“Actually, there is.” Dane paused for a moment, watching her carefully. “Mr. Thorne asked me to invite you to take a polygraph test.”
Solange stared at him in dumbfounded silence. She couldn’t have heard right. “A polygraph test? He wants me to take a lie-detector test?”
“Only if you’re willing to,” Dane said mildly.
Solange shook her head in disbelief. She’d fully expected Roarke Investigations to conduct a thorough background check on her, but this was going overboard. “I’m sure you and Mr. Thorne are aware of the Employee Polygraph Protection Act of 1988, a federal law that prohibits employers from requiring employees to take lie-detector tests.”
Dane inclined his head. “I’m aware of it, as is Mr. Thorne.”
Solange said coolly, “That means employers are prohibited from even suggesting that an employee or applicant take a lie-detector test, nor can they decline to hire an applicant who refuses to take one.”
A soft, enigmatic smile quirked the corners of Dane’s mouth. “You’re very familiar with the terms of the law. I’m impressed, Miss Washington. Rest assured that Mr. Thorne has no intention of withdrawing the job offer should you decide not to take the test.”
“But he still wants me to do it, even though it’s illegal. Is that what you’re telling me?”
Dane’s expression remained deadpan. “It’s entirely up to you, Miss Washington.”
Her eyes narrowed on his face. It was some kind of test. It had to be. She didn’t believe for one second that a prominent, successful attorney like Crandall Thorne would expose himself to an unnecessary lawsuit by forcing a prospective employee to submit to a polygraph test. Time and again, he’d defeated his opponents in court by knowing the law better than their attorneys, even some judges. Asking Solange to take a lie-detector test—or inviting her, as Dane had so eloquently phrased it—was risky business.
What was Crandall Thorne up to?
A number of possibilities ran through her mind. He was trying to gauge how badly she wanted the job and what she was willing to do to secure it. Or maybe this was the first of many “tests” he would put her through to see how she performed under pressure. Or maybe he genuinely wanted her to undergo the polygraph test and was arrogant enough to believe he could get away with violating the law.
“Miss Washington?”
Solange met Dane’s steady gaze with a subtle challenge in her own. “All right, Mr. Roarke. I’ll play along. I’ll take your lie-detector test. After all, I have nothing to hide.”
His eyes glinted with satisfaction. “Give me a few minutes to set up.”
Chapter 3
Ten minutes later, Solange was having serious doubts about her decision to take the lie-detector test—and that was before the actual questions began.
When she’d agreed to be tested, she hadn’t counted on how nerve-racking the setup process alone would be. It was pure torture to hold herself perfectly still in a chair while Dane connected a series of tubes and wires to her body, explaining the purpose of each device in that deep, hypnotic voice that poured over her like dark honey. She struggled valiantly to pay attention, every nerve ending in her body tingling from the touch of his hands—beneath her breasts, around her stomach, between her trembling fingers as he attached finger plates that would monitor her electrodermal activity.
By the time Dane sat behind the computer monitor to begin the exam, her blood-pressure was off the charts, if the pounding of her heart was any indication.
“Relax,” Dane murmured.
Solange shot him a freezing look. His answering chuckle whispered across her skin, soft as a lover’s caress. She wanted to cross her legs, but remembered his instructions to keep both feet planted firmly on the floor.
“Are you qualified to administer these tests?” she demanded, more out of frustration than anything else.
The amused glint in his eyes told her he knew it, too. “I’ve received some training,” he said vaguely.
“Where?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she said crisply, “I have a right to know if the person giving me a lie-detector test—illegally, I might add—has the proper credentials and qualifications. So where did you receive your training, Mr. Roarke?”
He hesitated for a moment. “From the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Solange stared. “You were an FBI agent?”
“Once upon a time.” A shadow crossed his face, disappearing so swiftly she might have imagined it. “Shall we begin?”
She hesitated. There was a story behind his cryptic response, but she didn’t have the time—or right—to explore it. Slowly she nodded.
“I’m going to ask you eleven questions,” Dane explained. “Please indicate your responses with a yes or no. You don’t have to elaborate on anything. Just yes or no. Do you understand?”
Solange nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Is Solange Washington your real name?”
“To my knowledge.”
“Yes or no,” he reminded her.
“Yes.”
“Are you twenty-nine years old?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever falsified information on an employment application?”
“No.”
“Have you ever used illegal substances?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been convicted of a felony?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
Solange hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “Well…”
Dane’s gaze shifted from the computer monitor—where digital algorithms recorded her physiological responses—to her face. “Yes or no, Miss Washington.” His tone was neutral, but there was a glimmer of interest in his dark eyes.
“Yes, but it wasn’t my fault. I was thirteen, and they were going to bulldoze our farmhouse. I had to do something. They’re lucky I didn’t blow up their—” At Dane’s arched brow, she broke off and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I know you told me not to elaborate. What was the next question?”
“Are you married?”
“God, no.”
“Miss Washington—”
“Sorry. The answer is no. Just plain no.”
He nodded, mouth twitching. Then, as if unable to resist, he looked at her again. “What do you have against marriage?”
Solange let out a startled laugh. “Excuse me? Is that one of the questions?”
Dane chuckled, shaking his head. “No. Just me being nosy.” His expression sobered as he turned back to the monitor. “Are you a registered voter?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever been terminated by an employer?”
“No.”
“If you knew another employee was stealing from the company you worked for, would you report that employee?”
Solange shifted slightly in her chair. “Depends.”
“Yes or no.”
“It depends on what the person is stealing. If we’re talking about a few pens and notepads, then I wouldn’t report him. But if he’s stealing large sums of money, then yes, I would turn him in.”
“So your answer is yes.”
“Okay. Yes.”
“Have you ever accepted a bribe?”
“Yes.” When Dane paused, she added demurely, “Not the kind of bribe you’re referring to, I assure you. This was strictly of a personal, altruistic nature.”
His gaze returned to her face, tracing her eyes and lingering on her mouth in a way that made her pulse accelerate—which was picked up by the polygraph machine. They stared at each other for several charged moments.
“Are you seeing anyone, Miss Washington?” Dane asked huskily.
Her lips curved in a softly chiding smile. “That’s the twelfth question,” she said. “I’m afraid our time’s up, Mr. Roarke.”
Dane stood at the window in the reception area, hands thrust into his pockets as he watched Solange Washington climb into an ancient blue Plymouth that had seen better days a lifetime ago. He found hi
mself willing her to look back at him, to give him some sign that he hadn’t imagined the chemistry between them. But after revving up the old engine, she drove out of the parking lot without so much as a backward glance.
Dane chuckled quietly to himself. He didn’t need any last, lingering looks between them to know he hadn’t imagined her attraction to him. He’d seen it in her dark, exotically tilted eyes whenever she looked at him, heard it in her soft, breathless voice, felt it in the way her body trembled as he’d prepped her for the polygraph test. He’d administered the exam countless times before; today was the first time he’d ever been so aroused by a subject he could hardly remember which tubes and wires went where. He’d wanted nothing more than to run his hands along the lush, inviting curves of her body, kiss her plump, bow-shaped lips, wrap a fistful of her chestnut-brown hair around his hand and pull back her head, exposing the slender column of her throat to his hungry mouth.
Dane heaved a deep sigh, his body thrumming with desire. He’d even been deprived of the pleasure of removing the tubes and wires from her body following the test. She’d managed the task on her own while he was on the phone with a client.
Dane scowled. He knew he shouldn’t have taken that damn call.
The front door opened, and a tall, dark-skinned man entered the building balancing a leather briefcase and a large, expensively gift-wrapped box. At the sight of Dane standing at the window, Noah Roarke made a face. “Thanks for helping with the door.”
Dane grinned, still a little dazed from thoughts of Solange Washington. “Is that for me?” he teased, nodding toward the heavy package in his cousin’s arms. “Aw, man, you shouldn’t have.”
“I didn’t,” Noah muttered, glancing at the empty reception desk as he walked past. “Where’s the temp?”
“On her way. Called to say she got stuck in traffic.” Dane followed Noah down the hallway to his office, then watched from the entrance as Noah placed the gift-wrapped box inside the small closet and shut the door.
“Let me guess,” Dane drawled, propping a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Riley’s figured out all your hiding places at home.”
“Unfortunately,” Noah admitted, setting down his briefcase on a desk that was as littered with files and paperwork as Dane’s own desk down the corridor. Noah shook his head with a grin. “I swear she’s like a kid around Christmastime, shaking presents under the tree to see if she can guess what’s inside, dropping sly little hints to trick me into telling her what I got for her. She really knows how to wear a man down.”
Dane chuckled dryly. “And you love every last second of it.”
Noah shrugged, not even bothering to deny it. Everyone knew how much he adored his wife, Riley, whom he’d married three years ago in a big, festive ceremony that was still talked about in coffee shops and bars frequented by local cops. Noah, a former homicide detective, had been secretly in love with his best friend’s girlfriend for years. Even after Trevor Simmons died tragically in the line of duty, it had taken Noah another three long, torturous years to confess his feelings to Riley—which, luckily for him, she happened to return. Nearly every cop in the city had attended their summer wedding, which had included a police-escorted motorcade fit for royalty.
“So what’d you get her for Christmas?” Dane asked, hitching his chin toward the closet.
“No way. I’m not telling you,” Noah said with an emphatic shake of his head as he sat.
Dane laughed. “Why not? I can keep a secret.”
Noah shot him a wry look. “This is your first Christmas with us since Riley and I got married, so I’ll explain to you how things work. For the past three years, Riley has done her best to convince someone in the family to give up the goods on her Christmas presents. She’s hit up everyone—Mom, Daniela, Caleb, Mama Florinda, Janie, Kenny, even the twins. She’s relentless, man, and downright sneaky. So this year I’m playing it safe. I figure if no one else knows what I bought for her, then no one can be tricked or even tempted into spilling the beans.”
“Smart man.”
“I have to be, to keep one step ahead of that lovely wife of mine. You’ll see someday,” Noah told Dane with a sly grin.
Dane snorted rudely. “When hell freezes over.” Even as the words left his mouth, he heard Solange Washington’s response to his question about her marital status. God, no, she’d said without hesitation. Which pretty much summed up his feelings on the matter.
So why had he found her vehement denial so unsettling?
Noah shook his head at him. “You can run, but you can’t hide forever.”
“We’ll see about that,” Dane countered, straightening from the doorway. “Between you buying presents for Riley almost an entire month before Christmas, and Kenny working from home this week to nurse Janie through the flu, I definitely don’t think I’m cut out for marriage. It requires too many selfless acts of kindness.”
Noah smiled slowly, as if at some secret amusement. “Never say never, my friend. Never say never.”
Chapter 4
Dane was still at the office late that evening when the front buzzer rang, announcing a visitor. Setting aside the case file he’d been reviewing, Dane rose from his chair and took a moment to stretch the cramped muscles in his back before heading out of the room to answer the door.
The reception area was empty and mostly dark, save for a softly burning lamp perched on the reception desk. The temp had gone home at six, Noah shortly afterward, citing a “hot date” with his wife. Dane chuckled to himself, shaking his head at the memory of his cousin abruptly ending a conversation with him, striding to his office to grab his briefcase and hightailing it out of there with a grin and a wave. Once upon a time, Noah had been a notorious workaholic, habitually pulling all-nighters to catch up on paperwork or carry out surveillance assignments. But that was before he’d married Riley Kane and discovered a reason to rush home every night. It wasn’t that he was any less committed to the detective agency and their clients; he’d simply realigned his priorities and come up with a better way to balance them, and he made no apologies for either.
As Dane approached the front door, the buzzer sounded again. He knew who the late-night visitor was even before he unlocked the door and saw Crandall Thorne standing there. Wearing a silver-gray Stetson and an expensively tailored cashmere suit, Thorne was the epitome of the urbane, wealthy gentleman who’d graced countless magazine covers, including a recent issue of Black Enterprise that anointed him one of the most influential businessmen in America.
Without a word, Dane stepped aside and opened the door wider to let in the old man, who entered the building the same way he did everywhere else—as if he owned the joint.
Stopping in the center of the dimly-lit reception area, he swept an appraising glance around, taking in the rustic pine furniture, leafy potted plants and papaya-colored walls as if seeing the room for the first time, instead of just two days ago. At length his dark gaze came to rest on Dane.
“Burning the midnight oil, Roarke?” he intoned dryly.
“Something like that.” Dane locked the door behind him. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here in the middle of the night. I could have stopped by the ranch first thing in the morning.”
“No need. I was in town visiting Caleb and Daniela, anyway.”
“How’re they doing?” Dane asked, moving around the room as he turned on more lights. He’d decided against inviting Crandall Thorne back to his office. If they stayed in the reception area, maybe Thorne would keep the visit short—although Dane knew the old man wouldn’t leave until he’d gotten the information he came there for.
“They’re doing well,” Crandall answered, settling on the turquoise sofa Daniela had insisted upon purchasing when she’d redecorated the reception area four years ago. The sofa, like the rest of the furnishings, complemented the Southwestern theme she’d worked so hard to create.
“Caleb’s still happy at the university, and Daniela’s still complaining that she doesn�
�t look like a woman in her third trimester of pregnancy,” Crandall said with a low chuckle. There was no mistaking the way his voice softened whenever he spoke of his only son and daughter-in-law. His love for and devotion to Caleb had enabled him to embrace Daniela as if she were his own flesh and blood. No one was more excited than Crandall when the couple announced earlier in the summer that they were expecting their first child. It was the consensus that the old man was going to spoil his first grandchild rotten, although—as Crandall himself liked to point out—Caleb had had to work his butt off for everything he ever received from his father.
“Daniela was complaining that she hasn’t seen you in a while,” Crandall continued, a hint of reproach in his eyes as he regarded Dane from beneath the brim of his Stetson. “She said you’ve missed the last three Sunday dinners with the family.”
“I know,” Dane said guiltily. “It couldn’t be helped. Work was calling. But I already got an earful from Aunt Pam and Daniela, so I’ll make every effort to be there this Sunday.”
Crandall gave an approving nod. “Don’t let this—” he gestured smoothly to encompass the silent building “—keep you from realizing the important things in life. Family is important. Everything else is secondary.”
Dane had to swallow back a laugh. It was one thing to receive advice about his personal life from Noah, with whom he’d grown up and who genuinely cared about him. But to receive such counsel from Crandall Thorne was an entirely different matter. The man had spent over half his life pouring blood, sweat and tears into building a legal empire—at the expense of his marriage and his relationship with his son. As far as Dane was concerned, Thorne was the last one to lecture anyone about putting family first. His very presence at the agency at ten o’clock that evening was proof that business matters still ranked high on his list of priorities.
“Now then,” Crandall began, dispensing with the small talk in order to get to the purpose of his visit. “How did everything go with Miss Washington this morning?”
A Risky Affair Page 3