“Actually the juice sounds good,” Lane replied, setting down his camera bag and taking the glass with a nod of thanks. “I’m always up for trying something new.”
Arthur led Lane into the living room. The L-shaped sectional and matching armchair were sand-colored brushed twill with thick down cushions and sage-green throw pillows. The entire room had a cool, natural feel to it—Elyse’s touch, Lane suspected.
“Have a seat,” Arthur invited, gesturing toward the sofa.
Lane complied, taking a sample taste of his vegetable juice. “This is excellent,” he called out to Jill, holding up his glass. It was, too. Refreshing, with a kick.
“Good—a man of taste.” She gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “I’ll make more when Morgan gets here.” With that, she glanced at her watch. “Where is she, anyway?”
“She called,” Elyse supplied. “She said she had an errand to run and she’d be a few minutes late. She should be here anytime now.” A flicker of concern crossed her face. “I hope she ate lunch. She hasn’t had a decent meal in two days.”
“This morning I coaxed half a muffin down her throat,” Jill murmured.
“And I coaxed down the other half when I dropped by the office,” Arthur added. “But you’re right. She’s not eating.”
“Or sleeping,” Jill added.
“I’ll get the fruit-and-cheese platter.” With a burst of nervous energy, Elyse headed to the kitchen. “We can start nibbling while we wait for Morgan.” She returned a moment later, placing the platter on the coffee table and giving Lane a rueful, self-conscious look. “Forgive us for the familial worry. This is a difficult time.”
“No apology necessary.” Lane weighed his words carefully. “I can’t begin to imagine how hard this must be. I’m sorry this whole painful chapter in your lives has to be dredged up again.”
“So are we.” Arthur spoke frankly, not mincing any words. “This news was a shock to us all. But the one hit hardest was Morgan. My goal is to protect her as much as possible—starting with our topics of conversation. Tonight, let’s discuss lighter topics, like next week’s itinerary. There’ll be a time and place for getting into the nitty-gritty of the investigation.”
“Understood.” Lane nodded, hearing the message loud and clear. He had to respect the congressman’s show of paternal protectiveness. “Speaking of next week’s itinerary, I can’t wait to hear what you have on tap for us.”
Arthur relaxed, and a flicker of amusement lit his eyes. “You won’t be disappointed. As I recall, you were no slouch when we did that Sports Illustrated spread. You were quite the rock climber and bungee jumper. Are you still in top shape?”
“Better than that.” A corner of Lane’s mouth lifted. “I’ve been doing double duty at the gym so I can keep up with you.”
“You can try.” A broad grin. “How good are you on skis?”
“I took my first lesson when I was six. I’ve tackled pretty much every expert slope in the U.S., plus a handful in the French, Swiss, and Austrian Alps. This year, I was thinking of hitting the Canadian Rockies, going straight to British Columbia and taking on Whistler/Blackcomb’s legendary vertical drop.”
“Excellent. After next week, you’ll have a new experience to add to that impressive list.”
“Hank mentioned heli-skiing.” Lane leaned forward eagerly. “I’ve always wanted to try it. Fill me in.”
Before Arthur could respond, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the apartment door swung open.
“Hi, it’s me.” A woman’s voice, one that presumably belonged to Morgan Winter, drifted in from the hall, followed by the muffled sounds of her shrugging off her coat and hanging it up. “I hope I didn’t hold things up.”
“Nope,” Jill called back. “I just made more juice, and Mom put out the food. We’re about to hear what wild adventures Dad has planned for next week. So come on in and join us.”
“Coming.” The click-click of heels on the tile fl
oor, and then a pause as she reached the entrance to the living room. “Here I am.”
Lane wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the fine-boned brunette who walked in. Shoulder-length hair. Pale green eyes. Fine features and delicate build that conveyed fragility. But with a take-charge self-assurance that completely contradicted the vulnerable image. No, actually it enhanced it. Sensitivity and strength, composure and fire, with a depth and expressiveness in her eyes that spoke of compassion and pain.
“Hauntingly beautiful” was the term that sprang to mind.
Rising to his feet, Lane watched her approach him.
“Hi. Morgan Winter,” she introduced herself. She extended her hand, shook his in a firm, businesslike handshake.
“Nice to meet you,” he replied. “Lane Montgomery.”
“I see the resemblance to your father.”