C.J. Carmichael - Receptionist Under Cover

“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.”