Jethro thought about lying to him, but Angus Force had allies on both sides of the pond and would find the truth soon enough. Pissing off Wolfe wouldn’t help anything. “Fletcheris my brother.”
Chapter Five
Gemma stood in Serena’s closet with a glass of white wine in her hand, trying to figure out what to borrow for school the next day. Trudy was sound asleep in the office that had been turned into her room, the kitchen was clean, and Gemma’s body was tired. She touched a navy-blue pantsuit that wouldn’t fit right now. She’d lost too much weight. Plus, she was several inches shorter than Serena, so pantswere a problem.
The light gray skirt would have to do, perhaps paired with one of Serena’s thick sweaters.
Yawning, Gemma looked around the master bedroom, which was decorated in a mismatch of bright colors that somehow worked. Knowing her genius friend, Gemma thought she’d probably used some mathematical formula to create the seemingly accidental effect.
Gemma reached out and ran her fingers along the three good—very good—wigs she’d blown her meager savings on. One a thick red, one a short black, and the other the blunt blond bob she’d wear for the next several months. She rubbed her scalp, enjoying the feeling of her own brunette hair falling to her shoulders. It was easier to use wigs than constantly dye her hair.
She turned and moved to the love seat, sitting and staring out at the blustering snow. Serena was just renting the cute bungalow while she finished building a house in Virginia, and she’d already packed many of her items, leaving the boxes in the garage, next to where Gemma now parked. Gemma could take over the rent payments on the first, and there would be no need to tell the landlord.
For now, how was Gemma going to drive on that crappy tire until payday?
Sighing, she sipped the wine Serena had left and watched the storm. How had she ended up here? Her mind grew hazy as she allowed memoriesto trickle in.
She was twenty-two years old again, graduating with honors from Washington Tech with her master’s degree in statistics. One of the youngest in the program and one of the few graduates not married.
Nobody sat in the outdoor bleachers for her. Her friends were either graduating with her or had done so and moved on to doctoral programs elsewhere. That was all right. She’d known it was a long shot for her mother to attend the ceremony, so she held her head high as she crossed the stage and accepted her diploma, the breeze keeping her cool beneath the heavy black robe. Then she met the families of several of her friends, kindly refused their offers to attend parties or dinners, and hurried outside in the warm spring evening to her car.
“Bet you think you’re better than me,” her mother slurred, sitting on the hood of Gemma’s leased convertible.
Gemma sighed and set her diploma carefully in the back seat. “Why didn’t you come inside?”
“And embarrass you?” Fran swept her hand down the bright red tank top that exposed a black bra, tight jean shorts, and flip-flops. “What would your fancy friends think?” She slid off the car, wobbling slightly. “You think you’re better than me.”
“Well, I’m more sober anyway,” Gemma said, catching a whiff of . . . gin? Something strong. Her stomach hurt, but she could handle that. She always did. “It was nice of you to come. Would you like to have dinner with me at my apartment? I could make us spaghetti.” She’d been fending for them both since she’d turned eight years old and had figured out how to make money by weeding gardensfor neighbors.
Fran’s startling blue eyes narrowed. “Not good enough to go to one of yourparties, am I?”
Gemma opened the passenger side door. Hadn’t Fran said she was going to stop drinking last year when they’d run into each other in a bar in Seattle? Right. “I wasn’t going to a party.”
“You’re such a bitch,” Fran said, swinging out.
Gemma hadn’t expected to incur violence so early and wasn’t prepared to duck. Even so, her mother’s palm didn’t land. Instead, a strong hand caught it in midair, yanking her to the side. Gemma’s mouth dropped open as she turned to see the handsomest man she’d ever imagined. “Whoa.”
He grinned, his eyes crinkling. “Couldn’t let a graduate get hit on graduation day.” He was about six feet tall, with thick brown hair and eyes as blue as a sea beneath a perfectly sunny day.
A surprised chuckle escaped her. Had he just made a joke? Who was this guy?
“Hey.” Fran jerked her arm free. “What’s, I mean, who’s…” She slipped out of one flip-flop and looked him up and down.
Gemma knew what she saw. Not his stunning and obviously intelligent eyes nor his wide chest. Fran saw money. High-end jeans, long-sleeved, expensive shirt, Italian loafers.
Fran smiled. “That was a mistake. We were just goofin’ off.” She fluttered her dark eyelashes and steppedcloser to him.
He angled toward Gemma and pointedly ignored Fran. “My mom wasn’t a hitter, but my stepdad threw a good punch until I became taller than him.” He held out a hand. “Monty Cameron.”
“Gemma Salsbury.” She slipped her hand into his, noting how much warmer and bigger his palm was. “It’s nice to meet you.” He looked to be maybe in his late twenties. “Are you here for a graduate?”
“No. I guest lectured earlier today for a biology class and just hung around for a while,” he said, his gaze not leaving her face. “I’m a doctor. Well, I’m inmy residency.”
Fran gasped. “A doctor?”
Gemma ignored her drunk mother. “A doctor who prevents injuries. You should specialize in that.”
He smiled, and his eyes twinkled. In a word,he was perfect.
