Wanted (Most Wanted 1)

"Kevin?" I said, working hard to keep my voice light. "What are you doing here?"

He set the paper aside, then slowly turned his attention to me. His expression resembled a disapproving parent, and I had to force myself not to fidget in my seat as I thought of my detour last night. "I came by a few hours ago. I wanted to see how you were."

"Oh." I took a sip of Diet Coke. "You could have just called."

"I did. Twice, actually. Considering your state of mind last night, I was concerned when you didn't answer."

"Twice?" For the first time it occurred to me to look at my phone, and I fished it out of my purse. The Do Not Disturb feature I'd turned on last night only allows calls from my parents and work to ring through, and I'd forgotten to turn off the app.

I checked the screen and saw three missed calls. Two from Kevin and one from Kat.

There was nothing from Evan.

"I was at the Art Institute this morning," I told Kevin. "With Flynn. Then I met my parents at The Drake for tea." I shrugged as if this were no big deal. Then again, it was no big deal. We weren't married. We weren't engaged. We weren't even dating exclusively. And I'd made him no promises when I'd left last night.

Not that those justifications quelled the guilty discomfort that was twisting like a serpent in my gut.

Kevin regarded me silently for a moment. "I see," he finally said, and despite that ridiculous roiling guilt, my temper flared.

"What exactly do you see? Did I commit some horrible transgression at the Art Institute? Or maybe by dining at The Drake?"

"Is there something I should know about?" he asked, his tone of complete calm grating on my nerves like sandpaper. "Something between you and Flynn, maybe?"

"Of course not," I said automatically, and it was only when the words were out of my mouth that it occurred to me that I should have lied. If I wanted to break up with Kevin, faking a relationship between Flynn and me would be the perfect way to do it.

Mentally, I rolled my eyes, disgusted with myself. What was I, in junior high?

"Then maybe it's something between you and Evan Black," he continued. The transition was smooth, but I heard the sharpness in his voice. And when I looked at his face, I saw both anger and hurt.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, but the righteous indignation I'd wanted to infuse into my voice didn't quite make it past the guilt.

"Dammit, Angie. If you'd really wanted to go out, I would have taken you. But the Poodle Dog Lounge?"

"Wait. You followed me?" Anger had me leaping to my feet.

"If you want someone to lie to a federal agent, you need to pay them more than forty bucks."

"You son of a bitch." I started pacing, a blur of fury and motion. "You goddamned son of a bitch!"

My rage didn't even faze him. "I was worried about you. Apparently I had reason to be." He picked up his wineglass and swallowed what was left, the only sign that he wasn't as icy calm as he looked. "Evan Black is not someone you can trust, Angie. I thought I made that clear last night. A guy like that is interested only in himself."

I'd been pacing the small area between the tiny kitchenette and the coffee table. Now I came to a halt in front of him. "Really?" I said, lacing my voice with as much sarcasm as I could manage. "Because last night I needed to cut loose a little, and Evan was there for me. Funny that I didn't see you there at all."

He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands, then dragging his fingers through his short hair. "Dammit, Angie," he said. He lifted his face to look at me, and my anger faded under the genuine hurt I saw there. "How do you think it makes me feel when you leave me to get what you need?"

I sank back into my chair, suddenly exhausted. My anger had fizzled, but now I just felt hollow, all the more so because even though we were talking about what I'd needed last night, all he could focus on was himself. About me making him feel better for not being the person who'd been there to assuage my grief. "I don't want to do this now."

"We're so right in so many ways," he continued, deaf to my protest. "Jesus, Angie. I just want you to talk to me. I just want you to tell me what you need."

"I thought I did."

He drew in a slow breath, then let it out carefully. "Okay. Fair enough." He stood up and walked around the table to stand behind my chair, his hands on my shoulders. "I should have listened. I should have taken you out. I'll do better, I'll try harder." He bent and kissed the top of my head. "I want us to work."

He was barely pressing on my shoulders, and yet it felt as if he was trying to shove me into a tube that didn't quite fit, and suddenly I knew that if I didn't do something he'd eventually wear me down. I'd slide through that tube and what came out the other end would look like me, but it wouldn't really be me at all anymore.

"Kevin," I said softly. "We need to talk."

"Okay." He moved around the chair to face me.

"You should sit."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't argue, and as he seated himself on the couch again, I drew in a breath for courage.

What I should have done was tell him that it was over. That he wanted this to work, but I didn't. Instead, I took the coward's way out. I did what all princesses do and ran straight into daddy's arms.

"I'm leaving," I said. "I'm moving to Washington."

"Washington," he repeated.

"I've got a job as a legislative aide," I explained. "And that's not going to leave any time to think about a relationship. I'm sorry, Kevin," I said as I stood up to punctuate the point. "I'm sorry, but this just isn't going to work."

ten

Alan Parker had been my uncle's attorney for as long as I could remember. He was an ancient man with a corner office in a prestigious law firm that also handled all the corporate business for HJH&A.

I arrived at the office harried, sticky with sweat, and a full ten minutes late because I'd broken the heel on my shoe, and the elevator ride back up to the penthouse and then down again had taken far longer than I'd expected. I probably should have taken a taxi, but I'd wanted the walk and had assumed that I could make up the time.

I'd assumed wrong, and when the receptionist led me through the halls toward the conference room, I felt positively gross. My blouse was sticking to my back beneath my summer sweater and I was certain my thick hair had frizzed out.

I took solace in the fact that I would be only one among what would surely be dozens of beneficiaries, and that in the crowded conference room no one would pay me any attention at all.

But when I arrived, there was only one other person in the room. Evan.

He stood as I entered, looking as cool and polished as I looked rumpled and miserable. Then he nodded politely and sat down again. I saw no hint of the man on the dance floor. For that matter, I saw no hint of the man who'd made me cocoa and held me close. I didn't even see the man who had walked away.

I didn't know this Evan, and I told myself I was glad. My announcement to Kevin that I was moving to Washington may have been a knee-jerk reaction, but apparently it had been the right one. And I was struck with the urge to announce to Evan that I was leaving and that I was damn happy about it, thank you very much.

Before I had the chance, Alan came in, flanked by two younger attorneys whose faces, hair, and posture were at least as polished as their suits.

I took a seat opposite Evan as Alan and his associates settled in at the head of the table. I kept my eyes on the attorneys, determined not to glance Evan's way. "Are we still waiting on the rest?"

"No," he said. "All the beneficiaries are present."

"Oh."

The female associate scribbled a note, then smiled at me with unnaturally white teeth. "A great deal of your uncle's property was in trust and passes outside of probate."

I nodded as if I understood what that meant.

Alan cleared his throat. "As you both know, Howard Jahn amassed an extensive collection of art and artifacts in addition to his cash, securities, and real property holdings."

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Considering I lived in the condo--which was practically a museum--I knew it well.

"Not long before his death, Mr. Jahn did a major overhaul regarding his estate. He added extensively to the trust for the benefit of the Jahn Foundation. Everything from cash down to the smallest coin in his collection. So extensively, in fact, that only three bequests remain to be distributed through his will. We are here today to address those items." He cleared his throat, opened the folder in front of him, and began reading.

"To my good friend Evan Black, I leave my six-shot, nickel-plated, dual-action Colt revolver, which once belonged to Al Capone himself, in the hopes that he will remember to always watch his back and to take nothing for granted."

I bit back an ironic grin. I knew that Evan had always admired the gun, which Jahn had kept mounted in a shadow box in his study. But if Kevin was right about Evan's extracurricular activities, then that made the bequest all the more appropriate.

Evan looked amused as well, but sobered when Alan added that Uncle Jahn also left him a letter. "He presented it to me the day he revised his will, and asked that I give it to you contemporaneously with the bequest."

"Am I the only one to receive a letter?" Evan asked, and though he didn't say, I was certain that he was wondering about Cole and Tyler, both of whom were conspicuous by their absence.

Alan shook his head. "No. I was entrusted with several. Shall we move on?"

Evan nodded.