Free Divine Design by Mary Kay McComas Page B

sense.
    “I see. Well, that makes me feel a little better, anyway,” he said, his lips twitching into an amused grin. “If you don’t want me to stay, will you at least make me a promise?”
    “Sure,” she said amiably.
    “Call me if there’s anything you need, or anything I can do to help,” he said, indicating that the paper he laid beside her phone had his number on it.
    “I promise,” she vowed.
    He leaned over and dropped a warm, sweet kiss on her forehead, replaced the cloth, and stood grinning down on her.
    “I’m taking a rain check on our dinner, Meghan. You get well quickly,” he ordered.
    She returned his grin brilliantly and promised, “I will and … thank you, Michael.”
    “Good night, Meghan.”
    “Good night.”
    Michael left the light in the hall burning because it shed enough of a glow to illuminate most of her apartment.
    He scanned her living room trying to glean more information about her. It was a neat, tidy, and impeccably clean room. He added domestic to his list of details about her.
    On a table near one of the chairs he spied three photographs. One of an older couple and a young woman, which didn’t offer much information other than that all three were blond. The second picture was of Meghan and three red-headed men. One man was older, and his hair, like the others, was the identical shade of Meghan’s, but was showing signs of gray. Her family.
    The last picture was older than the others. It depicted a blond woman, who looked remarkably like Meghan, and the red-headed man, looking years younger, from the previous picture. Her parents, he realized.
    What a treasure chest he’d found. She was sentimental, devoted to family, and came from a line of red-haired, green-eyed kinsmen.
    Well, that was enough to go on for now. It was more than he’d known a week ago.
    “Michael? Are you still here?” came Meghan’s tired voice.
    “Yes,” he whispered guiltily, as he went down the hall again and stuck his head into the room. “It occurred to me you might want an aspirin or something to settle your stomach.” He’d always been quick on his feet, he thought gratefully.
    “No. Thank you,” she whispered back. “I don’t take any kind of medication, except some vitamins that Lucy gives me. I usually just ride these illnesses out.”
    “Well, okay then, good night,” he said, as he added “health conscious” to his list of Meghan’s traits and left the apartment.
    Meghan breathed a sigh of relief when she finally heard the door close softly and latch itself. She’d listened to him prowling around out there and had held her breath. From his tone, he had obviously found nothing questionable and Meghan thanked the heavens for her continued good fortune.
    Ambiguity reigned again as she was torn between the joy of her good luck and the disgrace of continuing to deceive Michael. He had been so kind and gentle. It amazed her that such a Goliath of a man could be so tender and comforting. He was a charming man, and Meghan felt really sad about having to get rid of him somehow.
    She snuggled under the covers and put her mind to other, more immediate problems—such as how could she drag her nonexistent flu out for the next three weeks without Michael getting suspicious?

Six
    M EGHAN CALLED IN sick on Friday as part of her ploy. She did, however, finish some work she’d brought home with her. One of those cases was Michael’s. She made several calls regarding the matter, and phoned Greta to request that some additional information be gathered for her by Monday. Shortly after noon when Michael called to check on her, she told him she was better but still a little woozy when she got out of bed.
    Not quite an hour later, there was a soft knock at her door seconds before her doorbell chimed. Frowning, Meghan went to the door and called, “Who is it, please?”
    “Michael.”
    “One minute, Michael,” she stalled. And that was all it took to scoop up her files, run down the hall, and