Micah
raked aside loose glass, creating more breakage as a few bigger
pieces landed on the floor. He twisted the lock free, and pushed
up the frame. Shoving his suitcase in before him, he crawled though.
After turning to analyze the damage, he released an out-of-character
snicker. He'd have that new efficient secretary he'd heard so
much about take care of getting it fixed tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
He
dropped into the chair behind the desk for a moment, thinking
about his reason for taking an earlier flight. Tomorrow he and
Ben would have to decide what to do about the bid disclosure problems.
Ben had an important bid opening to attend in the morning and
Micah wanted to be there. Something rotten was going on in the
company and he was determined to find out what. The thought was
sobering, but not sobering enough, he thought, as he stood and
swayed on his feet. What he needed was a hot shower and a good
night's sleep.
In
the bathroom down the hallway, Emma was cursing because she'd
forgotten to get the lock repaired. Heavy footsteps shuffled along
the hallway, and then they stopped. A deadly silence followed.
She pressed her ear to the door, but could only hear the echo
of her heartbeat going, tah-thump, tah-thump, tah-thump. Long
minutes seemed to tick by before she picked up the sound of footsteps
again. They came closer and closer.
Tah-thump,
tah-thump, tah-thump. Her heart kept rhythm with her silent chant.
Don't panic! Don't panic! Don't panic!
The
steps halted just outside the bathroom door. She quietly shifted
so she could raise her arms to get a good swing with the rock
paperweight in case he entered.
Slowly
the door opened. Her worst fears were about to be realized and
her heartbeat magnified to a blood rushing thump, thump, thump.
A
hand came around the doorway, fumbled its way up the wall, and
flipped the light switch. The brightness temporarily blinded her,
but she made out the shape of the masculine form that tripped
over her foot when she stuck it out in front of him. Emma delivered
a glancing blow to the head of the tall, dark headed intruder
as he fell forward.
"Christ!"
the man sputtered, wobbled, then closed his eyes and slid to the
floor like a noodle doused with hot water.
Emma
feared she'd killed him.
At
first she thought the burglar was pretending to be unconscious.
The blow couldn't have been forceful enough to hurt him badly.
She marveled that she'd even knocked him out since she'd hesitated
just after her weapon began its decent. For a second, in the shadowed
darkness, she mistook the man for Jordan. Her hesitation was just
enough to lessen the blow so it glanced off the side of the intruder's
forehead instead of catching him with a good solid hit.
She
stood staring down at him. It wasn't the crew foreman, but there
was a slight resemblance in the long aquiline nose, thickly arched
brows, and deeply tanned skin. Of course it could be the mud stuck
to his face that caused him to appear darker than he was.
It
was hard to tell, the way he lay curled up on the vinyl tile floor,
but she judged this man to be every bit as tall as Jordan's six
foot plus. Her gaze slid down his body, noticing along the way
a pair of well-developed biceps strained against the seams of
his soiled white dress shirt. A gold medallion-like buckle adorned
a belt that hugged his trim hips, and muscular thighs pushed against
a pair of snug fitting dark trousers. Whoever he was, he kept
himself in good shape.
She
quickly looked back to the intruder's face and frowned. He still
hadn't moved. Had she hit him harder than she thought? She had
to make sure he was alive.
Closing
her eyes, she slowly knelt beside the prostrate man and lifted
his wrist to feel for a pulse. She felt strangely moved by the
strong, steady beat beneath her fingers as she touched his warm
skin. She leaned closer, sniffed and caught the unmistakable scent
of bar smoke. Another sniff and she caught another unmistakable
scent. Beer.
He
moaned and curled his fingers around hers, then mumbled, "Later,
darling."