Free Danger in a Red Dress by Christina Dodd Page A

Manly rolled onto her side and stared at Hannah.
    “No, I wasn’t.” Startled, Hannah surged to her feet.
    “Why do you say that? We were talking about security.”
    “What you said and the way you sounded were two different things.” With something to occupy her mind, Mrs. Manly didn’t seem as tired.
    Hannah stopped and thought. “Maybe. But . . . oh, well.” She laughed. “He’s got a nice, deep voice, but it’s like listening to a deejay on the radio, and then seeing him in person. The man with the great personality and great voice turns out to be sixty, bald, and three hundred pounds.”
    “Are you so shallow about appearance?” Mrs. Manly had a sharp voice and a way of poking at people that made Gabriel wonder why someone hadn’t done away with her years ago.
    But Hannah gave right back to her. “You bet. If ever I’m going to find a man, he’s got to be about my age. Nursing is my profession. I don’t have any wish to care for my husband’s infirmities. Not unless I know he’ll be around to care for me in return. He must care about his health. He’s got to eat right and work out.”
    Gabriel poked at his belly. He’d been so busy installing cameras and microphones, he’d neglected his exercise. If he weren’t careful, he’d sit in front of the monitors for hours, fascinated by Hannah Grey. And as he told the people he hired when he hired them, a strong body was one of the requirements for being in security. He wouldn’t allow them to be in less than top condition—and he expected the same from himself.
    He dropped to the floor and started a set of push-ups. “What about the bald?” he asked the monitor. Not that he cared. He had a full head of straight black hair, but a man inherited the gene for baldness from his mother ’s side of the family . . . and he knew nothing about his mother ’s side of the family.
    “As for the hair,” Hannah said, “I suppose I don’t care.”
    “Why would you? It’s not his mane you look at when you buy a stallion.”
    Gabriel came off the floor with a bound, and gaped at the monitor.
    “True.” Hannah stood beside the bed, and she looked completely serious. “Although I’m not convinced it’s the size of the package that matters. It always seems to me that a man can ride with any equipment if he’s smart enough to spend the time warming up his filly.”
    Gabriel hadn’t done surveillance for a long time—he didn’t have to. He was the boss. And back in the days when he had done surveillance, it had been drug busts or cheating husbands. He hadn’t ever watched women talk about men. And he’d certainly never imagined that a conversation about men and their sexual activities would be discussed so . . . so calmly.
    He was horrified. And embarrassed. And riveted.
    “Don’t forget. He’s got to dismount with finesse.” Mrs. Manly sounded as if she were teaching a riding class.
    “Yes, there’s nothing worse than a guy who tumbles out of the saddle before he’s back at the stable.” Didn’t Hannah know she shouldn’t talk about sex with a woman more than twice her age?
    “Do you know,” she said, “since my mother died, I haven’t had anyone who was interested in me enough to ask me what I wanted in a man?”
    “You’re an intriguing case, Hannah Grey. You’re beautiful. You should have the world on a string.” Mrs. Manly tapped her fingertips on her book. “Instead you’re so cautious you hide in sickrooms caring for old people.”
    Obviously stung, Hannah said, “I don’t hide! The sick people need me.”
    “I’m not arguing that I don’t need you. You’ve convinced me that I do.”
    Aha. She had, had she? Exactly as Carrick had told him.
    “But you do hide. I wonder why.” Mrs. Manly rested on the pillows, observing Hannah from eyes heavy with thought. “It can’t be Jeff Dresser who drove you underground.”
    “No.” Hannah spoke emphatically.
    “No, what?” Mrs. Manly raised her brows.
    “No, I’m not