Before Sunrise by Diana Palmer Page A

me.”
    His face gave away nothing.
    â€œBut you never wrote,” she bit off.
    His eyes closed. “How could I? What could I have said that would undo the pain, Phoebe?”
    She refused to think of the past. It was too painful. She took a deep breath. At least he didn’t know how far she’d gone over the edge when she got that newspaper clipping. It spared her pride.
    â€œIt was all a long time ago,” she said primly. “Water under the bridge.”
    He traced a pattern on one clean, flat fingernail. “Come tracking.”
    She looked at him, aghast. “I’m the curator,” she began.
    â€œGive yourself two hours off.”
    This was nuts, she told herself. “I’m not dressed for outings.”
    â€œI’ll drive you by your house to change.”
    â€œI can’t,” she began.
    There was a perfunctory knock on the door, and Marie peered in. “Sorry,” she said. She moved closer to Phoebe, nodding toward a well-dressed blond woman who was standing with another adult near a group of children. “There’s a schoolteacher out here. She was looking in the window a few minutes ago. She says she wants to talk to you about the deportment of the staff.” She grinned.
    Phoebe cleared her throat. She felt a blush flaming on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I can’t do it right now. I’ll be out of the office for two hours,” she told Marie at once. “Tell her to speak to Harriett.”
    â€œHarriett said you’d say that. And she said to tell you that you’ll have to buy a doughnut in the morning. Coffee, too.”
    Phoebe stood up. “She can have two doughnuts. Tell her that I’m assisting the FBI.”
    Marie’s eyes twinkled. “Is that what it’s called?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
    Red-faced, Phoebe squeezed by Cortez, grabbed her purse and rushed out the door.
    Cortez paused long enough to reach in her desk drawer and retrieve the charm before he followed her. As he passed Marie, he didn’t crack a smile. But he winked before he slid the dark glasses back into place.
    Marie stood at Phoebe’s door, waving her hand in front of her face to cool it. He might have a bad temper, but he was the most dashing man she’d ever seen, and he was bristling with charm and good looks. Poor Phoebe wouldn’t stand a chance.
    Â 
    I T WAS LIKE OLD TIMES . Cortez pulled up in front of her house and sat in the car while she rushed in past a barking Jock to change into jeans and boots. When she came back out, with sunglasses perched over her nose, it was like a glimpse into time past. She wore reading glasses, but she didn’t need vision correction for distances.
    Cortez got out to open the door for her. She climbed in and fastened her seat belt before he slid in under the wheel and did the same.
    â€œNice manners,” she murmured.
    â€œMy mother was a stickler for them. Isaac never listened. I did.”
    Isaac. His brother. She heard an odd note in his voice and stared at him curiously. “How is he?”
    â€œHe’s dead,” he said shortly. He started the car and put it in Reverse.
    She folded her hands in her lap and looked out the window, uncertain about whether or not to press the issue. “Recently?” she asked.
    â€œThree years ago.”
    Three years ago he’d married another woman. There was a child. She was feeling sick. What if…?
    She turned toward Cortez with wide, curious eyes.
    â€œShe was three months pregnant with Joseph,” he choked out as he headed down the driveway toward the highway. “Her parents wanted a termination. My mother had a heart attack over it. Isaac was dead.”
    â€œSo they sacrificed you to save the child.”
    His eyes closed for an instant on a wave of pain. She was as perceptive as he remembered.
    â€œJoseph,” she persisted. “Not your son. Your nephew!”
    There was a long pause. He