“Before it slips my mind again, how would you prefer to be paid? I shouldn’t have paid in cash this week. Laziness on my part, and it’s not fair to you. My mistake, but honestly, I didn’t expect you to last. Anyway, my business manager can either set up automatic deposit into your bank account, or she can cut you a check.”

“I haven’t gotten around to opening a bank account. I’d prefer to be paid in cash.”

“You’ll need to get on that. It’s better if you’re on the payroll, Rachel. Yes, you’d have to pay taxes, but it balances out. You’ll get medical coverage. Also, our company has a very good employer-sponsored retirement plan. We match our employees’ contributions up to three percent of their salary—”

“Thank you, but I want to be paid in cash. If that’s not possible, I’ll need to look for work elsewhere.” His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were activating his X-ray vision. She averted her face so she wouldn’t have to see the suspicion—or worse, pity—in his eyes. It was hard to stomach. Mick probably thought she was so hard up she wanted to cheat the government out of their fair share. Why wouldn’t he, given he also appeared to believe she’d sold her only means of transportation for cash? Although, I wish to God I had. Such idiocy. The cop would have made contact with Kevin by now. Undoubtedly, her ex would be on the next plane out.

“Okay,” Mick was saying. “Cash it is. I’ll leave it at the same place, kitchen counter every Friday.”

God I’m so weary, Sarah thought as she placed a serene smile on her face. “Thank you,” she said as she forced her body to saunter past him as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Pretending the relief that the payroll wrangling hump had been resolved wasn’t making her knees weak. You are in control, she told herself. Cool, calm, and collected. Everything will be fine. However, she must have let her guard down, because as she approached Mick, her senses were still in hyperaware mode. The intensity of his force field reverberated along her skin, caressed the tiny hairs on her arms, on the nape of her neck, as surely as if he had reached out and touched her. But she’d kept moving, brisk efficient steps, into the hall, the foyer, and out the front door.

Once she’d closed the door firmly behind her, she broke into a run. She needed every second in order to take a quick shower, drag a brush through what was left of her hair, and throw on some clean clothes.

*   *   *