbringing.
She knew they all wondered why she bothered to work at a “real” job. But Nadine had never been comfortable with her family’s wealthy status. Far from giving her added confidence, the money had only made her less secure. She wanted to be valued as an individual, not as an heiress. That was why she used her mother’s maiden surname at work, and why she rarely spoke about her Waverly family connections.
She was determined to prove—to others and to herself—that she could handle the job. But how could she do that if they never let her try?
Nadine studied the calendar on her computer, where she kept track of everyone’s schedules. Knowing Nathan and Lindsay, it would take a while to find something they could agree on. Meanwhile, Kate had gone with Jay for her eight-month doctor checkup.
She would be alone in the office for a couple of hours.
Supposing, just supposing, a client should walk in the door during that time?
They didn’t get drop-in business very often, but it did happen. Usually, if the others were out, Nadine would book an appointment and ask the potential client to come back later.
But what if, this time, she didn’t?
Nadine put a hand to her chest. Her fingertips tingled with a rush of adrenaline, and her heart raced.
Dared she do it?
She had to. There was no other way. The next client who walked in the door was going to be hers.

PATRICK O’NEIL COULDN’T BE bothered with umbrellas. He just pulled his coat tighter against the cool November rain. Not to protect himself—he didn’t mind the damp and he wasn’t cold. Compared to Alaska, where he’d researched and written his last book, this weather was balmy. No, it wasn’t his body he was trying to protect, but the letters.
He’d been watching the addresses of the brownstones as he walked along, and now he stopped. The sign was discreet, but it seemed he had arrived.
Feeling oddly self-conscious, he glanced left, then right. No one even noticed him. Most of the passersby were huddled under umbrellas. And, anyway, New Yorkers always minded their own business.
He climbed six steps to a door that led to a small vestibule. The Fox & Fisher Detective Agency wasn’t the only business housed in this building. He checked the signs, then climbed more stairs, up to the next story.
A semitranslucent door had The Fox & Fisher Detective Agency lettered over the glass. He checked the hours, confirmed that it was open. Well, of course it was. What business wouldn’t be at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday?
He went in.
A woman was sitting at a reception desk. She was petite, with dark hair, darker eyes and pretty red lips. Her smile was meant to be welcoming, but she seemed slightly nervous about something.
“I don’t have an appointment,” he said. “Is that okay?” Up until three seconds ago, he hadn’t been sure he would go through with this. He wasn’t the kind of guy who hired other people to solve his problems.
Then again, he’d never had a problem quite like this one before.
“That’s fine. I can fit you in without an appointment.”
“Good. I’m in luck then.” She had a beautiful, refined way of speaking. Well educated, he could tell.
He wasn’t. He’d learned about life the old-fashioned way, through work and experience, and the lack of a college education had never stood in his way. He slipped his fingers inside his jacket, reached past the book he’d just received in the mail, to the manila envelope. Still dry. Good.
He removed his coat and folded it carefully over one arm, so the envelope wouldn’t fall out.
“Would you like to hang that in the closet?”
He shook his head, the muscles in his arms tightening reflexively. “I’d rather keep it with me.”
“Fine.” The dark-haired woman picked up a stack of files, and for no reason that he could tell, moved them to a different corner of her desk. “How can I help you?”
He was standing there like a dolt, trying not to feel absurd, yet the situation was so surreal. He’d certainly never dreamed that he would have reason to seek out the services of a private investigator.
Yet here he was.
“I’m Patrick O’Neil. I’d like to speak with one of your investigators. I—I need to find someone.”
“Locating missing persons is one of our specialties. And I’d be glad to help you. My name is Nadine Kimble.”
“You? But—I assumed you were the receptionist.”
Those pretty dark eyes blinked. “She’s on a break. I was just filling in for a few moments. We can continue our discussion in the boardroom. Would you like a coffee?”
He nodded. This situation was just getting stranger and stranger. Coffee would help. He let her pour him a cup, then added his own cream before following her down a short hall to a room on the left.
Like the reception area, the conference room was decorated in a modern, minimalistic style. He squinted at the odd black-and-white photos on the wall.
“Close-ups of paper clips,” the woman explained, which really explained nothing, as far as Patrick was concerned. Why put paper clips on your wall when you could have something truly beautiful, like a photograph of mountains, or the ocean or even one graceful tree?
“Please sit down and make yourself comfortable.” Nadine Kimble opened a notebook and pulled out a pen. “Now—who would you like us to find?”
He had an urge to question her credentials, but he supposed that was sexist of him. Just because she was little and cute and extremely feminine didn’t mean she couldn’t be a kick-ass investigator. Plus, this was the place that had been recommended.
With care, he removed the items in his coat pocket, first the book, then the package. Her eyes fell on the book. It was upside-down and his author photo was clearly visible.
“Is that you?” She reached across the table. “May I look?”
Action and Adventure in New Zealand was his sixth book. This ought to be old hat to him by now. But he still felt a rush of pride at seeing his picture, and his name, right there on the cover.
“By all means. I just received that copy from my publisher. The book won’t be available in stores for another month.”
“So, you’re an author. Of travel books.”
She sounded impressed.
Many women were.
This is not some girl you’re trying to chat up at the bar. Still, he found himself giving her his regular spiel. “I prefer to think of it as adventure travel. For people who are fit and up for a challenge and want to explore new places in ways that most tourists never experience.”
“That sounds wonderful.” She flipped through the pages, stopping to look at some of the pictures. Then she gave him a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I’m getting distracted, aren’t I?”
She set the book to the side, then folded her arms on the table and leaned in toward him. “Tell me why you’re here.” She glanced expectantly at the manila envelope he’d placed on the table.
He covered the envelope with a protective hand. He felt as if something thick and hard had suddenly lodged in his throat. Even though he’d already decided this was the most expeditious solution, he suddenly wasn’t sure he could share his very personal situation with a stranger.
But what choice did he have? The revisions on his Alaska manuscript were due at the publishers in three weeks. He had no time to handle this himself. Wasn’t even sure how to go about it, truth be told.
“I need your help to—” His voice cracked. He took a sip of coffee, then managed to get the rest out. “To find my son.”

CHAPTER TWO
NADINE STARED AT THE MANILA envelope on the table, her feet suddenly as cold as ice.
Was this case going to be something she could handle on her own? What would she do if it wasn’t?
She’d been hoping her first client would be a nice, old lady, missing a piece of antique jewelry. Or maybe a sweet, young husband, worried that his new wife was unfaithful. Of course, in Nadine’s imagination, she wasn’t….
But instead she’d ended up with this strong, forceful man brimming with masculine vitality. Patrick O’Neil seemed not quite wild, but close to it, with thick, unruly, chestnut-colored hair, and a body packed with solid muscles.
She’d never met anyone like him, and felt completely out of her element. For heaven’s sake, he was an adventurer by trade. The book he’d just shown her had a picture of a guy paragliding off a cliff and she had no doubt that it was Patrick O’Neil himself in the photograph.
She swallowed, desperate to moisten her parched mouth. She couldn’t let him see that she was intimidated. After all, he was here because he needed help.
“Your son…has he run away?” she asked, trying to sound as if she’d seen it all and didn’t expect to be surprised.
He seemed impatient as he shook his head. “Not really. The situation is complicated. Six weeks ago, when I left on a working trip to Alaska, I didn’t even know I had a son. I found this envelope piled up with the rest of the mail that had collected over the six weeks I was away.”
From the larger envelope, he pulled out two smaller letters. One of them had been opened. The other—addressed simply to Stephen—still sealed.
Puzzled, Nadine waited for him to explain.
“These letters were written by an old girlfriend. One was addressed to me, the other to a young man named Stephen.” He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “A young man she claims is my son.”
Again Nadine struggled to keep her expression neutral, as if she ran across situations like this all the time. “And is he?”
He shrugged. “I assume so. June Stone and I dated in our senior year of high school. After graduation, she went to university, while I worked until I had enough money for my first trip to Europe. We’d always known we had different plans, so our breakup was inevitable.”
“Where does the baby fit in?”
“Apparently June was pregnant when we broke up.”
“And you didn’t know?”
“No. In her letter, June said she decided not to tell me because she didn’t want me to feel like she was trying to trap me into marriage.”
“I assume she kept the baby?”
“Yes. She named our son Stephen and raised him on her own. He’s eighteen years old now, and he doesn’t even know I exist.”
“June must have told him something about his father.”
“Apparently she led him to believe that his father was dead.” Patrick shifted anxiously in his seat. “She said when he was young, she didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth, and once she became ill, she didn’t have the strength.”
“I see.” Perhaps June had been telling him the truth. But Nadine knew it was her job to be skeptical, to accept nothing at face value. “So why contact you now?”
“In a way, she didn’t. This letter was mailed posthumously.”
Nadine felt her eyes widen and quickly glanced down so he wouldn’t see her surprise. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, accepting her brief statement of condolence. “Apparently it was her wish that these letters were to be mailed to me after her death. As soon as I read the one addressed to me, I went on the Web and found her obituary. She died of cancer five weeks ago.”
His story was sounding like something from a movie, poignant and romantic. Nadine reminded herself that her job was to be objective and analytical. “Why do you think she wanted you to know about Stephen now?”
“She felt that since her son no longer had a mother, he might need a father.” He shook his head. “She asked if I would contact Stephen and deliver this second letter in person.”
Nadine eyed the unopened envelope. Why hadn’t June asked for that letter to be mailed directly to Stephen? There was only one reason she could think of. “She didn’t want her son to know the truth unless you were prepared to meet with him.”
“Exactly. Whether Stephen and I strike up a relationship is up to us, June wrote, but she did say she’d be grateful if I would help Stephen financially, with his university education, since her long illness depleted her financial resources.”
“Ah.” At the mention of money, Nadine’s back straightened. Had June Stone been aware of Patrick’s successful writing career? Possibly she’d stretched the truth a little—or a lot—in an effort to provide some financial security for her son.
Still, Patrick didn’t seem to doubt the truth of her story. Not one word of it.
“You said the letter was mailed posthumously. By whom?”
“I have no idea. The return address is the apartment in Chelsea where June and her son used to live. The place has since been let to someone else.”
He shook his head. “I wish that I’d kept in touch with June. For a while after we separated we kept up a correspondence. I sent her postcards from my travels and every Christmas she mailed a card to me care of my mother’s address. But after a few years, that stopped. I hadn’t heard from her in years. Until this.”
“So now you want to talk to Stephen Stone?”
“Yes. Only I have no idea where to find him. The letter didn’t provide any contact information.” He unfolded two sheets of paper that looked as if they had been read over many times.
“May I read that?”
He hesitated, then passed it over. “I’m not even sure her son lives in Manhattan. As I mentioned, he left the apartment he lived in with his mother. I also phoned the funeral home listed in the obituary, but they couldn’t help me.”
Nadine glanced up from June Stone’s handwritten lines. “I assume you checked the phone listings?”
He nodded. “I called every S. Stone I could find. And I searched the Internet, including Facebook. I can’t find him anywhere.”
“That’s unusual, for someone his age, though he could be using a nickname on Facebook. Some kids do.”
“Yeah. That’s what I figured. I’m kind of at a dead end here and I don’t have much time, since I’m on a tight deadline with my next book. Do you think you can help?”
He looked her straight in the eyes, and Nadine could see that he wasn’t totally convinced that he’d come to the right person.
Keeping her gaze direct and confident, she nodded. “Like I said earlier, finding missing persons is a specialty of our firm. As it happens, I’m between cases right now and I could start on this immediately.”
Okay, technically that was a lie, but Nadine told herself it wouldn’t matter, not as long as she found Patrick’s son for him. Which she was determined to do.
Patrick’s eyes held hers a moment longer, and then he nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. What’s the first step?”
She struggled to keep her excitement contained. “We sign a standard contract and you pay a retainer.” She mentioned the base amount, figuring this case probably wouldn’t take very long. When Patrick indicated his agreement, she asked him to wait while she drew up the papers.
“Too bad your receptionist isn’t here to do that,” Patrick commented.
She was halfway to the door when he said that. She paused briefly and glanced back at him.
From his expression it seemed there had been no double meaning to his words, so she smiled and nodded. “That’s okay. It won’t take me long.”
Fifteen minutes later, the business between them was concluded. “I’ll call you in a couple of days and let you know how things are progressing,” she promised as she passed him his copy of their agreement.
His chest expanded on a full breath. “Okay. So…any idea how long it will take to find Stephen?”
“That depends on several factors. But normally, in a case like this, we have results in three or four days.”
She could see the relief on his face and knew she’d finally won him over.
“Great,” he said. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you then.”
One last time their gazes connected, and she felt again the power of his presence. She sensed he had a mental toughness to match the physical perfection of his athletic body. But this letter from his old girlfriend had exposed a hint of vulnerability in him, too. And oddly it was that element about him that she found most appealing.
Following the example she’d seen set many times by the other partners at Fox & Fisher, Nadine escorted Patrick to the door. With a final confident handshake, she saw him on his way, and only once the door was firmly closed and she was alone again, did she allow herself to believe what had finally happened.
She’d done it! She’d signed her first client.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, KATE called to say that her doctor’s appointment was over. “I’m going to stop by the office for some files, then call it a day. Did anything interesting come up this afternoon?”
“Not really.” Nadine’s conscience squirmed at the fib. As soon as she got off the line, she rearranged her files, so that her nameplate was visible again. That had been her only mistake, she thought, that she hadn’t noticed quickly enough that the sign was in view. Fortunately, Patrick didn’t seem to have noticed.
Then she went to the conference room to clear away the used coffee mugs. That was when she noticed that he’d forgotten his book. She took it with her to her desk, where she sat and studied the author photo on the back.
No question about it. The man was incredibly masculine, with a body that was all muscle, skin that was tanned and windblown, and eyes that were as blue as the New Zealand sky on the cover of his book.
She’d have to return this copy to him at their next meeting. In the meantime, she’d get busy finding his son…or the boy June Stone claimed was his son.
Take nothing at face value, Nathan and Lindsay had taught her. Check every fact, at least once, better yet twice. Never cut corners.
With their advice in mind, Nadine started to work, laying out a plan of action that would hopefully lead her to Stephen Stone.
Fifteen minutes later, she was interrupted as Kate walked in. The eight-months-pregnant detective was wearing a cleverly styled trench coat she’d bought from a discount maternity shop, but nothing could hide the huge ball of baby on her tall, normally thin frame.
“Oh, God, I’m tired.” She pulled off the coat and hung it on her usual hanger. Her luxurious red hair was pulled in a messy knot at the back of her head and if she’d applied any makeup that morning, it was now worn off.
Still, she had a beautiful glow, Nadine thought. And she knew Jay felt the same way about his wife. Every time she’d seen them together, he’d been doting on her. “How was the appointment?”
“Everything’s good. Though my doctor says the baby’s head has already dropped into the birth canal, which is early given that the little peach isn’t due for another month.”
Kate frowned as she glanced at Nadine’s computer screen. “What’s that?”
“Just some research I’m doing for Nathan.” The fibbing seemed to come easier each time she had to do it. “He and Lindsay have agreed to give me more case work. So if you ever have something you’d like a hand with—”
“Sure, Nadine. Thanks for the offer.” Kate snagged a bottled juice smoothie from the fridge then headed back to her office, across from the conference room.
Despite her easy agreement, Nadine doubted if Kate was going to throw any work her way. If she did, it would only be basic research work, the kind that could be done from the safety of her desk at the office.
She was dying to get out in the field, performing surveillance, shooting video of suspects, interviewing witnesses…
She wondered if she’d get to do any of that with Patrick O’Neil’s case. She wanted to find his son quickly, but hopefully not too easily. Nathan always said to start a case by listing what you did know, then make a list of what you needed to find out.
She was still working on the first list when Lindsay and Nathan returned from their wedding planning.
“Did you select invitations?” she asked cautiously. The two of them seemed fairly relaxed and cheerful, so hopefully the appointment had gone well.
“They’ll be in the mail by Monday,” Nathan announced happily. “You should get yours next week.”
“While we were out, we also ordered the cake.” Lindsay hung up her jacket, then went for some coffee. “We’re having two—white chocolate mousse cake, and devil’s delight double cocoa cake.”
“Those sound amazing.”
Nathan, who was practically a vegetarian and generally avoided foods laden with fat or sugar, shivered. “Not to me they don’t, but I’m glad you girls are happy.” He kissed Lindsay, and they shared a mushy smile.
Then Lindsay asked if there had been any messages.
Nadine handed one slip of paper to Nathan and two to Lindsay.
“Anyone else call?” Nathan asked.
She swallowed. Here it was—another lie. “No. Just those three.”
“Great.” Lindsay had already ducked back into her office and Nathan was heading for his, when he noticed Patrick O’Neil’s book on her desk. “Hey, I heard O’Neil had something coming out on New Zealand. Where did you find this?”
Oh, crap. “It was a gift,” she improvised.
“Mind if I take a quick look through? Lindsay and I are considering New Zealand for our honeymoon.”
Nadine couldn’t think of any way to refuse that wouldn’t sound suspicious. “Go ahead,” she said, while at the same time berating herself for not hiding the darned book in a drawer. If she was going to keep Patrick’s case secret until it was solved, she was going to have to start being a lot more circumspect.

AT SIX O’CLOCK, NADINE reluctantly turned off her computer and tucked her notes on the O’Neil case into her bottom drawer, under the pair of flat-soled shoes she kept on hand for emergencies.
Patrick’s contract and his check were there, too. She wouldn’t give the check to Nathan—who had taken over the accounting as soon as he became a full partner—until after she’d solved the case and come clean about what she’d done.
What a lot of fun it was going to be to see the expressions on everyone’s faces when they realized she really could handle an entire case all on her own.
Nadine was pumped and didn’t want to stop working, even though it was after five. But she’d promised her mother she would attend one of her charity galas that evening. The cause de jour was saving the rain forest, Nadine thought, with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about the rain forest, or the many other worthwhile causes her mother championed.
It was only that, in her opinion, the galas should be scrapped and the thousands of dollars it took to throw those big, fancy parties should be donated to the cause.
Her mother said her views were “shortsighted.”
And maybe she was right. Maybe in ten or twenty years, Nadine would be signing up to join the boards of all these committees and worrying about decorating themes and menus and ticket sales.
But she hoped not.
She and her mother thought differently about so many topics that long ago she’d realized she could either speak her own mind and be estranged from her mother, or keep her opinions to herself.
Because she loved her mother, for the most part Nadine kept her opinions to herself. And attended the parties. And wore the dresses. And dated the men. It was just easier that way.
Two hours later, Nadine was in a strapless black gown in the ballroom of the Waverly Hotel on Park Avenue. The man whose arm she was holding was an up-and-coming lawyer who had done some work for her father.
His name was Trenton Oberg, and he already had three strikes against him.
He wasn’t muscular.
His eyes were brown.
And his hair wasn’t windblown in the slightest.
On the positive side of the equation, the food promised to be good and her cousin Liz was in attendance, so there was sure to be some shocking event or another to entertain the masses. Liz did not enjoy being in the background, ever.
Trenton let go of her arm to snag two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He handed her one, then clinked his flute against hers. “To a wonderful evening, with a wonderful girl.”
The words were spoken glibly, without a trace of sincerity, and Nadine smiled politely before taking a sip. Then a longer drink. Sometimes champagne was the only thing—
She sputtered as she caught sight of a man with a headful of dark brown hair that glittered with red highlights. He had his back to her, but the color of his hair, not to mention the cut of his suit—those wide shoulders and that impossibly slender waist—made her flashback to the man she’d met in the office today.
But why would Patrick O’Neil be at a high-society charity gala? She pulled on Trenton’s sleeve.
He frowned slightly, then leaned in toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you know who’s speaking tonight?”
He named a local dignitary who had been a friend of her family’s for as long as she could remember.
“Anyone else?”
“Well, there’s that action-adventure travel writer, Patrick O’Neil. But you wouldn’t have heard of him.”
Patrick O’Neil. Oh, Lord. Nadine could feel the skin at the back of her neck tingle. She had to get out of here before he noticed her.
But no sooner did she have that thought than Patrick turned around—and with an uncanny instinct, as if he’d sensed her thinking about him—looked her square in the eyes.

CHAPTER THREE
PATRICK HAD EXPECTED TO BE bored, and he’d been prepared for it. What he hadn’t remembered was how damn uncomfortable formal attire could be. His feet—used to cushioned, merino wool socks and thick rubber soles—ached in these thin leather shoes. And the buttons on his tuxedo shirt seemed to tighten their hold on his neck with every minute.
He scanned the room in search of something that might distract him from his misery. Drinking wouldn’t be smart. Not when he had to speak in about an hour.
Definitely lots of beautiful women here. But he felt little interest in trying to meet one of them. That letter from June…it had really knocked him for a loop.
Wait a minute. Over in the corner. He couldn’t help staring at the pretty brunette with sparkling dark eyes. She was slender and utterly feminine…like a modern-day princess in a strapless dress that showed off flawless skin and an intriguing hint of cleavage.
She had a delicate beauty that set her apart from the many other gorgeous women in this room. But that wasn’t the only reason she’d caught his attention. He had the feeling he’d met her before.
And then it hit him. Hell. She was the investigator from Fox & Fisher. Nadine Kimble.
At the very moment he recognized her, she glanced through the crowd, making contact with his eyes. Or maybe he imagined it, because now, a second later, she was looking just slightly to his left. Lowering her eyes, she took a very long drink from her champagne flute.
She’d looked completely different earlier today in a conservative skirt and high-necked sweater. Her hair had been straight and controlled and her makeup subdued.
But he was now quite certain she was the same woman.
He was already moving through the crowd, curious to find out why a detective from Fox & Fisher was mingling with New York City’s wealthiest and most influential citizens. The tickets for tonight’s event were a thousand bucks a head. Not something that fit into the average woman’s budget, that was for sure.
Perhaps she had a rich boyfriend.
And at just that moment Patrick spotted him—a tall, academic-looking man in his late twenties, with dull eyes and an expression devoid of good humor. As Patrick watched, Nadine stood on her toes to speak into his ear. He nodded, then took her champagne flute and headed off, presumably for a refill.
She was alone now. And though she was no longer looking in his direction, he sensed she was aware of his approach.
Patrick wondered why he felt it was so important to speak to her. Not enough time had passed for her to have turned up any information about his son. Yet, he pressed on, weaving through the knots of people, drawing nearer, finally close enough to touch her lightly on the shoulder.

“MR. O’NEIL.” NADINE SHIVERED, though the man’s touch on her skin was warm. She swiveled ninety degrees, so she was almost, but not quite, facing him. “This is a surprise. I didn’t realize you were tonight’s speaker until just recently.”
She clasped her hands behind her back to hide her trembling. She had to get rid of him. Fast. It wouldn’t take Trenton long to refill their glasses, and when he returned she’d be obligated to make introductions, and her cover would be blown.
She could just imagine what her client would say when he found out her father was one of the owners of this hotel, her mother on the fundraising committee for this event.
“Call me Patrick. Please. Believe me, this isn’t my usual habitat.” He gave a desultory tug to his bow tie. “But my publicist went to a lot of work to arrange this gig and threatened to feed me to lions if I didn’t show up.”
“I guess it’s good timing. With your new book coming out soon and all.” She glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see that Trenton wasn’t yet in the vicinity.
“Exactly. Still, it’s ironic, isn’t it? A big, fancy bash like this—everyone in expensive duds, eating exotic food. If we really cared about the rain forest, we’d be consuming less, not more.”
That was exactly how she felt about the situation. But she couldn’t afford to exchange political and social views with this man. She had to leave. Now.
“I must admit, I was surprised to see you here,” Patrick continued.
She knew he was waiting for an explanation. Suddenly one came to her. She stepped closer to him and in a low voice said, “I’m attending on business. I’m sorry I can’t explain further.”
“Oh.” Patrick’s eyes widened. “You’re undercover, then?”
She nodded.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to mess things up.”
“Exactly. Thanks so much for understanding.” She squeezed his arm, in a gesture of farewell, and though she knew he was in excellent physical condition, she was still surprised to feel the tight resistance of muscle under the soft wool of his tux.
“We’ll talk soon,” she promised, before slipping off into the crowd. Not five steps later, a friend of her mother’s called out her name, but she pretended not to hear as she hurried to put distance between herself and Patrick.
She’d slipped out of that predicament, but only barely. She didn’t dare stick around for the entire evening. She was too well known here, had too many connections.
She would find Trenton and make an excuse to leave. There would be hell to pay from her mother, but there was no way around it.

THE NEXT MORNING NADINE WENT to the office early, despite not having slept well the night before. Granny Kimble had always said a clean conscience was essential to a good night’s sleep, and now Nadine knew that was true. She’d never in her life told as many lies as she had in the past twenty hours.
Seeing Patrick last night had been an unexpected complication, requiring yet more little white lies on her part. She could so easily have been busted. Luckily she’d managed to exit fairly quickly after being spotted.
But part of her wished she could have stayed. She would have liked to hear him speak. Then maybe later, after the dinner, he would have sought her out for a dance. She imagined the band playing something slow and romantic, Patrick’s arms tightening around her back…
Oh, Lord. What was she doing? Daydreaming about her client was definitely not professional.
She was up to her neck in deception, and the only way out was to solve this case, which meant finding Patrick’s son, the sooner the better.
That was why she’d arrived so early. Hopefully she’d have the office to herself for at least an hour before the others arrived. Prior to her pregnancy, Kate had been an early bird, but these days she usually started her days at nine, like Lindsay and Nathan.
Yesterday Nadine had mapped out a strategy and now she reviewed her notes. The first step was checking out Stephen’s mother—Patrick’s old girlfriend—June Stone.
She located June’s obituary on the Internet and read it carefully. June’s parents had predeceased her, but she had been survived by a sister and her family, who lived in Boston, as well as her son, Stephen.
Nadine copied out the sister’s name, then read on. The write-up on June’s life was short, highlighting her career as a professor at Columbia University, and citing her business and masters degrees from NYU. The obit ended on a personal note…“In her spare time June loved skiing with her son and hiking with friends in the Berkshires.”
And that was all the obituary had to offer.
Next, Nadine tracked down June’s last-known address, the apartment in Chelsea. What had happened with her furniture and belongings? Nadine wondered. Did her son have them?
Nadine tucked her hair out of the way as she tried to think what she should do next. Since Stephen didn’t have a listed phone number or address that she could find, it might be smart to try and reach the sister, who would be his aunt.
She was about to start searching for a Boston phone listing, when the door opened and Kate stepped in, her freckled face pink from the cold, or exertion or possibly both.
She paused and sighed, hand on belly. “God, I wish we were on the ground floor.”
Nadine had a sudden urge to tell Kate what she was doing. The others often brainstormed with one another about their cases. But unfortunately, she couldn’t allow herself that luxury.
“Only four more weeks,” she said encouragingly. “Then you’ll be on mat leave with your beautiful baby.”
“I can’t wait.” Besides being smart, coolheaded and ambitious, Kate also had a huge maternal streak and Nadine doubted if this would be her and Jay’s only child.
She was mildly envious of the other woman’s happiness. In her mind Kate had it all: a terrific husband, a great career and soon a baby, as well. Nadine wanted all those things, too, but she wanted to earn them, not have them handed to her on a silver platter by her parents.
Her mother didn’t understand. She thought Nadine should be happy to work as an administrator for the family’s charitable foundation and date the suitable young men introduced to her by her parents.
Both her mother and her father were still cool to the fact that she was working at Fox & Fisher, but Nadine hoped that eventually they would accept that this was her chosen path. Maybe, at some point, they would actually be proud of her.
As soon as Kate was in her office, Nadine returned to her Internet search. She had to follow a winding trail to locate a phone number for June’s sister in Boston, but eventually she was successful. No sooner had she punched the numbers into her cell phone than Nathan appeared.
Quickly Nadine shut her phone, then slid her papers under a stack of files.
“Hey, Nathan. Where’s Lindsay?” They usually came to work together.
“I talked her into sleeping late. She had a bad night.”
He didn’t need to say more. Nadine nodded sympathetically. While Lindsay was strong, brave and capable, she and her sister, Meg, had been orphaned very young. The scars from their parents’ violent deaths had left a mark on each of the girls.
For Lindsay, her personal demons included nightmares and insomnia—though from what Nadine had heard, both were becoming less frequent. But moments of high emotion could bring on a relapse.
“Is it the wedding?” Nadine speculated.
“I think so. I wonder if we should have just eloped like she said she wanted.”
“It’s still an option.”
“Yeah. But I don’t want her to feel cheated ten years from now. You know—that she didn’t have the full deal on her wedding day.”
Nadine smiled. Nathan couldn’t help being himself. Any job worth doing, was worth doing well, in his opinion. And obviously that included weddings. “I’m sure your wedding will be perfect.”
“As long as we end up as husband and wife, that will be perfect enough for me. From now on, I swear, I’m going to agree with everything Lindsay wants.”
He hung up his coat, then went to pour himself a coffee. “I’m sorry we had to rush our conversation yesterday. Lindsay and I were talking last night. You’re very important to this office. You know that, right?”
“That’s good to hear. But—”
“You’re ready for more. Right. We get that. And you will get more. But gradually. When Kate has her baby, we’ll talk again. Maybe there will be a few cases of hers that you can take over.”
There were still too many maybes in his proposition for Nadine’s taste. But she smiled and thanked him anyway. Soon Nathan, Lindsay and Kate were going to realize that she was a lot more capable than they thought.

TWO DAYS LATER, NADINE HAD a problem. Finally she had some concrete results to share with Patrick, and she needed to arrange a meeting. But it couldn’t be at the office. She couldn’t count on one of the partners not walking in on her.
She pondered her options for a while, then sent him a text message, suggesting they go for coffee in Chelsea at the end of the workday. If she closed up the office at five and took a cab rather than the subway, she ought to be able to make it by six.
She’d just hit the send button, when Lindsay came out of her office. “Want to cut out early today? Nathan’s planning on working late, so he can lock up the place. Meg and I are going to shop for my wedding dress and shoes. When we’re done, we’ll go out for dinner.”
Oh, heck. That sounded like fun. Nadine checked her silent phone and wondered if Patrick would respond soon. “I’d love to, but…”
Lindsay had noticed her glance at her phone. “Family plans?”
Nadine swallowed. She hadn’t counted on needing to lie quite this often. She really didn’t like it. Fortunately her phone chimed at just that moment and she held up a hand for Lindsay to wait.
She scanned the short message from Patrick: Six is good for me.
Patrick’s speedy reply gave her a rush of excitement. She was looking forward to seeing him, and it wasn’t just about the case. A lot of guys looked great in a tux, but he had looked really, really great. Not that it mattered. Only…she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
She pressed a hand to her chest. She had to stop this. She was almost positive that professional investigators did not think about their clients this way.
She realized Lindsay had been watching her. Now, the astute investigator smiled wickedly. “No, it’s not family. It’s a hot date, isn’t it? Go ahead and say yes, Nadine. We can go for dinner anytime.”
“But, your gown and shoes…” Picking out a spectacular wedding outfit was the one thing that Lindsay seemed to be excited about and Nadine was honored to be invited along.
“Don’t worry. I already know which dress I want. I’m just showing Meg so she’ll think I’ve asked for her opinion.”
“What about Kate?”
“Poor thing is too tired. She has a meeting in half an hour and then she’s going straight home to put her feet up.” Lindsay sighed. “Face it, we could have timed this wedding better. As it stands, Kate’s baby is going to be only a few weeks old when we tie the knot.”
“You didn’t know Kate was pregnant when you set the date,” Nadine reminded her. “And at least the office is slow between Christmas and New Year’s, so your timing is good from that perspective.”
“True enough.”
Guilt tugged at Nadine again. Earlier Lindsay had mentioned she’d like help finding the right shoes. “Are you sure you won’t need me tonight?”
“Definitely. Go out and have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As soon as Lindsay had left on her shopping trip, Nadine replied to Patrick’s text: Six is good. Meet at A Subway entrance at 14th Street.
Less than a minute later, she received his reply: Got it. See you there.
Nadine swallowed. This was it. No backing out now.

CHAPTER FOUR
NADINE LEFT THE OFFICE promptly at five o’clock, anxious to be on time for her clandestine meeting with Patrick O’Neil. As she hurried down the stairs, briefcase in hand, she felt sophisticated and mysterious. After over a year of working at Fox & Fisher, she was finally an “operative” with her own “case.” She felt like the main character in one of the detective stories she loved so much, and she was even dressed for the part with her classic trench coat and oversize sunglasses.
She’d chosen to meet in Chelsea for several reasons. First, the subway stop was only two blocks from the apartment where June Stone had lived with her son. She thought Patrick might be interested in walking by the place, and if he wasn’t, she would do it alone once their meeting was over.
More important, she was reasonably certain that she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew in Chelsea. None of the partners at Fox & Fisher lived or were working in the area. Nor was she likely to encounter one of her family members, or friends of her parents, any of whom would give her away in an instant.
When she dashed into a cab, it was raining lightly. By the time she emerged at the meeting spot, the rain had turned into miserable November snow. Nadine stamped her feet to keep warm and hoped Patrick wouldn’t be late. She was wearing a wool dress and leggings under her coat, a hat and leather gloves, yet the damp chill seemed to seep through all of it.
At precisely six o’clock he showed up. She spotted him from a block away. He was wearing a dark coat with the top buttons undone, no scarf or hat, yet he didn’t look the least bit cold. Watching him approach, she was struck again by his rugged good looks and the athletic grace of his body. Probably thanks to lots of sun and wind, he looked all of his thirty-six years. His age had been on his bio in the book.
But there was no gray in his hair and certainly he had more energy than anyone she’d ever met.
He shook her hand when he reached her. His blue eyes fixed on her steadily. “It’s nice to see you again. I wasn’t expecting results so quickly.”
He was a little nervous, she realized. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that she was, too. “We’re only a few blocks from June Stone’s old apartment. I wondered if you’d like to take a look before we have our coffee.”
“Yes. I didn’t think it was coincidence that you’d suggested we meet here.”
They set out heading west and Patrick was the first to speak. “I looked for you the other night. Later, after the speeches.”
“I’m sorry. I would have enjoyed hearing your talk, I’m sure. But I had to leave before dinner was served.”
He glanced at her, clearly intrigued. “I don’t suppose you can give me any details about the case?”
“I’m afraid not. We’re very strict about confidentiality at Fox & Fisher.”
“Which is a good thing.” He touched her elbow as they crossed the street. She found the gentlemanly gesture rather sweet, and unexpected, from a man she suspected cared little for most social graces.
But then, he’d seemed very comfortable in his tux the other night.
“Do you attend a lot of charity balls?” she asked.
“I try not to. In fact, after the other night, I called my publicist and said that was the last one. The people who go to these things mean well, I’m sure. But they’re so caught up in the cycle of consume, consume, consume. They listen to my talk and don’t even recognize that their lifestyle is part of the problem.”
Having struggled with the same issues for most of her life, Nadine had to agree with him. Her mother put pressure on her to attend these functions, but each one seemed to require more effort than the last.
“Well, this is it.” She stopped in front of a three-story apartment building. Counting out the units, she pointed to the window near the corner. “I think that was where June and Stephen lived.”
Patrick stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at the window for a long time. The curtains were drawn, but the interior lights were on and every now and then a shadow flickered as someone walked by.
“My son grew up here,” he said, his voice hoarse. He glanced around the block, taking in the convenience store across the street and a coffee shop on the corner. Both were probably places June Stone—and Stephen—had spent a lot of time in.
“Want to try that place?” he asked, pointing at the coffee shop. It was on the corner of Ninth Street. Rafaella’s was printed in white letters on a black awning over the window.
“Sure.” She started in that direction, then stopped. Patrick was still gazing at the third-floor window.
“I suppose June thought she was doing me a favor by raising our son alone. But she should have told me.”

JUNE’S DEATH WAS HAVING a profound effect on Patrick. She wasn’t the first of his contemporaries to pass away. That would have been Jed, who’d died in an avalanche, a day after Patrick had skied the same terrain. Jed’s passing had been hard, but finding out about June was even harder.
She had been his first love. And now, he was just discovering, the mother of his child.
June had been a straightforward person, intelligent and practical. At eighteen, she’d been cute, but it wasn’t really her looks that had drawn him so much as her outgoing personality and her love of sports. She’d played volleyball and basketball and he’d liked the fact that she could shoot a basket just as well as he could.
He’d preferred the solitary sports. Back in school it had been track and field. As an adult he’d taken up cycling, kayaking, mountain climbing…The list went on and on.
When they’d broken up, the summer after graduation, he’d been sad, but not for long. He’d worked at a bike shop until he had enough cash for a trip to Europe. He’d always had a yearning to travel.
Meanwhile June had gone on to college, as she’d always planned, only now he knew that her first year would not have gone as planned, because she’d been pregnant. He’d had time to do some calculating and he figured the baby would have been born in March, at the latest.
Three months after she sent him a Christmas card saying everything was fine.
Another shadow passed by the window in the apartment. It seemed sad, somehow, that a new family had moved in, playing out their passions and dramas and dreams in the very rooms where June and Stephen had once lived.
Patrick glanced away. Nadine had removed her sunglasses—it was growing dark now—and was waiting for him patiently, though she was probably cold. Now that the sun was gone, the air was cooling rapidly.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said, moving toward her.
“No problem. It must be quite a shock. Not only finding out you had a son. But he’s eighteen years old.”
“Yes. I cared about June, she was a good person and I don’t want to blame her. But if she’d given me a chance, I would have liked to be a part of his life.”
“Maybe the two of you would have gotten married.”
Somehow he couldn’t picture that. “Maybe.”
They were at the café now, and he held the door open for Nadine. Inside, the room was welcoming, furnished with sofas and upholstered chairs, the windows draped in soft fabrics and the lighting warm and intimate. It felt a bit like walking into someone’s home.
They were directed to a table for two next to a redbrick wall. Patrick helped Nadine off with her trench coat, then removed his leather jacket and hung both on a nearby coatrack.
He didn’t normally pay much attention to the clothing people wore, but he did notice that Nadine’s dress clung nicely to her petite figure. When she removed her hat, he saw that her thick, dark hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. In his line of work, he saw women in practical ponytails all the time—but this one looked more elegant than sporty. The style showed off her delicate ears and earrings long enough to swing with each movement of her head.
He was reminded of how perfectly lovely she’d looked at the gala ball the other night. To the manner born, and all that stuff. He supposed being able to fit in with your surroundings was a useful talent when you were in her line of work.
He forced himself to wait until they’d both ordered coffee to ask, “So tell me what you’ve found out.”
She cleared her throat. “I’ve contacted June’s sister in Boston.”
The obituary had mentioned Diane—whom he remembered vaguely.
“I tried to call Diane, too,” he said. “But her number wasn’t listed.”
Nadine nodded, setting her earrings in motion again. “She still goes by Stone, though she is married. I hoped they might own a home and I was lucky. By checking the Boston property tax listings online I was able to find their address. From that, I figured out the most likely school for their children to attend.”
That was clever. “But how did identifying the school help?”
“The school has a Web site. In one of the monthly newsletters, Diane was listed as pizza mom.”
“Pizza mom. What in the world is that?”
“It sounds like a school fundraiser. The kids send in orders for a special pizza lunch once a month. At any rate, Diane was the volunteer organizer and her phone number was printed right next to her name.”
Pretty ingenious legwork, Patrick thought, relieved to have this solid evidence that she knew what she was doing. “So you called her. Did you tell her I’d hired you to find Stephen?”
“Not exactly. I told her my name and that I lived in Manhattan. I said I had just heard that her sister had passed away and I was trying to find Stephen.”
“You didn’t mention me?”
“At this point I thought it would be good to say as little as possible. Diane made it very easy for me, actually. She didn’t ask many questions at all. She’s probably fielded a lot of calls since her sister passed away, so she just assumed I must be a friend.”
He edged forward on his seat. “Did she tell you about Stephen? Is he living with her now? He’s only eighteen.”
Nadine sighed, which he didn’t take as a good sign.
“Diane says that Stephen stayed with them for a few weeks after the funeral. But, apparently he wasn’t very impressed with Boston. He decided to head to the Rocky Mountains, in Canada, with a friend. They’re both certified ski instructors and they’re hoping they can find a job.”
“Canada? Hell, that’s far.” He’d been hoping to locate Stephen in Boston, just a short flight away. This was an unexpected complication, and disappointing. “Couldn’t he find a job a little closer? There are plenty of ski hills in New England.”
“Diane told me Stephen is taking his mother’s death pretty hard. He wanted to go somewhere far away, a place with no memories.”
“He didn’t have memories of his mother in Boston.”
“Maybe Stephen craves adventure…like his father.”
Her comment jolted Patrick. To this point his son had seemed more abstract than real. But he and Stephen shared the same DNA. And though it wasn’t logical, he felt proud.
“Diane dropped Stephen off at the airport about two weeks ago,” Nadine continued. “He and his friend were flying to Calgary, Alberta, where they planned to buy a cheap car, then head out to the Rockies.”
“So now what?” Patrick wondered. Since finding out he had a son, he hadn’t been able to sleep through the night once. He needed some resolution. Soon. “Canada is a big place. How do we find him?”

THE SERVER ARRIVED THEN TO SEE if they wanted to order anything to eat. Nadine could tell Patrick was impatient with the interruption, but she was suddenly starving.
She’d been working hard the past few days, running on adrenaline and nerves. She needed food to settle her stomach.
“I’ll have the pasta special, please.”
Patrick just shook his head. As soon as they were alone again, he asked, “So what’s the plan?”
“We need to find where Stephen is working. It makes sense that he would head to one of the larger, world-class resorts, not just a local ski hill. I’ve done some research and it seems that there are three main possibilities, within two or three hours of Calgary.”
“And they are?”
She pulled a sheet of paper from her bag and read out the list. “Sunshine Village at Banff, the Lake Louise ski hill or the Kicking Horse Resort in Golden.”
“I’ve heard of all of those.” His forehead knotted as he seemed to consider something. “In fact, I made some notes a few years ago when I was considering a book on ski adventures in the Canadian Rockies. And you’re sure Stephen will be at one of those three places?”
“Pretty sure. The only other major ski hill in Canada is Whistler, but Stephen would have flown into Vancouver if he wanted to find a job at that resort.”
True enough. “So what happens next? Have you tried phoning those resorts?”
“I’ve called, but so far I haven’t had any luck. It turns out that they do a lot of hiring at the beginning of November. They won’t have their full complement of employees entered into their systems for a few weeks yet.”
“Hell.” He shifted impatiently in his seat.
The server came with her dinner, and she picked up her fork. “Here’s my recommendation. We wait fourteen days, and then I try calling the resorts again.”
“That’s too long,” he said without even considering it. “You need to fly up there and look for him in person.”
“Me? Fly to Canada?” Too late, Nadine realized she should have expected the suggestion. She could tell Patrick wasn’t a patient man. And finding his son was clearly very important to him.
“I can’t wait two more weeks to find him.”
“We could hire an investigator in Calgary to follow this up,” she suggested.
Patrick frowned. “I’m not keen on working with someone I haven’t met with face-to-face.”
She tried to think of a third option, but couldn’t. Maybe she could dissuade him if she talked dollars. “It will be expensive. Air flights, hotels, rental cars. Plus I’d have to charge for meals, on top of my regular hourly fee.”
“Obviously the retainer I paid you won’t be nearly enough. I can write you another check right now.” He pulled out a blank check from his wallet. She waited while he filled it out, then passed it to her.
Five thousand dollars. Holy crap. “This should cover it.” She stared at the check, realizing she was out of excuses now. She had to take a trip to Canada—but how was she going to do that? She’d taken on this case intending to wrap it up while still carrying on with her usual receptionist duties.
Nadine swallowed. She’d have to think of something to tell the partners. “Right. Well, then. I guess I’m going to Canada.”
Patrick rubbed his chin. “Maybe we should both go.”
“Pardon me? But I thought you had a book due?”
“I can write just as well on the plane and in a hotel room in the Rockies as I can here in my apartment. If I travel with you, then I’ll be right there to meet Stephen, as soon as you find him.”
Oh, Lord, no. This job was going to be difficult enough, without having the client traveling with her—seeing all her mistakes firsthand.
“I’ll call you as soon as I find him. You can catch the very next plane—”
“Calgary’s on the other side of the continent. Even if I do manage to book the next available flight, I’ll still lose a day to travel. And I know I’ll be out of my mind with nerves the whole time. No. I really think this plan is the best. Besides, while I’m there, I can see if there’s any potential for a book on the Canadian Rockies.”
Nadine couldn’t think of anything to say that would dissuade him.
With her head bowed over the dinner she no longer had any interest in eating, she tried to sneak a look at him. But she found him staring at her. His forehead was lined, his eyes appeared anxious. To her overwrought imagination, it seemed he was wondering if he’d made a mistake hiring her.
She wouldn’t blame him, because she was wondering the same thing.

CHAPTER FIVE
THE NEXT MORNING, NADINE’S phone rang before it was light. She pulled herself out of her warm bedding and picked up the receiver she kept by her bed. Her mother loved calling her early on the weekend.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Ahh—this is Patrick O’Neil. I was trying to reach Nadine Kimble.”
Adrenaline pumped through her, waking her more effectively than any alarm clock. “This is Nadine.”
She swung her feet to the wool rug, still holding the receiver to her ear.
Patrick O’Neil. She’d given him her home number last night so he could call after he’d made their travel arrangements. But she hadn’t expected to hear from him this early. According to the digital display on the built-in media center across the room, it wasn’t even eight.
“I managed to get two tickets on a ten o’clock flight. I hope that leaves you enough time to pack.”
“Ten o’clock this evening? It’ll be tight, but I should be able to manage.”
“Ten o’clock this morning.”
Good Lord. Was he serious?
“I can arrange for a limo to pick you up in an hour. Is that enough time?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He was silent for a bit, then said, “I thought we agreed I would go for the first available flight?”
“Yes. But—”
“As long as you have your credit card and your passport, you’ll be fine.”
Holy crap. Adrenaline surging, Nadine ran to the bathroom and checked her hair. It needed washing, but she would never have time to dry it properly. She tried to remember where she’d put her passport after her last international trip to…
She thought it had been Belize. But it might have been that shopping trip to Paris.
“You really don’t waste time, do you?” she said, switching the phone to Speaker so she could squeeze toothpaste on her brush.
“I figured the faster we got on this the better.”
Sure. But giving her one hour notice? She started thinking of all the things she would need. A trip to Canada meant warm coats, boots and bulky sweaters.
“Oh, and try to limit your luggage to carry-on. We have to make a connection in Toronto and the timing is kind of tight.”
Hell.
“I have everything organized. All I need from you is your address.”
So he could pick her up in the limo. Only, she couldn’t let him do that. Her Upper East Side address would be sure to lead to questions she didn’t want to answer.
“I need to get my files from the office. How about you pick me up there?”
Thinking of all she had to do, in one short hour, made Nadine’s stomach swirl.
Find her ID, pack her bag, cancel Sunday dinner with her parents, let the people at the office know she was going away for a few days….
Oh, boy. That was going to be the hardest. Maybe she should just phone the office number and leave a message. But that would give Lindsay and Nathan zero notice that she wasn’t going to be at work on Monday.
After a quick shower, Nadine dressed in airplane clothes—no metal zippers, or belts, shoes that slipped off easily, layers in case the plane was too hot or too cold.
Who should she call—Nathan or Lindsay? She would feel extra guilty lying to Nathan, he was such a straight arrow himself. But Lindsay would give her a grilling, and she didn’t have time to come up with a great cover story.
In the end, she dialed the number for Nathan’s cell phone, because she was certain that he would accept her “need to go away for a few days on a personal matter” without any questions.
As she waited for him to answer—or, better yet, to be diverted to his message service—she started searching through her underwear drawer for her passport.
While she was there, she might as well pack her underwear, too.
Suddenly she heard Lindsay speaking. “Fox here.”
“Oh, hi, Lindsay. I thought I was calling Nathan.”
“He’s in the shower. What’s up?”
Nadine drew a deep breath and stopped looking for the passport. She needed one hundred percent concentration now.
“I was just calling to let you know that I have to go out of town on a personal matter. I’m not going to be able to make it into work on Monday or Tuesday. Wednesday might be iffy, too.”
“Wow. That personal matter sure came up quickly. You didn’t say anything about this yesterday.”
“I’m very sorry for the late notice.”
“Not a problem. Actually, it’s a good time for you to take some holidays as you won’t get many opportunities once Kate is on maternity leave.”
“Right. Well, I guess I’d better get going…”
“Where?”
Nadine had been hoping to hang up, but Lindsay spoke too quickly. “It’s—nowhere special.”
“Your voice sounds strange.”
Oh, she’d known Lindsay would give her a grilling.
“Does this have something to do with that man you were texting at work the other day?”
Nadine almost laughed with relief. Finally a question she could answer without lying. “Yes.”
“Well. That’s moving fast, isn’t it?”
Nadine had to admit that it was.
“I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” Lindsay said. “But be careful. You can’t always take people at face value.”
As she was finally able to hang up the phone, Nadine thought that Lindsay didn’t know just how right she was.

NADINE WISHED HER FATHER could see how economically she’d packed for the trip to Canada. He would have been proud.
She’d limited herself to one jacket—the Versace convertible down ski jacket she’d worn on the family’s last trip to the Swiss Alps. She’d be wearing that on the plane, of course. In her leather carry-on she’d managed to compress black ski pants and trousers, several turtlenecks—which were warm but didn’t take up as much room as a sweater—and just one dress, which she could vary with an assortment of tights, scarves and jewelry.
In her briefcase she packed her laptop, phone, camera and the file of notes she’d accumulated so far. She was seriously tempted to also pack her copy of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Private Investigating. But that would be a dead giveaway if Patrick happened to see it.
Finally, she locked up her apartment and took a taxi across the park. She arrived at the office two minutes before the limo. Her father would probably have been more amazed than proud.
Patrick didn’t seem impressed with her accomplishment, though. She supposed he got ready for trips at a moment’s notice all the time. He gave her a casual hello as he climbed out of the backseat, then took her bag.
“Thanks. Be careful. It’s heavier than it looks.”
He raised one eyebrow at her, then picked it up as if it was filled with down feathers. He set it into the trunk next to his carry-on bag which looked beaten—if not tortured.
“I guess you travel a lot,” she said once they were in the car, heading for LaGuardia. She’d visited many countries with her family, but she imagined her parents’ idea of a vacation differed significantly from the kind of trips Patrick made.
“It’s my job to travel. It’s been my job for almost twenty years.”
“Do you ever get tired of being on the road all the time?”
“I’ve never thought about it, so I guess not.”
His expression was grim as he turned his gaze to the street ahead of them. She got the feeling that he would have been more comfortable driving than being the passenger.
She felt uneasy sitting next to him, and wished again that she could have gone on this trip without him. He was far too observant for her liking. She would have to be on her guard every instant of every day.
Soon they were dropped off at the airport, and since Patrick had their boarding cards downloaded to his BlackBerry, they just had to clear customs then go to the gate. She didn’t realize until they were being seated that they were traveling executive class.
“How nice,” she said, taking the window seat and stowing her briefcase under the chair in front of her. “I guess when you fly as often as you do, you deserve the little luxuries.”
“I almost always fly economy,” he corrected her. “But when I ask someone to leave their home to take care of my personal business, then I figure I owe them the courtesy of making the trip as comfortable as I can.”
“Well, I am comfortable. So thank you.”
“Good.” He leaned back into his seat and let out a long sigh. Then he turned to her. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little tense this morning. I’m unbelievably nervous.”
“That’s totally understandable.”
“I can’t believe I’m about to meet my son. It could even happen tonight.”
Nadine felt obliged to lower his expectations. “But it probably won’t be tonight. We have three resorts to check, and no guarantee that he hasn’t changed his mind about working in Canada for the winter. For all we know, he met someone who suggested they apply for a job at Club Med so they could spend the winter on the beach.”
“Good God.” Patrick sounded appalled by that.
“There’s something else you need to prepare yourself for,” she added. “We won’t know for certain that Stephen Stone is your son until we get the results from a DNA test.”
He frowned. “Who said anything about DNA testing?”
“It’s standard procedure in a case like this,” she assured him.
He shook his head firmly. “If there was any chance at all that Stephen wasn’t my son, June wouldn’t have written that letter.”
“You trust her that much?”
“I do.”
How very strange, Nadine realized. I’m actually feeling a little jealous of this June. “You must have loved her very much.”
“I loved her,” he agreed.
She waited for him to say more and, when he didn’t, sighed with frustration. Then she immediately chided herself.
Lindsay had talked to her, over and over, about the importance of not getting emotionally involved in a case. And here she was suffering some sort of mild crush on her very first client.
But that aside, she had to deal with his expectations about this boy. She figured he would probably be willing to offer financial assistance to Stephen even if he wasn’t his biological son.
“I don’t want to insult June. You obviously thought very highly of her. But you’re paying me to be objective. It strikes me as possible that she might have seen that you’d enjoyed a degree of success, and if she was worried about her son’s future, she might be tempted to capitalize on a past friendship.”
“But that’s the whole point. We were friends. All she would have had to do is ask. Preferably before she died.”
“Maybe she felt too many years had drifted by with no contact.”
“She has only herself to blame for that. Those Christmas cards were the only time I heard from her.”
“Maybe she needed to move on. Or maybe she was worried you would find out about your son.”
“Yeah. She seemed pretty determined to keep that secret. I suppose I should feel grateful that she allowed me to pursue my dream career. But somehow all I feel is resentment.”
“It’s only natural that you’d wonder about the road not taken. You know…a wife and kids…”
“…and a beautiful home in Brooklyn Heights? Not my dream. At least it never was.” He turned to look at her in that special way of his that made her feel as if he was seeing her inner thoughts.
“Is personal counseling included with your fees?” he asked.
She felt herself blush. “Sorry. I should mind my own business, huh?”
“I have a feeling that’s something you wouldn’t be very good at. And I’m not suggesting that’s bad. It’s probably your curiosity about people that led you to this career.”
His smile changed, shifted into something intimate. She swallowed and realized she was breaking Lindsay’s rule again. No emotions. No personal involvement.
Heavens, this was so much harder than she’d expected.

PATRICK THOUGHT THE P.I. HE’D hired was the most feminine woman he’d ever met. Maybe it was because he was used to being with women who had similar interests to him. Women who enjoyed extreme sports, who climbed mountains, who skied out-of-bounds searching for that perfect, untouched bowl of powder.
The women he knew, the women he dated, had rough hands and sun-beaten skin—like him. They didn’t wear heels because they were too impractical. The same went for makeup and perfume. They dressed in Dri-Fit because it was comfortable and fleece because it was warm.
They talked about their sports, and the weather, their training regimes and…all too often…their injuries.
Nadine was nothing like those women and definitely not his type. But she kept drawing his eye and making him smile.
He couldn’t believe how slender her fingers were, or how gracefully her hands moved when she talked. Her teeth were perfectly white, and her eyelashes curled in the most adorable way.
And the way she dressed…
A few times when he’d been flicking through channels on TV, he watched bits of Sex and the City. He’d never met anyone who dressed like those women, until Nadine. Just look at what she had on for this trip. Fur-lined boots with heels, jeans so blue he’d swear they’d never been washed, and a ski jacket that looked way better than any ski jacket he’d ever seen before.
Every detail about her fascinated him, and he had to keep reminding himself that she was a legitimate P.I., a woman with her feet on the ground, who worked hard for her living. A woman who deserved his professional respect, not his secret, lustful desire.
In Toronto they changed planes and once again they were seated in executive class, with Nadine by the window. For this longer leg of their trip, he pulled out his laptop and started organizing his notes for the revisions.
Nadine opened her laptop, too. He noticed she was making case notes—his case notes—and he was tempted to ask if he could read them.
Then she switched documents and a map popped on the screen. He leaned over for a look, but a whiff of her softly sweet perfume momentarily distracted him. Damn, she smelled good.
“We’ll go to Sunshine first,” she said, clearly thinking he was looking at the map. “It’s about a two-hour drive from the airport.”
“We don’t have any rooms booked,” he realized belatedly.
“Don’t worry. The season hasn’t really kicked off yet. We shouldn’t have a problem getting something. They have units right on the ski hill. That’s probably the smartest place to stay, though we will need to leave the car in the parking lot and take a gondola.”
“How long do you think you’ll need in each place?”
“One day, tops. Maybe less.”
“Okay. Should be a short trip, then.”
“Really short if we get lucky and find Stephen at the first ski hill.” She smiled at him hopefully, and he actually got the sensation of something fluttering in his gut.
Was it nerves about the possibility that he might meet his son as early as tomorrow?
Or was it excitement at the idea of spending the next few days with this intriguing woman?

JUST BEFORE LANDING, the pilot came on the intercom to tell them it was snowing in Calgary. A chorus of groans rose up from the passengers. Nadine wondered anxiously about the roads.
Sure enough, once they’d deplaned and picked up the Subaru Patrick had reserved for their trip, visibility was getting to be an issue.
“I’ve driven in worse than this,” Patrick assured her, but as they left the city lights behind, Nadine was spooked by the utter darkness around her. It was only six-thirty, but at this time of year, this far north, the sun was long gone.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I wouldn’t mind a few streetlamps and neon signs.”
“You’re in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, sweetheart, and those words are blasphemy here.”
Maybe so, but between the blackness of the night and the hypnotic pummeling of snowflakes, there were times she couldn’t see the lines on the highway. Meanwhile cars were still traveling at speeds exceeding the posted 110 kilometers per hour limit.

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