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the team members in the area know that you’re all free to drop in any time we don’t
have plans.” He studied Clay with slate-gray eyes. “But I have a distinct feeling that this
isn’t just a social call.”
Clay adjusted himself in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position and figuring
out that in this case there really wasn’t one.
“See, it’s like this,” he began. “I’m trying to find a woman.”
McCord burst out laughing. “That’s probably the last thing I expected to hear from
you. As I understand, your problem isn’t finding them. It’s beating them off.”
Clay’s cheeks heated. “This is a little different.” He took another swallow of beer.
“And I might need Annie’s help with it.”
McCord’s eyes widened a fraction. “My wife? You must be in pretty damn bad
shape if you need Annie to find a woman for you.”
“Well it’s…uh…it’s a particular woman.”
McCord watched him for a moment in silence. “Clay, in all the years I’ve known
you there are plenty of times when you’ve been a man of few words but never one
who’s at a loss for words. Maybe you’d better start at the beginning and tell me what
the hell this is all about.”
Clay chose his words carefully. “It’s about the ball last night,” he began. In stilted
sentences, omitting most of the details, he explained about meeting Red, spending the
night with her, never seeing her face or getting her name and now being desperate to
find her.
45
Desiree Holt
“Desperate?” McCord grinned.
“I know, I know.” Clay raked his fingers through his hair. “Sounds stupid, right?
To feel this way after less than twelve hours with someone?”
“I’ve got two things to say to you. She must be one hell of a woman, and one hour
after I met Annie I knew she was it for me. So what do you need from my wife?”
“She was on the ticket committee. I’m hoping they keep some sort of master list of
everyone who buys tickets.”
“And you’ll…what? Contact every unattached woman on the list to see if she’s the
mysterious Red?”
Clay shrugged. “Sounds stupid, I know.”
“I just don’t want to get a call that you’ve been arrested as a stalker.” He laughed
again. “But let’s see what Annie has to say.”
“We do keep a master list,” she told them when John pulled her outside and into
their conversation. “But I don’t think we can make that available for public use.”
“Of course.” Clay fiddled with his bottle. “I should have been smart enough to
figure that out.”
“And we’ve got a lot of people selling tickets,” she went on. “This Red could have
bought hers from anyone. Especially if it was one of the lowest price tickets. She
wouldn’t have been given a reserved seat or been invited to the private cocktail party
before the ball.”
“So what you’re saying is there’s really no way to find out who she is.”
“I’m not sure. Let me give it some thought. There’s an executive committee meeting
on Monday and then the ticket committee Wednesday night. I can ask some questions.
See if it rings a bell with anyone.”
“I’d really appreciate it.” He stood up and held out his hand to McCord. “Thanks
for letting me barge in like this. My apologies to you too, Mrs. McCord.”
“Annie,” she reminded him. “I’m just hoping I can help you.” She grinned. “I must
say it’s interesting to see the big player Clay Randall get his shorts in such a twist over a
woman.”
“You know what they say,” he groaned. “Payback is hell.”
“We’ll do what we can to see if we can make that payback any easier,” McCord
said. “Just so you don’t hold out any hope for miracles.”
Clay had given up on miracles a long time ago. But on the way home it occurred to
him he might pick the brain of his neighbor. He and Bridget Reilly had lived next door
to each other for two years and really didn’t have more than a nodding relationship. But
she seemed smart enough, even if she did wear those strange tinted glasses all the time.
Maybe she could give him a woman’s point of view on this. Something that could point
him in the right direction.
46
Bedroom Eyes
* * * * *
Bridget spent most of Saturday and Sunday pacing her small house and avoiding
Joni’s telephone calls. She also made herself stay inside her house at all for fear she’d
run into Clay. Her dreams every night had been filled with erotic images of him,
memories of their night together. She needed to put a lot of space between them until
she could get a good grip on her feelings and lock her heart away. Maybe if she had the
surgery… The letter she’d written sat in her computer, ready to be emailed. All she
needed was to hit the final keystrokes and she’d be good to go.
What was she waiting for? The worst they could say was no, right?
But if they did, the chance to have the surgery now would be gone—and she’d be
back to saving money for who knew how long to pay for it herself. In the meantime
Clay Randall would be off on more missions, hanging out with a variety of arm candy
in between and probably find someone else to plan the rest of his life with.
By Monday morning she was a wreck. Should she do this? Shouldn’t she? Finally,
before she could change her mind again, she pulled up the email to the Trust and hit
Send. Now the waiting began.
At work she did her best to avoid Joni and her prying questions, even bypassing
their usual quick coffee and a muffin at the Starbucks in the lobby. But at ten when she
went to the break room there her friend was, eyes flashing.
“What’s the matter with you? You didn’t take any of my calls over the weekend
and you skipped our usual Starbucks. What on earth is going on? You bought that
ticket at the last minute—out of the blue, I might add—and won’t tell me a thing about
it. Was the masquerade ball a disaster?”
“No. No, it was fine.” She busied herself at the coffee machine. “I just had a lot to
do this weekend.”
Joni looked at her, concern evident on her face. “Did something bad happen to you,
Bridget? It did, didn’t it? I was worried about that very thing. You don’t get out enough
to have good experience with the assholes that show up for these things.”
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