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“Yes, Erika?”
That voice.
It wasn’t his.
I knew his voice, and all its tones, like the first chords to my favorite song. And this voice wasn’t his.
I nearly collapsed from the relief.
Thank god.
When the elevator doors opened, I quickly hid inside, pressing my back to the side wall. I had never met Ryan’s brothers, but I was supposed to meet them tomorrow night. How could I explain if one of them recognized me from the office the day before?
I had narrowly escaped that one.
The doors closed, and my back slumped.
I pressed the button for the seventh floor and when the doors opened again, I checked both ways, looking for any sexy Crawford around the corner.
With the coast clear, I walked toward the seventh-floor receptionist. “Can you point me toward the janitorial staffroom?” I ask, holding up my prop.
She touched her ear and I noticed a white earpiece. Oh, I hadn’t realized she was on the phone. She pointed to my left, down a narrow hallway.
“Thank you,” I mouthed.
I walked past an open area of cubicles, and a few men in suits glanced in my direction. Averting my gaze, I stared straight ahead.
At the end of the hallway was a large room with wide windows, tables, and chairs. A few people wearing overalls sat and ate with each other, but my father wasn’t one of them. A man, probably around my dad’s age, looked up at me. His eyes asked the question before his mouth did.
“Is there something I can do for you, miss?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m looking for Peter Stevens. Do you know where I can find him?”
“Peter…” he said and swiveled his head, scanning the room. “He was here a moment ago. I think he may just be in the washroom. It’s on the other end of the hallway.”
Of course it was.
“Thanks,” I said and stepped outside.
In the hallway, I rehearsed my speech. I would explain to my father that I followed him because I was concerned for his welfare and my own.
I was no longer a child, but his actions still affected me, so I had every right to get involved. Then I would demand he tell me what the conversation in the restaurant was all about.
A door creaked open down the hallway. A man said my name.
“Laura?”
I froze. I couldn’t move. It was as though his voice had trapped me and all the blood in my veins emptied through the soles of my feet, leaving me cold and shivering.
Despite this, I turned toward his voice.
He stood about five feet away from me, his hands on his hips, his white shirt straining against his chest. His mouth carved a straight line, matching his eyebrows.
Tilting his head, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
16
Ryan
