by Cassie Miles
“You can tell me. It’s not like I’m a terrorist, even if I do have to take my shoes off at the airport. I’ll just assume it was the Middle East. Do you speak Farsi or Arabic?”
“Both.”
For a moment, Tess considered letting Trudy continue with her questions. Her adorable grandma persona gave her free rein to say things that would have sounded rude coming from anyone else, and Tess was curious about Nolan.
But she didn’t want to waste his time. “Mr. Law is handling security for the event at the Smithsonian.”
“I should have guessed,” Trudy said. “Corps Security and Investigations, the business that Bart Bellows founded. Is there any word on Bart?”
Tess stared into Nolan’s dark glasses. She hoped to hear something positive but feared the worst.
“I’m sorry,” Nolan said. “Nothing new.”
She sensed that he was holding back. Later, she’d push for more details. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Law. We have a problem with the security.”
“We’re going to be working together, Tess. Call me Nolan.”
His rasping voice struck an unusual note. At the same time, his cadence and pronunciation sounded familiar. “All right, Nolan. About this problem…”
“The blueprints at the Smithsonian,” he said. “I have a contact who can obtain the necessary security clearance. He needs to meet you.”
“When?”
“Now would be good.” He checked his wristwatch. “I’ll drive.”
Though she didn’t have pressing matters to handle this morning, Tess wasn’t a big fan of the spontaneous. She liked to have things planned and executed with tidy precision. “I have a meeting at one o’clock.”
“I’d be happy to drive you there,” he said.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
She took Trudy’s arm and retreated behind the partition. As soon as she was out of Nolan’s view, Tess exhaled a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. Her heart was beating faster. She felt warm all over. She whispered, “I can’t just drop everything and waltz out the door with him. Can I?”
“You really must.” Trudy patted her shoulder. “Nolan Law is the hottest thing that’s been in this office since we did a test run with that thirtieth birthday cake with all the sparklers and the tablecloth caught on fire.”
“May I remind you that we had to replace a chair after that disaster?”
“Are you sweating?” Trudy asked. “Am I seeing a sheen of perspiration?”
“No.” But yes, she was. Her forehead was damp.
“For goodness sakes, Tess. Go with the sexy bodyguard. If anybody deserves some zing in their life, it’s you.”
Tess wiped her palms on her black slacks and tried to gather her composure. “He’s definitely sexy.”
“He’s kind of a thug with all those scars, but there’s something about him. It’s pretty doggoned obvious that you like him.”
“For all I know, he might be happily married.”
“Oops, I hadn’t thought of that.” Trudy pivoted. “Let’s find out.”
Before Tess could stop her, Trudy darted around the partition and up to Nolan. He was standing at the front desk, holding a clear-framed snapshot of Tess’s son at the top of a slide waving his hands in the air. He held up the picture. “Is this your boy?”
She nodded. “That’s Joey. He’s four.”
“I can see the resemblance to you.”
“Not really,” she said. “He’s the image of his father, healthy and funny and more headstrong than is good for him.”
Trudy piped up, “Do you like children, Nolan?”
“Yes.”
Trudy beamed her grandmotherly smile. “Have you started your own family yet? Is there a Mrs. Nolan Law?”
“A missus?” He seemed amused by the concept. “Actually, there is no Mrs. Nolan Law.”
“No time like the present to get started,” Trudy said. “You two should get going. I’ll take care of the office.”
Tess started to object. “But I—”
“If anything comes up, I’ll call or email or text. Run along.”
Feeling like she’d been railroaded by the Trudy bullet train, Tess slipped into her suit jacket and coat, grabbed her briefcase with the laptop inside and followed Nolan out the door. She expected a rugged man like him to drive a Hummer. Instead, he had a classic black Mercedes.
She buckled her seat belt and leaned back in the luxurious seat. “Where are we headed?”
“A café in D.C.,” he said. “This meeting shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”
“I’d like to apologize for Trudy being so intrusive.”
“Not at all,” he said. “She reminds me of my late grandma. A Southern belle who knew everything about everybody in her little town. Grandma always said she wasn’t nosy. Just concerned.”
Aha! He had Southern roots. “I thought I heard a hint of an accent. Did you grow up in the South?”
“I’ve lived all over. You?”
“I grew up in a suburb of Chicago. My dad was a police officer, killed in the line of duty.” She pinched her lips together. She wanted information from him, not the other way around.
He asked, “What brought you to Arlington?”
“College. I wanted to be an art historian but got sidetracked along the way by the culinary arts.” And by Joe Donovan. Instead of going to graduate school, she’d married him and launched her career as a caterer.
“Any regrets about dropping the career in art?”
“None,” she said quickly. “I chose the right path.”
Even though she’d lost Joe, the love they’d shared was true and deep. She’d experienced the kind of passion that poets write about. Not that she and Joe were gooey and sentimental. His greatest talent had been making her laugh. More than anything else, he had wanted her to be happy. If Joe could see her now, he’d tell her to give Nolan a chance. She glanced toward him, wondering if he’d ever take off those sunglasses.
Nolan said, “Bart mentioned that your son was born after your husband went missing. That must have been rough.”
“My son’s birth was the high point of my life, and I wish with all my heart that my husband could have shared that moment when I first heard Joey cry.” She couldn’t help smiling when she recalled the joy and relief she’d felt when she held her perfectly formed, newborn baby boy. Joey was so full of energy, wriggling and waving his arms. It was a wonderful moment. But she didn’t want to talk about herself. “Bart was with me. He’s a very special part of our lives. I’d like to know more about his abduction.”
“Such as?”
“Start at the beginning.”
“There was an explosion at a day care center,” he said. “In the confusion, Bart was taken. His handicap van was missing, and his driver was killed.”
Tess had heard this part of the story. “It seems like his van could be traced. Did it have GPS?”
“There were tracking devices in both the van and Bart’s motorized wheelchair. Both were deactivated immediately. We found the van about a week later. A bomb had been exploded inside. There was no useful evidence.”
“And no contact from the kidnappers,” she said. “I know Bart sees his doctors on a regular basis and is on a regimen of medications.”
“None of his prescriptions have been used, but his meds are fairly common, easily purchased. None of his regular docs have heard from the people who kidnapped him.”
“I worry that he’s not being properly cared for.”
Nolan’s jaw tensed. The long scar that stretched from the edge of his nose to his earlobe defined his cheekbone. “I can’t promise you that Bart is all right. We don’t have any definite leads, and I don’t like to speculate.”
She sensed that he was trying to shelter her from worry as though she was a delicate hothouse orchid. Such concerns were unnecessary. She’d been through a lot of pain in her life, starting with the death of her father when she was in her teens. The other co
ps on the force had tried to protect her and her mother by not talking about the way he died, but the closed casket pretty much said it all. Her dad had been shot point-blank in the face by a low-life drug dealer who was currently spending life in prison.
Her mom refused to face what had happened, but Tess attended the trial for the drug dealer. Every single day in court, she stared at the bastard who killed her dad, and she experienced every shade of rage and hatred. Dealing with Joe’s death was more difficult; she couldn’t focus her anger and sadness on a faceless enemy.
“I can handle the truth,” she said. “I’d rather know everything than not enough. You’ve been investigating for nearly a month. I assume you have suspects.”
He turned toward her. His eyes were hidden by the dark glasses, but she could feel his gaze. “You’re stronger than you look.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Now, talk.”
“There’s a possibility that Bart was abducted by his son, Victor Bellows.”
She was surprised. “I didn’t know Bart had any children.”
“He was estranged from his son.”
That didn’t seem like Bart at all. He was ferociously loyal and caring; he’d be a great father. “There’s more to that story.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Nolan said. “Bart’s son went into the military when he was eighteen. He did a tour in Iraq and got into trouble with the military police. Rather than be incarcerated, he went AWOL. The military classified him as MIA.”
“How did you find out he was still alive?”
“Victor was using an alias. We found blood at the site of the abduction. When we ran tests, we found a DNA match through the army database.”
A father kidnapped by his own son? She hated to think of the betrayal. There must be another answer. “The fact that his blood was at the scene doesn’t prove that Victor is the kidnapper. He might have been trying to protect his father. Like you, he might be searching for Bart right now.”
“Anything’s possible.” But Nolan sounded skeptical.
“I know Bart was in the CIA for a long time,” she said. “He must have a lot of enemies.”
“True.”
“If Victor took him, he might be keeping his father out of sight to protect him.” She wanted to believe that Bart’s son wouldn’t hurt him. “How much do you know about Victor Bellows?”
“Under his alias, he was involved in some bad stuff. It’s hard to believe that Bart’s son would grow up to be a criminal, but that’s what it looks like.” He paused to take a breath. “I have reason to believe that Victor is here in Washington.”
“That’s the actual reason you’re in town, isn’t it? If you weren’t looking for Victor Bellows, you would have left security for Governor Lockhart’s event to Stacy’s fiancé.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What other reason could there be?”
“Maybe I came here to meet you.”
Was he flirting with her? Tess had been out of the dating game for such a long time that she barely recognized the signs of male attention. “To meet me? Why? What have you heard?”
“I might have heard that you’re a charming woman with black hair and eyes like sapphires. Someone might have told me that you’re creative, smart and efficient. According to rumors, you’re the total package. You can even cook.”
She felt her jaw drop. “Is that so?”
“Thus far, I’m not disappointed.” A grin twitched the corner of his mouth. “But I haven’t tasted your mushroom and asparagus risotto.”
How did he know that was her best dish? When she was working as a caterer, she could always count on her risotto. Apparently, he knew more about her than she did about him. That disparity had to end.
Near the Marine Memorial, he merged onto a main route to cross the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge. Nolan drove like someone who was familiar with D.C. and Arlington.
“Doesn’t look like you need directions,” she said.
“I’ve spent time in this area.”
“At the Pentagon?” she guessed.
He shrugged and said nothing. Pulling information from him was like plucking tail feathers from a chicken. He seemed determined to maintain an aura of mystery, which should have been irritating. Instead, she was intrigued.
Gazing through the windshield at gray skies, she said, “Cloudy day. Do you really need those sunglasses or are they a necessary accessory for security men?”
Another grin. “Are you teasing me, Tess?”
“I dare you to take them off.”
He stopped for a red light, turned to her and whipped off the dark glasses. For less than five seconds, his gaze met hers. Then the sunglasses were back in place as his attention returned to the traffic.
She wasn’t so quick to recover. Shocked, she jolted back in her seat. She was drowning, struggling to catch her breath. Why was this happening to her again? Was she losing her mind?
In Nolan’s eyes, she saw a ghost.
Her fingers clenched, and she dug her nails into her palms, hoping the stab of pain would wake her from this insane illusion. It wasn’t possible. Joe Donovan was dead.
Chapter Four
As they drove onto the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge, Tess was aware of the other vehicles, the heavy clouds and the dark waters of the Potomac. But she saw them all in a blur. She heard herself speaking but had no idea what she’d said.
Nolan’s eyes were a dark gray, more deep set than Joe’s but exactly the same color. Nolan’s left eye was a few centimeters lower than the right. He wasn’t perfectly handsome, wasn’t her darling husband. And yet, in those few seconds when she’d looked into the windows to his soul, she saw Joe Donovan.
“Tess? Are you all right?”
His raspy voice—unlike Joe’s clear baritone—called to her. She needed to respond. Didn’t want him to think she was a nutcase even though there was no other explanation. “Headache,” she said. “I have a little headache.”
He was immediately solicitous. “Should I take you home?”
“No.”
He drove past Foggy Bottom toward Georgetown University, the place where she and Joe had met. Whispers of the past tickled her ears, telling her that she’d found the love of her life. That could not be. Nolan wasn’t Joe. She couldn’t allow herself to confuse the two. Their eyes were similar. So what? Lots of men had gray eyes.
More firmly, she said, “I’m fine. My stomach will be fine.”
“I thought it was your head.”
“Whatever.”
Thankfully, they drove past the turnoff to the university. If he’d pulled up in front of the coffee shop where she and Joe had spent hours together when they were dating, she might have gone into full-blown fantasy mode, imagining herself as a wide-eyed college student who’d fallen madly in love with a handsome marine. That wasn’t her. Not anymore.
Tess had a new identity, a satisfying identity. First and foremost, she was Joey’s mom. Then, she was a business-woman who needed to show the man driving this slick Mercedes that she was responsible and merited referrals.
Swallowing her confusion, she pulled herself together. The smart thing would be to avoid any further interaction with Nolan. No sidelong glances. No flirting. Most definitely, she wouldn’t touch the man. Pretending calm, she asked, “Who is the person we’re meeting?”
“His name is Omar Harris. He’s a friend of Bart’s.”
“A spy?”
“CIA,” Nolan said. “He’ll arrange for our clearance so we can take a look at the blueprints for the museum.”
“Why did he need to see me?”
“Covering his bases. You’ll have to give him the name of your events coordinator at the Smithsonian.”
Though she wasn’t quite sure why she needed face time with this person, Tess didn’t ask for further explanation. A lot of the protocols in Washington were absurdly complicated.
Nolan found a parking place at the curb in a neighborhood of storefronts.
The tree branches were lined with fairy lights that were lit even though it was daylight. The shop windows featured colorful Christmas decorations—snowflakes, tinsel and big red bows. A bell-ringer on the corner solicited contributions. Instead of waiting for him to come around and open her door, Tess climbed out quickly. She didn’t want to risk having Nolan take her hand to help her.
He stepped onto the sidewalk beside her. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all.” Avoiding eye contact, she glanced at her gold wristwatch. “I’m concerned about making it to my other meeting on time. It might be best if I catch a cab.”
“I’ll drive you. I insist.”
When he touched her elbow to guide her down the street, she flinched. He backed off, giving her plenty of space. Had she insulted him? She wanted to create the opposite effect, but she was scared. Given the choice between too close and too far, she opted for distance.
Halfway down the block, he opened the door to the Minuteman Café and held it for her. Inside, the decor was red-white-and-blue homey with half-curtains on the windows, a long counter, brown leatherette booths and a silver tinsel Christmas tree by the cash register. The lunch rush hadn’t started, and there were only a few patrons. Which of these men was the spy? Was it the silver-haired gentleman? The guy in the black trench coat?
Nolan went to a booth at the rear of the diner to greet Omar Harris. Dressed in sneakers, gray sweatpants and an insulated Georgetown hoodie, he looked like a jogger. His curly black hair was sprinkled with gray. His features were ordinary, which, she supposed, was a plus for a spy.
After Nolan introduced them, he slid into the booth, leaving room for her. She had no choice but to sit beside Nolan with their thighs only inches apart. Using her briefcase, she created a barrier between them.
Omar sipped from his coffee mug. “I recommend the Minuteman blueberry muffins.”
“None for me.” She’d had a big waffle and sausage breakfast with Joey. “How’s the coffee?”
“Passable.” Omar signaled to the waitress.
Nolan stretched his arm across the back of the booth, and she leaned forward to avoid making contact. Her neatly folded hands rested on the tabletop. “Is there any information you need from me, Mr. Harris?”
