Her Mr. Right?. Karen Rose Smith

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      “I never get involved with someone in my investigation.” Neil spoke, with his finger on her cheek.

      “Because you lose perspective?” Isobel asked.

      “Because the guilty can seem innocent and the innocent can seem guilty. I always go by the book.”

      Neil’s hand slid to her neck under her curly hair. The warmth of his skin felt so good… the touch of his fingers against her scalp so sensually right. When he tilted her head up and lowered his, she knew exactly what was going to happen.

      He paused just an instant in case she wanted to back away. She knew she should. But she definitely didn’t want to. Curiosity and need were much stronger than any admonition from her good sense that she was consorting with the enemy. Right now, Neil didn’t feel like the enemy.

      It wasn’t her enemy whose arms she was in right now.

       KAREN ROSE SMITH

      Award-winning author Karen Rose Smith has seen more than fifty romances published. Each book broadens her world and challenges her in a unique way.

      Readers can e-mail Karen through her website at www.karenrosesmith.com or write to her at PO Box 1545, Hanover, PA 17331, USA.

      Her Mr Right?

      Karen Rose Smith

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      To the “gathering” group

       from York Catholic High School’s class of’67.

       It’s been wonderful reconnecting again.

       Thanks for the friendship and good times.

      Chapter One

      “You work with elderly patients. Is that correct, Miss Suarez?”

      Isobel felt as if she had been viewed under a high-powered microscope for the past five minutes. Neil Kane had the power to make her pulse race simply by passing her in the hall. It wasn’t his status as an investigator for the Massachusetts Attorney General’s Office that rattled her most. Rather it was her response to him as a man, with his sandy-brown hair graying at the temples, his strong jaw with its cleft at the center, his tall, trim and fit physique under a charcoal suit. He was attractive enough to turn the heads of most women.

      She didn’t want her head turned—especially not by a man who was trying to pin wrongdoing on hospital personnel. Who was attempting to discover fraud that could be the downfall of Walnut River General, or more insidiously, make a takeover by Northeastern HealthCare a probability instead of a possibility.

      “Miss Suarez?” the investigator repeated, those gold-flecked brown eyes sending a tingle up her spine.

      Isobel intended to select every word carefully. “I’m a social worker at this hospital, Mr. Kane. I tend to any patient whose case history finds its way to my desk.”

      They sat alone in his temporary office, a small conference room, with the door closed. A laptop was positioned in front of Kane and a legal pad sat beside it. From her seat around the corner of the table, she couldn’t see what was on the screen of the laptop.

      When the investigator leaned back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck, his knee was very close to hers. She didn’t move an inch.

      “I think everyone who works at this hospital has taken a course on how to be evasive,” he muttered.

      She didn’t comment. By age thirty-five, she’d learned when silence had more effect than a retort.

      He blew out a breath and she suspected his day had been as long as hers. From what she’d heard, he’d been interviewing personnel in this room since seven-thirty this morning; he’d been here eleven hours straight.

      “Miss Suarez. You told me you’ve worked here ten years.” He leaned forward. “In that amount of time, what age group has occupied most of your attention?”

      She could only pick up a hint of his cologne, something woodsy and very masculine. “I haven’t kept track.”

      “Well, then, isn’t it a good thing we have records and computer programs that do keep track.” His voice had an edge to it that was part frustration, part anger.

      Her own temper was precariously perched. “Why are you asking me the question if you already have the answer? You know, Mr. Kane, if you try hard enough to catch a fish, you might catch the wrong fish.”

      His brows arched. “Meaning?”

      Impatiently, she shoved her very curly, chin-length auburn hair behind her ear. “Meaning…everyone I work with at this hospital is dedicated to his or her profession. We’re here to take care of patients, not in any way to take advantage of them. I don’t know what you’re specifically investigating—there are so many rumors floating around, I can’t count them all—but whatever it is, maybe someone made a mistake. Maybe there was a computer error. Maybe there’s no culprit or fraud or theft at all.”

      He studied her for a few very long moments. “What would you have our office do, Miss Suarez? Ignore the possibility of wrongdoing? Wouldn’t the guilty love that!”

      The buzz around the hospital was that Neil Kane was the enemy. Everyone from the chief of staff to the night security guard had banded together to treat him as if he were. They believed in each other and the work they did here. This hospital was about patient care. That could change drastically if Northeastern HealthCare took over. If a conglomerate ran Walnut River General, the hospital would consider financial well-being more important than helping the residents of Walnut River.

      Frustrated herself by a long day made longer by Neil Kane’s hard-edged questioning, she made a suggestion. “If you want to know what I do and who I help, shadow me. Shadow the doctors and nurses. See what we do in a day. Do that, and then ask your questions. At least then you’ll be asking the right ones.”

      They sat in silence for a moment, both stunned by her outburst. Eager to avoid his gaze, Isobel looked down and dusted some imaginary lint from her skirt. She had worn a lime-green suit today to celebrate spring and the beginning of May. This was the time of year she liked best, and she wanted to bring the idea of new beginnings inside. The longish jacket hid the extra pounds she’d put on since she’d moved back in with her dad. The chunky jasper beads she wore around her neck carried shades of green and brown that coordinated well with her tan silk shell. Neil Kane was studying her necklace, studying her face, studying her. Because she was being confrontational? Or because…

      A man hadn’t looked at her as an attractive woman in over two years. She wasn’t feeling attractive these days—not with the extra fifteen pounds, not with her mass of curls needing a trim, not with the circles under her eyes showing her fatigue.

      Kane’s voice lost its sharpness as he asked, “What are the right questions?”