The Truth About Harry

“I figured that,” he murmured and leaned next to her ear to read over her shoulder. The smell of her gentle soap was stronger, invitingly stronger. He willed himself to study the screen. While he didn’t have access to this particular data bank, his own tie-in to Interpol was far from shabby. Still, if there was one thing he had learned over the years, any information was relevant—even a dead end.

That’s why when he’d seen the wire story on Harry Nord’s purported obit he decided to follow through. And his instincts told him that he might have gotten lucky. How lucky, he didn’t quite know.

“Hmm,” she mumbled. “Seems your Bernard Lord was quite a flyboy after all—Bronze Star, Purple Heart. Nothing new as far as you’re concerned, though. Let’s see what else we can get—maybe through the Veteran’s Administration.” She tapped in a cross-reference. “No, nothing interesting there.”

Sebastian rested a hand on the back of her chair. “Why don’t you try Camden?”

Lauren poised her fingers on the keyboard. “Camden? As in New Jersey?”

“That’s right. You wrote in the obit that that was where Harry Nord was born.”

Lauren frowned. “That’s right. But it was something I made up, if I remember my notes correctly. Still, it’s just across the river, so why not?” She shrugged and typed in the information. And while the computer hummed away, she tucked her fine hair behind her ear, inches from his face.

Sebastian watched her gesture and was suddenly conscious of the delicate curve of her ear. It would be so easy for him to lower his head and nuzzle her lobe. Offer a teasing bite. Cause Lauren to turn her head and offer more than a gentle nibble in return. More like a full-blown kiss on those plump lips…He gripped the chair more tightly.

“Bingo!” Lauren grabbed the steno pad and scribbled notes. “Seems a Bernard Lord reported a break-in at his apartment at 38 Roebling Street, Collingswood, eight years ago.” She moved her head back and forth as she scanned the copy. “Missing items included a silver tea set, Lenox china. Gee, pretty pricey items for that neck of the woods. Wait a minute—” she scrolled back up “—Roebling Street. That rings a bell somehow.”

She swiveled her chair a few degrees, forcing Sebastian to let go, and rifled through a stack of papers on her desk. “I must have left it here some place.” Coming up empty-handed, she flipped through another, then pulled out a drawer with a stack of steno pads. She ducked her head and searched.

“Looking for something?” Sebastian joined her by the open drawer.

She lifted the top few pads and went through them one at a time. “Yeah, my notes on Harry Nord. I took down information from the press release from the funeral parlor and the VA hospital to write up a ‘real’ obit, which of course, I never actually did when all the hoopla broke out. I must have it here somewhere.”

He stared at the jumble of notebooks. “Maybe I could help you look? Otherwise we could be here until it’s time for you to collect your pension.”

“Technically, the Sentinel has a K1 plan, not a pension plan, which, because I’ve been here four years already—” she stopped going through the pads and blinked. “I can’t believe it’s already been four years.” She shook her head. “Never mind. If I think about that too much I’ll go into a terminal funk. What were we looking for—Oh, right, the notes on Harry Nord. Sure, I suppose you can help look. Just grab a handful. My filing system might not be the greatest, but at least you’ll see I carefully mark the cover with the dates that I used the pad and what stories the notes refer to. See, this one says ‘Christmas Tree Scam’, ‘Homeless Shelters Revving Up For Winter Weather’, ‘Soup Kitchens Facing Shortage Of Food.’”

She skimmed through the pages. “Everybody thinks the holidays are so great, but for some people, it’s just more hardship. At least the story on the soup kitchen generated some interest—they called me to let me know a supermarket chain made a large donation in response. Kind of makes the beat worthwhile after all.”

She closed the notebook and for the first time glanced over at Sebastian and noticed that he was staring at her. His mouth, that incredibly sensuous mouth, was slightly open, and the top ridge of his bottom teeth exposed. “What? Do I have something on my nose or something?” She reached up but didn’t feel anything more than the little bump on one side, the result of having fallen out of the top bunk at a sleepover party when she was nine. Her mother was forever suggesting that she apply concealer to mask it.

“It’s not so much your nose as your eyes, your expression. You don’t even realize how you telegraph every emotion—frustration, modesty, pride, tenderness.” Sebastian studied her some more, shifting his head first one way and then the other.

Wow, frustration, modesty, pride—let alone tenderness—were not the emotions that immediately came to the fore. And if he could read her thoughts that easily, well, he’d figured out that embarrassment was following hard on the heels of lust. “I guess I shouldn’t play poker then,” she stammered.