The Paris Assignment by Addison Fox Page A

after college—almost seven years ago, I guess. I was assigned to our London office and one of my coworkers took an inappropriate shine to me.”
    Campbell nodded, the hard set of his jaw tight as he listened to her story.
    “It was little things at first. A few emails. Mutual trips in the elevator as I was leaving. Then it got worse with a visit to my flat.”
    “What did you do about it?”
    “Gently rebuked his interest at first. Then more forcefully when he wouldn’t take the hint.”
    Although time had faded the memories, Abby was surprised by how quickly she could pull it all back. “I escalated it up when it became evident he wouldn’t stop and Human Resources took care of him. European employment laws are different than the U.S. but the owners’ daughter gets a bit of extra special attention. It was all a moot point in the end.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “He was found dead about two weeks after the human resources department arranged for his departure.”
    “Did you investigate it?”
    “Of course. Nothing turned up and the cause of death was ruled a heart attack.”
    “How old was the guy?”
    “About thirty.”
    “And you didn’t find a heart attack suspicious?”
    “It was ruled a condition from birth. One of those strange circumstances of nature.”
    Campbell’s intense focus—complemented by a heavy dose of skepticism at the story of the man’s death—had her rethinking the incident in light of her current situation.
    Was it possible there was a connection, even a distant one?
    “And you’ve never dealt with anything else?”
    “You mean other than the routine, vitriolic letters that come into the McBane press office, suggesting I’m the spawn of Satan for running a company that sends satellites up into orbit?”
    “Something like that.”
    “Then no. Nothing has happened since London.” She hesitated, the need for reassurance warring with the concern that she was just being silly. “Do you think there’s a chance they could be connected?”
    “I think I’m glad you told me about it so we can rule out any connection.” Campbell reached for her hand, his voice thick with the shades of his whiskey. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Abby. You do believe me?”
    “Yes.”
    His fingers returned to the sensitive skin of her wrist and he rubbed gently against the small space with the pad of his thumb. Desire wrapped around her with sly tendrils, soft fingers of need that beckoned her toward him. The urge to simply lean forward and kiss him—to find out if the strength she sensed in him would follow through to his ability to draw a response from her—had her nearly acting on the impulse.
    In the split second between desire and action, the bar exploded in confusion. The heavy, unmistakable sound of a gunshot echoed through her ear as the window opposite them exploded into a million pieces.

Chapter 4
    S houts erupted through the bar as Campbell threw himself over Abby’s body. The soft velvet of the settee rubbed his cheek as he waited on that tender precipice between immediate action and a rational hesitance to see if there’d be another shot.
    “Let me up.” She struggled underneath him, pushing at his shoulders as she used the silk of her dress to slide off the settee.
    “Abby. Wait a minute.”
    “Come on.” Her voice was distracted as she fumbled with her small clutch, dragging a dark clump of something squishy from its depths.
    “What’s that?”
    “More comfortable shoes.” She bit out the words as she switched out the sky-high heels on her feet for something that looked like ballet slippers. “Come on.”
    With moves a sprinter would admire, she leaped through the broken window and was already weaving herself across traffic as she raced toward the park.
    “Abby!” His voice echoed in his ears, still sensitized to the heavy gunshot, but she never turned as she raced past one of the horse-drawn carriages that rimmed Central Park.
    The driver had his