Page 9 of Finding Amanda

She looked up and blinked. "Um, yeah?—"

"You ever write anything else?"

"Nothing special." She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her trembling hand barely cooperating.

One eyebrow rose. "Really?"

She remembered the paperback gripped in her fist. She fanned the corner of it and swallowed. The last thing she wanted was Gabriel lurking on her blog. It was probably too late, now that he knew her pen name, but she wasn't about to direct him to it. "I've written a few articles here and there."

"You write any other books?"

"Nope. Just cookbooks."

He shifted toward her, grabbed her knees, and squeezed. His hands were hot, confining. She clutched the arms of the chair and shifted further back until she felt her tailbone push into the cushion.

"What about your memoir?" he asked.

"I . . . What?"How did he know?"I don't know what you mean."

His hands slid up her slacks, his gaze locked onto hers. "You have a compelling story to tell, don't you?"

She was trapped, a mouse in an eagle's talons. His giant hands squeezed tighter.

"Stop it. Take your hands off me."

"Don't do it." In his most soothing, trust-me voice, he added, "Remember your promise, Amanda."

She scanned the lobby. An Asian couple stood at the end of the line for the front desk, but they were too far away.

A woman and three small children headed toward the elevators on her left. What could they do to help?

Amanda turned in the other direction. A woman from the conference, someone she'd met earlier that day, rounded the corner near the coffee shop, walking beside a man. They headed across the lobby.

"Brenda!"

Both Brenda and the man stopped and looked around.

Amanda lifted her hand to get Brenda's attention, slipping further under Gabriel's touch. "Over here!"

Brenda followed the sound of her voice, and she took a few steps in their direction. "Hey." She stared at Gabriel for a brief moment before turning to her.

Gabriel slid his hands off Amanda's thighs and sat back, twisting to face Brenda and her companion.

Brenda wrote children's books and spoke with a gentle lilt that probably melted the hearts of the toughest kids. Gabriel would send her away smiling.

Amanda looked at the man who stood beside her. She realized now who it was, Alan Morass, an editor whose picture she'd seen before on her publisher's website. The jacket of his business suit almost hid the slight paunch hanging over his pants. He'd brushed graying light brown hair to one side over nondescript eyes. He was no match for Gabriel, but he was all she had.

"You going to the thing?" She squeaked the words. Shecouldn't remember if there was a conferencethingat that hour. She hoped they saw the pleading in her expression.

Brenda tilted her head to the side. "What?"

"Of course." Alan walked to the end of the coffee table, his eyes flicking back and forth between Gabriel and her. "Why don't you walk with us?"

"I'd love to." Finding her courage, she turned toward Gabriel. "Will you excuse me?"

He wore a polite mask as he stood and side-stepped to the opposite end of the coffee table. "Certainly."

She jumped up and practically lunged toward Brenda and Alan, catching her heel on the leg of the chair. Alan grabbed her upper arm to keep her from falling. "You okay?"

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