Dying for You. BEVERLY BARTON

the carpeted corridor.

      Uh-oh. Daisy knew that look. Spiting mad, fire shooting from her dark eyes, cheeks flushed and determination in her stride. Lucy was pissed. Royally pissed, and there was only one person who could make her that angry.

      “Is he in yet?” Lucie demanded when she neared Daisy’s workstation.

      “No, I’m afraid not.”

      “Call him and tell him to get down here as fast as his half-million-dollar Mercedes will go.”

      “Is there some type of emergency?” Daisy knew better than to disturb Sawyer at home without a very good reason.

      “Oh, yes, there’s an emergency.” Lucie snarled. “I’m the emergency. Tell that son of a bitch that unless he wants all those pretty paintings and sculptures in his office destroyed, he’d better be here in twenty minutes.”

      “Lucie, you aren’t threatening to—”

      “Damn right, I am.” Her lips curved into a wicked smile, one that told Daisy she meant business.

      “If you start tearing up Mr. McNamara’s office, I’ll have to call security.”

      “Call Sawyer instead,” Lucie said, as she moved past the workstation and headed farther down the hall. “I promise not to touch a thing for the next twenty minutes.”

      “Where are you going?”

      “To get a cup of coffee first, and then I’ll be waiting in the big man’s office.”

      Daisy followed Lucie into the staff lounge. “Whatever it is, do you want to talk about it? Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll—”

      Lucie turned on her. “You’ll what? Try to calm me down? Play interference between me and Sawyer? Sorry, sweetie, not this time. It’s gone beyond anything anyone can say or do.”

      “All right. I’ll call Mr. McNamara and let him know you’re here and that you’re upset.”

      “Tell him he’s got twenty minutes.”

      Daisy paused in the doorway. “You promise that you won’t do anything destructive for the next twenty minutes.”

      Using her index finger, Lucie marked her chest with an X and said, “Cross my heart.”

      As she made her way back to her desk, Daisy heaved a worried sigh. This was far from the first time Lucie Evans had been upset with Sawyer. Except for one incident when she had actually broken Sawyer’s Water-ford crystal paperweight, she had never been destructive. Whatever had happened to push her to the edge had to be worse than anything that had occurred in the past. In the eight years she had worked at Dundee’s, she had watched the war between Lucie and Sawyer with as much interest and morbid fascination as the rest of the staff and all the agents. No one understood why, although the animosity between the two could easily set off World War III, Sawyer hadn’t fired Lucie or why Lucie hadn’t quit. Daisy didn’t know for sure, of course, but she suspected that since both of them were as stubborn as mules, neither would back down, or give an inch. Sawyer was waiting for Lucie to resign; and Lucie was waiting for Sawyer to fire her. Stalemate.

      When she returned to her desk, Daisy called Sawyer’s private home number. He answered on the third ring.

      “Good morning, Daisy. Is there a problem?”

      “Yes, sir, I’m afraid there is.” She dreaded telling him. Usually just the mention of Lucie’s name could alter his mood from positive to negative.

      “Well?” he asked impatiently.

      “Lucie Evans is here.” Daisy waited for his reaction.

      “Ms. Evans is supposed to be on assignment. Did she give you any explanation for why she walked out on a client?”

      “No, sir, she didn’t mention the client, but she demanded that I contact you and ask you—” Daisy cleared her throat “—actually tell you that if you’re not here at headquarters in twenty minutes, she is going to wreck your office.”

      “Call security and have her—No, wait. Tell her I’ll be there. And if she’s touched even so much as a paper clip in my office, I’ll have her butt hauled off to jail.”

      “Yes, sir, I’ll inform Ms. Evans right away.”

      Daisy found Lucie in Sawyer’s office, sitting behind his desk in his plush leather chair. When Daisy walked in, Lucie swiveled around and smiled at her.

      “Well?”

      “Mr. McNamara will be here in twenty minutes.”

      Lucie lifted the glass paperweight from Sawyer’s desk, a replacement for the one she had broken a couple of years ago. Daisy hurried into the room, reached out, took the paperweight from Lucie’s hand and set it back on the desk.

      “Promise me that you’ll be a good girl.” Daisy looked right at Lucie.

      Lucie glanced at her wristwatch, tapped the face and said, “I’ll be as good as gold for the next twenty minutes.”

      SAWYER POURED the contents of his cup into the sink, rinsed out the sink and placed the cup in the dishwasher. His coffeemaker would shut off automatically, so he left the half-full pot on the warmer. Mrs. Terrance, his housekeeper, would arrive at ten and tidy the kitchen.

      He went to his bedroom, put on his jacket, picked up his briefcase and headed straight for the garage. Usually, it took him thirty minutes to drive from his home to the downtown office building that housed Dundee’s. This morning, he had to find a way to cut that time by ten minutes, if possible. He had known Lucie Evans long enough to know that the lady didn’t bluff. And he also knew Daisy Holbrook well enough to know she would not call security until the last possible moment, which meant that Lucie could wreck his office before the guards arrived to stop her.

      After getting into his Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren, one of his most prized possessions, Sawyer put his Bluetooth earpiece into place, backed out of the driveway and onto the road. Once in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic, he placed a call, which after six rings went to voice mail.

       “You’ve reached Lucie Evans. I’m not available to take your call. Please leave your number and I’ll get back to you as soon a possible.”

      “Damn!” Sawyer muttered under his breath.

      She wasn’t going to answer her cell phone. She wanted to make him squirm.

      He called her again. Once again, she didn’t answer.

      After her recorded message ended, he said, “Touch one thing in my office and I’ll contact the police.”

      Lucie was a loose cannon. If he’d been smart, he would have fired her when he took over the CEO reins from Ellen Denby six years ago. Actually he had thought she would resign once she realized she’d be taking orders from him. But in typical Lucie fashion, she had dug in her heels and stayed on at Dundee’s. For six years, she had done everything humanly possible to make him fire her; and he had done everything within his power as CEO to make her quit.

      Lucie wasn’t cut out for the line of work she had chosen. Not now or in the past. Whatever had possessed her to think she would make a good FBI agent, he’d never understood. She’d had the intelligence, the grit and the determination, but not the temperament. Lucie had always been volatile. Even as a kid, she’d been high-strung and emotional.

      There had been a time when they hadn’t been enemies. When they were teenagers, he had looked out for her the same way he’d looked out for his kid brother, Brenden. But that had been a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

      Sawyer placed a call to the security office in the building that housed Dundee’s. When one of the officers on duty answered, Sawyer said, “This is Sawyer McNamara. Send someone upstairs to the Dundee Agency on the sixth floor. Have him go to my office and wait there with one of my agents, Lucie Evans, until I arrive.”

      “Yes,