Part 8 (1/2)
She squinted at him, probably trying to decide if telling him was worth the effort. ”I do cost a.n.a.lysis for an engineering firm,” she said.
”Uh-huh,” he said agreeably. ”Interesting.”
”It is,” she told him, instantly defensive. He didn't give a d.a.m.n what she said about cost a.n.a.lysis. 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 a.s.sume the worst.
”You're a ski b.u.m?” 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 surrept.i.tious 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. ”d.a.m.n,” he said softly.
He noticed Lauren's gaze s.h.i.+ft 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, embarra.s.sing 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 doc.u.ment 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 embarra.s.sment called for, which he found fascinating. He wanted to take her hand again, maybe ma.s.sage 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 furnis.h.i.+ngs and decoration. He supposed that would change, now that his father shared his s.p.a.ce 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 naive 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 s.e.x 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.”