Wildest Hearts

back here, Annie.”

    Annie leveled a finger at him from the doorway. “You're the one who changed his plans today, Oliver. I didn't change them. We both know I don't have that kind of power over you. How could I? I'm just a business associate you happen to have been sleeping with lately. I'm not even a real wife.”

    Annie went out into the hall and slammed the door behind her as loudly as possible. The crashing thud jarred a black glass vase on a nearby table and made her feel much better. She stalked on down the corridor toward the foyer.

    The study door opened behind her. “Where are you going?” Oliver asked in a voice that was approximately twenty degrees below absolute zero.

    “Out.” Annie picked up the keys lying on the black marble table near the front door. She did not turn around, but she was acutely aware of Oliver rapidly closing the distance between them. He reached the door just as she did.

    “I asked you a question.” Oliver held the front door shut as Annie tried to twist the knob. “Are you walking out on me?”

    “No.” Annie lifted her chin. “If I ever walk out on you, I'll tell you about it. As it happens, I'm going downstairs to visit Bolt.”

    “Bolt.”

    “Yes, Bolt. And when you're ready to apologize, you can come and get me. Kindly remove your hand from the door or I shall scream bloody murder.”

    Oliver gave her an incredulous look. “Why in hell are you going down to Bolt's apartment?”

    “Because I feel like it.” Annie yanked at the door. To her surprise, Oliver slowly removed his hand.

    Annie slipped out through the partially open door, took three strides across the corridor, and punched the elevator call button. She was aware of Oliver standing in the doorway, watching her as she waited for the elevator to arrive. She did not look back.

    When the elevator doors slid open, Annie stepped inside and hit the button for the sixth floor. She held Oliver's eyes as the doors started to slide shut.

    “You're not going to get away with blaming me for the fact that your conscience kicked in this afternoon,” she declared.

    It wasn't until she stepped out into the corridor on the sixth floor a moment later that she realized she had a problem. She knew the number of Bolt's floor, but she didn't know the number of his apartment.

    There were six doors on the sixth floor. Annie prowled past each of them. There were name tags inserted over the doorbells of five of the apartments. The slot above the sixth was blank.

    Annie leaned on the unidentified button.

    The door opened almost instantly. Bolt looked down at her without any sign of surprise.

    “Mr. Rain said you were on your way down here,” Bolt said.

    Annie grimaced. “Figures. I'll bet he'll call back in a minute to see if I arrived. Can I come in?”

    “Yes.” Bolt stepped aside. A chime sounded softly above a wall panel full of sophisticated electronics. Bolt pressed a button. “Yes, Mr. Rain?”

    “Is she there?” Oliver asked over the intercom.

    “Yes, Mr. Rain.”

    “See that she gets dinner. She hasn't eaten yet.”

    “Yes, Mr. Rain.” Bolt released the intercom button.

    “What did I tell you?” Annie walked on into the apartment, glancing around curiously. “I knew he wouldn't be able to resist checking up on me.”

    Annie surveyed Bolt's headquarters. It was no penthouse, but it was spacious and well appointed. The windows provided a different slant on the same view that Oliver enjoyed twenty floors above. The furnishings were Spartan, each piece arranged with military neatness. Books were filed in orderly ranks in a bookcase. Magazines were stacked fastidiously.

    A computer screen glowed on a table in a corner of the living room. Annie wandered over to take a closer look.

    “What would you like for dinner?” Bolt asked without any sign of emotion.

    “Nothing, thanks. I'm not hungry.”

    “Mr. Rain said I was to feed you.”

    “Don't worry about it.” Annie frowned as she bent down to read the lines of type on the computer screen. “What are you working on? Some sort of spy report for Oliver?”

    “No.” Bolt moved suddenly, reaching past her to push a button on the keyboard. “As it happens I'm working on a personal project at the moment.” The screen went blank.

    But Annie had seen enough to astonish her. She looked up at Bolt, her eyes widening in awe. “That was fiction, wasn't it? Bolt, are you a writer?”

    “I haven't been published yet,” he