Her Man in Manhattan. Trish WylieЧитать онлайн книгу.

      SEVEN

      Something was eating at Tyler.

      Usually it meant he’d missed something—a random clue or part of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. That Miranda would make another bid for freedom was a given. What he didn’t get was why it suddenly felt wrong to stand in her way.

      Hearing what he’d heard through the door that morning probably had something to do with it. The knowledge she hadn’t wanted a bodyguard helped raise his opinion of her a notch, even if she was under the misconception she didn’t need one. But then she didn’t know what he knew, did she?

      His gaze scanned the room, but with little cause for concern among a bunch of kids and schoolteachers it slid back to his mark. The long legs encased in sharply tailored dark grey trousers were folded elegantly to the side, one high-heeled open-toed white shoe tapping in time to the music while she smiled. Judging by the sparkle in her eyes, she would probably agree calling the recital music was a bit of a stretch but it didn’t seem to dilute her enjoyment any.

      Maybe that was what was eating him: her mood.

      She’d been Little Miss Sunshine since she appeared outside the mansion.

      When the cacophony of sound limped its way to an overly enthusiastic end she led the applause and stood up. ‘Thank you, that was wonderful. The mayor would have loved this. If you keep practising and get to Radio City Music Hall I’ll make sure he has front-row tickets.’

      Tyler doubted there was an adult present who didn’t think they would need to be practising for a very long time before that happened. Opening the door, he stepped into the empty hall, inhaling the scent he’d had so much difficulty ignoring on the trip over as she passed within inches of him. It was different from the sophisticated perfume she’d worn the day before. Since he wasn’t up to date on flowers he couldn’t identify what it had been but now he thought about it he reckoned it was probably something like lilies or lilac. The one she was currently wearing was sweeter, more playful and made him wonder if she matched her perfume to where she was going with as much care as her clothes.

      If she did it was clever. Even if he could have done without the constant trace of strawberries in the air as a reminder of how she’d tasted on his lips.

      He followed a few steps behind as the head teacher and members of the board escorted her along the hall. When his gaze lowered to the feminine sway of her hips he hid a frown of annoyance and forced it elsewhere.

      ‘This next class is made up of children with learning difficulties,’ the principal explained. ‘The ratio of teacher and classroom assistant to pupil is higher.’

      ‘What is the age range?’ Miranda asked.

      ‘Between six and eight...’

      When they filed inside Tyler took up position by the door again. After a cursory inventory of his surroundings, the occupants and checking the line of sight through the windows there wasn’t much else for him to do but continue watching her. He justified the action by telling himself he was searching for the clue he might have missed, examining everything from her introductory wave to how she interacted with the children as she moved from one small desk to the next. She crouched down to eye level, asked questions and listened carefully to the answers. From time to time she ruffled the odd tousled head of hair, her hundred-watt smile flashing more than once.

      It wasn’t dissimilar to the act she’d put on with the elderly in the Bronx the day before but Tyler couldn’t shake the sensation something was different.

      As the principal explained some of the ways they made it easier for the kids to stay focused somewhat ironically Miranda’s attention wandered. When her gaze landed on something at his side of the room and she angled her chin with curiosity, Tyler looked to see what it was.

      A little girl with blonde hair sat on padded mats on the floor a few feet away, seemingly oblivious to what was happening around her as she swapped one thick crayon for another and continued colouring a sheet of paper.