In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) (13 page)

She considered the torte in her lap. "That proves how amazing your story was. There isn't much that can distract me from
chocolate."

As they dug into their cake, Nick turned the focus of the
conversation back on Rachel, querying her about her music, and
laughing over some of her kids-do-the-darnedest-things tales.
He insisted on helping with the cleanup, ditching his jacket,
loosening his tie, and rolling up his sleeves as he rinsed and
stacked the plates, mugs, and silverware in her dishwasher.

"Thanks for pitching in with the dishes, Nick:" Rachel wiped
down the counter and dried her hands on a towel.

Somewhere along the way they'd slipped into first names.
Nick couldn't pinpoint when it had happened. But it felt natural-and comfortable.

"It was the least I could do after the great meal you provided:"
He rolled his sleeves back down and checked his watch. He
wouldn't mind hanging around for a while, but the invitation
had been for dinner-and dinner was over. He didn't want to
overstay his welcome. "I better be going. The snow's piling up"
He indicated the kitchen window, where flakes continued to
swirl against the glass. "Besides, I've infringed enough on your
plans for reading that good book"

Her momentary blank look suggested the book Rachel had mentioned had lost its allure. Her next words confirmed that.
"It will keep" She leaned back against the counter, gripping it
with both hands. "I had a good time tonight, Nick"

He gave her a slow smile. "I did too. Maybe we can do it
again"

"I'd like that:"

Their gazes locked, and Nick had to fight down the temptation
to steal a kiss from those tantalizing lips. Although it seemed
like a fitting end to their unexpected Valentine dinner, he was
uncertain how Rachel would react. And he wasn't about to shoot
himself in the foot by coming on too strong to a woman he
hoped to see a whole lot more of.

"Let me get my jacket:" With a triumph of will over desire, he
returned to the dining room and snagged his suit coat off the
back of the chair where he'd draped it. As he slipped his arms
into the sleeves, Rachel retrieved his overcoat from the closet by
the front door. She handed it to him in silence when he joined
her, and he shrugged it on.

"I hope the roads are okay." A slight tremor ran through her
words, and her fingers weren't quite steady as she flipped the
lock on the door and cracked it open.

It didn't take a psychic to detect her nervousness. And while
he saw yearning in her eyes, it was tempered with worry. And
uncertainty.

Definitely no kiss tonight.

Instead, he stroked a gentle finger along the elegant curve
of her cheekbone-and heard the breath catch in her throat.
"Thank you for a memorable Valentine's Day, Rachel. I'll be in
touch:"

"I'd like that:" She pulled the door open, admitting a gusty
flurry of snowflakes. "Drive safe"

With a wave of acknowledgment, he bent his head into the
wind and strode toward his car. Stalks of dead foliage poked above the accumulating snow along the walk, bringing to mind
the wilting daisies Rachel had pitched soon after he'd arrived.

Why wasn't there a man in her life who cared enough to
send flowers on this special day? She was smart, pretty, wellread. She had a good sense of humor, great instincts, fabulous
listening skills. It blew his mind that some guy hadn't snatched
her up by now.

How she'd managed to remain single into her thirties was a
puzzle he couldn't solve. But he did know one thing.

A woman like Rachel deserved roses on Valentine's Day.

The long-stemmed beauties came on Saturday afternoon, accompanied by a simple "Thank you for a wonderful dinner" note.
There was a small postscript at the bottom. "I found a match at
the restaurant. I wish all my cases were that easy to solve:'

As Rachel tore off the green tissue and inhaled the pleasing
fragrance of the crimson blooms, a smile played at her lips. She
hadn't expected Nick to send flowers, but she wasn't surprised
he had. He struck her as that kind of guy. A man who paid his
debts and always tried to do the right thing. A man of integrity,
who was strong enough to admit he didn't have all the answers
and wasn't afraid to acknowledge his reliance on God. A man
who believed in giving back and helping others. A man who
could dominate her thoughts-and dreams.

Her other impressions might be perception, but the last was
fact. He'd been doing it since he left her at the door last night,
keeping her sleepless into the wee hours of the morning.

Good thing she didn't have any urgent tasks on her agenda
today.

Rachel set the vase on the trunk in the living room and fingered a velvet petal, rearranged a spray of baby's breath, adjusted
the red satin ribbon.

No one had ever sent her roses.

She tried to temper her rush of pleasure with a dose of reality,
cautioning herself that it might be standard procedure for Nick to
reciprocate with flowers for favors. But even that caution didn't diminish her pleasure in the gesture. Nor lessen her yearning to
know more about him. What he'd told her had merely whetted
her appetite. Dozens of questions had sprung to mind last night
as he'd given her a condensed version of his history.

What had happened to his mother?

Why had the state taken him away from his father?

What sort of behavior and attitude issues had he grappled
with as a child?

How had he found his way to God?

Why wasn't he married?

And those were just the tip of the iceberg.

But Rachel suspected Nick wouldn't be comfortable with
most of those topics. She'd watched him struggle with his brief
disclosures last night. While she was touched-and gratefulhe'd made the effort, she knew there was much he'd left unsaid.
That he'd wrestled with difficult challenges, and that many of his
lessons had been learned in the school of hard knocks. Yet he'd
turned into a man who chose to fight crime rather than commit
it. A man who rescued houses and prayed and sent roses.

She was intrigued. And she wanted details.

Considering his reticence last night, however, in the light of
day he might decide to stay far away from the woman who had
nudged him beyond his comfort level. Perhaps the roses were
his way of fulfilling his "I'll be in touch" promise.

If she were the praying kind, Rachel would ask God to let the
flowers be the beginning, not the end.

But whatever fate held in store, she'd never forget her impromptu Valentine date. It would always serve as a reminder that
life can be graced by unexpected pleasures, as Nick had noted
in his blessing before the meal. And that it can be changed by
seemingly chance events.

Like meeting a caring cop.

Or finding a battered Raggedy Ann doll.

Claudia drummed her manicured nails on the steering wheel
and huffed out a frustrated breath as she stared at the building
across the street, behind the black iron fence. Her Mondaymorning mission to the FBI office had been a bust. Showing up
in person had done zip for her cause. Ellen Levine, the media
relations manager, had been cordial but close-mouthed.

Why her editor had suddenly gotten scruples about this article was beyond her. Stacy had approved Mitch's stupid fluff
piece on dueling chefs at two rival restaurants. Like that was
really going to sell papers. Who cared which guy's toasted ravioli tasted better?

Her article, on the other hand, was both meaty and compelling. She'd done hours of research, unearthing some pretty interesting stuff in the process-including a legendary local psychic
from forty years ago who had actually provided assistance to
law enforcement. That was her claim in interviews, anyway. And
the cops hadn't denied it. But that local angle hadn't been good
enough for Stacy. No, her editor wanted a current psychic with
proven law enforcement connections to lead off the piece.

And Rachel Sutton was the only one Claudia had been able
to find.

Unfortunately, the woman had refused to confirm she'd talked
to the FBI.

Too bad she couldn't corral an agent or two, Claudia mused,
watching as two tall men in suits exited the building, perhaps
heading for lunch. But neither the dark-haired man or the allAmerican guy was likely to talk. FBI agents were well-schooled in
how to deal with the media. They'd send her back to Levine.

The two men headed in the opposite direction, and she turned
the key in the ignition, disgusted.

What a way to start the work week.

But she wasn't giving up yet. An idea would come to her.

It always did.

"I'll have a small house salad with low-fat dressing:" Mark
closed his menu and handed it to the waitress.

"What happened to your usual burger?" Nick arched an eyebrow.

"I overdid the calories Friday night. I need to cut back this
week"

"Hmm. Turkey club for me, Nick told the waitress, passing
over the laminated menu. "Was it worth it?"

"Oh yeah." Mark leaned back in the booth and grinned. "The
food was great. But the company was even better. A perfect Valentine's Day. What did you end up doing? Wait ... let me guess."
He pretended to give it serious consideration. "You worked on
the house"

"For a while" Nick selected a pack of crackers he didn't want
from the small basket on the Formica table in the diner, tore it
open, and popped one in his mouth. He'd been too keyed up
to sleep when he arrived home Friday night and had spent a
couple of hours installing crown molding in the master bedroom.
Meaning his response wasn't a lie. "Speaking of houses, did you
and Emily do any hunting this weekend? I thought your goal
was to be out of her condo by spring"

"It is and no, we didn't. The snow gave us a good excuse to
stay home and ... veg" He winked and his grin broadened.

One side of Nick's mouth quirked up. "Still in the honeymoon phase, I see. Anyway, there's a nice fixer-upper in my
neighborhood:"

"Forget it. I've already inhaled my lifetime allotment of drywall dust, thanks to you"

"I warned you about that before you came last summer"

"I assumed your reference to the house as a construction site
was an exaggeration, not a literal description"

"I'm always honest"

"So I learned. By the way, did you ever figure out how the
press heard about the doll lady?"

"Yeah. She'd asked a friend whose husband is a cop to see what
he recommended, and they talked about it when they went out
to dinner. I called the restaurant, and the manager ran the credit
card receipts from that night. The reporter was there"

"How did you find out the woman talked to her friend
about it?"

"She told me"

"You didn't mention that when you called me Friday night to
check if Emily or I had mentioned the story to anyone"

This was starting to get sticky.

"I asked her after that:"

"You called this woman back on your night off ?"

"No" Nick popped the other cracker in his mouth.