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Rodrigo, too,” she said. “We’ve been friends for over three years. He’s been good to us.”
    He didn’t like that. He didn’t know why. Perhaps he still had a faint sense of possession about Sarina. They had been married once, if only for a day and a night.
    â€œYou were in college,” he said, remembering. “Didn’t you finish?”
    She had, but she wasn’t telling him. “I dropped out,” she lied.
    â€œSo this was the only job you could get, I suppose.”
    She nodded, glad that he couldn’t read minds.
    â€œYou were your father’s only child,” he said, frowning. “I still don’t understand why you’re living like this.”
    â€œMy father had emphatic ideas about what he wanted to do with his money,” she said without resentment. She’d long since accepted her fate. “I don’t mind working for a living.”
    He folded his arms across his chest. “I suppose you knew that Maureen and I divorced two years ago.”
    She looked up with a carefully blank expression. “How would I know that?”
    â€œHunter knew.” He saw the faint flush in her cheeks. “He was my friend from childhood. I can’t believe he never mentioned my name to you.”
    She didn’t like remembering the shock the first time she’d heard Phillip mention his old friend Colby, when she and Jennifer were taking natural childbirth classes together. She’d admitted that she knew him, but she’d managed to keep their connection a secret. Phillip only knew that they’d dated and that Colby had provided security for her father. She’d asked Jennifer to tell Phillip not to mention Bernadette’s real heritage to Colby, but she hadn’t said why. Hunter was intelligent. He probably knew the truth.
    Her eyes were even and cold. “He mentioned it only once. You were the one subject that the Hunters knew never to mention in front of me.”
    His eyelids flickered. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But it did. “Point to you, Miss Carrington,” he said quietly.
    â€œThis seems an odd sort of place for you to be working,” she said suddenly, lifting her eyes. “It’s a far cry from the military, isn’t it?”
    The past few years flashed before his eyes. He saw his wounds, his conflicts with political counterparts, his disillusionment with his life. “I don’t like hospitals,” he said, compromising with the truth.
    She arched both eyebrows.
    â€œI spent a lot of time in them between overseas assignments,” he replied coolly.
    Her eyes searched over him. “It doesn’t show.”
    Obviously she didn’t know that he wore a prosthesis, even if her daughter did. He was oddly reluctant to tell her.
    â€œYou wanted to be a diplomat as I recall,” he said instead.
    She shrugged. “We make choices, and then life gets in the way. I’m happy enough with the work I do.”
    He stared at her for a long moment, remembering happier times, camaraderie, even her quirky sense of humor. She was so staid now, so dignified, that he couldn’t reconcile the woman he saw with the woman he’d once known so intimately.
    â€œTake a picture,” she said with a glare.
    â€œYou were like a bonfire seven years ago,” he said absently. “Bright and glowing with life and fun.”
    She looked up, the anguish of the past years in her dark eyes, visible pain. “I grew up,” she said.
    He frowned. “How old are you now?”
    She laughed hollowly. “What a question!”
    â€œAnswer it.”
    â€œI’m twenty-four,” she ground out.
    He stared without speaking. In his eyes was a shadow of pain. He actually winced. “You were seventeen when we married?”
    His expression and the outburst were surprising. “You were in military intelligence,” she pointed out. “I assumed you knew