“And the other…you said it was a friend.”
“Yeah, a writer friend has been bugging me to do this with him. I put him off for a while but finally agreed because I like him and so I’d have an excuse to come to Portland. He’ll be here in a week or so. I’ll do some scouting shots for him until he arrives so he can decide what he wants to include.”
“I’m always envious of the time magazine writers seem to have to figure out what to write. The cover this week? It was so interesting I could have spent months researching it. But I only got a few weeks.”
“You’re spending more than a few weeks on the story you were talking about in Washington, aren’t you?”
“Only because I can’t get anything nailed down.”
“Still smoke and mirrors?”
“Still.”
They talked for a half hour until she finished her beer. “I better get home.”
“No chance you’d…” He didn’t finish the sentence but from the look in his eyes she knew what he was asking.
She shook her head. “Tomorrow and the rest of what we have to do to get the paper out will arrive at all too early an hour.”
He settled the bill with the server and they walked to the lobby of the hotel. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow’s great.”
“What’s your favorite restaurant?”
“Higgins.”
“Higgins, it is. Will seven-thirty work?”
“Make it eight, just in case I have some last minute stuff on my story.”
“I’ll make reservations and meet you there.” He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her, stopping just before she ran out of breath and the will to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”
She started toward the revolving door then stopped and called to his retreating back. “Nick?”
“Yes?” He turned as he answered her.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
• • •
In the elevator going up to his floor, Nick consoled himself with knowing Fiona had been glad to see him, had squeezed in a drink around what was clearly a hectic schedule, and had agreed to dinner the next night even if she hadn’t been eager to jump into his bed, which is what he’d have preferred. But he was happy with what he got—another chance the next night.
Ever since the week she’d spent in Washington, he’d been obsessed with getting to see her again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this intrigued by a woman. Maybe it was because he could sense she was holding something back, in spite of the amazing time they’d had in D.C. He didn’t know what it could be, but he sure as hell wanted to find out.
Which was why he wasn’t staying with Amanda. With a meddling sister, his brother-in-law the cop, and his nosy four-year-old niece, the idea of getting to know more about Fiona while he was staying there was laughable. Not to mention he’d have a hard time convincing her to let him sneak her in and out of the guest room.
Amanda had sounded disappointed when he’d told her he wouldn’t be staying with them. When he explained his writer expected him to be downtown and accessible, she reluctantly accepted the idea. He hadn’t told her the writer wouldn’t be in town for a week.
Nor had he told her how he got the assignment. Hell, he hadn’t told Fiona the whole story. He’d turned down the job of photographing in the Cascades for a better paying gig in Belize. He’d referred his friend Travis to another photographer. But after his time with Fiona he’d called Travis and told him he’d changed his mind.
Once he convinced Travis he needed to go to Portland, he had to find a gig for the photographer Travis had hired in his place, get out of the assignment in Belize without pissing off a favorite client and move up the timing for the earthquake shoot. All for the chance to pursue Fiona to Portland. Seeing her tonight, ink on her face and everything, convinced him all the work was worth it. He’d been to Belize. She was way more interesting.
Not wanting to look like she’d been the victim of a natural disaster when she saw Nick again, Fiona took a change of clothes to work the next day. When she’d donned the dress, slipped on the heels, refreshed her makeup, and fluffed her hair, the “wow” she got from her boss gave her some confidence the dark teal green pencil dress and matching shrug had been a good choice.
Nick’s reaction confirmed it. He was waiting inside the door at Higgins when she arrived and the look in his eyes as he kissed her could have peeled the paint off the walls. The host was impressed, although at a somewhat less heated level. Before Nick could identify himself and the time of their reservation, the man behind the desk said, “Fiona! You look great! Where’ve you been? We’ve missed you.”
“Hi, Jim. Thanks. I’ve been slammed. I was back East, then chasing a story here.” She turned to her date. “This is Nick St. Claire, Amanda’s brother. He’s a photojournalist in town on assignment. Be nice to him, will you?”
“Of course we will. I wondered if you were related to Amanda when I saw your name. And if you’d told us who you were with, Mr. St. Claire, we’d have known where to seat you. Luckily, Fiona’s favorite table’s free.”
Nick laughed. “Believe me, if I’d known throwing around the names of my sister and my date would get me a good table, I’d have told you.”
“Welcome to Oregon, Nick,” Fiona said as she followed the host, “where the whole state’s a small town. Not everyone likes being only three degrees separated from everyone else but I love it.”
Love it? She wouldn’t have it any other way.
Jim seated them at a table in the lower level by the window where it was quiet; almost secluded. When their server came to take drink orders she asked if Fiona was having her usual. She nodded. Nick said, “I’ll have the same.”
“You’re very trusting,” Fiona said when the server left. “Suppose it’s some sort of frou frou girly drink.”
“First, you never ordered one when we were in D.C. And second, the fact you’d call it a frou frou girly drink shows my confidence isn’t misplaced.”
“I hope you like Maker’s Mark Manhattans straight up.”
“My favorite bourbon.” He closed the menu. “And since you seem to be on a roll, why don’t you order for both of us.”
Not sure what to make of it, she took a moment before replying, finally going with, “You’re an interesting man, Nick St. Claire.”
“I’m trying to be.”
“Really? How come?”
“I shouldn’t think it would take an investigative reporter to figure it out.” His smile was slow in appearing but seductive when it showed up.
She cocked her head and stared at him again, trying to read in his hazel eyes what he meant, not sure she was ready for what she saw. Finally she dropped her gaze and opened her menu. “Everything here is good. Greg Higgins, the owner, was one of the first people in the region to go locavore.”
He let her diversionary tactic hang for a moment before saying, “I always think that word sounds funny. If an herbivore eats vegetables and a carnivore eats meat, it follows a locavore should eat the natives, doesn’t it?”
“You’ve met some strange people in your travels. Or have you’ve eaten some strange food?” She went back to perusing the menu. “I think I’ll pick out dinner without following either of those trains of thought.” Ignoring Nick’s laugh she went on. “Greg’s loyalty to local growers is one of the reasons I like this place. The other, of course, is I like what they do with the ingredients.”
Their server returned with their Manhattans and recited the specials. When she left, Fiona raised her glass and said, “Here’s to a successful visit.”
Nick clinked glasses with her. “Thank you. I hope I get what I came for, too.”
He probably meant his photographs but Fiona couldn’t help wondering—and hoping—it wasn’t all he meant.
When the server came back for their order, Nick handed her his menu and said, “Ms. McCarthy is ordering for both of us.” Fiona smiled and said, “We’ll split the spring greens and hazelnut salad to start and have the duck on the menu and the halibut special.”
The order taken care of, their menus and the server disappeared. “Dinner sounds great,” Nick said. “But I was surprised there was no salmon on offer.”
“I think we’re between seasons—too late for one run, too early for another. My favorite is Copper River salmon, but the season’s still about a month or so away.” She handed the wine list to him. “Here, I left the hard part for you—picking out a wine to go with both duck and halibut.”
Nick motioned to their server and, when she got there, engaged in a long discussion about wines culminating in the selection of an Oregon Pinot Noir.
They had just settled back with their drinks again when there was yet another interruption, this time from Duke Wellington. He approached the table, his hand out to Fiona. “I thought that was you. With your red hair, you can’t hide very well, can you?” he said as they shook hands. “How’s your story on our little foundation coming? Can we expect to be inundated with calls from admirers of your prose any time soon?”
“It’s coming along just fine, thanks. Not sure when we plan to run it, but I’ll let you know when it does.” She indicated her date. “Duke, this is Nick St. Claire. He’s a photojournalist here on assignment. Nick, meet Duke Wellington. He’s started a very interesting foundation funding green energy start-ups.”
“Nice to meet you,” Wellington said. Nick had stood and the two men shook hands. “St. Claire. I don’t suppose you’re related to our Amanda St. Claire, are you?”
“I am. She’s my sister.”
“I have two pieces of her work. If your photographic images are as good as her glass, your parents raised two remarkable artists.”
“Thank you. They would be pleased with the compliment.”
“Well, I don’t want to interrupt you two anymore than I already have. I was just on my way out and wanted to let Fiona know I’d seen her. Nice to meet you, Nick. See you again, Fiona, I’m sure.”
What the hell did that mean; he wanted to let me know he’d seen me? And I’m not able to hide? How creepy was that?
Watching him leave, Nick had a puzzled expression on his face. He stared after Duke Wellington for a few moments before taking his seat again. “Why do I get an uneasy feeling about him?”
“You, too? I had a similar feeling when I interviewed him recently, but I can’t put my finger on why.”
“There’s just something off about him, like he’s putting on an act.”
“Maybe it’s knowing he’s one of the guys I’ve been hearing is behind what I’m digging into that’s tainting my opinion of him. Or maybe it’s just his well-known dislike of the press. I don’t know.”
The salad arrived as she was finishing up her musings and Duke Wellington disappeared from their conversation.
They’d finished their salad and were talking, Nick with his hand over hers, when two couples followed the host down the short flight of steps to their part of the restaurant. The first couple consisted of a tall, handsome, dark-haired man, his hand at the small of the back of an equally dark-haired woman not much shorter in her heels than he was. Both were in their thirties and dressed in business clothes.
The second couple looked more casual. The man wore dark denim jeans and cowboy boots with a tan jacket and a white dress shirt and had his arm around the shoulders of a woman in a short, flippy skirt and a lace-edged blouse. Her impossibly high platform sandals looked like an attempt to make her five-foot-nothing self get a bit closer to the height of the man she was with.
Fiona quickly moved her hand from under Nick’s and waved at Margo Keyes and her husband, Tony Alessandro. Nick stood up to kiss his sister, Amanda, and say hello to her husband, Sam Richardson.
“So this is the previous engagement keeping you from having dinner with us, is it, Nicky?” Amanda said as she hugged her brother. She bent and kissed Fiona. “And you, my friend, have been keeping things from me, haven’t you?”
Fiona was happy when Margo interjected, “What’re you two doing here?”
“Duh. Eating dinner. And how’d you both do in court today?” Fiona replied.
“How’d you know we were in court today?”
“Your hair is up in a twist and you’re both in very nice looking suits. Court’s the only place anyone dresses up for any more,” Fiona said.
“Very observant. And correct. Tony had his first outing in a Multnomah County court as the arresting officer. I won the case I was prosecuting, which prominently featured the testimony of one Detective Sam Richardson who, in spite of the fact he defies your stereotype about dressing up for court, was very persuasive with my jury. So, when he told me he and Amanda were celebrating, we decided to tag along.”
“Celebrating the triumph of justice over evil-doers are you, Sam?” Nick asked.
“We’re not celebrating my accomplishments tonight, as impressive as they are. We’re celebrating your sister’s. She’s just signed with a gallery in New York and she’ll be having a solo show there,” Sam said.
“Awesome, Amanda” Nick said, kissing his sister again. “How come you didn’t tell me about it when we talked?”
“I just got it firmed up today. I tried to get hold of you this afternoon to tell you and see if your ‘previous engagement’ was still on, but I couldn’t reach you. Were you out shooting without your phone?” Amanda said.
“I was at Mt. St. Helens. Had a phone but no reception in spots. And, to be honest, I was in a hurry when I got back and didn’t check for messages.”
“No cell coverage? That’s not good, Nicky. Were you alone? You shouldn’t go places alone if you can’t be sure you’ll have cell phone coverage.”
“Did you know there was no reception at all when I was in the Amazon six months ago?”
“No, I didn’t, but I don’t live in the Amazon and wouldn’t have Mom on my back if something happened to you. She’d be after some magazine, not me. You really shouldn’t be out there alone.”
“Amanda,” her husband interrupted, “maybe you could have this conversation with your brother when he doesn’t have a dinner companion with him. What do you think?”
“Thanks, Sam. I appreciate the help,” Nick said. “A lecture from my sister on looking both ways before I cross the street doesn’t exactly put me in the best light when I’m trying to impress a woman.”
“Sorry, Fiona, I’m behaving like…” Amanda started.