“I don’t know. I couldn’t pry it out of Craig and I gave it a damn good shot. Who doesn’t like some gossip? But he was tight-lipped about it. I don’t think he even told Lissy, because I asked her. Or if he did, he swore her to secrecy. Reed has a reputation. I think he enjoys having one. Ladies’ man. It wasn’t what I was looking for.”
“Excuse me?” Ben said again, and this time got a watery laugh out of her.
“Ben.” She sighed it, leaned her head into him. “Reed’s a good teacher, and he’s very insightful with the students. But he’s not the sort of man I’d trust my heart with.”
Eve wanted thinking time, so closed herself in her office when she got back to Central. She generated a diagram of the school, of the movements of various members of the faculty.
She entertained the notion that perhaps Williams hadn’t limited his games to coworkers. While she believed he’d steered clear of the kiddie pool, maybe he’d dipped into the parental area.
Checking the security log, she noted seven parents had signed in the morning in question. She began runs on all of them, and struggled not to think about what Roarke was doing as she worked.
Tried very hard not to think about him sitting down to lunch with an ex-lover.
6
SHE WOULD BE LATE. IN BUSINESS, ROARKE RE- membered, Maggie had been as timely as a German train. When it was personal, when it was pleasure, she enjoyed keeping a man waiting.
It had been a ploy he’d found amusing once, even foolishly charming. She would, always, come dashing into a restaurant, a club, a party, a half an hour after the appointed time, her face alight with laughter and apology. And her eyes full of the knowledge that they both knew what she was up to.
So he’d told her noon, and made the reservation for twelve-thirty.
He arrived a few minutes early, slid into the corner booth waiting for him. Ordered mineral water. He waved away the wine list. He had no intention to drinking toasts to times gone by.
He scanned the restaurant, thinking it was the sort of place Magdelana had loved—and Eve tolerated. Plush, polished, crowded with people who were willing to pay the tab to see and be seen nibbling on overpriced salads.
His temper was still raw-edged from the argument—if that’s what it had been—with Eve that morning. And from the cool disapproval on Summerset’s face. He disliked, intensely, being questioned and doubted by the two people he believed knew and understood him best.
Where had that lack of trust come from? That uncharacteristic flash of jealousy in Eve? Be careful, she’d warned him, he thought—and found himself insulted all over again.
So he couldn’t be trusted to share a meal in a public place with a woman he hadn’t seen in years? It was bloody insulting, and the insinuation was intolerable.
And it was damn well something they’d come to terms with in very short order.
Best to put it out of his mind, he told himself. He’d have lunch with the woman who had, he supposed, influenced a portion of his life at one time. And later, he’d deal with the woman who had changed his life.
Magdelana came in as he remembered—in a rush—hair and hips
and legs swinging. And with a laugh, she slid into the booth and pecked his cheek. “I’m criminally late.”
“I only just arrived myself.”
“Oh.” There was a pout, just for an instant, then another laugh. “You know me too well.” She brushed her hair behind her shoulders before sending him her quick and wicked smile. “Well enough to remember what I like to drink?”
“Stoli martini, straight up,” he said to the waiter. “Very dry. Twist of lemon.”
“I’m flattered.”
“I have a good memory.”
“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I’ll be right back with your drink, madam.”
When he left, Magdelana lifted Roarke’s glass, took a small sip. “Water?”
“I’ve afternoon meetings.”