For Services Rendered Read Online Free Page A

sitting and smoothed a strand of gray-blonde hair back from her forehead. Kitty stopped humming, her eyes flicking from Dr. Phillips back to Claire.
    "About the same. Aren't you, Kitty?" He smiled down at his patient, and Kitty preened, stretching like a cat.
    Claire heard the absence of encouragement in his flat statement. She knew he really cared, that he sympathized with the plight of both of them, but he never held out false hope. He told Claire once that he considered it a criminal act to give people hope when no hope existed.
    "Better to let them face the truth. Then they can get on with their lives, make plans," he said unequivocally. Normally Claire appreciated his candor, but occasionally she wished he'd give her a comforting platitude—something she could hang onto—something that might shore up her crumbling faith and natural optimism.
    Twenty minutes later she brushed a light kiss against Kitty's soft cheek, turned on the television set, and said, "Good-bye, Mom. I'll see you soon."
    " 'Bye," Kitty said distractedly, her eyes firmly fixed on the television screen.
    To dispel her sudden sense of gloom, Claire whispered, “I love you.” There was no answer from Kitty. Claire turned and walked out the door. She could hear Kitty laughing happily and clapping her hands at some-thing she saw on television. Once again, Claire blinked back tears, this time angrily. What was wrong with her? It wasn't Kitty's fault she didn't care whether Claire stayed or not. A two-year-old couldn't be expected to understand the concept of someone else needing reassurance ... or love. A two-year-old was totally wrapped up in her own world, and the only needs she understood were hers.
    Face it! Yesterday will never be recaptured.
    Claire sighed wearily. She was exhausted, and it was after nine. As she drove home through the rain, she couldn't help thinking how wonderful it would be to have someone to go home to. Someone who would understand her plight and who would share her burden. But what man in his right mind would want to be shackled by Claire's problems?
     
    * * *
     
    The next morning dawned bright and nearly cloudless—the front gone toward the Louisiana coast—and the air had an invigorating nip to it. On days like this, Claire's spirits always lifted. But by the time she reached her office, her good mood was tempered by a return of yesterday's anxiety. Just thinking about going up to the 50th floor at nine o'clock caused a knot to form in her breast, and by the time the hands of the clock showed five minutes to nine, her stomach was jumping.
    She took several deep breaths as she rode up on the express elevator. It was ridiculous to be so nervous. Nick Callahan wouldn't bite her.
    The elevator dinged its arrival. The doors slid open, and as she stepped off onto thick gray carpeting, she forced herself to breathe evenly. She was proud of her easy smile and relaxed voice as she greeted Wanda.
    "Mr. Callahan is expecting you, Miss Kendrick. He said for you to go right in." The secretary returned Claire's smile and gestured her in the direction of Nick Callahan's office, then returned to squinting at her com-puter terminal.
    The heavy walnut doors stood open and bright sunlight poured through the plate glass windows. Claire could see the cathedral-like peaks of the NCNB Center building and the angled glass roofs of Pennzoil Place as she glanced at the view.
    Nick Callahan rose to greet her, extending his tanned hand. She took his hand and clasped it firmly, looking him straight in the eye.
    He returned her handshake and smiled briefly. If possible, his eyes looked even bluer this morning in the strong sunlight. Claire could feel herself responding to his compelling gaze. That, coupled with the aura of power he exuded, were enough to cause her pulse to flutter. No wonder he was such a respected and feared adversary.
    "Good morning, Miss Kendrick."
    "Good morning."
    "Please have a seat." He waited until she'd taken one of the