Web of Smoke by Erin Quinn

and the frown vanished like a fleeting wisp of smoke. He coughed softly into his palm.
    “Is something wrong, Mr. Johnson?”
    “No, ma’am. Quite the contrary. I was just admiring the way you cheered up your cabinet with them flowers. What were you saying?”
    “I was just explaining that I’ll need emergency information and a deposit to hold Tommy’s place for next month.”
    “To tell the truth, Melanie—may I call you Melanie? I’m not anywhere near settled yet. Fact is, I’m still living in a hotel, eating food I have to unwrap first.” His hand muffled another cough. “I’d be happy to put down a deposit, though, if cash’s all right. I haven’t got my bank picked out yet. I’ll fill out your papers when I bring Tommy in.”
    “Of course. That’ll be just fine, Mr. John—”
    “Please, call me DC.”
    He grinned another blush out of her. Breaking free of his mesmerizing gaze, she bent to her bottom desk drawer and removed a small receipt book. “I’ll need fifty dollars and cash is fine. I’ll give you a receipt. Should I make this to DC Johnson or is DC a nickname?”
    “No ma’am. That’s my name,” he answered, passing his money across the desk to her.
    “Really? But what does DC stand for?”
    “Why, for Devoted Christian. ‘Course there’s some that say the Devil’s Choirboy is closer to the truth.” He winked. “But I don’t pay them any attention.”
    “That’s quite a range of opinion,” she said, casting a flirtatious look his way and intercepting another stare at the cabinet. Piqued, she tried harder. “Which description best suits you, I wonder?”
    “I imagine you’ll have to make up your own mind about that, ma’am.”
    A slow heat rose from the tips of her toes, traveling with dizzying speed to her face. On sensory overload, she tried to keep focused on the conversation at hand.
    “Do you have any questions about the school, DC?”
    Casually, he crossed his legs. “I assume the children are never left alone?”
    “That’s right. Never. You won’t have to worry about Tommy’s safety here, DC. Safety is our number one rule.”
    Cough. “How about when they’re napping?”
    “The children are monitored at all times.”
    “That’s good. Can’t be too safe these days.” Cough.
    “Were you transferred to San Diego, DC?”
    “That’s right. My company transfer—” Cough, cough. “Do you think I could have a glass of water, ma’am?”
    “Of course,” she said, jumping to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
    DC stayed where he was until the door clicked shut behind her. As her heels tapped the hallway floor, DC bounded out of his chair and raced to the filing cabinet. His heart banging against his ribs, he grabbed the handle of the top drawer and pulled it open. The metal squealed in protest, freezing him to the floor. He shot a look over his shoulder, half expecting her to crash through the door and demand to know what he was doing, but she didn’t.
    Adrenaline pulsing through his system, he went back to work.
    The filing system was as simplistic as Melanie Blackwell. In seconds his fingers flipped to JORDAN, JESSICA. He yanked out the file and flipped to the emergency information sheet. An old address was marked through and a new one inked in. Bingo.
    Jerking his shirttail out of his pants, he shoved the file into his waistband, flush with his back. Turning, he snatched her receipt tablet off her desk, ripped out the carbon and the next few pages and closed the booklet.
    Just as her shadow hovered outside the door he skidded to his chair. The papers crinkled against his back when he sat.
    “Here you go, DC,” she said, handing him a Dixie cup with Big Bird on the side.
    He took the water and drank. “Thank you, ma’am.”
    A film of sweat covered his upper lip and he looked pale under his tan. He wiped his face, avoiding her gaze.
    “Are you feeling all right, DC?” she asked, concerned.
    He waved her off with his hand. “Fine, fine.