3

      STERLING INTERNATIONAL was located in an office building that required Barry to hand over ID to a security guard who photographed it before Barry was allowed to enter the elevator.

      The dark oak door with the heavy brass lettering—very expensive-looking—was locked. Sure it was a Friday afternoon, but it was still business hours. Someone should be manning the phones, unless the sole proprietor was out driving a white van somewhere. Barry knocked, not really expecting a response, and he didn’t get one.

      He looked up and down the hall at the entrances to the other three businesses. Their doors had glass in them. The one on the opposite side of the hall was all glass and surrounded by glass walls. Glass was very friendly. The receptionist looked equally friendly. Barry entered the reception area and smiled a full-out aren’t-you-a-sexy-little-number smile. He was careful dispensing that kind of smile, what with all the prickly women taking offense at everything these days, but she melted like butter on hot biscuits. Truly gratifying. After Megan, Barry’s self-confidence needed bolstering.

      Megan hating the wink had seriously jarred his inner Zen. He’d carefully remembered to wink after every encounter and had never got a negative vibe until now. He’d misread her at some point and hadn’t realized because he’d never tried to read her again. He’d become complacent and unobservant and too dependent on the underlying zing. Not good.

      But now he, thanks to Tiffani-with-an-i, knew that the Sterling International folks kept to themselves—when they were there at all. Nobody knew much about them, and Tiffani, who had a clear view of the hallway, never noticed much traffic going in and out.

      Sounded like a company fronting for something else. Barry still could be making a lot out of nothing, but he didn’t think so.

      Back in his car, Barry sat in the parking lot and opened his laptop, thinking again that wireless Internet was the greatest invention ever, or at least since the cell phone. A little poking around in Derek Stafford’s background revealed nothing. Placeholder stuff. In fact, this background was very similar to the groom’s. It was a government whitewash background.

      Cool. This was a heck of a lot more interesting than getting the flower girl’s name spelled correctly. Anyway, all the little girls had bizarre names these days. When he had a little girl, he was naming her Elizabeth. The name was ancient, had a great history and could be twisted into anything the girl wished. Liz, Beth, Betty, Liza, Lizzie, Isabel, Eliza, Betsy, Ellie. Every girl should be named Elizabeth.

      Megan was probably a form of Elizabeth, because he was thinking that was a good name, too.

      Focus. Barry usually didn’t have to corral his wandering attention. Weddings had corrupted him. Swimming in estrogen soup had affected his brain. That had to be it.

      So. He needed more information because all his reporter antennae were on alert. Something was going on. Guys like Gus and Derek didn’t do fancy weddings for marrying purposes. They were low-key guys.

      And how about little Sally? Was staid and elegant her style? Not from what Barry knew. So what was up? Was this a faux wedding? Had Sally finally gone over the edge, been caught, and this was a plea bargain? The government wanted to use her society standing and fake a wedding to cover something else?

      Barry loved this kind of stuff. He could kiss Sally himself. He got out the guest list again. Glittering. All the jewels of Dallas society—and there was the congressman right in the middle of it all. Yeah, yeah, he was a friend of the bride’s family—and it didn’t hurt that the wedding was in his constituency, either. Galloway would never turn down positive press.

      And another clue—where were the friends and family of the groom? And how would a woman like Sally meet Gus, anyway? And why would he be attracted to her? Sure she was a looker, but c’mon. This was Dallas. Lots o’ lookers in Dallas.

      Barry shook his head. He really needed to be with the bride and ask questions. The chatter at the spa was probably loaded.

      And yet, he had a feeling the story was with the groom, wherever he was. Maybe by now, he was at the country club and if Barry didn’t check out Water Oaks, the trail would grow cold.

      It was just after two-thirty and his nail buffing was at three. Golf…spa. Golf…spa…

      Megan. Oh, yeah. Megan would help him out. He’d ditch the wink and she wouldn’t be able to resist him. Smiling to himself, he e-mailed her a thank-you for the information. And then he offered her a little treat.

      MEGAN STARED AT HER E-MAIL, mouth agape. Barry thanking her was weird enough, but a manicure? How had he come up with that? She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. There had to be a trick here, but she couldn’t figure it out.

      “Gina? What kind of man gives a woman a manicure as a thank-you gift?”

      “Lots of guys—”

      “I’m talking unmarried men. Men in noncommitted relationships or even no relationships.”

      Gina gave her a “you’re kidding” look, then seemed to understand. “Oh, you mean girlie men, right?”

      “Ya think Barry’s a girlie man?”

      Gina goggled at her. “Barry’s