Hostage Midwife. Cassie Miles

introduced her, he’d always said she was in medicine, rather than admitting that she was only a nurse.

      That snub had been the final straw. She’d always been proud of what she did and refused to pretend otherwise. Instead of trailing behind him in uncomfortable and ridiculously expensive high heels, she’d opted out of the fancy dress balls and political fundraisers. Better to stay home with a good book.

      His new wife must be more adept at gorgeousness. Kelly had heard that they were a power couple on their way into the national political arena. They already had one child, even though Ted hadn’t been interested in children when he was with her.

      She checked the mirror again, hoping to see Nick coming toward her. No such luck. It was kind of a bad omen that when she met him, he was wearing a tux. Was he anything like her ex? Ted had more polish, but Nick was definitely a head-turner. Handsome and rich made for a dangerous combination. Even though Nick seemed funny and down-to-earth and had complimented her on her nursing skills, she’d keep her eyes wide-open. The first time he insisted that she slip into a pair of four-inch heels, she was out of there.

      Nervous, she turned around in the seat to stare at the car behind her. Oh, yeah, she hated limos.

      THE PLUSH, BEIGE LEATHER interior of the limo reminded Nick less of luxury and more of a mobile office. The pudgy, little man who introduced himself as Barry Radcliff sat on the bench seat at the rear behind a narrow desk that swung out from the wall. A laptop was open in front of him. A computer printer and fax were on a shelf below the partition separating them from the driver.

      The most interesting piece of equipment was a leggy brunette with a short skirt and gladiator sandals. Her loose, curly hair tumbled past the deep vee in her cream-colored silk blouse. Barry introduced her as his attorney.

      “And don’t let her beauty fool you,” Radcliff said. “Francine graduated from Stanford Law School cum laude and almost qualified for the Olympics.”

      “What sport?” Nick asked.

      “Beach volleyball.”

      “Of course.” This day was getting more and more bizarre. Nick sprawled back in the seat on the left side of the limo, surprised that there was enough room for his long legs. “Why do you want to see me?”

      “Your uncle, God rest his soul, did some business with me. I want to make sure it’s taken care of.”

      “I’m the wrong person to contact. You should be dealing with the attorney at Spencer Enterprises.”

      “That’s not my style.”

      Radcliff’s style was questionable. He wore a loose-fitting blue-and-gold-striped shirt with the top four buttons unfastened to show off his heavy gold necklaces. His dark hair was thick and combed straight back. He had the kind of tan that went with spending a lot of time on a boat or a golf course.

      “Your uncle,” Radcliff said, “borrowed a million dollars from me. Payback was due on the day he died. I want my money.”

      “You’ll have to be patient. My uncle had a substantial estate, but there are probate concerns.”

      “Which is why I’m coming to you, Nick. I’ll give you until next week to make good on the loan. After Tuesday of next week, I’ll be taking my payment in collateral.”

      Inwardly, Nick groaned. “Let me guess. My uncle used the Valiant gold as collateral.”

      “Bingo.” He leaned back in his seat. “Show him the agreement, honey.”

      Apparently, the Stanford-trained, volleyball-playing attorney didn’t mind being called honey. She reached into a file folder and produced a copy of a one-page document, which she held toward Nick.

      He skimmed it quickly. Two months ago, just after the first of the year, Samuel had borrowed one million cash. If the amount, plus a couple hundred thousand in interest, was not paid within one week from when it was due, Radcliff was entitled to the equivalent amount in Valiant gold. The signature on the bottom was Samuel’s.

      “It looks pretty straightforward,” Nick said. “But I still need to have the legal department check it out.”

      “This isn’t a corporate issue. The loan was man to man, between me and Samuel, God rest his soul. That’s why I came to you as a member of the Spencer family.”

      “Do you have any idea why he needed the money?”

      “Not my concern.” Radcliff waved his pudgy hand in front of his face. He was beginning to sound agitated. “Can I count on you or not?”

      “Let me think.”

      Nick would have been justified in pitching the document out the window and letting Radcliff’s sexy attorney drag this debt through the courts for settlement. But he felt an obligation to his uncle to honor this debt. Samuel had thought this money was important enough to gamble the family treasure. Finding the project he was working on might help Nick understand why his uncle had committed suicide.

      “I have a question for you,” Nick said. “Did Samuel seem depressed to you? Or nervous? Scared?”

      “He was okay. I liked the old guy. He was a risk taker, you know what I mean? These days, decisions get made by committees and everybody is busy covering their butt. Samuel had guts, God rest his soul.”

      That wasn’t the description of a man who was about to kill himself. As far as Nick was concerned, Radcliff had a better idea of Samuel than half the people who claimed to know him well. In his way, Radcliff was an honorable man.

      “I’ll get the money.”

      “Too bad,” Radcliff said. “I had my heart set on that gold.”

      Nick reached for the door handle. “Next time you want to reach me, use the phone.”

      “When I meet a person for the first time, I want to look him in the eye.”

      Not a bad policy. Nick was beginning to like this guy. “How do I contact you?”

      Radcliff nodded to his lawyer, and she leaned forward to hand him a card. The view down her blouse was a major distraction. If this settlement ever got to court, he’d bet on her to win.

      Exiting the limo, he nodded to the driver, went to the passenger side of his SUV and climbed in. When he closed the door, he looked down at the copy of the document in his hand. Radcliff’s business card had listings for five different companies—three of them appeared to be associated with oil drilling.

      “What happened?” Kelly asked. “Are you okay?”

      “Confused as hell,” he admitted. “The inside of that limo is like an office on wheels, and the guy behind the desk is Barry Radcliff. He’s one of those guys with a dark tan and gold jewelry, maybe from Miami or Vegas. Or maybe he just plays a lot of golf, I don’t know.”

      “You’re rambling, Nick.”

      “Radcliff loaned my uncle a million dollars.”

      “Whoa.” She sat back behind the steering wheel. “That’s a big loan.”

      He agreed. Coming up with a million in cash wouldn’t be easy. As Marian Whitman kept telling him, Spencer Enterprises was stretched to the max. Last night when she wanted him to confront his uncle, she intended to close down some of the projects he’d been developing. Big mistake. Samuel didn’t know the meaning of “no.” He’d gone elsewhere for financing.

      The limo pulled even with his SUV, and the rear window partially rolled down. A slender, feminine hand reached out and waved goodbye before the traveling office drove away.

      “Who’s the woman?” Kelly asked.

      “Radcliff’s attorney. She’s an Olympic-caliber athlete in beach volleyball.”

      “Sure she is. And I’m a supermodel.”

      “I know this sounds crazy,” he said, “but this