“An interesting one?”
“Uh-huh. Insurance fraud via arson.” She looked up when Susan tapped on the glass door. “I’ve got to run.” Ducking her head, she brought her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. Short of turning her back, it was the only way she could buy a bit of privacy. “Thanks again for the flowers and the… the…”
“Birthday bang?” he filled in so innocently that she had to laugh. “My pleasure. Literally.”
She was floating on air. “I hope so.”
“Believe it.” He paused for an instant. “Can I call you at the office tomorrow?”
“The switchboard’s closed. There’s a private line.” She told him the number. “Got it?”
“Got it. Have fun today, babe.”
“I already have,” she said, smiling softly. “Bye-bye.”
CHAPTER13
Susan awoke late Sunday morning with a hangover. As hangovers went, it could have been worse, but the headache and its accompanying muzziness were harsh reminders of the party she’d thrown for herself the night before.
Determined to do nothing more strenuous than spend the day in the living room with the newspaper, she managed to shower, pull on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and draw her hair into a wide clip behind one ear. Then she stretched out on the sofa.
It was a good fifteen minutes before she realized she didn’t have the paper. With some effort, she got up and went to the door—only to open it and find Sam Craig standing on her doorstop.
She was not ready for Sam. Shoving the door closed, she turned back toward the living room. Only after she lowered herself to the sofa and gingerly set down her head did she realize that he had followed her in.
She threw an arm over her eyes. “Sorry, but I don’t grant audiences this early in the day.”
Sam tossed the SundayJournalonto the coffee table. It hit the glass with a clap that made Susan jump, then moan. He understood the problem at once. “Ahhh. We’ve got a hangover. Must have been quite some party.”
“It was,” she droned. “Lots of fun and laughs.”
“And booze.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How’d you get home?”
“I drove. How else would I get home?”
“You could have had some guy drive you. Maybe he’s upstairs right now getting dressed. Was it that kind of night, Susan?”
She rolled to her side, with her back to him, but he simply sat in the space she had unwittingly provided. With a hand on the sofa back and one on its arm, he had her caught. “Was it?”
Susan felt a rush of misery. In its wake, the words spilled out. “No. There was no man. There was no party. I got back here at ten last night and drank all by myself.” She shot an angry look over her shoulder at him, then as quickly closed her eyes against the pain in her head. “Are you satisfied?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I think I’d rather you’d been with people. At least, then you could say that they were the ones who kept your glass filled.”
She put her arm over her eyes. “I didn’t use a glass. I drank straight from the bottle.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t feel like using a glass.”
“Why were you drinking?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“Didn’t you enjoy the day with Savannah?”
