With a sigh she opened the small book she’d put in her briefcase that morning. Inside was the flower she’d pressed, the one Alexander had tucked behind her ear. Two weeks ago? A lifetime ago. She closed the book, telling herself not all women had even that much to comfort them.

You’re okay, Ms. Hamilton. Well, that was exactly right. She was okay, and she was going to go on being okay. Life was meant to be faced for what it was.

She would wait, but she wouldn’t brood. Going behind her desk, Eve took out one of the new files she’d started to compile.

The theater was quiet. Then she heard the bang.

Chapter 12

Eve was halfway out of her seat by the time she heard the footsteps race past her door. Her only thought was to lecture whoever among her troupe was still in the theater, making a commotion, when they were supposed to be at dinner. The moment she reached the doorway she saw the body.

Everything froze. Then she was running down the hall, crouching over the unidentifiable man. There was blood already seeping through his shirt. A tray holding a water pitcher and some glasses had been knocked over. Shards of glass were everywhere. Thinking fast, she tore off the long cardigan she wore and draped it over him.

The phone. She had to get to the phone. Fighting for calm, she ran down the hall again and into her office. Her fingers were damp and trembling when she picked up the receiver and dialed.

“This is Eve Hamilton at the Fine Arts Center, the Grand Theater. A man’s been shot. I need an ambulance. The police.” Her breath caught as she heard footsteps coming softly toward her door. “Hurry,” she whispered. “Please hurry.”

She set the receiver on the desk and looked frantically around. There was no way out, no way but the door. The footsteps had stopped, but where? How close? Trembling, she edged around the desk. Whoever it was would kill her, kill her and …

Six-twenty. The face of her watch seemed blurred, but she remembered. Alexander. They were waiting for Alexander.

Moisture pearled on her forehead, but she inched closer to the door. She had to warn him somehow. She had to find a way. Even as she reached to pull the door the rest of the way open, it swung slowly toward her.

She saw the gun first. Black, deadly. Then the hand that held it. Biting back a scream, she looked at the face.

The man who had fenced with Alexander. The man who had smiled at her, whose face had seemed vaguely familiar. Now she remembered. He’d been at the theater before.

He wasn’t smiling now. His face was grim, set. She looked in his eyes, and knew he was a man who could kill.

“Mademoiselle,” he began, and she acted.