Dawn Stewardson - Unexpected Outcome

That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. In fact, he’d only decided to try her name on the off chance he’d learn who she actually was.

Because, since he’d looked her up in the phone book yesterday and found there was no listing, he’d been certain she was a fake.

After all, anyone who was self-employed wanted to make it easy for people to find them.

But now that he’d discovered this Web site…

He sat trying to figure out what reason she could have for not being in the book. Then it struck him that there wasn’t an office address on the screen, only a phone number, and a possible explanation came to him.

Phone books contained street addresses. If she worked out of her apartment she wouldn’t want to make it too easy for people to find her. Not to learn where she lived, at least.

Women in New York had to be careful about things like that. Especially, he imagined, women as good-looking as Dana Mayfield. And she was an exceptionally good-looking woman.

He let his gaze linger on her photograph.

Her eyes were as blue as a country sky and her dark hair was cut in a short, no-nonsense style—although the shaggy way it fell onto her forehead was decidedly sexy. As were her smooth, full lips and cute little nose.

He stared at the monitor for a few more seconds, thinking that picture looked so lifelike he could practically smell the tantalizing scent of her perfume.

Strange how you never knew when someone would suddenly walk into your life and…

Of course, in this instance there wouldn’t be any “and.” The last thing he needed was a distraction.

But if the timing wasn’t so bad, and if she wasn’t a potential problem, he just might be interested in her.

Just might?

He almost smiled, silently admitting there wasn’t much question about it. If he hadn’t figured she was trouble, he’d probably have asked her to lunch about three seconds after she’d walked into the building.

He leaned back in his chair, thinking didn’t this just beat all.

From the first moment he’d heard the name Dana Mayfield, he’d been almost positive that Robert and Larry were blowing smoke. That the woman they were telling him about was actually a P.I. Or that they’d taken their suspicions to the police, in which case she’d be an undercover cop.

And jeez he’d been angry, figuring they were lying to him.

Now, though, he realized it had been wasted emotion. He’d obviously jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Yet even with the proof of that right here in front of him, it was tough to believe. Because those two hiring a consultant was completely out of character.

Of course, if Martha Benzer had seriously gotten on their case about it…

But no. As big a pain as she could be, humoring her to this extent just didn’t sound like the Robert and Larry he knew. So if they were going to hire someone, why not a P.I.?

The idea that they’d convinced themselves an OD consultant might help them with a problem like theirs seemed so remote…

It simply didn’t add up.

He focused on Dana’s photograph again—and began hoping to hell she wouldn’t get in the way of what he was doing.

DANA HAD MOVED OUT of the house she’d grown up in and left Queens almost ten years ago. Yet every now and then, as she walked down the familiar street, she remembered how upset her parents had been at their “little girl’s” announcement that she’d found an apartment.

“Manhattan isn’t safe,” her mother had repeated at least a dozen times.

“For heaven’s sake, Mom,” she’d finally said. “I’m a cop.”

“I’m a cop, too, which is how we know it isn’t safe,” her father had muttered. “And you’re barely through the academy.”

“Dad, I’m twenty-two.”

In his eyes, though, she’d been his baby. She probably always would be. His only child. And they were so close that…

That half the reason she’d joined the police force had been to follow in his footsteps, to make him proud of her. And he had been, until…

She told herself not to go there. The past was past; that chapter in her life over and done with.

Yet she still wished, for his sake if for no other reason, that she hadn’t been forced to quit. Because even though he’d assured her a hundred times that he understood, she knew how badly she’d disappointed him.

She’d barely turned into the yard before he had the front door open and was heading down from the porch to greet her, saying, “Hey, my beautiful daughter’s here. It must be Sunday.”

“You think?” she said, stepping into his hug.

“Yeah, I think.”

“We’re in a rut, you know.”

“Yeah, but it’s a nice rut.”

He draped his arm over her shoulders as they started for the house, pretending he wasn’t even marginally interested in what she’d brought by way of groceries.

He was, though.

Jack Morancy liked his food, but he was not a handy man in the kitchen. So for the three years since her mother’s death, most Sundays that he wasn’t on duty he’d either come to Dana’s apartment for dinner or she’d make the trip to Queens and they’d eat there.

Oh, sometimes he insisted on taking her out, but she really didn’t mind doing the cooking.

Cops were notorious for eating badly, and even though she knew one healthy meal a week couldn’t compensate for all the greasy fast food he had during his shifts, it couldn’t hurt. Besides, they enjoyed the time together.

“Some of this should go in the fridge,” she said once they were inside.

“Sure.”

He followed her to the kitchen, and as she dug the meat and low-cal sour cream out of the bag, asked, “So what happened in your world this week?”

“Well, I’ve got a new client. Or maybe I should say two. Business partners. I met with them on Friday and got going on some of the preliminary stuff yesterday.”

“Good. Interesting case?”

“It definitely has the potential. They figure someone’s sabotaging their company.”

“Yeah? What sort of company?”

“They import collectibles. Art, small antiques. High-quality things.”

“Oh? What’s it called?”

“Four Corners Imports.”

“Four corners of the world, huh? Good name. Big business?”

“Mmm…head office in New York and a few sales-people in L.A. But they outsource as much of the work as they can, so staff-wise they aren’t all that large.

“At any rate, one of the partners, Robert Haine, takes care of acquiring most of the items. Spends half his life traveling, I gather. The other one, Larry Benzer, handles the majority of the marketing.”

She closed the fridge door and turned to discover that her father was staring at her with a very strange expression.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

There was a second’s hesitation—or was she only imagining that?—before he said, “Nothing. I just… So you’ve got one of them acquiring, the other one marketing. And while they’re busy doing that who’s running the show?”

“Basically, Robert’s nephew. He’s their director of finance.”

“Ah. A little nepotism.”

“Well, I imagine that helped get him hired, but my read is that he’s good. And his area of responsibility seems to be a lot broader than his title suggests. He’s really more a director of operations.”

Her father nodded, then said, “So tell me about the sabotage.”

“You want to hear the details?”

“Sure.”

“Well…” She started to briefly fill him in on what Robert and Larry had told her, vaguely aware of feeling a touch uneasy.

Not that she was worried about confiding in him. Whenever she hit a snag she used him as a sounding board. And she knew anything she said would stay strictly between the two of them. But she’d suddenly gotten the sense he was a little too interested in this particular case.