From No stone Unturned...
Curiosity tugged at his brain, daring him to turn it around, to steal a peek at the mystery subject who had earned the privilege to grace the Irishman's private sanctuary. Elliott glanced over his shoulder toward the open door of the library, his spirits lifted twofold by the fact that the hallway was empty and that the floors ware hardwood. Certainly any approaching sound of footsteps on their polished surface would be ample warning to return the frame to its proper place. Without further hesitation, he reached for it. A gasp escaped his lips at the sight of what the frame contained, for he found himself staring at the picture of a beautiful young woman.
Twenty? Twenty-five? Elliott had never been a good judge of female ages, owing to their tricks with makeup and hair. His first impression, though, was that she was quite a bit younger than McCain. A pretty girl, he thought, her heart-shaped face almost overwhelmed by a curly mane of strawberry blond hair that fell past her shoulders and defied any semblance of taming. Wide blue eyes and an impish, lip-glossed grin could even place her age somewhere in the high teens, Elliott speculated, all of which made her relationship to McCain more puzzling.
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