She stepped back and his hand dropped.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “I told you I was.”

“I can tell something’s wrong.”

Her eyelids dropped, like she was hiding from him. “Everything’s fine.”

“Harlow.” He reached for her.

She pushed his hand away. “It is.”

“You know I was in the Army Rangers, right?”

“I…knew you were in the Army. The Rangers are special forces, right?”

He nodded. “I was a specialist in certain areas.”

She shifted. “Okay.”

“In interrogation.” Old memories pushed up, and as he was used to doing, Easton shoved them back down. “I’m trained to read minute facial cues and other physical body language. I know you’re lying.”

Her lips parted.

Damn. His gut coiled. She’d painted them a luscious red today.

“It’s none of your business,” she said.

“I’m making it my business.” He’d begun by calling his friend Hunt. Detective Hunter Morgan was a good Army buddy of his brother Vander’s, and now worked at the San Francisco PD. Hunt spent a lot of time helping Vander and his company, Norcross Security, out when they got into scrapes. Hunt had told Easton that there were no reports of muggers in Harlow’s area. That didn’t mean there weren’t any, but Easton’s instincts were humming.

Something was going on. “Harlow?”

For a second, she looked so sad, then she straightened.

“Everything’s going to be fine.” She looked at the slim, silver watch on her wrist. “You have a meeting with Felix Enterprises in the main conference room in five minutes.” She pulled away. “I’ll check to see if they’re here.”

She sauntered out. She was wearing one of those long, tight skirts that accentuated her curves.

Something was going on, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

Easton grabbed his tablet off his desk and heard the murmur of Harlow talking to someone.

“I have a report for Mr. Norcross,” a breathy, female voice said.

“Leave it on my desk,” Harlow replied. “I’ll see he gets it.”

“Oh, I thought I could…give it to him myself.”

Easton paused in the doorway and saw a young woman in a sleeveless dress. She tossed her cloud of streaked blonde hair over her shoulder. Shit, she looked like she was lucky if she was old enough to drink.

Harlow skewered the woman with a look. “Leave it on my desk.”

The young woman pouted and set the file down. Then she strode off like she was opening fashion week.

He heard Harlow mutter under her breath, then she turned back to her computer screen.

“Ready?” he asked.

She jolted, then tapped the screen so it went to sleep.

But not before he saw that she was on a banking website.

“Ready.” She rose, gathering her things.