And then, suddenly, he was there; the redhead, flustered and flushed, just behind him. Lorna barely had time to stand up. He stopped midstride; Lorna knew he’d been prepared to oust the intruder from his office. Instead, he stood stone-still when he saw her.

Lorna had once known him well, yet still she faltered. He was taller and leaner than Richard, his body made up of more sinew than flesh; Matthew had never stood still long enough for any extra weight to settle on him. His gray suit jacket hung open over wide shoulders, and his steel chest was encased in an impeccable white shirt. Thick brown hair brushed his shirt collar and framed a square face with an iron chin, a high forehead and dark brown, almost black eyes-cruel eyes, she thought fleetingly, though never before had they seemed cruel to her.

To others, yes. It was said that he could make a truthful witness stumble on the stand, that he could make the most articulate of judges stammer. The deeply etched lines on his brow only accented the strength of his face. She knew those lines. She saw them in Johnny. It went beyond the perseverance that was a Whitaker family trait. Maybe Matthew couldn’t make a mountain cave in with that look of his, but he could probably come close. No give, she read, and suddenly felt exhausted.

“You were right, Irene. I apologize,” Matthew said suddenly. He turned to the redhead. “I won’t need you anymore this evening.”

Chapter 2

“You’re in trouble?”

“I…not trouble exactly, Matthew.” As an opening speech, it lacked something, because that seemed to be the end of it. So much anxiety, so much adrenaline pumping, so many raw nerves… She had been prepared for an angry tirade and the gentleness of his questions had taken her by surprise.