The Edge of Dawn Read Online Free Page B

the stool. Opening the fridge she took out the slim, still sealed carton and poured herself a small glass. She took a deep swallow. The orange juice was cold and refreshing; just what she needed to put herself back in control.
    Saint ate his breakfast and silently watched her. Earlier, dressed in her expensive suit and shoes, she’d been the CEO headmistress. Now she looked a lot more regular dressed in the jeans and the blouse; if you ignored the little silk jacket draped over her chair. The short-heeled mules on her feet were probably as pricey as the jacket, but she seemed more approachable; less formal in spite of the flawless makeup, the perfectly arched eyebrows, and the laid, short-cut perm.
    When she bent to put the juice back into the fridge, he found himself viewing her from another angle. She was well put together. The dossier on her said she was thirty-seven, but her body was still fit. It was a woman’s body and had a curvy thing going on that definitely pleased a brother’s eye. And the sister could run. He was going to have to keep a close eye on this one.
    Narice returned to the counter with her glass of juice. “You know, when I don’t show up in Baltimorein a few days, my friends are going to start to worry and then call the police.” It was spring break for her school.
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd people are going to start looking for me.”
    â€œGood for them.”
    â€œI’m serious.”
    â€œSo am I. Good friends are hard to find.”
    Narice’s lips tightened. She didn’t like being patronized. “Well, since you think I’m such a fashion plate, I’ll make sure I wear my best suit to your trial.”
    â€œYou do that,” he said, giving her another male grin. Getting to his feet, he picked up their plates and walked the short distance to the sink. “You should get your suitcase. Soon as I put this stuff in the dishwasher, we’re outta here.”
    He then looked her way and said, “I know this has been hard—you just buried your father and now all this drama.”
    She didn’t respond.
    â€œI’m on your side. Believe that.”
    Narice wasn’t convinced. “Put yourself in my place. Would you trust you?”
    Saint didn’t lie. “Probably not, so how can I prove it? Have I hurt you in any way?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThreatened you with a weapon?”
    â€œNo. Ridley did, though.”
    â€œThen, how about I show you my ID?”
    â€œID can be forged. I had two students who got in bigtrouble last year for making fake five-dollar bills on their computers, but let me see it.”
    He went over to his coat and fished his wallet out of one of his many pockets. He handed it to her.
    Narice compared the face in the photo to the man standing next to her. They were the same. When Narice first opened her school, the daughter of the then vice-president had been one of her students, so Narice had become very familiar with Secret Service ID and Saint’s certainly looked real. She handed it back.
    Saint waited for her to say something, and when she didn’t, he asked, “So?”
    â€œSo, what?”
    â€œDo you believe me now?” Saint found her to be an exasperating challenge of a woman.
    She shrugged. “At this point, I don’t know what to believe, but let’s go and see this queen of yours.”
    Saint watched her head up the stairs to retrieve her suitcase and all he could think was God, she is fine. A woman with a body and face like that could make a man sell out his country. Under the circumstances, she appeared to be holding up well and he found that impressive. Even more impressive—no tears, no hysterics. He wished he could tell her more, though. She’d earned it.
    A few minutes later, they left the room and he put her suitcase in the car’s small trunk.
    Narice said, “How much money would it take for you to let me walk away? You can just