Read Online A Dangerous Fiction by Barbara Rogan - Free Book Online

I don’t know; she certainly never wore them to the office.
    She was an exasperating child, but I could have hugged her now. I could have hugged them all, even Harriet, who despite her supercilious tone was gazing at me with concern. It moved me to see it, and it opened my eyes.
    I grew up without a family. My parents died when I was three; I have no memories of them. My mother’s mother took me in. She was a God-fearing woman with a heart of carbolic acid who knew her duty and set about it grimly. I got a cot, secondhand clothes, enough food to survive, and nothing else: not a kind look, not a hug, not a word of praise, even though for years until I wised up I nearly killed myself trying. Luckily for me I found other sources of approval and a way out. I graduated high school at seventeen with a full scholarship to Vassar in my pocket, and once I left, I never went back.
    When I married Hugo, he became my family. He was my father, my mother, my husband, and my child. His death left me orphaned anew, widowed, bereft in every possible way. I thought I was down for the count. And yet here I was three years later, still kicking. As I looked around at the room, I realized that somehow this agency had become my home, these people my family.
    The panic I’d felt in Santa Fe had evaporated completely. Sam Spade was no threat to me; he was barely a nuisance. I tried to explain this. Everyone listened politely. Then they turned back to Max, and Harriet spoke for them all. “Tell us what to do.”
    Max ran through a litany of security measures, most of which I’d already heard on the plane, while Lorna’s pen flew furiously over her pad. All calls were to be screened, all doors kept locked, all computer passwords changed. He was meeting the head of building security that evening, while I was delegated to brief the doormen in my apartment house. “Most important,” Max said sternly, turning to me, “you need to vary your schedule. No more runs around the reservoir, for the interim, anyway. Work at home more; come into the office at odd hours. Don’t be predictable.”
    Just past Max’s shoulder, Hugo gazed at me from his portrait, smiling slightly as if to say,
So much fuss, my dear!
    â€œIs all this really necessary, Max?” I said. “Isn’t it overkill?”
    â€œThink of it as an ounce of prevention,” he said. “Stalkers can be incredibly persistent; that’s what makes them stalkers. Trust me, you’d rather have bedbugs in your apartment than one of these bastards fixated on you.”
    A few minutes later, the meeting ended and Max took off. I asked Jean-Paul to stay for a moment. He took the seat beside mine, and I looked at him with a pleasure akin to that aroused by a beautiful Greek sculpture. Sitting so close, I had to resist the temptation to run my hands through his black curls. It wasn’t a sexual impulse. In museums, too, I had a hard time keeping my hands to myself. For his part, Jean-Paul seemed to avoid looking directly at me. The charm I’d seen him display toward others was eclipsed in my presence by an awkwardness I could only attribute to my being his boss.
    â€œI’ve thought about what you asked me,” I said. “If you’re still interested—”
    My door opened, and Chloe’s smiling face peered around it. “Ready?” she asked Jean-Paul.
    â€œWhat?” he said blankly. “Oh, right. Sorry; go without me.”
    The smile faded fast. “You’re kidding.”
    Boys can be so dense, I thought, and pointed to the door. “Go. You have plans. This can wait till tomorrow.”
    â€œNo, it can’t.” He looked back at Chloe. “See you tomorrow, OK?”
    â€œWhatever.” She backed out, not before casting me a look I can only call lethal.
    Poor child, I thought. She really had it bad if she saw me as her rival. But Chloe would have to learn to deal with her little