Into the Crossfire Read Free Page A

paperback book, checkbook, notepad, address book,
    credit-card holder, all of which made a mess.
    In a cold sweat of panic, Nicole pushed her way through the objects on the
    console, checking carefully, over and over again, reciting each object under her
    breath like a mantra. Everything that should be there was there.
    Except for her office key.
    What a disaster. Construction on Robinson had forced her into a long
    detour, which was why she was opening the office at 9:15 instead of 9. At 9:30,
    she had a vital videoconference with a very important potential client in New York
    and her two best Russian translators, to negotiate a big job. A huge job. A job that
    could represent more than 20 percent of her income next year. A job she
    desperately needed.
    Her father's medical bills kept rising, with no end in sight. She'd just added
    a night nurse for weeknights and it was $2,000 a month. A new round of
    radiotherapy might be necessary, Dr. Harrison had said last week. Another
    $10,000. It was all money she didn't have and had to earn. Fast.
    If the conference call went well, she might be able to keep ahead of her
    money problems, for a while at least.
    There was absolutely no time to cross all of downtown to go back home
    and get the keys. Not to mention the fact that she would upset her father, who was
    so ill. He'd be worried, be unsettled all day. Sleep badly that night. She absolutely
    didn't want to upset him.
    Nicholas Pearce had a limited number of days to his life and Nicole was
    determined that they be as peaceful as possible.
    She simply couldn't go back home. And she simply couldn't afford to miss
    this meeting. Her translation business, Wordsmith, was too new to be able to risk
    passing up this client--manager of one of the largest hedge funds in New York,
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    looking to invest in Siberian gas futures and the Russian bond market, and needing
    translations of the technical data sheets and market analyses.
    Sweat trickled down her back. She made a fist out of her trembling hand
    and beat it gently on the console, wanting to simply close her eyes in despair.
    This was not happening.
    "I can open your door for you." She jolted again at the words spoken in that
    incredibly low, deep voice. Heavens, she'd forgotten about Lowlife in her misery.
    His dark eyes were watching her carefully. "But it'll cost you."
    This was not a good economic moment for her, but right now she'd be
    willing to pay anything to get into her office. Snatching up her checkbook from
    the clear surface of the console, she turned to him. He watched her with no
    expression on his face at all. She had no reason to think he was a decent sort of
    guy, but she could hope he wouldn't use her obvious desperation to make a killing.
    Please, she prayed to the goddess of desperate women.
    "Okay, name your price," she said, flipping back the cover, womanfully
    refraining from wincing when she saw her balance. God, please let him not ask the
    earth, because her checking account would go straight into the red. She steadied
    her hand. Don't let him see you tremble.
    She looked up at him, pen hovering over her checkbook. "How much?"
    "Have dinner with me."
    She'd actually started writing, then froze. "I--I beg your pardon?" She stared
    for a second at the blank check where she'd started writing dinner with Lowlife on
    the line with the amount.
    "Have dinner with me," he repeated. Okay, so it hadn't been an auditory
    hallucination.
    Her mouth opened and absolutely nothing came out.
    Have dinner with him? She didn't know him, knew nothing about him
    except for the fact that he looked...rough. Instinctively, she stepped back.
    He was watching her carefully, and nodded sharply, as if she'd said
    something he agreed with. "You don't know me and you're right to be cautious. So
    let's start with the basics." He held out a huge, callused, suntanned and none-tooclean hand. "Sam Reston, at your service."
    Sam Reston? Sam Reston?
    Nicole couldn't help it. Her eyes flicked to