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  “I’m in the paper department. It isn’t the most glamorous job.” Liam rolled his eyes, and then turned to me.

  “So can I use your car tonight then?”

  “Why not?” I replied and tossed him my keys. As chilled as Liam was in the situation, it was clear Adam was not comfortable.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Adam, this is Liam Jack, a friend of mine who will evidently be stealing my car tonight. Liam, this is Adam Mestas, the editor who interviewed me.”

  “Good to meet you, man,” Adam nodded, and the muscles in his neck released.

  “You too,” Liam replied, and absently began moving toward the door. “Lizzy, I’m outta here. Thanks for letting me borrow your car.”

  “No problem. See ya.”

  Liam was out the door when he turned and noted, “By the way, the front door wasn’t locked. Adam Mestas could have been a murderer for all you knew!”

  With a laugh, he disappeared into the dark night and I shut the door behind him.

  My stomach turned and my eyes blurred, as I willed myself to be cool, keeping my back to Adam.

  “You okay, Eliza? Do you want me to go? I just came to drop off these newspapers.”

  If I don’t turn now, he’ll leave for sure. If I do turn and he sees me getting all emotional, he only might or might not leave.

  I turned and forced a smile. “Sorry about this. I’m kind of on edge today. I couldn’t see who you were with the porch light off and sorta thought you were a murderer.”

  Adam set down the newspapers immediately and touched a warm hand to my elbow, leading me to the couch. “Eliza, I didn’t mean to scare you. You said in your message that I could come over.”

  “I forgot.”

  “But you thought I was a murderer?”

  “I know. It was something of a dramatic conclusion.”

  “So tell me why you jumped to it.” We settled on the couch.

  “Something awful has happened.”

  “You didn’t love Greece?”

  “I did.” I turned toward him, tucking my legs underneath me to get comfortable.

  “Then what’s the bad news?”

  “By the way, Liam is just a friend.”

  “I understand.”

  “Really.”

  “I believe you, Eliza, okay? Just tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “The thing is, I went to work today and…and Rain is gone—”

  “I thought this was supposed to be bad news to you.” Adam laughed. “Her, ahem, reputation hasn’t escaped me. Sweet as honey to us when she wants a book reviewed, but we can all hear her ordering you guys around as soon as we walk out of the office.”

  “Yeah, but she’s really gone. She’s dead. There was a terrible car crash. They think it might have been caused on purpose. She might have been murdered.”

  “Oh, Eliza. I’m sorry. I thought you were trying to lighten the mood and…holy crap.” He leaned into me, hesitating, unsure of his place in comforting me. I suppose he figured he’d let me talk it out and that might give him an idea of his place.

  Wrapping an arm around my shoulder he insisted, “Tell me everything.”

  * * *

  It turned out that listening was exactly what I needed from him. By the time I’d run out of things to say about the accident, about my mixed emotions, he was holding both my hands in his and staring into my eyes seriously.

  “It sounds like some random accident,” he said when I finished, “not a targeted murder. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Accidents happen much more often than murders, you know.”

  “Really?” I sniffled. “Accidents happen more than murders?”

  “I’m guessing.”

  “Did you just make that up?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Well, okay. I did. But it sounds accurate, doesn’t it?”

  I swatted him, cheering up a little. “I hope your fact-checking at work is better than in conversation.”

  He laughed, warmly, and I could see his soft tongue behind those white teeth. I instantly drew my eyes away, hoping he hadn’t seen me looking at his mouth. He had, and he placed one of his massive hands against my cheek, urging my gaze back to his face. I felt the slightest hint of roughness on his fingers, and I wondered if it were evidence of his years of note-taking. Or did this suave professional have a few backcountry manly man hobbies in his personal life?

  “Are you feeling a little better, Eliza?” Adam asked, his voice melting over me.

  “Yes. Thank you for listening. I didn’t mean to go on and on.”

  “I’m glad to help you.”

  He moved the slightest bit, so slight in fact that if I had not been studying his face I might not have even noticed. Is he about to kiss me?

  My adrenaline rushed. My mouth tingled at the sight of his lips coming closer.

  I swallowed, my lips parting ever-so-slightly. Adam’s lips, also parted, were close enough for me to feel their heat. I waited. It had to be his move.

  And he made his move. In a split second the space between our mouths was gone and his lips were against mine. A kiss like his lips whispering secrets against mine. He briefly pulled back and stared into my eyes as though he were searching for my reaction to his whispered kisses.

  He found my answer in my lips instead, as I pressed them to his urgently.

  Adam’s body reacted to my invited passion. He pulled me closer, fingertips grazing the sides of my breasts.

  My mind raced. This is what I want. This is all I want. Let this pleasure go on forever until death and never stop.

  Death. My train of thought had failed me, had led me in the wrong direction. I instantly realized it as soon as the thought had crossed my mind. And I felt again my eyes burning from the tears. The anxiety in the pit of my stomach at the possible murder of my boss bubbled up. I pulled away.

  Adam’s hand dropped to his lap. He didn’t speak, but only stared at me, his midnight eyes fixing on mine, and then on my lips and back to my eyes again. I was the one who had pulled away first, and so it was me who had to speak first. Explain how our passion had failed so suddenly. He waited for me.

  “What a day,” I announced awkwardly. “The thing with Rain’s really just sapped me.”

  “Are you asking me to leave?”

  I placed a hand on his. “You don’t have to go just yet.”

  His eyes traveled to my hand, and then back up the length of my arm to the place where the jade of my undone top button hit the caramel of my clavicle.

  “What would you have me do here, Eliza? What would you like me to do for you?”

  The choice raked inside me. Another day I’d have asked him to take me. There, on the couch. And then on the staircase. And then upstairs on my bed. But the emotions churning inside of me—the fear and guilt and anxiety—would not have let me enjoy it, enjoy him, as much as I would on another day.

  I turned my head away from him, and he didn’t need a verbal reply.

  Adam stood and went to the door. “Here’re the newspapers. I’ll leave them on this table.”

  “Th—thanks. I’ll show you out.”

  I made my way to the door and opened it for him.

  Once outside, he turned back to me. “Maybe it’s an inappropriate time right now for a date. If so, please tell me. But if not, what do you say to meeting sometime next week for lunch?”

  “That would be nice.”

  “All right. Great. I’ll talk to you then.”

  As he walked away, the place on my cheek where his hand had touched me burned sweetly.

  CHAPTER 6

  By the following week, I could barely muster the motivation to drag myself out of bed in the morning. I had worked twelve-hour days the previous week, and chased them with a weekend dedicated solely to getting caught up on reading manuscript submissions. As of Monday I was still not caught up, albeit closer than I’d been on Friday. Early mornings and late nights were blending into one another, and I
felt understandably sick to my stomach at the thought of walking into the office on Monday morning.

  But HR had told me Friday that I could start on Rain’s messy office today, since the police had gathered everything they needed. I decided that if I wanted to be promoted to Rain’s position permanently, I’d need to really be a shining star while the post was a temporary one. I had to march into work this morning, walk right into Rain’s office, sit in her chair, turn on her computer, and make them all my own.

  On Friday Adam Mestas had called me again and we’d made plans for lunch on Monday. Now, on a groggy Monday morning, the promise of seeing Adam again in a social setting carried my limp body into the shower. The water pulsed onto my skin, awakening it, sharpening my senses.

  It’s a date, he’d told me. My first date in months. And not because I was lowering my standards, but because a man met them.

  Once out of the shower and toweled off, I slipped into my favorite pair of black slacks: plenty of darts in the back to clear my tizi, and a flat front with side zipper to minimize my little belly, just as the tags had promised. Like most pants on my five feet, four inch frame, they were a little too long with flat shoes, but hung just right with my black ankle boots. I buttoned up a silk, long-sleeved shirt in deep jade to match the lacey underwear I’d chosen. Even if it was just a lunch date and he’d never see them, wearing them made me feel sexy, and that was just as important.

  Liam was already in my car in the front yard, and I heard him honk the horn. I leaned into the mirror and brushed on mascara, left eye then the right, saying to my reflection, “Girl, you just let him wait for you.”

  I added a stroke of plum lipstick and stepped back. I looked more together than I felt, but my confidence was improving. “Adam Mestas, you are one lucky man.”

  Liam had tired of honking the horn like a five-year-old, and I took my time getting to the car, out the front door with a stack of manuscripts in one arm and my small black purse slung over the other.

  I opened the driver’s side door. “Pop the trunk, will ya, Liam?”

  “Your wish is my command,” Liam replied and, with the push of a button, the trunk popped open.

  “Then I wish you’d find your way to the passenger side. You’re borrowing my car—again—but while I’m in it, I am still the commander of this vessel.”

  Liam made his way to the passenger side as I dumped the stack of manuscripts in the trunk. Once in the driver’s seat, I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Liam, I know you hate seatbelts, but this is my car and it is a rule for my car.”

  “What should it matter to you if I wear this thing? Please. If we get pulled over I swear I’ll pay the ticket.”

  “Come on,” I urged. “No one cares about your shirt getting wrinkled. We’ve been over this so many times…”

  “Maybe not in your job, Lizzy. But I need to impress both my employer and my clients who are looking to buy thousands of dollars worth of paper for their companies. Not everyone communicates solely by email and telephone.”

  “Will you impress your employer and clients if you get to work late? Because I can tell you that I’m not going anywhere until—”

  “Fine!” Liam submitted with obvious frustration playing across his fine features. “I can’t wait to get my own damn car back so that I don’t need to bow to your every little whim.” His seatbelt clicked.

  “Thank you. And believe me, I also can’t wait until you get your shiny SUV back so we don’t have to have this argument again for a while.” I began backing up.

  Liam sighed and looked out the passenger side window, pouting.

  We were out of the driveway and now moving forward. “Okay, so you’ll drop me off at work, and then I’ll take the commuter bus back home, right? Because I don’t know yet whether I’ll get back in time for you to go on your date.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “I actually have a date today, too, you know.”

  Liam cocked his head in surprise. “What was all that talk about taking the bus home? A cover for where you’ll really be spending the night?”

  “Yeah, yeah, tease me all you want.”

  “I’ll stop, but just tell me who this lovely gentleman is. Is it the guy who came over the other night. With the long hair?”

  “It is, indeed. He’s an editor from The San Diego Union-Tribune’s book section. The one that interviewed me.”

  “That’s right. A fellow literary person, at that. By the way, has that interview been published yet or what?”

  “Yeah. Adam brought over copies and I left one with your mail,” I replied. “Didn’t you read it?”

  “No. I guess I forgot.”

  “Thanks for your support, Liam.”

  Liam wasn’t deterred or defensive. “Do you…love him?”

  I turned my head when we stopped in traffic. Liam’s dark blond hair was slicked back, most of the blond-frosted tips at the back of his head, as it usually was in the morning for work. By his date tonight it would have fallen forward and he’d look as cool and trendy as ever.

  “He’s just very interesting and we’re meeting for lunch.”

  “Lunch?” Liam asked skeptically. “That’s not really a date, you know.”

  “It is a date. He said ‘It’s a date,’ and he at least is an honest person.”

  Liam was quiet. I felt guilty for insinuating that he wasn’t truthful during our relationship. Of course, he hadn’t been truthful, so why the guilt?

  The rest of the car ride was pretty uncomfortable. Liam didn’t seem angry, but then again, I couldn’t see his face as he was turned entirely toward the window. At one point I seriously considered just dropping him off at his office and telling him to rent a car if his date was so damn important. But just being within eyesight of my office building, where I knew I would find something resembling order, calmed my passionate side.

  When I pulled up in front of my building, I got out. My apology was limited to “Have a good date tonight.” His acceptance of my apology was limited as well: “You, too.” And that was it.

  * * *

  By 10 a.m. I had completely forgotten the awkward morning drive. I was now dealing with a job that no longer held the order I was used to having at work. I was overwhelmed with the mess on Rain’s desk, overwhelmed with the emails in her inbox, overwhelmed with the number of voicemails, and frustrated with Jane’s constant requests to “put someone through” to me. I kept telling her that if they weren’t from the office, to put them through to voicemail. I needed to figure out what the hell was going on here before I could answer any questions from authors, PR people, agents, anyone.

  She’d argue with me for every phone call.

  “But this is Monaka Williams. Rain said she’d have a contract to her by last week and it isn’t even back from finance yet. What should I tell her? That you’re going to track it down and push it through? She’s one of our most promising new authors, Eliza. You know that. We can’t afford to look bad in front of her.”

  I’d reply, “I know. That’s why I can’t talk to her right now. Just tell her what you told me, that it is with finance and we’ll get it out as soon as possible.”

  She’d sigh but do as I requested.

  In all honesty, I was already fed up with Jane when I excused myself for a coffee break and headed to Starbucks downstairs. For once, I understood why Rain always seemed so mean to her. But this was really surprising, since Jane had always been so sincere and kind to me in the past. She had never said a sharp thing to me before, but this morning she just could not be decent to me. In fact, she was being borderline unprofessional.

  As usual, Starbucks was crowded with my colleagues, but no one was in good spirits yet. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a mass migration back to work as I was handed my drink. Turning, I saw Ms. Li standing before me.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said quietly, moving over to one of the small tables. I followed her and she began, “As you know, the police have been gathe
ring evidence about Ms. Orwell’s death.”

  “Yeah. Did they find something that will help them catch the guy who hit her?”

  “They say that in her pocket they found a death threat. It makes them think that the accident was first-degree murder.”

  “If she had a death threat, why wouldn’t she have brought it to the police? Why would she keep it in her pocket?”

  “Someone in her neighborhood told the police he’d been taking his dog for its evening walk when Ms. Orwell came out of the house and went to her car in the driveway. She asked him if someone came around and put ads on everyone’s cars. He said she was mad, complained that it was the kind of thing that should happen in Wal-Mart parking lots, not in a neighborhood like theirs.”

  “Sounds like something she’d say.”

  “He said when she pulled the piece of paper off the windshield, she looked scared. He told her he hadn’t gotten anything on his car, and then he said she looked at her watch, stuffed the paper into her pocket, and told him thanks and goodbye.”

  “That was it?”

  “Not quite. The death threat had been written,” Ms. Li touched my hand, “on the back of a rejection letter from J Press.”

  I felt a chill rush through my body. Ever since we’d heard about Rain’s death, people in the office had been speculating whether it was a planned murder. But no one had said anything about a rejection letter.

  “Was it a personalized letter? It would have had a name on it. Or if they tore off the name there are still not a lot of people that Rain personalized letters to. We could narrow it down. I keep copies of all my reports to Rain—we could use those as a starting point.”

  “It was a form letter, I’m afraid. I don’t know why the murderer would have assumed she was the one who rejected them. The police don’t know if it came from an author or from someone inside the company. You know, someone who would have access to the letters.”

  “The form letter has her name on it. Any author would have assumed it had come from her.”

  “Rain sent form letters?” Ms. Li asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “No. We send form letters to those authors whose manuscripts I’ve read and decided to reject. Rain insisted that her name be on all outgoing correspondence. She said it gave the impression that there was someone ‘competent’ here. She said no one would argue about a rejection from her. I’m actually the one who reads and rejects most manuscripts. The interns scan the cover letters and first pages for grammar and spelling errors and if the submission’s fine, they pass them on to me.”