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  She sucked in a shaky breath as Jeremiah and Lenora entered Langston's reception area with Lynette close on their heels. If the evidence against the Collingsworths was false, there had to be a way to prove it.

  If they were being framed, there had to be a way to prove that as well. It would have to be someone with decisionmaking power. Someone right here inside Collingsworth Oil. Perhaps someone sitting at a desk behind one of these closed doors. Someone with motivation to aid the terrorists or to destroy the Collingsworths. Maybe both.

  The only flaw to that theory was that Ben Hartmann had been on the inside for almost six months now and according to Brady, was not picking up the same vibes that she was. Ben didn't have a sliver of a doubt that the current allegations were dead on.

  In spite of Lenora's invitation to wait in her office, Shelly walked right past the open door and started back down the hall, checking the names on the offices as she went. Four vice presidents. She recognized all the names, though the only one of the four she'd actually met was Melvin Rogers. That was only because he'd shown up at the Collingsworth Sunday brunch.

  She stopped outside Melvin's door. She'd love to snoop in his files, but even if he were in the big family conclave, his secretary would be in the outer office. She'd also love a chance to chat privately with Ben, but she didn't dare risk asking anyone where to find him.

  A woman in a straight black skirt and tailored white blouse walked past with a tall man who appeared in his mid-thirties. They were deep in conversation and barely noticed her as they passed. A second later, a gorgeous young woman who looked more like a super model than an oil-company employee stepped out of Melvin's office, pulling the door shut behind her.

  His secretary? Good chance. Shelly hesitated only a second before she opened the door to Melvin's office and stepped inside.

  As she'd hoped, the outer office was empty. Tense, her nerves on edge, she knocked lightly on the door past the secretary's neatly ordered desk.

  She waited for Melvin's voice. When it didn't come, she turned the knob, pushed the door open and stepped inside. Leaving the door open a crack so that she could hear when the secretary returned, she crossed to the four large wooden file cabinets that were set along the side wall. She tried each one. The first three were locked. The fourth wasn't.

  Without a clue as to what she was searching for, she opened the top drawer and scanned the files. Each was labeled with what appeared to be the name of a specific project.

  Choosing one at random, she pulled a folder titled Drilling Project Twelve: Risk Analysis. There were pages of maps inside followed by various charts. A page slipped from the folder and she bent to pick it up.

  At the sound of voices in the outer office, she shoved the file back in place and closed the cabinet door. The voices were louder now. She was almost certain that one belonged to Ben Hartmann, though she hadn't expected to run into him in the executive wing. The other might belong to Melvin.

  A second later, the door opened. Definitely Melvin, looking as if he were about to strangle her or perhaps toss her from the window of the eighteenth floor. Ben looked downright shocked. Their gazes met and she could see the irritation burning in his eyes.

  Melvin stepped toward her. "I'm sure there must be a very logical reason for your being in my private office, Miss Lane. For the life of me, I can't imagine what it could be. Care to set me straight?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Shelly tried to think of a clever comeback explanation to Melvin's rude insinuation. None came to mind, and Ben's glare wasn't helping. He needn't worry. She wasn't stupid enough to say or do anything to blow his cover or her own.

  "I drove Jeremiah into the office this morning," she said, thinking fast. "I thought if you weren't busy, we might be able to grab a cup of coffee while I waited for him. Seems as if everyone else is in a meeting."

  Melvin's eyes lost some of their fire.

  "I guess I shouldn't have just walked in," she continued, "but Lenora told me to make myself at home around the offices, so I thought I'd give you a minute and see if you or your secretary returned."

  Shelly was sure that wasn't exactly what Lenora had meant, but she could tell by the change in Melvin's expression that he was buying it. Vanity had him believing she'd like his company. She would, but not for the reasons he was thinking. Ben had moved over near the window and appeared to be studying the Houston skyline with avid interest.

  Melvin leaned his backside against his desk. "How did you talk Jeremiah into coming into the office?"

  "It was his idea. I just filled in when he couldn't readily find a driver."

  "I'm sure he appreciated that. He gave up driving in Houston traffic several years ago, after losing a lane change battle with an SUV. I don't think Langston was expecting him today, though. Did he say why he wanted to come in?"

  "Nothing that made sense."

  Melvin nodded. "He's flirting with senility these days. That stroke did a number on him."

  Ben stepped away from the window and toward the door. "You two seem to have things to talk about. Why don't I come back later? You can give me a call when you want to finish discussing that project?"

  Melvin nodded. "Good plan. I'll take my lovely visitor to coffee and I'll get back with you before lunch. In the meantime, just keep what we were talking about under your hat."

  "That's a given."

  She'd interrupted Ben's opportunity for one-on-one time with one of the company's upper echelon. No wonder he'd looked irritated to see her. The phone on Melvin's desk jangled as Ben started to make his exit.

  "My private line," Melvin said. "I'll need to take that."

  "I'll wait in the hallway," Shelly offered.

  Melvin motioned to them to close the door behind them as he took the call. Ben followed her past the secretary's desk, but grabbed her wrist before she reached the hallway.

  "What the hell are you doing?" He mouthed the words. She had no trouble reading his lips.

  "My job," she mouthed back.

  He pulled a business card from his pocket and used a pen from the desk to scribble something on the back of it before pressing it into her hand. The secretary picked that exact minute to show up.

  Shelly pocketed the card. Ben managed to unclench his mouth enough to smile at the woman and murmur good morning before striding away.

  Melvin joined Shelly a few minutes later and suggested they take the elevator to the deli as the coffee was better there as was their chance of finding a table quiet enough where they could talk.

  She blew off Ben's irritation. He was on the premises all the time. He'd had months to get close to Melvin. This might be her only opportunity to have a private chat with him, and it could be important.

  Melvin knew the business. He also knew the family, was practically one of them. If he wanted, he could no doubt clue her in on any number of personal and business matters.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, sitting across from him at a table for two and sipping a latte, her optimism took a nosedive. So far, Melvin had failed to take any of the bait she'd offered. Most important, he'd avoided even her not-so-subtle attempts to steer the conversation to the CIA investigation.

  She stirred another sprinkle of sweetener into her coffee. "How long have you been with Collingsworth Oil?"

  "A few years."

  "I'm impressed."

  "By what?"

  "You've moved up pretty high on the corporate ladder to have only been with the company a few years. So what's your secret to success? Wait, don't tell me. Let me guess. You're a Collingsworth relative?"

  His eyes narrowed and he frowned as if she'd accused him of having bad breath. An odd reaction for someone who'd been accepted so fully into the business and the family circle.

  "Rest assured, I'm not family."

  "Judging from the way you fit in at brunch last week, they must think of you that way."

  "I'm accepted, but I'm not to the manor born. There's always a difference. Not that I'm c
omplaining. Just stating a fact."

  But there was an edge to his voice. She wondered if he sensed the investigation was building to a crescendo. "What's it like working for Langston?" she asked, still hoping for some inside information to back up her theory.

  "Probably calmer than working for Jeremiah. That is who you work for, isn't it?"

  "I was hired by Lenora."

  "That's interesting. I thought maybe Matt had hired you, seeing as how the two of you hit it off so quickly."

  That felt a lot like a jab, though he was smiling when he said it. "Mart's been helpful," she said, resentful that he'd put her on the defensive. "But then, so has the rest of the family."

  "I heard the man who shot you was murdered. Guess he didn't realize there are two rules around here that no one breaks."

  "What would those be?"

  "You don't mess with Texas and you don't cross the Col-lingsworths or their women."

  She didn't like his insinuation that she belonged to Matt or the way he made it sound as if the Collingsworths had something to do with Frankie Dawson's murder. In fact, she didn't like Melvin, and she liked him less by the second. It was almost as if he knew she was with the CIA. But that was impossible. The only way he could know was if he'd heard it from Ben.

  "Apparently the CIA doesn't know those rules, either," she said, deciding to take his remark and push it a bit further. "Jeremiah says they're investigating Collingsworth Oil."

  Melvin propped his elbows on the table and leaned closer, capturing her gaze with a penetrating stare. "You wouldn't be trying to squeeze information out of me, would you?"

  "No. It's just that I find it extremely difficult to believe the Collingsworths guilty of anything the CIA would investigate. They seem so honest and forthright."

  "I agree." He finished his coffee. "I hate to drink and run, but I've got to get back to work."

  She took one last sip of her latte and then pushed back from the table. "Someone could be framing the Collingsworths." She threw it out as if the thought had just occurred to her.

  "I guess anything's possible." He put a hand to the small of her back as they exited the deli. "But I wouldn't worry about that too much if I were you, Shelly. In fact, I wouldn't worry too much about anything."

  "Why?"

  "Life's too short."

  There was no reason she had to ride up the elevator with Melvin, so she said goodbye at the deli and went to the restroom to read Ben's note. It, too, was short and to the point.

  Back off. GAS.

  GAS. Guilty as sin. Meaning he must have obtained the conclusive evidence they'd been searching for. Maybe from Melvin?

  She walked out of the building and crossed the street, stopping in the shade near the corner so the traffic would drown out her voice. Using her regular cell phone so as not to attract questioning stares, she put in a call to headquarters.

  She needed facts, and she needed them now.

  * * *

  Shelly had hoped Matt might meet up with her and Jeremiah after the meeting and that they would ride back to the ranch together. Instead, Jeremiah had been waiting for her in Lenora's office. Apparently the family confabulation was ongoing; Jeremiah, however, seemed eager to go.

  At his suggestion, they stopped for lunch at a small and very crowded Italian restaurant near the office.

  The hostess, a middle-aged woman with a puffy eyes and overpermed hair, was all smiles when she saw him. "Mr. Collingsworth, I kept wondering when you'd be back to see us."

  "I see you're still packing them in like sardines."

  "Business is good." She glanced around the restaurant. "I'm afraid your usual table is not available, but I can still sit you in the side room." She turned to Shelly. "Mr. Collingsworth thinks Houston businessmen talk too loudly when they eat."

  "What I said was, 'You need better acoustics,'" he reminded her. "Sounds like a school cafeteria in here."

  "Very noisy," she agreed. "But nowhere else can you get my food. My mother's recipes. All fresh ingredients." She put a thumb and two fingers to her mouth to indicate it was delicious.

  "Okay, quit your bragging and give us the quietest table you have."

  "For two?"

  "Of course, for two. Do you see anyone else?"

  Jeremiah's abrupt manner didn't faze the hostess and apparent owner who just shook a finger at him. "You haven't changed a bit. I thought someone else might be joining you."

  "Not today."

  She led them through another door, and just as she'd promised, it was much quieter. There were no large groups of people, and since it was further from the kitchen, the banging and clattering was stifled. She offered them a table by the window. "Is this okay?"

  "No, but we'll take it. Ought to get a free dessert since you gave my table away."

  "Ought to charge you double for staying away so long."

  She placed the menus on the table as he settled into his chair. "But in honor of your return, the drinks are on the house. The usual?"

  He nodded. "With a double shot of scotch."

  She turned to Shelly. "And for you?"

  "Iced tea. I'm driving."

  "You can take this back with you," Jeremiah said, handing the woman his menu. "I'll take the spaghetti and meatballs and a small Italian salad."

  "Always your favorites," she said.

  "I'll have the same," Shelly said, hoping she could manage enough appetite to force down a few bites. If she'd had more time with the Collingsworths before all this came to a head, she might have a better feel for the situation. As it was, she had only first impressions and her instincts to go on. Based on that, she could not accept the GAS verdict.

  The drinks came quickly and the salads weren't far behind. Jeremiah tore into his as if forking lettuce were an Olympic event or at least a catharsis for his obvious frustration.

  She let him finish most of his drink, hoping it would mellow him a bit, before approaching the subject of the morning's meeting. She ran her index finger along the side of her iced tea glass, collecting condensation. "Did the meeting at Collingsworth Oil ease your mind?"

  He waited so long to answer that she wondered if he hadn't heard or had just decided to ignore her. Finally, he swung his leg around so that it was completely under the table and he was facing her. "It's more serious than I thought—the most ludicrous allegations I've ever heard!"

  "Then the CIA really is targeting the company?" Her de-ceitfulness ground inside her like jagged glass.

  "It's more like they're targeting the family, myself included. Even Lenora. They think we've been tossing money to terrorists in exchange for special favors on oil deals."

  "What are they basing that on?"

  "They claim they have evidence and that arrests are imminent. They're either bluffing or badly mistaken. My grandsons and my daughter-in-law wouldn't turn over one red cent to terrorists if their lives depended on it. The Collingsworth blood that runs through their veins would never let them." Anguish edged his voice and made his words shaky.

  She'd never been more certain a man was telling the truth.

  "That's enough talk of business," he said, when the waitress appeared with their overflowing plates.

  She let the subject drop, though it was still claiming all of her attention. Evidence proved that money had gone from the accounts of Collingsworth Oil into the hands of the terrorists. If none of the Collingsworths were behind it, then someone else was. The options as she saw them were simple. Guilty. Or framed.

  Ben Hartmann was convinced of the former. She was just as convinced of the latter, but there was zero evidence to back up her theory.

  They ate in silence, until Jeremiah's plate was almost empty and she'd actually made a small dent in her serving.

  Jeremiah dipped the end of a slice of garlic bread into his sauce. "Where were you when I was waiting for you in Lenora's office?"

  "I ran into Melvin Rogers. We had a cup of coffee together in the deli."

  He nodded but didn't comment.


  "Your family seems very fond of him."

  Jeremiah finished his sauce-soaked bread, but he was staring out the window now, almost as if he'd drifted to someplace else in his mind and forgotten she was there. When he finally spoke, his voice had a melancholy sadness about it that squeezed at her heart. "I'm glad she's not here to see this."

  "Glad who's not here?"

  "My wife. Conine was a good woman. She had to be a saint to have put up with me. But then, she loved our son Randolph so much that nothing else ever mattered. Sometimes I think God called her home early just so she wouldn't have to face the heartbreak when Randolph's helicopter went down."

  "How long has she been dead?"

  "Almost thirty-two years now. She died with cancer right after Becky was born. Lenora said she held on long enough to hold her first granddaughter in her arms."

  "You must have loved her very much."

  "Still do."

  Shelly tried to imagine that kind of love, a commitment that went years beyond the grave and still lived in his heart. "You were lucky to find each other."

  "Damn lucky." He scratched his chin and then raked his fingers through his thinning hair. "Met her at a church social and I knew the minute she walked into the room that I was going to marry her. I felt like someone had hot-wired me and was sending enough current through me to light up the room. Sounds corny, but that's how it was."

  The same way her insides grew hot and awareness zinged through her nerve endings when Matt was around. The way she melted at his touch and hungered to feel his lips on hers again. The way he monopolized her thoughts and had created that bittersweet ache in her heart.

  "Have you ever been in love, Shelly?"

  The answer stuck in her throat. Until she came to Colts Run Cross and Jack's Bluff Ranch, she hadn't even believed in love.

  All she knew of relationships were the kind her mother had been in repeatedly. Four marriages. Four divorces. Countless failed affairs. And the liaison her mother was in right now was already on the downward spiral. Not that she and her mother talked often.