[Takes place immediately after
Harry learns who the architect of the calendar plot is...]
Dropping the lid back onto the pasta, Will spun away and into the living area, his booted feet tapping out the rhythm of the loud Spanish music on the radio. Arms above his head, he twirled and stamped his feet, the hardwood floors adding a pleasing staccato to the beat. If Christian had been home, he'd never have done it, Christian being a bit . . . militant about his lovingly hand-polished floors, but he was still down in the office, so Will danced while the pasta cooked and never noticed that he was no longer alone.
Harry moved softly through the house, although the loud volume of the music virtually guaranteed that he wasn't going to be heard. Still, Will was a Ranger, and Harry wasn't going to give him any edge he didn't have to. He crept up to the radio and suddenly switched it off, an overly friendly smile on his face as Will turned to face him.
( ''Evening Scarlett.'' )