Page 12 of The Lady Has a Past

“I told you to think seriously about whether you really wanted to be an investigator. I was afraid you would decide this line of work wasn’t for you.”

Lyra cleared her throat. “I admit there are some aspects of the job that I did not anticipate.”

“That’s true of all careers, isn’t it?” Raina said. She went briskly toward her desk. “I certainly ran into a few surprises in my previous position at a law firm.”

“You’re a lawyer?”

“No. I was a secretary.” Raina opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper. “I’m very glad you’ve decided to remain on the job, because I need you to take charge of Kirk Investigations while I’m out of town.”

“You’re going away?”

“I have been asked to do a favor for an old... acquaintance. It’s a very urgent, very personal matter.”

“I understand,” Lyra said.

She didn’t understand—not at all. Something was wrong. The little frissons on the back of her neck warned her that whatever was going on, it was anything but normal. Her curiosity was stirring in spite of the headache. It was all she could do not to press Raina for more information. This wasn’t any of her business.

Raina picked up a pen and began to write on the notepaper. “I hope to be back by the end of the week.”

Lyra set her cup down so hard it clanged against the saucer. “You want me to take charge of Kirk Investigations for the rest of theweek? But I’ve only been on the job for three—make that four—days. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You’ve got what it takes.” Raina finished her note. “You’ll be fine.”

She slipped the note into an envelope, wrote a name on the front, and put it squarely in the middle of her desk blotter. She jumped to her feet and headed for the door.

“See you in a few days,” she said over her shoulder.

A rush of anxiety brought Lyra up out of her chair. She could no longer contain herself.

“Raina, what’s wrong?”

“I told you, something has come up. It’s a personal matter. Nothing to worry about, but I really can’t discuss it.” Raina paused at the door. “Oh, by the way, Luther will stop in later today. We had plans for this afternoon. Please give him that note on my desk.”

“You haven’t told Mr. Pell that you’re leaving town?”

“He would demand to know where I’m going, and I’d rather not waste time on a quarrel that will change nothing.”

Raina went outside onto the sidewalk. Lyra hurried after her.

“Wait a second,” she said. “What if Mr. Pell thinks I know whereyou’re going but I won’t tell him? He’ll get mad at me. I do not want Luther Pell mad at me. He’s got mob connections, among other things.”

“Why do you think I’m not giving you any details?” Raina said. She opened the door of her flashy little convertible and got behind the wheel. “This way you won’t have to lie to him. And, more importantly, neither will I. I doubt if either of us would be successful.”

“What if some new clients walk through the door this week?”

“You’re in charge,” Raina said. “You decide which cases to take. Just be sure to get a retainer up front and try not to get killed.”

“Right,” Lyra said, trying to sound at least semicompetent and professional.

Raina turned the key in the ignition, pulled away from the curb, and drove off down the street.

Lyra waited until the speedster disappeared around the corner before she went back into the office. She closed the glass-paned door and leaned back against it, both hands wrapped around the brass knob.

She was in charge of Kirk Investigations. For the rest of the week.

It was a staggering thought. A huge responsibility.

She had awakened that morning with a lot of serious questions about her future in the private investigation business. It was obvious now that it was not always going to be the thrilling, rewarding career she had envisioned. As recently as yesterday she had seen herself as an agent of justice for those who had nowhere else to turn; an investigator dedicated to seeking answers for desperate people. She would find those who defrauded others. She would track down long-lost heirs and missing relatives. Maybe she would help the police track down a murderer or two.

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