Moving Target
“Erik said carefully.
Except Rarities, of course, and he hadn’t said one damned word about it. He would keep his mouth shut on that subject until Serena trusted him in more ways than with her elegant neck.
The longer he knew her, the more certain he was that the shit would hit the stratosphere when she found out he was, technically speaking, Warrick’s representative.
“But no one else knew about the pages,” Serena protested. “Who else could it have been?”
“Whoever gave you the pages knew.”
“Hingham.”
“Who?” Erik asked, even though he already knew.
“Morton Hingham, my grandmother’s lawyer.”
“Big office?”
“Small. Just a secretary-receptionist.”
“Who meets friends for lunch and talks about families, husbands, boyfriends, babies, and work.”
“A client’s business is confidential.”
“Yeah, it sure is supposed to be.”
Serena thought of the blue-haired, lace-collared gentlewoman who was Hingham’s secretary and shook her head. “I’m not buying it.”
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