the house. Unable to look him in the eye, she whispered, “Yes? What is it?” half expecting a blackmail demand.
“Mr. Lucas is on the phone.”
Her heart hammered stupidly against her rib cage at the mere mention of his name, and she glanced at Maxim’s sober face. “He wants to talk to—to me?” she breathed faintly.
“It seems your mother is at his office.”
“Mother?” Jess felt a stab of apprehension “I thought she was sleeping….” As she rushed toward the kitchen, she called back, “Thank you, Maxim,” and meant it in more ways than one. The servant’s eyes had been gentle, almost pitying, in fact, and she was grateful. “What’s happened, Lucas?” she said breathlessly as she picked up the receive. “How did—”
“Your mother’s fine,” he interrupted. “She was doing her Mamie Eisenhower impersonation, and the police were going to throw her in the drunk tank. To make a long story short, she convinced a patrolman to bring her here.”
“There? Why, there?” Jess asked, confused.
“I don’t know,” he said tiredly. “But I haven’t ruled out industrial sabotage.”
“I’m coming right down.” She hung up and found Jerry tinkering in the garage. Twenty minutes later, she rushed into Lucas’s high-rise office where a group of men, their ties loosened and jackets discarded, were huddled in fierce discussion. Behind their circle of chairs loomed some spaceship-like computer equipment, much the same as that installed in the room at Lucas’s house where they so recently—
The men glanced her way en masse, and an expectant hush fell over the room. She imagined they were waiting for her to explain why she had suddenly turned a bright shade of pink. Some movement caught her attention, and she noticed a plumpish woman wearing a classic blue suit, her short silver hair immaculate, her smile hostess-bright.
“Mother…?” Jess breathed.
The woman lifted her gaze from the cup she was filling. “Why, Jessica,” came the huffy response. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a meeting? Shame on you for interrupting. We haven’t much time to work out a problem with our horse-feedbag glove. Do we, dear?” She directed an extravagant smile at Lucas.
Nodding perfunctorily, he strode to confront Jess by the door. “She might as well stay,” he said under his breath. “All she wants is to keep busy and feel important. I’ll bring her home with me.”
Jess’s anxious glance swung from him to her mother, who was offering to make sandwiches. With a worried sigh, she looked back at Lucas. “I’m—I’m sorry—”
“Quit apologizing for things that aren’t your fault,” he broke in sharply. “We’re busy. Just go.”
“You look awful,” she said, without thinking. The skin beneath his eyes was deeply shadowed, his craggy features drawn in exhaustion. She had a foolish urge to hold him, to try to put the gleam back into his dark eyes—the gleam she’d seen for a brief moment last night when they were lying in each other’s arms. Squelching the memory, she scolded, “You need sleep.”
His tired yet mesmerizing gaze searched her face. “You should have thought of that last night,” he admonished softly.
With a hot, liquid rush of feeling, she veered away from that dangerous subject. “Lucas, is any amount of money worth ruining your health?”
“Dammit, Jess. I’m not the only one to consider here,” he gritted. “There are stockholders—”
“Oh, sure, and they’ll go bankrupt without this deal?”
“No, but Takahashi’s contract would be our biggest this year. Our stock value would go up at least—”
“I’m all aquiver,” she scoffed. “Think what a nice big tombstone you’ll be able to afford!”
She watched his brow crease into a scowl, but before he could speak, Sol called, “Brand, come see what you think of this idea.”
He nodded absently, growling under his breath, “Look, I know you can’t help being a bleeding heart. But I’m busy. Go bleed on somebody else.”
“Okay. Act like a hard-nose,” she hissed. “But, you called me about my mother and kept her out of jail, busy or not.”
He’d turned away, but stopped to flick her a puzzled glance. “Anybody would have done that. What’s your point?”
“My point is, you try so hard to be a hardass,” she insisted. “But a real, hardass wouldn’t have cared enough to call, and certainly wouldn’t allow her to stay and-”
“Lucas?” Mamie interrupted, with a wave. “Do you want chicken salad on wheat or ham on rye? I’m doing both.”
He held up a finger to indicate he’d be right there. “Stay the hell out of my head, Jess,” he warned, wheeling away to rejoin his meeting.
On the trip