Deadly Competition. Roxanne Rustand

do better just to stay behind his desk and save the town gas mileage.” Grace flipped through a stack of phone messages, and then held them out. “Here’s something else to think about for a while.”

      Accepting them, he thumbed through the slips on the way back to his private office. “I don’t want to take any calls for a while, okay?” he called over his shoulder. “I need to catch up on some things.”

      “How’s that pretty little nanny of yours settling in?” she called out after him.

      “Good.”

      “Good?” She appeared at his door before he even reached his desk, an amused expression on her face. “This is Momma Grace you’re talkin’ to, sugar. You can tell me.”

      “Mandy seems nice enough, and Sarah certainly likes her.” He shrugged, hoping she’d buy his casual dismissal. “That’s what counts the most.”

      “Ri-i-i-ght,” Grace drawled. “Then it’s just me who figures she might be the sorta gal who’d make you a good match? I can see there’s a little sparkle in your eyes these days.”

      “You’re dreaming again, Grace.”

      Grace snorted. “Not hardly. It’s ’bout time you got over that snooty little N’Awlins gal from last year.”

      “That took roughly a week, and you know it. “

      “Whatever you say.” Her smile was just a tad smug when she headed back to the front office. “But you need to finally let yourself live a little, then settle down.”

      Grace was wrong.

      Since Leah’s disappearance in January and his guardianship of Sarah, the focus of Clint’s life had been on family. Faith. His search for his sister.

      He’d never spent more time in conversation with God than he had during the past four months. Asking that Leah would be found, alive and well. Praying for guidance, to help Sarah through the upheaval and sorrow of losing both parents—and whatever she’d seen the day of her father’s murder.

      But in the meantime, Clint’s company had taken quite a hit. He’d had to pass up some important contracts and made slower-than-ideal progress on others. Several potential clients had backed out. Because they thought his sister was a killer? Figured he was too distracted by her disappearance…or maybe even thought he’d been her accomplice? Maybe all of the above….

      Ignoring the distant ring of Grace’s phone, he shut the door, settled into his chair and started on the stack of mail she’d left neatly stacked on his desk, next to a pile of bid estimates that could easily keep him busy for the next two days. If he could muster up enough interest and enthusiasm, with so much else on his mind.

      At a light tap on the door, he looked up and found Grace peering apologetically around the corner. “Phone call.”

      “I’d rather not. I—”

      “This one isn’t a choice, Clint. It’s Sam Pierce, the FBI agent, you’d better pick up that phone.”