red in the dim hall light. "If you had a charitable bone in your body, woman, you wouldn't remind me of that incident. It was one of the worst moments of my entire life. I had no idea that all that talk of biological clocks was leading up to that . . . that proposition she made."
"Poor Zac. Now you know how a woman feels when her boss gives her all sorts of encouragement and support and then expects her to pay him back with a few bouts in bed. You've just been the victim of job harassment."
"I still can't believe it," Zac muttered as they walked down the street to Owen's apartment.
"If I were you, I'd finish up the Gallinger project very quickly and get your fee. That woman didn't get where she is today by being anything less than tenacious."
"It was probably just a terrible misunderstanding."
"The hell it was," Guinevere retorted spiritedly. "That woman wants a stud, and you're the chosen male."
"Do all women become that . . . that forceful when they decide they have to have a baby?" Zac asked in subdued tones.
"I don't know."
Zac slid an assessing glance at her as he walked beside her up the stairs. "Are you sure, Gwen?"
She heard the genuine concern in his voice and wasn't certain how to interpret it. What was Zac trying to say?
That he might be looking for a woman who was interested in having babies? Someone other than Elizabeth Gallinger? She wished desperately that she knew more about his feelings for her. The desire to be a father might be as sudden and strong in some men as the need to be a mother was in some women. Guinevere felt as if she were walking on eggs. One misstep and she might crush the fragile relationship that existed between herself and Zac.
"I'll let you know if I ever change my mind," she tried to say lightly as she opened her door.
"You do that," he said behind her. "You make sure you do that. I don't want you going hunting the way Elizabeth Gallinger is hunting."
Fortunately the shattered mirror provided a timely distraction. Guinevere walked across the floor and looked at it once again. "What now, Zac?"
He tugged at his tie. "First we pick up the pieces and then we go to bed."
"No, I mean, what happens next in this case?"
"I don't think of this as a case exactly," he told her as he unbuttoned the first button of his shirt. "I see it as more in the nature of a damned nuisance."
"But what are we going to do next?"
"I think," Zac said thoughtfully, "that I'll go take a look at that old house on Capitol Hill for starters."
"But Mason said it had been sold six months ago," Guinevere protested impatiently.
"We'll see."
"Now, Zac, don't go all enigmatic and cryptic on me. Tell me why you want to take a look at that old place."
"Simple curiosity. And because it's a starting point. Probably a dead end, but you never know."
Guinevere eyed him thoughtfully, aware of the first faint ripple of excitement she always got when she was involved in one of Zac's more exciting investigations. He claimed he didn't like this kind of thing, and she was inclined to believe him. He was cut out to be a staid, plodding, methodical analyzer of other people's security problems. But occasionally other people's security problems had a way of blowing up into intriguing, sometimes dangerous situations. And Zac coped. Very well.
"When do we go take this look?" Guinevere demanded.
"Don't look so excited. You're not going with me."
"But, Zac—"
"I mean it, Gwen. I'm not taking you along. I have no way of knowing what I'll run into, and whoever clobbered Mason last night might have gotten a good look at you through the window. If there is someone interesting still hanging around that old house, I don't want him to see you. It would only tip him off."
"But you said that going to the old place is probably just a dead end," she reminded him as she scooped up broken bits of mirror and put them in a paper sack.
"I'm not taking any chances. Not where you're involved."
She heard the steel in his voice and
"Poor Zac. Now you know how a woman feels when her boss gives her all sorts of encouragement and support and then expects her to pay him back with a few bouts in bed. You've just been the victim of job harassment."
"I still can't believe it," Zac muttered as they walked down the street to Owen's apartment.
"If I were you, I'd finish up the Gallinger project very quickly and get your fee. That woman didn't get where she is today by being anything less than tenacious."
"It was probably just a terrible misunderstanding."
"The hell it was," Guinevere retorted spiritedly. "That woman wants a stud, and you're the chosen male."
"Do all women become that . . . that forceful when they decide they have to have a baby?" Zac asked in subdued tones.
"I don't know."
Zac slid an assessing glance at her as he walked beside her up the stairs. "Are you sure, Gwen?"
She heard the genuine concern in his voice and wasn't certain how to interpret it. What was Zac trying to say?
That he might be looking for a woman who was interested in having babies? Someone other than Elizabeth Gallinger? She wished desperately that she knew more about his feelings for her. The desire to be a father might be as sudden and strong in some men as the need to be a mother was in some women. Guinevere felt as if she were walking on eggs. One misstep and she might crush the fragile relationship that existed between herself and Zac.
"I'll let you know if I ever change my mind," she tried to say lightly as she opened her door.
"You do that," he said behind her. "You make sure you do that. I don't want you going hunting the way Elizabeth Gallinger is hunting."
Fortunately the shattered mirror provided a timely distraction. Guinevere walked across the floor and looked at it once again. "What now, Zac?"
He tugged at his tie. "First we pick up the pieces and then we go to bed."
"No, I mean, what happens next in this case?"
"I don't think of this as a case exactly," he told her as he unbuttoned the first button of his shirt. "I see it as more in the nature of a damned nuisance."
"But what are we going to do next?"
"I think," Zac said thoughtfully, "that I'll go take a look at that old house on Capitol Hill for starters."
"But Mason said it had been sold six months ago," Guinevere protested impatiently.
"We'll see."
"Now, Zac, don't go all enigmatic and cryptic on me. Tell me why you want to take a look at that old place."
"Simple curiosity. And because it's a starting point. Probably a dead end, but you never know."
Guinevere eyed him thoughtfully, aware of the first faint ripple of excitement she always got when she was involved in one of Zac's more exciting investigations. He claimed he didn't like this kind of thing, and she was inclined to believe him. He was cut out to be a staid, plodding, methodical analyzer of other people's security problems. But occasionally other people's security problems had a way of blowing up into intriguing, sometimes dangerous situations. And Zac coped. Very well.
"When do we go take this look?" Guinevere demanded.
"Don't look so excited. You're not going with me."
"But, Zac—"
"I mean it, Gwen. I'm not taking you along. I have no way of knowing what I'll run into, and whoever clobbered Mason last night might have gotten a good look at you through the window. If there is someone interesting still hanging around that old house, I don't want him to see you. It would only tip him off."
"But you said that going to the old place is probably just a dead end," she reminded him as she scooped up broken bits of mirror and put them in a paper sack.
"I'm not taking any chances. Not where you're involved."
She heard the steel in his voice and
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