The outer reception desk was empty, but the heavy mahogany door to Spencer’s private office stood three inches open.

Inside, Brielle Foster was bent over his desk, pulling files out of the bottom cabinet.

The brass hinges groaned under my hand as I pushed the door open wider.

Brielle straightened up from the desk, her face going pale in the bright light from the window.

She immediately laid both hands low on her stomach, pressing her palms against her wool skirt.

“Mrs.