Meghan Carver - Deadly Disclosure

“Good evening, Miss Hannah. Welcome home.”

“Hello, Carson. I assume Mother and Father are in their usual occupations for a Monday evening?”

A sideways glance from the butler crawled over Derek, but he forced himself to stand tall. What kind of FBI agent would he be if he allowed himself to be intimidated?

“Are they not expecting you?”

“Not exactly, but it’s urgent.” She swept past Carson, who stepped back quickly to allow her space. Derek followed, stretching out to the full inch he had over the man. As they hurried down the well-appointed hallway toward the sitting room, he fought to maintain that height. He would need it in the coming moments.

As they walked, he surveyed the area. Despite what little he knew about the home and what was normal for the McClarnons, it didn’t seem that anything was out of order, or that the shooter or his cohorts, whoever they may be, had been around. Still, he knew better than to let his guard down and would continually monitor their surroundings for any potential threat of danger.

Hannah sauntered into the sitting room ahead of him by a few steps, and Derek sniffed the floral perfume of Hannah’s mother and heard her surprised greeting before he made his presence known. When Derek entered, Mr. McClarnon pulled back from a one-armed hug with his daughter, spied him and stiffened, the ice in his crystal glass clinking against the side.

“Evelyn.” He spoke softly to his wife, and she immediately turned from her happy reunion with her daughter.

Mrs. McClarnon ran a hand down her silk skirt and stepped forward, her face masked with the high-society politeness and artificial hospitality of welcoming someone who was beneath their station. She held out her hand. “Derek, isn’t it? Good evening.”

“Ma’am.” Derek crimped her hand, suppressing a grin at the mischievous thought of whether or not he should kiss it.

Hannah’s father cleared his throat, a call to attention. “Well, Mr. Chambers.”

“You remember my name.” A curious look from Hannah skittered around his peripheral vision, but he didn’t make eye contact. He would have some questions to answer, but not yet.

The squeeze on Derek’s hand was tight. A challenge. Derek squeezed back, enough to communicate that he wouldn’t be intimidated but not enough to hurt the older gentleman.

Mr. McClarnon’s eyes burned into Derek’s. “Wish I could say it’s good to see you again, but here you are with my daughter.”

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