Free A Matter of Trust by Radclyffe Page A

into the familiar seat before the computer in Michael’s office and booted up the system, hoping to have an uninterrupted hour before anyone arrived. She preferred to work during the off hours when there was less activity on the network, and more privacy.
    At the sound of the door opening behind her, she turned, unexpectedly pleased at the thought of company. Especially if that company was Michael Lassiter. Her automatic smile of recognition changed swiftly to concern when she saw, even from across the room, the haunted expression on Michael’s face.
    Rising quickly, she took several steps forward, her heart pounding. “Michael?”
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect anyone.” Michael faltered to a stop.
    Her voice was hoarse with fatigue, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She wore no make-up and her face was pale, the shadows under her eyes dark and hollow. She had clearly dressed hastily, her khaki suit uncharacteristically rumpled in contrast to her usual impeccable demeanor. Smiling weakly, she reached one hand for the back of the sofa to steady herself.
    “You’re shaking,” Sloan’s every instinct demanded that she touch her immediately, but she moved toward her slowly, wanting to comfort her, not startle her. Michael looked as if she was holding on to control by a thread.
    Sloan’s stomach churned in near panic. Desperate to assure herself that Michael was not hurt, she asked in a voice tight with anxiety, “Are you all right?”
    “What? Oh...yes,” Michael replied as if she had just emerged from a dream and was still uncertain if she was truly awake. Hesitantly, she sat on the leather sofa, clasped her hands in her lap, and stared in confusion around the room.
    Sloan went to her side and knelt on the carpet in front of her. Slowly, afraid to disrupt her fragile equilibrium, she took her hand. It took such an effort for her to be calm while her mind screamed with anxiety that a muscle in her neck twitched involuntarily.
    Very gently, she asked again, “Are you hurt? Can you tell me what’s happened?”
    Michael ran a trembling hand through her hair and fixed on Sloan. Gradually, the confusion in her blue eyes cleared, and she managed a small smile. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t like me. I didn’t get much sleep, and I can’t quite seem to get my bearings this morning. I’m really fine. Thank you for your concern, but I’m quite all right.”
    It was a valiant lie, and Sloan respected her for it. But she couldn’t accept it. There were too many possibilities rushing through her mind, not the least of which was that Michael’s husband probably had something to do with her current state. She forced herself not to imagine what might have happened, because the mere thought of anyone harming Michael was physically painful.
    “Something happened last night. What was it?”
    “I’m afraid I made your job a great deal more difficult,” Michael said ruefully. Her face became almost expressionless, and Sloan sensed that she was drifting away.
    “Michael?” she tried again, resting her fingers on her forearm, hoping to bring her back.
    “It’s Nicholas. I should have expected—” Abruptly, Michael stood and began to pace agitatedly in front of her desk. She glanced at Sloan, then swept the rest of the room as if seeing it clearly for the first time. “He wants this, you see. I knew he would, but I didn’t appreciate just how much. Not this place—he doesn’t care about that. It’s not this room, this building ,” she said vehemently. “It’s not anything that you can touch. It’s the ideas, the plans, the hopes and dreams I’ve spent my entire life constructing. It’s not me or the money.”
    Her voice was hollow, her eyes swimming with pain. “Oh, he does want the money—don’t get me wrong—but that’s not the most important thing. He wants what I’ve created, the very best part of me. He doesn’t care if I leave him, as long as he takes what I care about most.”