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‘You weren’t.’ He unleashed a good-humoured smile and gestured to the closed door of Emily’s office. ‘Is she in?’
‘Er...no.’
‘When will she be back?’
She blinked then stared at him.
‘Marsha?’ he prompted.
‘I... I don’t know.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘I mean...she’s not in today. She’s sick...’ Marsha bit her lip. ‘At least, I think she’s sick... She rang yesterday morning and said she was taking the day off—which is very unusual. And then today...she left a message on my phone early this morning, saying she’d be in before noon, but I haven’t seen her yet.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s after two p.m.’
Marsha wrung her hands. ‘I know.’
‘Have you tried calling her?’ he demanded.
‘Twice. I left her two messages. She hasn’t called back.’
An icy sensation hollowed out his gut. That didn’t sound like the dedicated, conscientious Emily Royce he knew.
‘Call me if you hear from her,’ he commanded and turned on his heel.
* * *
Emily opened her eyes.
Someone was pounding on her door. Or was it the pounding in her head that she hadn’t been able to shake for two days that she could hear?
Her doorbell chimed, the sound piercing in the silence of her flat, and Emily groaned. It was a week day and her neighbours should all be at work, except for Mr Johnson, who was retired. But he had never climbed the stairs to visit her. Of course, he could have forgotten to lock the main entrance again, in which case the person banging on her door could be a stranger.
She groaned again, closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the softness of the sofa.
‘Emily!’
She froze, the sound of her name being barked on the other side of the door forcing its way into her stress-addled mind. She knew that voice. Deep, masculine...
‘Emily!’
She sat up—too fast, apparently, because her stomach performed a sharp lurch and roll.
Ramon was at her door.
The knowledge sent a rush of heat over her skin followed closely by a cold wave of dread.
He knows.
She swallowed hard and fought down the flare of irrational panic with a forced dose of sanity.
Of course he doesn’t know.
She’d only found out for herself a little over a day ago, though she’d had her suspicions for almost three weeks before visiting her doctor.
The doorbell pealed again, repeatedly, as if he were leaning on it, and she threw off the light cotton throw she’d curled under and urged her legs to move. When she opened the door a moment later, the thought came to her, much too late, that she looked a mess.
