Our Little Secret Page 9

  On the other hand, she was getting pretty damn tired of making excuses to justify Jeff’s behavior.

  Lauren slapped a second slice of bread on her sandwich and stuck it in her mouth, viciously ripping off a bite. Better that than another fingernail.

  Drew tried to focus on the pile of documents he’d pulled from his father’s safe, but he couldn’t.

  His instincts could be wrong. He’d watched two men try to abduct Lauren, and he’d never suggested she leave town and let the police handle it. Maybe he should have. What made him think he could keep her safe? He didn’t even know what those men wanted. But letting her go might not keep her safe, either. They were obviously watching her. If they followed her back to Lansing, still thinking she was Meg, would sensible Jeff protect her? For no reason he could pin down, he didn’t have a good feeling about Lauren’s fiancé.

  Speak of the devil.

  Lauren walked in, and Drew patted a spot on the floor beside him. She settled into a cross-legged position and leaned forward with her elbows propped on her knees, watching him sort through papers. She didn’t seem angry, so he assumed he’d been forgiven for insulting her lame excuse for a fiancé.

  “What are we looking for?” she asked.

  “I have no idea. Anything that strikes us as odd.”

  “Like a threatening note that says, ‘Give us the money or we’ll kidnap your wife’?”

  “Yeah, like that.” That would actually be too good to hope for. Then he might have a clue to what in the hell was going on. Sorting through piles of insurance policies and tax records had so far revealed nothing. “If you have a better idea, I’m open to suggestions, but this is all I can think of.”

  She shook her head and looked about as hopeless as he felt.

  “Okay, then I guess we do this. Help me look through these.” He glanced at another stack of investment statements and set them aside, making no effort to angle them her way. She scooted closer and peered over his legs, examining the papers. He was about to tell her they weren’t important but was distracted by the light floral fragrance of her hair. It seemed at odds with her “practical through and through” personality. Selecting another folder from the pile, he pretended to peruse it closely, making her bend her head near his own to see it. Lavender? He was no good at these things, but the scent was definitely feminine. He inhaled deeply.

  She was giving him a puzzled look. Jerking his attention from her hair, he frowned as if she had interrupted his concentration. “What?”

  “You sighed,” she said.

  “I did?”

  “Yes. Am I missing something?” Her gaze went to the folder, then back to his eyes. “It just looks like a thank you letter from President Carter.”

  “It is.” He looked at the letter and blocked out the sensory input that made him think of the springtime meadows around his house. “It’s from my dad’s first term in Congress. I was just…” Just sniffing your hair, like some sort of pervert. “… remembering.”

  “Oh.” She watched him carefully.

  This would work better if she weren’t leaning so close to him. He hefted a stack of folders and set them in her lap. “Here, hold these. You look at each one first, then pass it to me.”

  It hadn’t been smart, having her sit next to him. She was attractive and spirited, which aroused a feeling he’d normally follow up on, but there was little point in pursuing it with Lauren. They were going to end up hating each other if she wasn’t there already. He already despised the social climbing tramp who’d married his father, and despite an instinctive faith in Lauren, she was the tramp’s sister. Better to keep things impersonal, allowing everyone to enjoy their mutual distrust later. Besides, whether what’s-his-name was a poor choice or not, she had a fiancé.

  Lauren scrutinized each paper before passing it to him. He glanced at the vehicle registration she’d just examined at length and suppressed an amused snort as he set it aside. “You’re taking this search pretty seriously, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes flashed disapproval. “Of course I am. My sister suddenly married a notorious playboy twice her age, has dirty pictures of herself hidden away, and two men with guns are trying to kidnap her. I want to know why, and I intend to examine every detail of her life I can find.” She slapped a paper in his hands. “Here, see if everything looks normal on this statement. I wouldn’t know.”

  He scanned the annual report from an investment firm. “I wouldn’t either. You aren’t suggesting I look for suspiciously large withdrawals of cash, are you?”

  “Or deposits,” she said seriously. “We don’t know what we’re looking for, so we have to look everywhere, for everything.”

  He should probably snap back in his dad’s defense, but since her doubts about Harlan Creighton were no different than his low expectations about her sister, he let it go. Besides, he didn’t want to argue with her. If she got all huffy, she might not let him sit beside her and catch whiffs of her hair, or notice the way she caught her lip in her teeth when she concentrated.

  She was doing that now, as she stared at another financial report. “Diligent, aren’t you?” he said. She ignored him. Her hair had fallen forward as she bent over the next folder, and he couldn’t see her face. He liked it better when she looked at him. “Good work ethic. I’ll bet financial management requires all sorts of rules and procedures. No room for creativity.”

  It was like poking a caged animal just to see what it would do. Not nice, but it got a reaction.

  She brushed back her hair, fixing him with a regal, I-am-not-amused stare. “Are you calling me anal?”

  Her eyes looked gray in this light, but not the least bit dull. They still had a nice, sparkly quality when she was annoyed. “Are you anal? Not that it wouldn’t be useful. I’ll bet being thorough comes in handy with whatever it is that financial managers do.”

  She squinted at him, probably trying to decide if telling him was worth the effort. “I do cost analysis for an engineering firm,” she said.

  “Uh-huh,” he said agreeably. “Interesting.”

  “It is,” she told him, instantly defensive. He didn’t give a damn what she said about cost analysis. He watched her eyes, trying to decide between gray or green. “I look at the projected cost of a job and determine how much the company can afford to bid. It’s a very responsible position, and I’m very good at it.”

  Drew smiled and took the folder from her hands. “I believe you.”

  Her look said he probably couldn’t tell a profit-loss column from a grocery list. “What do you do?”

  “I ski.” He flipped through the folder he held, then set it aside, letting her grapple with the concept of skiing as a career before he elaborated. “I run a small ski resort in Colorado, which is an excuse for doing what I like best—climbing and skiing.” He left it at that, knowing she’d assume the worst.

  “You’re a ski bum?” Her disbelief was mixed with an equal amount of disdain.

  “I prefer to think of myself as a small business owner who skis.”

  “And climbs.”

  “Yup. Whenever I can.”

  Her brow furrowed and he could tell she was trying to decide whether a recreational activity qualified as a job. Her eyes were downcast, but her surreptitious gaze swept his body, lingering on his chest and the thigh that nearly touched her own. If she was trying to think of all the ways a winter of skiing followed by a summer of climbing was a bad idea, she wouldn’t find it there. But he didn’t mind her looking.

  Drew watched her lift another folder from the stack; he stared at what lay beneath it. “Damn,” he said softly.

  He noticed Lauren’s gaze shift to her lap, and she sucked in her breath as he lifted the light blue envelope. It was identical to the one they had found at the bank, the one that contained compromising, embarrassing photos of Meg and the blond Viking look-alike.

  He met her wide-eyed gaze, his raised brows questioning whether she wanted him to open the clasp. Lauren nodded, then rested a pink
polished fingertip between her teeth. When she caught him looking at it, she dropped her hand to the stack of papers in her lap. Both hands gripped the edges of the pile tightly, braced for a shock. “You open it.”

  Drew worked the clasp and tipped the envelope, catching the single paper that slipped out. Lauren flinched as he turned it over, probably expecting another X-rated photo.

  He sighed with relief and held it out for her to see. “It’s my parents’ marriage certificate.”

  Lauren relaxed and leaned closer. She read aloud, “Kathryn Amelia Shay. Pretty name.”

  She was too polite to ask, but he could see the question in her eyes. “They were divorced,” he told her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be. I was in high school and Miranda was in college, so it’s not like it traumatized us. Things were better after they split up, and they were pretty good friends by the time my mom died a few years ago. I think she always loved him, she just couldn’t put up with his constant affairs.”

  “I imagine you were surprised when he married Meg, then.”

  Drew snorted. “Surprised is putting it mildly. I was flabbergasted. He said he’d never marry again, and in my opinion he never should have been married in the first place.” He gave her a rueful smile. “You were dead on when you called him a tomcat, you know. Fidelity is not in Harlan Creighton’s nature.”

  “Hmm.” She motioned toward the envelope. “Let’s see Meg’s marriage license. Is it in there?”

  He glanced in the envelope and shrugged. “Nope.”

  Lauren looked surprised. “Why not? Isn’t this where he keeps all his important papers? Where else would it be?”

  “I have no idea.” He had even less interest, but it was obvious that she did. “What’s the big deal? You don’t think your sister and my dad lied to us about being married, do you?”

  “Well, no…” It didn’t sound convincing.

  “Dad’s office even announced it to the press,” he said, citing what for him was proof. Seeing her doubtful look, he tried for a lighter touch. “What’s the matter, don’t you want to be related to me?”

  She seemed oddly unsettled by that comment, and he made a mental note to come back to it later.

  “It just seems like it would be here, with the other one. If Meg changed her name, would she need to have it for ID purposes?”

  “Only if they left the country. But we don’t know if she changed her name. Let’s keep looking.”

  They examined every folder and document in the safe before finally admitting it wasn’t there. He couldn’t have cared less, but Lauren had begun nibbling on a new fingernail. He already recognized it as the first sign that she was anxious. Reaching for her hand, he pulled it away from her mouth and examined the fingertips. All five were short, with chipped, ragged ends. She looked guilty and tried to pull her hand away, but he held on.

  “Nervous habit?”

  “I know it looks awful. I’m trying to stop, but I’ve had a relapse ever since all this with Meg.”

  He ran a finger over the short pink nails. He could have sworn a small quiver trembled through her hand just before she jerked it away and shoved both hands behind her back. “D-don’t do that,” she stammered. “I’m self-conscious about how they look.”

  “Then stop biting them.”

  Her smile lacked sincerity. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  She seemed a little more unnerved than what simple embarrassment called for, which he found fascinating. He wanted to take her hand again, maybe massage his thumb along her wrist, just to see how she reacted.

  “Where else can we look for their marriage certificate?” she asked, apparently intent on following up this new concern.

  “I don’t know.” He stood and ran a hand through his hair as he turned in a slow circle, scanning his father’s den. Lauren stood, too, rocking on her toes impatiently while he thought. “I’ve checked everything here,” he mused. “Maybe his bedroom.”

  She perked up. “Good idea. Meg might have left her briefcase there.”

  Unless she had a file of threatening notes from her would-be abductors, Drew wasn’t sure what helpful information might be in Meg’s briefcase. Or, for that matter, in her underwear drawer. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for at all, since the police were already following up with his dad’s appointment logs and address books. But he couldn’t just sit and wait.

  He led the way upstairs, aware that Lauren walked a few feet behind him, hands tucked firmly in her pockets. Self-conscious about her nails, or simply avoiding his touch? Not that he had any reason to reach for her, but she’d turned skittish again since he’d held her hand. He wished he didn’t find that attractive, but skittish looked irresistible on her.

  He stopped at the bedroom door, forcing her to stand beside him to look into the room. He didn’t move, enjoying her nearness and refusing to examine his feelings further.

  The bedroom was still very much his father’s, masculine in furnishings and decoration. He supposed that would change, now that his father shared his space with a woman. Those fancy perfume bottles would appear on the dresser, along with family pictures in pretty frames, or flowery pillows and curtains. All things that weren’t evident yet.

  “That’s odd. It doesn’t even look like Meg’s been here,” Lauren said, obviously thinking along the same lines.

  “Maybe she hasn’t. They just got married a few days ago, right?”

  She rolled her eyes at him in an expression of disbelief that he might be naïve enough to think Meg and his dad hadn’t shared a bed until then. He smiled and shrugged. He had no doubts about his father’s over-active libido; he just didn’t know if Lauren had been deceiving herself about Meg’s sex life. Apparently not.

  “Meg made it sound like they’d just been married,” Lauren told him. “And Gerald said she left here Tuesday morning, so she must have spent at least one night here recently.” She crossed the room as she talked, heading for the closet. “Maybe Harlan is a good influence on her. Meg usually has clothes and shoes lying around, and half the time her bed isn’t made…” Her voice trailed off as she entered the walk-in closet. He heard clothes rustle, then hangers being forcefully shoved aside. After several seconds of furious activity, she appeared, frowning. “Something’s wrong here.”

  “What?” He joined her as Lauren marched back inside and grabbed a random handful of shirt sleeves, shaking it at him. “This. Nothing in here belongs to my sister. No business suits, no blouses, no shoes, not even a bathrobe. This doesn’t make sense. Check the drawers.”

  They opened every drawer, including the nightstand beside the bed that held tissues, a box of condoms, and a bottle of Viagra. Lauren lifted the tissue box, revealing a pile of sex toys. Drew slammed the drawer shut before he could think about it. “Nothing. You’re right.”

  “No briefcase, either,” she said, obviously disappointed. “I think we should check Meg’s apartment first thing in the morning.”

  “I agree.”

  He saw her hand go to her mouth and start on another nail, then with a quick glance his way, she transferred her hand to her hair and began twirling a strand around her finger.

  “You’re nervous again.”

  “I’m confused.” More twirling. “Okay, I’m worried, too. And I’m starting to wonder if we can’t find that marriage certificate because it simply doesn’t exist.”

  He raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider whether she could be right. “You mean I might not be your nephew? And I was so hoping for a nice Christmas gift from my Aunt Lauren.”

  She almost smiled, but the worry won out. “Don’t joke. Your dad and Meg are conveniently gone, and someone tried to abduct me thinking I was my sister. This sudden marriage has something to do with it, but I have no idea what.” She bit her lip, then admitted: “It’s scary.”

  Her concern sobered him quickly. “Hey. I’m sure they’re all right, Lauren. They’re not even in Washington any more.” Without thi
nking about how she’d react, he walked to her and put an arm around her shoulders. And for a moment, she seemed to forget to be nervous about her sister—and about him. She leaned against him, closing her eyes with momentary relief at the sympathy. The next second they snapped open and she stiffened, taking a step away from him. Damn, just when he’d begun to be aware of what a good idea that instinct to comfort her had been.

  She watched him warily. “What makes you so sure they’re all right? That tape we saw was recorded earlier. Maybe they were abducted, then forced to call us so we’d quit looking for them.”

  She had quite an imagination. “Because Meg sounds as smart and resourceful as my dad,” he said, not sure if it was true, but hoping it would make her feel better. “And think about it. If someone tried to abduct you this evening, it’s because they don’t have Meg. If they did, they’d know you couldn’t be her.”