Page 2 of The Way to a Cowboy's Heart

Lost in her thoughts about the food, she didn’t notice—until she was almost upon her building—the dozens of unmarked sedans parked at random angles in the street and the FBI adorned jackets of the handful of people mingling outside the building’s entrance.

The sight stopped her cold. What in the world? Her stomach dropped at the thought that somewhere in her office building, someone was about to hurtle down a long dark tunnel of legal woes. At the same time, a guilty pang ofschadenfreudestruck her, knowing that dark tunnel was surely coming nowhere near them. Their reputation was flawless and admired, one of the reasons she was still here.

Emily flashed an acknowledging smile at one of the agents who stared back at her without expression, and she hurried on to the bank of elevators and pushed the up button. Boy, this would be the talk around the water cooler for days to come. She wondered what office was involved. Did she even know them? There were maybe hundreds of offices in this building.

“Who are you?” someone behind her asked. “And where are you going?”

She turned to find a burly, rather intimidating-looking agent frowning at her. She looked around her to see to whom he was talking. But it was obvious she was alone. “Excuse me?”

“Your name?” he repeated.

“My—I beg your pardon, but I’m just heading to work and I’m running late, so if you don’t mind…”

“I’ll only ask one more time.”

She sighed. “Emily Quinn.”

She watched as he slid a finger down his little clipboard list of names. Then turned the page.

“I’m sorry. What’s this all about?”

His finger stopped moving on a spot she couldn’t see. Then he nodded to a partner standing nearby she hadn’t noticed until now. “Ms. Quinn, please come with me.”

He reached for her arm, but she dodged him. “Wait.What?”

“You work at Bledsoe, Tamarin, and Carter, correct?”

Shock punched her in the stomach, and she swiveled a disbelieving look at the pairs of agents mingling in the lobby.No. Impossible.They had this all wrong. If there was something wrong—or…illegal—going on at the firm, she would know. Of course, she would know. Wouldn’t she?

“What’s this all about?” The elevator doors slid open, and he moved to hustle her onto the lift. “Please take your hands off me!”

Another man joined them. This one was tall and balding with a face lined with time. If she didn’t miss her guess, he was in charge. “Let her go, Bruce.” The man unhanded her. “We’re moving all employees of your firm into the conference room. So, if you don’t mind?”

She minded. She minded alot. She wanted to talk to Nate. Or William. Even Jacob would do, even though he was her least favorite person on the planet. Maybe Jacob had done something. Something awful.

Not since her mother had died, many years ago, did she so desperately want to call her right now. To hear her voice. Tell her that she was scared. Not that she could help her. Or even calm her down.

But she allowed them to escort her onto the elevator and watched as they pushed the twenty-first-floor button. The steel doors swooshed shut.

Bollocks.

Her pulse whooshed against her eardrums. She felt like she might… faint. Or cry. Or lose it. None of those things was appropriate, so she did nothing but watch the floors ding past as the elevator rose. When they reached the office, it was even worse than she’d imagined. Every employee was crammed into the conference room, some sitting, others pacing. She couldn’t see Nate or Jacob, but William Bledsoe, the founding partner, was sitting in his assistant’s chair with his head in his hands.

Her stomach twisted.How can this be?

“I’ll need your laptop and your phone,” the lead agent said.

“This is all a terrible mistake.”

“Yeah, and your boss made it,” Bruce muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“You can wait in that room with the others,” the older agent said as she reluctantly emptied out her bag and handed over her electronics.

The thick smell of fear had settled over the conference room. As she walked in, everyone looked up with a haunted look of despair. These people. She’d worked with all of them for so long, knew each of them and their families. She understood that look and what all this meant for them and for their futures. Several were huddled in quiet conversation and Willam’s assistant was crying softly.

Jay Needham, a long-time friend and colleague, was leaning against a wall as she approached, and gestured to the empty spot beside him.

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