Unleashed by Jami Alden Page B

Caroline’s reply verbatim, but he remembered it contained words like “dickhead” “douche-bag” and lots of other terms one expected to hear from a fourteen-year-old boy rather than a thirty-four-year-old trophy wife.
    Danny shook off the insult. He’d been called a lot worse, and he could come up with a few choice terms about Caroline without breaking a sweat. But why go there?
    To his frustration, other than mentioning she’d seen Danny, there was nothing about anything having to do with information or evidence linking Anne and James. Even more strange, other than whoever had called that day he was hiding in her house Caroline hadn’t said anything about the threatening note to anyone.
    Even if the police were happy to believe she’d paid to have James killed, you’d think she’d at least file a police report and tell anyone who would listen about the note. Instead, the note he’d recovered from her trash can was in his laptop case in the trunk, and most of her e-mails involved trying to convince everyone in her now-limited circle that she was fine. They didn’t need to spare a single second worrying about her.
    Christ, he hadn’t seen her in over a decade, and it only took one look for him to realize she was so far from fine it wasn’t even funny.
    There it was again, that idiotic protective thing that always popped up around her, second only to the urge to fuck her senseless.
    Talk about things that never changed.
    He followed her directions through the city into the heart of San Francisco’s financial district. Rachael’s firm was in a building on the corner of Montgomery and Washington, where the glittering high-rises met the bustle and activity of Chinatown. Pedestrian traffic was thick, forcing Danny to sit through two green light cycles before he could turn into the building’s parking garage.
    Caroline was silent as they rode the elevator up to the thirtieth floor. The doors opened to reveal a reception area dominated by heavy wood and leather upholstered furniture. The place smelled of money. Danny had heard rumors of what the lawyers at Weller and Bronstein charged, and now he believed it.
    The young blond receptionist smiled and nodded at Caroline. “I’ll let Ms. Weller know you’re here,” she said. As she murmured into the phone, Danny caught her sidelong look of interest. Professional to the core, she quickly hid it as soon as Danny caught her staring.
    Within a minute, a small, whip thin woman charged into the lobby. Radiating with energy, Rachael Weller was a blond whirlwind in a designer suit. “Caroline,” she said, in a tone that had earned her the nickname “the terrier” in the press. “Good to see you. Keep your coat on,” she said when Caroline started to remove her trench. “We’re going out today to celebrate. Don’t know if you heard, but I won a big one this week.” Rachael smirked at her own joke. Caroline would have had to be under a rock not to have heard about the big win.
    Rachael waved her hand and the receptionist jumped up to retrieve a black winter coat from a coat closet.
    “Congratulations,” Caroline said. “I would love to help you celebrate, but I want to make sure we—”
    Rachael cut her off, raising her hand as she shrugged into her own coat. “We have plenty of time. I cleared my afternoon for you. And don’t worry, lunch is off the clock.” She straightened her lapels and took her purse back from the receptionist. She looked up at Danny as though she’d just noticed him.
    “Who are you?” she demanded, a faint frown line showing between her eyebrows, the only mark on her otherwise unnaturally smooth face.
    “Dan Taggart, Gemini Securities,” he said, offering his hand.
    “Danny’s a private investigator,” Caroline added.
    Rachael’s gaze snapped back to Caroline. “I hire my own investigators.”
    “I know, but Danny’s an old friend,” Caroline said carefully.
    Hm. Not exactly the way he would have characterized their