Dark Room (Pete 'Monty' Montgomery 2)

Charlie’s lips curved slightly. “Does it? I didn’t mean for it to. They were both lovely. Maybe it’s just my state of mind right now. Maybe I’m just distracted.”

“Then I’m not doing my job well enough,” Morgan declared. “Because I’m supposed to help you find someone who’ll overcome that distraction.” She eased her plate aside and flipped open the file to a clean sheet of paper. “Let’s talk specifics. I’m hell-bent on finding you the woman of your dreams.”

Charlie raised his coffee cup. “Then here’s to specifics. May they hold the key to my happiness.”

RACHEL OGDEN AND Karly Fontaine had never met.

So they had no way of knowing they crossed paths on Madison Avenue at one-forty that afternoon.

Rachel was on her way to the St. Regis hotel for the consult she’d scheduled with Morgan. She’d just finished up a half-day meeting with a major advertising firm she was working with on acquisition candidates. Her mind was in a million places at once, and she was striding through the city on autopilot.

She should be getting back to the office. She really didn’t have another hour to devote to her love life. But Morgan had a way of inspiring confidence. Her approach promised results. And with the way Rachel’s career was skyrocketing, the long hours she was putting in, she wouldn’t have a minute to personally seek out fascinating men. So why not have Winshore do it for her? They were pros, and besides, she’d done a lousy job of managing her love life on her own. Her track record stunk. The men she found were either totally self-involved, unwilling to compromise or commit, or married.

No more of that. Time to level the playing field.

Rachel reached the corner of Fifty-third and Madison, and was waiting for the traffic light to change. That’s when Karly Fontaine approached, coming from the opposite direction.

Karly’s day had been equally hectic. Botched photo sessions. Massaging delicate egos. Soothing irate magazine publishers. Her modeling agency had been like the set of a bad soap opera since 8 a.m. Now she was headed for the subway station to catch the E train downtown, in the hopes of putting out yet another fire.

The two women never saw each other. The corner was jammed with pedestrians elbowing to gain advantage. Rachel edged her way between two people and stepped into the street the minute the light turned green. Karly was half a step behind her.

It happened in an instant. A beat-up white van screeched around the corner and struck Rachel head-on, sending her flying through the air and then crashing to the street, where she rolled to the curb. Several bystanders screamed. Cars swerved to avoid her. Even taxis slammed on their brakes.

The van never stopped.

Without glancing back, the driver weaved through traffic, racing up Madison Avenue until the van was swallowed up and gone.

FOURTEEN

Morgan glanced at her watch for the fifth time, this time checking it against the clock in the hotel lobby. No mistake. It was almost two forty-five. Rachel was three-quarters of an hour late.

At first she’d attributed it to whatever accident was causing the past hour’s traffic tie-up. Sirens had wailed by in rapid succession. Morgan’s concern had prompted her to step outside. She’d spotted the flashing red lights down the street, and hoped it was nothing serious. But she’d also noted that the road was partially blocked off, so maybe Rachel had had to take a detour to get to the St. Regis.

On the other hand, she hadn’t called. That seemed odd, given Rachel’s type-A personality.

Flipping open her cell phone, Morgan pressed send to redial Rachel’s number, since she’d called it three times already. The number rang and rang, then went to voice mail.

Morgan left a brief message, then punched off. She couldn’t wait here much longer. She had a thousand things to do, plus an appointment with Karly Fontaine in less than an hour. Frowning, she fished in her purse and pulled out her PDA, searching until she found Rachel’s office number. She’d call her there. If nothing else, maybe her assistant could explain what the holdup was, and reschedule their appointment.

The direct line rang twice. Then a young female voice answered, her tone distraught and nearly drowned out by a commotion in the background. “Rachel Ogden’s office.”

“Hi, this is Morgan Winter. Rachel and I had an appointment slotted for two o’clock at the St. Regis. I’m still waiting, but—”

“Oh, Ms. Winter, I’m so sorry,” the young woman interrupted. “This is Nadine, Rachel’s assistant. I meant to call you, but the office is in chaos. Forgive me. I’m just so freaked out and in shock.”

“In shock? Why? What happened?”

“Rachel was taken to emergency. She was mowed down by a hit-and-run driver on her way to the St. Regis.”

“Dear Lord.” Morgan raked a hand through her hair and sank down into a lobby chair. “Is she all right?”

“I don’t know. From what the police told us, she’s alive, but in pretty bad shape. Fortunately, a woman standing near her at the intersection called 911 immediately. The paramedics took her to New York–Presbyterian. She’s either still in the emergency room, unconscious

, or she’s in surgery. That’s all I know right now.”

Morgan was having a hard time processing all this. “You said it was a hit-and-run—someone must have seen the car.”

The background noise was getting louder, and Nadine was clearly distracted. “It was a white van. I’m sorry, Ms. Winter, but I’ve got to hang up now. The police want to speak to me.”