Read Online Behind the Shadows by Patricia; Potter - Free Book Online Page B

the woman in the bed.
    She stood, totally befuddled. She hadn’t bothered with more than a brush through her hair. No lipstick. No makeup. Old Atlanta Braves T-shirt and older jeans.
    He, on the other hand, was dressed in a dark gray tailored business suit. He looked handsome and distinguished and certainly out of place in acute care, where most visitors looked as tired and as comfortably dressed as she. He looked freshly shaved and even his shoes were polished to a high shine. Yet there was a cynicism in his eyes he couldn’t quite hide.
    He was, in one word, formidable.
    She looked back at her mother. Asleep.
    Kira walked to the door. He stood aside. She walked out and he followed.
    Then she turned on him. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œI couldn’t reach you about that dinner tonight.”
    She tried to remember what she had told him about her mother. Had she mentioned the hospital? Or which one? She didn’t think so. “How did you know where to find me?”
    His green eyes looked amused. “I’m good at finding things.”
    â€œI’m not a thing.”
    His eyes roamed over her and inwardly she winced. Why didn’t she use even a touch of lipstick before coming here?
    â€œI believe that when a gentleman tells a lady he is going to call her about dinner, he should manage to do that.”
    That stopped her. She had a retort but decided against it. For one of the few times in her life she was tongue-tied.
    â€œHow’s your mother?” he asked, the amusement fading from his voice.
    â€œAbout the same. She needs a kidney.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    He sounded as if he really was. It was disarming. She didn’t want to be disarmed. She couldn’t afford to be disarmed. Not for her sake. Not for her mother’s sake.
    He looked back at the door. “Can you get away for a bite?”
    She should say no. She’d tried to avoid exactly this.
    â€œSomeplace nearby,” he coaxed. “I looked up restaurants in the area. There’s a small Italian place a few blocks away.”
    He’d done his homework. He probably always did his homework, even for something as simple as a quick meal. How much research had he done on her?
    And the question was why? Her reporter’s instinctive bells started ringing. She was torn between running like hell from someone she sensed was dangerous to her aims, and assuaging her curiosity about the Westerfield family. And, she had to admit, one Maxwell Payton.
    Her stomach rumbled. She’d had an English muffin and juice for breakfast. Nothing for lunch.
    â€œLucchesi’s?” she asked, going back to that “Italian restaurant” he’d mentioned.
    He looked a little surprised, and that pleased her. She suspected he wasn’t often surprised.
    â€œYes,” he said. “You know it?”
    â€œPretty well,” she replied. Lucchesi’s was small, good, and inexpensive. Best of all, they treated her as family when she needed that and didn’t seem to object when she read a book or newspaper while eating after visiting her mother.
    â€œIs it as good as the comments say it is?”
    â€œProbably better.” She eyed his suit. “It’s not very formal.”
    He gave her a crooked smile that made her legs rubbery. “You think they’ll let me in with a suit?”
    â€œLucchesi might make an exception,” she replied. He’d succeeded in making her feel completely at ease in her T-shirt and jeans. Not only that, he’d somehow maneuvered her into agreeing to go.
    Then she looked at herself through his eyes and wanted to go, “Yeck.”
    Lucchesi wouldn’t mind. But she did.
    She was going to drop a bomb on the Westerfield family Saturday, and she hated looking like the little match girl today. Why had she purposely dressed down? Because she suspected this would happen?
    For whatever reason, she was at her worst, and he looked as if