Judith Rochelle

Mia tried to still the panic that slammed into her. Surely it couldn’t be the email.

“I understand you like to send anonymous emails,” he said at last.

Thunk! The butterflies were replaced by the Radio City Rockettes doing a tap dance. How could he have traced her? She’d been so careful building her protection. And no one had ever been able to get through the museum’s firewall before, giving her a sense of security when she sent her messages.

“In my job, yes. I exchange a lot of emails. And of course we use them for internal communications. But anonymous? I don’t think so.” She cleared her throat. “Why would you even think that?”

Say it, she wanted to scream. At least I’ll know I got through.

He leaned forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes impaling her. “I think we can stop the cat and mouse game, Dr. Fleming. An email was sent Friday night to Carpenter Techtronics from your computer. I know it’s yours because I’ve checked all the others. Does anyone use it but you?”

Lie or tell the truth? Pretend ignorance or get it out in the open? Come on, Mia, don’t be a weak sister. Show him what you’re made of.

She let out a slow breath. “No. I’m the one who sent the email.”

“And also made two calls to make sure Mr. Carpenter got it?”

She nodded.

“Thank you for telling me the truth and saving us both a lot of time and unpleasantness.”

”I’d like to know how you traced it back to me,” she asked. Where had she made a mistake?

“With some very sophisticated equipment. Look,” he told her, “I’m trying to be low key here but if you have inside knowledge of something going on at his company, this would be a good time to tell me.”

She wet her lips again. “I don’t have knowledge. Exactly. At least, not the way you mean.”

All trace of humor and courtesy disappeared from his face. “I don’t really have time to play games here, Dr. Fleming. You obviously know something. Or are involved in it. If you won’t tell me what you know, we may get to that unpleasantness I thought we were avoiding.”

She needed a sign. Something that told her he’d believe her crazy story. And not consider her the culprit. Sometimes a simple touch gave her the signal she needed. Sometimes, although not always, she could “read” people this way and know if she was dealing with an enemy. “Would you do me a favor, Mr. Romeo? Shake hands with me?”

One eyebrow lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Just shake hands with me. Surely that won’t create a problem.” She waved her hands in the air. “It’s not as if I have a gun or anything.”

“Fine. If it will get me some answers.” He leaned across the desk and stretched out a hand, his face still implacable.

When Mia clasped his hand, the most amazing feeling of warmth spread through her body. A sense of safety. An image of a knight with his sword raised to protect her flashed for two seconds. And something else she didn’t want to define at the moment. But there was no hostility. She could tell him. He was safe. Built of granite but safe.