Trembling slightly, she sank into the chair behind the desk. All this time, she’d let herself believe that Garrett trusted her, and that she could play him. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Allison turned on her computer, brought up the database, and opened the next client file. She tried to work, but focusing was impossible. She was getting a headache. Questions tortured her mind.

What if there was no forged partnership document for her to find?

But there had to be. Garrett had offered to fax it to the bank. Somewhere, that document existed. She had to find it.

Allison couldn’t stay in the chair. She pushed away from the desk and walked to the window, which faced an ugly brick wall. Staring through the glass, she tormented her mind with more possible scenarios.

What if Burke, with no bank loan and no other recourse, were forced to sign the agreement?

It made sense that they’d have an unsigned copy, ready for his signature. Once it was signed, the fake document would be destroyed.

But what if Burke refused to sign, leaving them with a forged document that he could, and would, dispute, perhaps in court?

The men he was up against were capable of getting him out of the way, then claiming that the forged contract was real, signed by Burke sometime before his untimely . . .

Dear God!

She was shaking. She had to sit down.

What if Burke’s idea that the Porsche’s brakes had been tampered with was right? Allison could almost picture it happening.

Garrett had been at the party. He’d arrived early to mingle with the arriving guests. He’d known where the Porsche was, and he’d known that Burke was the only person who drove it. He could have easily left the party long enough to slip downstairs to the garage, cut the brake lines, and return without being missed.

No one could have predicted the rainstorm or the problem at the theater. But that didn’t matter. Sooner or later, Burke would have driven the car, and he always drove it fast on that steep, winding highway. The darkness and rain had only helped things along.

Only one thing had gone wrong. Burke hadn’t died.

But no—her theory was ridiculous. Garrett might be a snake in the grass, but he wasn’t a murderer. And this wasn’t the 1920s. The Mob wouldn’t kill somebody over a piece of property that they could just as easily walk away from.

Pulling herself together, she sat down again and went back to work. Somehow she had to find that forged contract. But jumping to wild conclusions wasn’t going to help. Stay calm, focused, and alert. Wait for her chance. That was the only way to find what she needed.