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table, to window. When he grabbed a piece of cheese from the counter in front of them, Gerald lowered his sandwich and addressed him in a firm tone. “Andrew. Stand still. I can’t eat when you’re running circles around me. I’m getting winded just watching you.”

    “Sorry.” Drew stuck his hands in his pockets and stood still. Half a minute later he grabbed a handful of chips, chomping through them with the efficiency of a wood chipper sucking in branches. Then olives. Then deviled eggs. Then he cracked his knuckles.

    Gerald’s sandwich hit the plate. Throwing a sharp glare at Drew, he picked up his food, grabbed a beer bottle, and stalked across the kitchen to sit at thetable. Lauren stayed at the island. She might not feel as hyper as Drew, but she was too unsettled to sit down.

    “I know, I know,” Drew grumbled. “I’m not good at waiting. I prefer action.” He picked up a plum, looked at it, then put it down. “And I’m starting to get worried.”

    Lauren lowered a forkful of potato salad. “You, too?”

    “Of course me, too.” His gaze speared her. “Why wouldn’t I be worried? My dad calls to say he got married, I scramble to get here, and no one knows where he is. For over three days now! He’s a United States senator, for God’s sake.
Someone
must know where he is. You don’t just lose track of those people.”

    “Oh.” She’d nearly forgotten that his father couldn’t be located either. “I understand. I feel the same way about Meg.”

    Drew smiled, a cold gleam in his eyes. “I wouldn’t worry too much about her. You’ll probably get a postcard any day now from some tropical island, one that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States. I just hope she tells you in what remote location she ditched my dad, so we can rescue him.”

    Her resentment flared. “Did it ever occur to you that something might have happened to Meg, too?”

    Drew studied her, looking much more calm now that he had her riled up. “You mean other than fleeing the country? No, I can’t say that it has.”

    The arrogant bastard. Lauren pushed her plate away and faced him. “You’re wrong. All you have to do is check that stupid safety deposit box and you’ll see that all your precious jewelry is still there.” Even if it were gone, Meg had every right to take it as HarlanCreighton’s wife. Yet she didn’t think pointing that out would make Meg look any better.

    He lifted an eyebrow. “What a brilliant idea.”

    Gerald spoke up from across the room. “I told you, only the senator or Mrs. Creighton can open the safety deposit box.”

    Drew nodded. “And they aren’t here. And the bank closes in”—he checked his watch—“three hours. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so it won’t be open. I guess we’ll have to wait until Monday before we’ll know for sure how much Meg ran off with. If they don’t show up by then, we can probably persuade the police to open the box.”

    No way. Whether they ended up calling the police, or not, Lauren wasn’t going to have Drew Creighton accusing her sister of theft all weekend, especially if it might delay a search for Meg. “Take me to the bank. I’ll pretend I’m Meg and you can open that damn box, which will prove she didn’t take anything. I can forge her signature, and we look so alike that no one will question me.”

    Drew slapped his hand on the granite countertop, suddenly energized. “Excellent. I’ll get your coat. Get the spare key, Gerald, and some sort of ID for Lauren that says she’s Meg. If they ask, she can pretend she left her driver’s license at home.” He strode toward the doorway as he talked, then paused to look back at Gerald, who frowned at him from the table. “Let’s go,” Drew said. “The bank closes soon.”

    Gerald looked as surprised by Drew’s enthusiastic acceptance as she was. And suspicious. “Just hold on. I don’t like this. It’s not legal.”

    “It’s close enough to legal,” Drew