In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) (6 page)

It was the weirdest thing he'd ever seen.

"Let me get you some water" He took a step toward the
door.

"No. I'll be okay." She resettled her glasses with fingers that weren't yet steady and aimed a probing look in his direction.
"Now do you believe me?"

In all honesty, he didn't have a clue what to believe. He couldn't
deny what he'd witnessed, but neither could he explain it. Picking up the doll, he examined it, searching for some explanation.
But the smiling face offered no answers. Nor did he experience
any reaction when he touched it. Only Rachel seemed attuned
to its vibes.

He set the doll back on the table, took his seat again, and
picked up his pen. "Why don't you give me some contact information, Ms. Sutton? Let's start with address and phone
number"

"Does that mean you're going to check into this?"

He thought about spewing the standard line. That all tips were
taken seriously and would be given due consideration. Instead,
he decided the clear-eyed woman across from him-who he
suspected had come here against her better judgment, knowing
she faced ridicule-deserved honesty.

"I don't know what I'm going to do:" He tapped his pen on
the wood-grained surface of the table. "I saw your reaction to
the doll. It was unsettling. But whether it indicates a third-party
crime or just some very idiosyncratic response ... I have no
idea. I want to think about it"

After a moment, she gave a slow nod. "I guess that's fair. What
do you need from me?"

Once she'd answered all his questions, she picked up his card
and stood to retrieve her coat. He beat her to it, holding the
sleeves as she slid her arms inside. The unusual teal-blue hue
caught his eye.

"Pretty color"

A brief smile toyed at her lips as she shrugged the coat into
position on her shoulders. "Winter is dreary enough. This brightens it up a bit:"

"Nice thought. I'll walk you out"

Surprise flickered in her velvety brown irises. "That's not
necessary."

"Where did you park?"

"Around the corner."

"It's necessary." Without waiting for her to reply, he crossed
to the door of the interview room and opened it.

She regarded him without moving. "I'm used to taking care
of myself, Agent Bradley."

"And I'm used to protecting people. It's my job:" He gave her
an engaging grin. "Look at it this way. It's dark, and the muggers
are out in full force. FBI agents aren't too happy when crimes
are committed in their own backyard"

Buttoning her coat, Rachel capitulated with a fleeting smile
and a slight lift of one shoulder. "How can I argue with that?"

"It would be tough"

The hint of a chuckle escaped her soft lips as she passed him,
and he caught a whiff of a faint, pleasing scent. Nice.

Exiting the building, he motioned toward some slick patches
on the sidewalk as they struck out toward her car. "Watch the
ice. Those are puddles during the day, but they have a tendency
to freeze at night:"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a slippery spot
caught Rachel off guard. His arm shot out to steady her, and she
quickly regained her balance. "Are you okay?"

"Yes" Her reply came out a bit breathless as she secured her
glasses on her nose. "Thanks for the save. I wouldn't want these
to go flying. I'm blind as a bat without them"

As they continued toward her car, he maintained a loose grip
on her arm. Had he not done so, he doubted he would have
noticed the very slight hitch in her gait. A permanent handicap,
or a recent injury?

When they arrived at her car, she withdrew her keys from her purse and faced him. "Look ... I'd like to thank you for not
laughing at my story."

"The reaction you had wasn't funny."

She acknowledged his comment with a dip of her head, then
slid into the driver's seat. "Good night, Agent Bradley."

"Good night" He shut her door, lifted a hand in farewell, and
strode back down the sidewalk. A quick glance at his watch
confirmed he was already running late for dinner. He needed to
shift gears and forget about work for the next few hours.

But thanks to a lovely woman with a doll, he had a feeling
that wasn't going to be so easy to do.

As Nick Bradley disappeared into the night, Rachel drew a
long, shaky breath.

The last half hour had been tense. Very tense.

But it could have been worse. At least the FBI agent had given
her a fair hearing. If he laughed with his colleagues later, so be
it. In person, he'd allowed her to hold on to her dignity despite
her bizarre story. He deserved high marks for that.

She'd give him high marks in other areas too. Her first impression of him when he'd walked through the door had been
classic all-American boy. At six-foot-one or two, with sandy
hair and a lean, athletic build, he fit that description to a T. But
as they'd talked, she'd realized the firm jaw and fine lines at the
corners of his eyes spoke of maturity and seasoning, hinting at a
toughness not immediately apparent under his engaging smile.
The man projected a sense of leashed power and control, and
Rachel had a feeling he'd seen his share of rough-and-tumble
action, despite his appealing boy-next-door looks. A faint scar
above his temple suggested as much.

It was an arresting combination.

He had also struck her as a man who weighed evidence and
options. Rather than entertain wild speculations, he seemed
more the sort who would thoughtfully consider facts and draw
sound conclusions.

In other words, he had been the perfect man to share her
story with.

As she fitted her key in the ignition, a sudden, odd tingle
that felt an awful lot like attraction quivered in the pit of her
stomach.

Now where in the world had that come from? They'd met
less than half an hour ago. And she'd told him a bizarre story
that, despite his professional courtesy, probably relegated her
to fruitcake land. Besides, even though the third finger on his
left hand was bare, he had to have a wife or a hot date waiting
for him. No guy that handsome would be unattached.

Opening her window halfway, Rachel filled her lungs with
the chilly night air, hoping to clear her head-and chase away
any fanciful notions about Special Agent Nick Bradley. There
was no way a man like him would have any interest in a woman
who claimed to get messages from dolls. And she didn't blame
him.

As for the doll-in spite of his civility, for all she knew he was
at this very moment throwing Raggedy Ann in his trash can.

But that was beyond her control. She'd done everything she
could by turning the doll over to the authorities.

And as far as she was concerned, that was the end of the
story.

An hour later, as Nick approached the table for five tucked into
a private alcove in the quiet West County restaurant, Mark
Sanders raised a glass in welcome. "Finally. We were about to
call in the FBI. Wait ... we are the FBI" He grinned and set the
glass back on the table.

"Sorry I'm late." Nick dispensed hugs to Emily and Monica and
shook hands with Mark and Coop, pausing beside the pumpkin
seat next to Monica on the banquette to run a gentle finger down
the cheek of two-month-old Michael David Callahan. "I've been
looking forward to meeting the newest member of the Cooper
clan. Handsome little guy."

"What else would you expect, with Monica for a mother?"
Coop put his arm around his wife of fifteen months and gave
her a gentle squeeze.

Soft color suffused Monica's face, and she shook her head
with a rueful smile. `Blushing. The bane of redheads'

"Russet. That's the color of your hair," Coop corrected, fingering a strand as he examined it. "Like burnished leaves in
autumn."

"Whoa! Former HRT member turns poetic. I ought to tell the
guys:" Mark helped himself to a stuffed mushroom cap from the
appetizer tray in the center of the table as he ribbed his former
Hostage Rescue Team partner.

"You could:" Coop perused the array of appetizers, lingering
over his selection of a toasted ravioli. "But then I'd have to tell them about the rose petals you had the florist sprinkle all over
the bed in your honeymoon cottage at Wren Lake'

"Rose petals?" Nick took the empty chair beside Mark and
grinned. "Getting in touch with our feminine side, are we?"

"Knock it off, Mark growled, his neck turning ruddy.

"I thought it was very romantic" Emily tucked her arm through
Mark's, her golden blonde hair shimmering in the subdued lighting. "But how did you know?" she asked Coop.

"Mark ran the idea by me. I told him it would be overkill and
advised against it, but he ignored me"

"Good for you, Mark, Monica chimed in. "I agree with Emily.
It was very romantic. In fact, the whole wedding sounded romantic. I'll always be sorry I missed it"

"If this little guy hadn't disrupted our plans by arriving two
weeks late you wouldn't have" Coop reached across Monica and
folded the blanket more securely around the infant. "Trust me,
the best man would have been happier to have his best lady by
his side." After aiming a smile at Monica, he refocused on Mark.
"You know, the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced
that rose petal tale deserves telling."

"Coop."

At Mark's warning tone, Coop chuckled. "Don't worry. I can't
imagine any of the HRT guys believing either story, anyway. You,
romantic; me, poetic. Nah"

"You guys miss the team at all?" Nick took a sip of the raspberry iced tea Mark must have ordered for him. Everyone at the
office knew he was addicted to it.

"Once in a while," Coop admitted. "But I like the teaching gig
at Quantico. And I especially like being home at night-now
that I have a family to go home to"

"I agree, Mark seconded. "I wasn't sure if going back to fieldwork would be challenging enough after the HRT, but heading
the reactive squad here keeps things interesting. And the hours for agents are a whole lot better than for HRT operators. Although you must have gotten tied up at the office tonight:' Mark
directed his comment to Nick.

"Yeah. We had a walk-in not long before closing. I drew the
short straw."

"Tough break," Mark sympathized. "Was it some hanger-on
who wanted to tell you his life story?"

"It wasn't a him. It was a her. And she wasn't a hanger-on.
Just the opposite. She couldn't wait to leave"

"That's a switch"

The waiter appeared to take their orders, and the conversation
shifted gears as they debated the merits of pork tenderloin with
a rosemary glaze versus the asparagus and prosciutto risotto
special of the day.

Nick wasn't sorry for the distraction. In general, when someone showed up at the office with a bizarre tip, the story circulated around the bull pen and everyone had a good laugh.
But for some reason, he didn't want people laughing at Rachel
Sutton.

Instead of letting the subject drop, however, Mark resumed
the conversation without missing a beat once they'd placed their
orders. "Tell us more about this mystery woman:"

"She's not a mystery. I have all her contact information. Besides, I'd rather socialize than talk about work. You're all coming
to my house for brunch on Sunday, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it;' Monica said. "After all the stories I've
heard, I want to see this place:"

"How's the drywall dust situation?" Coop asked.

"Much better than when you and Mark stayed with me last
summer. The first floor is pretty much finished. And I'm not
doing a whole lot of new drywall on the second floor. You should
be able to breathe without sneezing:"

"I can vouch for that," Mark offered. "Your sinuses are safe"

"The house is fabulous," Emily told Monica. "It's a two-story,
Federal-style brick from ... 1850, Nick?"

"1852."

"And it had been abandoned for a decade when he bought it
a year ago, Emily continued.

"I can't even imagine tackling a project like that:' Monica
shook her head. "I think it's awesome'