Gabriel Read Free Page B

think so hard this late in the afternoon.”
    She snapped out of her junk-mail contemplation, arrowing her gaze toward the office
     door. Nathan Whelan stood in the narrow entrance, a smile curving his mouth.
    “Hey, Nathan.” She waved her boss inside, returning his smile. “Come on in.”
    The private investigator moved into the room, appearing more like a successful business
     tycoon than a PI, in his perfectly tailored, gray Armani suit, white shirt, and conservative,
     striped tie. Yet the closely cropped dark gold hair, sharp green eyes, and fit physique
     betrayed the years he’d spent as one of Boston’s finest.
    Unlike Leah, Nathan had left the force voluntarily to enter the more lucrative private
     sector. No career- and dream-ending shooting and injury for him. It had surprised
     her when he’d called out of the blue a year ago and offered her—a former cop with
     a bum hip and in grave need of an attitudinal adjustment—a position with his company.
     Though they were close friends now, growing up they’d been familiar but not BFFs.
     As adults, the five-year age difference wasn’t a big deal. But as children, his sixteen
     to her eleven had seemed like a generation gap. Their families had belonged to the
     same elite social circle, attended the same events and parties. And Leah suspected
     the family connection and no small amount of pity had prompted the employment proposition.
    She’d never asked; she was too afraid of the answer.
    “How was your afternoon?” he asked, settling his tall frame into the wingback chair
     in front of her desk. With its sedate cross-stitch pattern, the piece of furniture
     wouldn’t have been out of place in a psychiatrist’s office. Kind of apropos, considering
     clients came in and aired some of their dirtiest laundry.
    Leah groaned at the question. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the stack of mail
     onto her desk and shrugged out of her jacket and holster with her secured SIG Sauer.
     She hung both on the back of her office chair and plopped into the seat. “Awful. Just
     giving you a heads-up. Expect a call from Celeste Barrow. She’s not happy.” Now there was an understatement. The woman had still been screeching like a wet hen when Leah
     had left her home.
    A corner of Nathan’s mouth twitched. “I take it she didn’t receive the news well about
     her future daughter-in-law’s fidelity?”
    “Uh, no.” Leah plucked up the colorful flyers and tossed them in the trash can under
     her desk. The older socialite had contracted Whelan Investigations to follow her son’s
     fiancée and gather proof of her infidelity. Leah had tailed the young woman for three
     weeks and discovered no hint of cheating. But Mrs. Barrow had been enraged at Leah’s
     findings, calling the firm a “half-rate, incompetent outfit” and demanding her retainer
     back.
    In a nutshell, the woman had thrown a feet-kicking-fist-waving hissy fit.
    Good thing Leah hadn’t told her the whole truth: not only did her son’s fiancée appear
     loyal and loving, but she was also a beard. Yup. Little Randall Barrow was gay and
     firmly entrenched in the closet, thanks to his mother’s high demands and smothering
     overprotectiveness.
    Celeste would’ve probably blackened Leah’s eye if she’d revealed that bit of news.
    “She wanted the truth.” Nathan shrugged a wide shoulder. “That’s what we gave her.”
     He paused. “Did you tell her about Randall?”
    “Are you kidding me?” Leah loosed a bark of laughter. “God, no.”
    Nathan nodded and propped his ankle on top of his knee, flashing gray socks that matched
     his suit perfectly. “Good. She didn’t pay us for that information.”
    Leah snorted. “According to Celeste, she’s not paying us at all .”
    Steel glinted in emerald eyes several shades darker than her own, revealing the sharp
     edges of the man beneath the civilized clothes. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he
     murmured smoothly. “So what’re