First chapter disclaimers

Webb stared morosely at the large sedan that sat in his mother's garage. He had fled to his mother's house for refuge as soon as Rabb had left his office. He had needed time to think. What Clay got was the keys to the one rusty car owned by his immediate family.

Porter Webb had some sort of sentimental attachment to the rattle trap that involved Clay's father. Never had Clay asked what importance the car held, but he had a strong suspicion that it involved an occurrence nine months before he was born.

In any case, the reason his mother kept the car was of no importance. The fact that Clay had to go get gas in it was. His mother's chauffer had broken his foot. The butler was out getting groceries, and for some unfathomable reason, Clayton Webb had been arbitrarily selected to go fill the tank up.

He eyed the car warily. It did not especially like him. He was a sporty car man, or a big expensive import car man. Old Ford sedans were not on the top of his 'to drive' list. He really did not care if they were considered 'classics.' Still, he had promised his mother, and Clayton Webb did not break his promises to his mother, his friends, maybe, but not his mother.

It was with great relief that he finally pulled into the gas station. His original plan of action had been modified from the time he had left his mother's garage to the time he arrived. First he had gotten an emergency call from the office. Two hours later, He had fixed the situation and ruined his best suit. Half an hour after that, he had bought a pair of cheap blue jeans and a tee-shirt from a local WalMart and dropped his suit off for dry cleaning.

This led him to having to stop at a different gas station then he had originally intended to stop at. He hated this particular gas station.

Despite being from an affluent family, Clayton Webb had spent two years of high school in the public system. His smaller size and larger wallet had incited many rounds of bullying from the local jocks. One of those said jocks owned this particular franchise store of a national gas company. The said jock also remembered Clay vividly. What was worse was that the man was determined to treat Clay not as a customer, but as the lesser human being that he had been in high school.

There was, however, no avoiding this particular gas station. He did not have enough fuel to make it anywhere else.

Clay had miraculously managed to slip in and out without being noticed when something horrible happened. He was about to swing into the driver's seat of the car when he looked over to the other side of the pump he was parked at.

Meg stared back at him.

"Meg," Clay choked out in what he hoped was a friendly 'don't hurt me' way.

"Clay, this must be your day off?" Meg responded as she eyed his attire.

"Yes, I'm actually filling up my mother's gas tank for her."

"That's nice that you'd use your discount here for your mother."

"My wha…" Clay's comment was broken off by a loud bellowing from the store.

"Clay! How dare you not say hi?" A large man rolled out of the store towards Webb, "Why, if Lucy hadn't told me you'd just been in, I would have missed you! It isn't neighborly to ignore your fellow workers," the man finished with a sneer.

Webb resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the obnoxious man. It had been a standing joke in school that Webb would never have to work a day in his life. Cruel jokes on that theme had become standard during the short time he was not in a private school.

"I was just in a hurry," Webb smiled politely back. He turned to talk to Meg again, but found that she had slipped away into the store to pay her bill. Webb debated the wisdom of waiting for her. Any way he looked at it, it would end up in a big scene. A fight with his ex and a childhood bully at a Seven-Eleven was not what he would call a successful adventure. So, he took off.

Meg came back out of the store as soon as she saw Clay's car leave. It was silly. She had swung by the store to see if she could catch a glimpse of Clay. Then when she saw him she ran like a chicken. Meg shook her head. When had she gotten this way? And how did she punish Clay for making her this way? And, most importantly, how did she lure the man back?

Harm stared at Meg as inconspicuously as possible when she came in for work the next day. He had tried all night to picture her with Webb. After five hours, he had managed to envision them having coffee at a Starbucks together. But for the life of him, he could not imagine what Meg saw in Webb, or, for that matter, what Webb saw in Meg.

Okay, so Webb did appear to have a thing for blonds. But, really, Meg would drive Web insane after a while. It was not in Meg's nature to be sneaky, underhanded, or generally Webbish. She would be constantly nagging him about he behavior.

Harm smiled a little. That explained the attraction on Webb's part. What did Meg see?

From a purely physical standpoint, Clay was an attractive man. At least, that was what Mac had told him. He played the cello and women loved musicians. Although, Meg did not know that, and Meg did not know that Clay was wealthy.

That only meant that Meg had to be attracted to Webb's personality. It was a chilling thought, but it had to be it. Meg liked a good mystery, and Webb could be an enigma.

Satisfied that he had deduced what he could, Harm went back to work.

In doing so, he missed Clayton Webb's entrance. The afore mentioned spy slunk quickly along the walls until he reached the door to Meg's office. After a quick knock, he gained permission to enter.

Meg looked up from her computer screen. "Clay? How did you get in here?"

"Well, it isn't very hard. I just said that I had official business with you."

Meg motioned for him to sit down, "You know, I really didn't expect to see you here. I'm touched that you tracked me down and actually came here."

"Oh, it was no problem, really. I was in the neighborhood."

"Clay, I need to apologize…"

"No, no you don't. Meg, I'm the one who needs to apologize. I don't apologize often, so you'd better let me go first. I'm sorry I mislead you. I had a good reason when it started, but it got out of hand."

"And I shouldn't have exploded at you. I sprung the whole thing on you; you had to have been quite shocked."

"Yes, well, I knew your computer skills were good. I just didn't know they were that good."

Meg smiled, "I suppose I should thank you for wearing that suit to the office."

"This suit? Why?"

"It just isn't you normal attire."

"Yes, well. My better suits are at the dry cleaners."

Meg laughed heartily, "Oh, don't. It's too funny: you, playing the primping rich boy."

"What's to fake?" the Admiral's voice came in through the open door.

"A.J." Webb nodded in greeting.

"You know the Admiral?" Meg asked astonished.

"You know him?" Chegwidden asked Meg at the same time.

Meg frowned, "I met him a while ago when I took leave and went to Texas."

Chegwidden laughed and looked over at Webb, "You were in Texas? What'd you do, put the wrong file in the paper shedder?"

"Very funny."

Meg cleared her throat, "Sir, may I ask how you two know each other?"

"We work together professionally occasionally," Clay supplied.

"Professionally," Meg echoed, "How can you work together professionally? You pump gas for a living."

"I what?" Webb's face contorted in confusion.

"Lieutenant, I assure you that Mr. Webb is not a gas jockey."

"Mr. Webb? The one Lieutenant Roberts is always talking about?"

"Heaven help us if there's another one. Wait, I thought you knew each other."

Webb sighed, "I met her on an assignment."

"Webb…"

Clay took a quick glance at Chegwidden before he bolted. How did a simple apology become so complicated?