Against the Wind by Kat Martin Page A

missed?”
    â€œThat’s what I was trying to figure out.” She gazed past the cream-colored bedspread to the black lacquer nightstands and matching armoire. The furniture hadbeen thoroughly searched, the drawers and doors left standing open.
    â€œThere was a safe at the back of the closet,” she said, heading in that direction, “but once my clothes were gone, it would be easy to spot.” She walked inside, saw the door to the safe standing open.
    â€œFrom the looks of things,” Jackson said, “Andrew didn’t leave the disk in the condo or your friends would have found it and they wouldn’t be bothering you.”
    â€œAs I said, Andrew didn’t spend much time here.”
    â€œWhere did he spend his time?”
    She glanced away, barely able to look at him. “He traveled a lot. He spent a lot of time in Vegas. And then there was his mistress.”
    One of his dark eyebrows went up. “Sounds like Andrew was a very busy man.”
    â€œThank God for that.”
    â€œDo you know her name?”
    It was embarrassing to have a husband who openly flaunted his women, even if their marriage had been over for years. “The latest one you mean? I heard him call her Mitzy. I don’t know her last name or where she lives. I didn’t really care.”
    â€œWe need to talk to her, Sarah. Maybe she has the disk—or at least some kind of information about it.”
    â€œIf she had the disk and they threatened her, she probably would have given it to them.” Sarah looked up at him, read the tension in his face, ignored the pity. “We need to talk to Stanley Greenberg. Stan was Andrew’s attorney—his right-hand man. He would know where to find Mitzy.”
    Ditzy —Sarah had secretly called her. Though she had never seen the woman, she could describe her: perfectbody, perfect face, pea-size brain. That was the kind of female Andrew always chose.
    Too bad he’d made an exception in Sarah’s case.
    Too bad she hadn’t figured it out before she’d married him.
    â€œLet’s go,” Jackson said, catching her hand and pulling her out of the bedroom toward the front door. “Like I said, if the disk was here, they would have found it.”
    They left the apartment and Sarah gave Jackson directions to Stan Greenberg’s office in Santa Monica. They drove into the underground parking lot, then took the elevator up to Stan’s office.
    Recognizing the attractive older woman seated behind the reception desk, Sarah summoned a smile. “Hello, Rosemary. Is Stan in? I need to talk to him.”
    The woman wheeled back her chair and stood up, smoothed the skirt of her apricot linen suit. “Mrs. Hollister—I thought you’d moved out of town.”
    â€œI have. I’m just here a few days on business. As I said, I need to speak to Stan.” She continued to smile. “It shouldn’t take very long.”
    â€œI’ll see if he’s in.” Which meant, I’ll see if he’ll talk to you.
    They waited only a moment before Rosemary returned. “He says you can go right in.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Jackson followed her into Stan’s office, elegantly decorated in dark wood and forest green.
    â€œSarah!” Stan rose and rounded his desk to greet her, kissing her on each cheek in the Hollywood style that always seemed so phony. “It’s good to see you, Sarah.” He was a balding man in his forties with the hint of apaunch beginning to show above the waistline of his navy-blue suit pants.
    â€œYou, too, Stan.”
    He turned a smile on Jackson, extended his hand. “I’m Stan Greenberg.”
    â€œJackson Raines.” The men completed the handshake.
    â€œSo how can I help you two?”
    â€œA couple of things, Stan.” Sarah went on to explain about the men who had pursued her to Wyoming, about the book or disk or whatever it was that they