of the body, his guess was it wasn't that long, an hour, maybe two.
Maybe he'd find a clue here, he thought as he lifted the appointment book, pausing as he heard a faint knock on the outside door. "Damn!" He muttered, hoping whoever it was would go away.
He heard another persistent knock, then a woman's voice from inside the outer office. Why didn't I bolt the door? It took him only a moment to close the gap between the desk and the door, skirting the body laying in the middle of the room.
"Can I help you?" The tall, bearded man said as he stepped through the doorway into the reception area, carefully closing the door to the office behind him. "Are you looking for someplace in particular?" And why do you look so damn familiar?
"I am in the right office." Liane forced a smile, noting how this man seemed different from any agent she had ever met. Dressed in his brown, leather flight jacket, he looked more like an outdoors man than a man who spent most of his time behind a desk. Even his voice sounded different, warmer, deeper than it had seemed when she talked to him on the phone the day before.
"What I'm wondering is if I have the right man? I have an appointment with Mr. Devereaux. My producer, Martin Sloane, made it for me, Ann Page." She forced back a smile as she recalled Martin quickly choosing a false name for her off a package of cookies.
"I see." The man glanced down at the appointment book still in his hand. "Yes, Ms. Page, referred by Martin Sloane. . . . What can I do for you?" He crossed the room and placed the book on the secretary's desk, then turned back to face his companion, hoping to get rid of her as quickly as possible.
She bit her lip, remembering how irritated this man had been on the phone the previous evening. She suspected he'd be no less gracious once she told him she was here under false pretenses.
"Excuse me, Miss . . ." the agent started. "I'm really in a hurry. This is a Saturday."
"I'm well aware of what day it is," she snapped. "I'll try not to take too much of your time." She reached into her purse and pulled out the photograph of her brother and held it out to him. "If you could just tell me if you know this man, and if so where he might be, I'll let you get back to your Saturday schedule."
He merely glanced at the photograph, then back at her. "Sorry, can't say I know this man." So, that's who you are.
"Look again, closer," she persisted, shaking the photograph in front of his face. "His name is Jack Spencer . . ."
The man firmly grasped her hand and lowered it, looking into her face instead of the photograph as she wanted. "I think you should try listening to what people tell you, Ms. Page . . ."
"But Mr. Devereaux, I believe my brother is indeed one of your clients. Possibly under another name. Please, just look at his picture before you throw me out of here." She again held it right in front of his face.
"I can't help you. Now, if you'll please . . . I was on my way out." This is the last thing I need to complicate things further.
"No!" She stared at him in growing anger. "Not until you take a good look. I promised my sister I'd make certain, before we take further steps in trying to locate him."
Further steps. That definitely got this attention. He knew he had to prevent that. "Is there a particular reason you're going to such great pains to find him?"
"He's our brother!"
"I see." He took the picture from her hand.
Maybe he'd find a clue here, he thought as he lifted the appointment book, pausing as he heard a faint knock on the outside door. "Damn!" He muttered, hoping whoever it was would go away.
He heard another persistent knock, then a woman's voice from inside the outer office. Why didn't I bolt the door? It took him only a moment to close the gap between the desk and the door, skirting the body laying in the middle of the room.
"Can I help you?" The tall, bearded man said as he stepped through the doorway into the reception area, carefully closing the door to the office behind him. "Are you looking for someplace in particular?" And why do you look so damn familiar?
"I am in the right office." Liane forced a smile, noting how this man seemed different from any agent she had ever met. Dressed in his brown, leather flight jacket, he looked more like an outdoors man than a man who spent most of his time behind a desk. Even his voice sounded different, warmer, deeper than it had seemed when she talked to him on the phone the day before.
"What I'm wondering is if I have the right man? I have an appointment with Mr. Devereaux. My producer, Martin Sloane, made it for me, Ann Page." She forced back a smile as she recalled Martin quickly choosing a false name for her off a package of cookies.
"I see." The man glanced down at the appointment book still in his hand. "Yes, Ms. Page, referred by Martin Sloane. . . . What can I do for you?" He crossed the room and placed the book on the secretary's desk, then turned back to face his companion, hoping to get rid of her as quickly as possible.
She bit her lip, remembering how irritated this man had been on the phone the previous evening. She suspected he'd be no less gracious once she told him she was here under false pretenses.
"Excuse me, Miss . . ." the agent started. "I'm really in a hurry. This is a Saturday."
"I'm well aware of what day it is," she snapped. "I'll try not to take too much of your time." She reached into her purse and pulled out the photograph of her brother and held it out to him. "If you could just tell me if you know this man, and if so where he might be, I'll let you get back to your Saturday schedule."
He merely glanced at the photograph, then back at her. "Sorry, can't say I know this man." So, that's who you are.
"Look again, closer," she persisted, shaking the photograph in front of his face. "His name is Jack Spencer . . ."
The man firmly grasped her hand and lowered it, looking into her face instead of the photograph as she wanted. "I think you should try listening to what people tell you, Ms. Page . . ."
"But Mr. Devereaux, I believe my brother is indeed one of your clients. Possibly under another name. Please, just look at his picture before you throw me out of here." She again held it right in front of his face.
"I can't help you. Now, if you'll please . . . I was on my way out." This is the last thing I need to complicate things further.
"No!" She stared at him in growing anger. "Not until you take a good look. I promised my sister I'd make certain, before we take further steps in trying to locate him."
Further steps. That definitely got this attention. He knew he had to prevent that. "Is there a particular reason you're going to such great pains to find him?"
"He's our brother!"
"I see." He took the picture from her hand.