by Tiffany Snow
Lane watched me finish off the tray, and as the waiter removed it, asked, “So where did you learn to eat oysters?”
I shrugged, taking a sip of the champagne paired with the course. “Fancy dinner dates. I like to try new things. And my grandma always said I had champagne taste on a beer budget.”
“And where’s Grandma?”
“Back in Dodge City.”
“That’s where you’re from?”
I tipped up the champagne flute, letting the cool liquid slide over my tongue as I eyed Lane. Once I emptied the glass, I set it aside. “You’re telling me you don’t know that already.”
He had the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Yes, I’ve looked at your records,” he said, “but I wanted to hear it from you.”
The waiter brought the next course then, thin slices of foie gras with toast paired with a sweet white wine. I took a bite, savoring the delicacy, before answering Lane.
“My parents died when I was little. I was raised by my grandparents. Have a useless degree that I still enjoyed getting, and a job that pays the bills but isn’t exactly rocket science. End of story.”
“And the stepbrother out on parole? The one who attacked you in the parking lot?”
I sat back in my chair, raising an eyebrow. “Really? You want to bring that up now?”
He hesitated. “Fair enough,” he said. “So tell me what this stuff is.”
I explained the awesomeness that was foie gras, and he liked it better than the oysters. By now I was feeling pretty good after drinking the wine and champagne. Maybe a little tipsy, but it would be tacky to get tipsy on Christmas, so I decided I was just really relaxed.
“So do you have a first name, Agent Lane?” I asked. “Or shall I keep calling you Agent?”
He grinned at my teasing, resting his arm across the back of my chair. “I do, actually. It’s Scott. Scott Lane.”
I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Scott Lane.”
Scott took my hand and turned it palm down before brushing his lips across the back of my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Ivy.”
My eyebrows flew up in surprise.
He shrugged, his lips tipping up in a one-sided smile. “When in Paris . . .”
His chocolate eyes were warm and deep enough it seemed I could drown in them. My hand was gently cradled in his, his thumb softly sliding across my knuckles in a chaste caress.
Uh-oh.
Pulling my hand from his, I cleared my throat. “So Scott, do you have a girlfriend back home?” Usually the reminder made men draw back from flirting with me, but Scott just gave me a mischievous grin.
“Nope.”
That was unexpected. “Why not?”
He laughed. “Not exactly a tactful question.”
I blushed. “Sorry. That just kind of popped out.”
“It’s all right. Once a woman finds out what I do for a living, they usually lose interest pretty quick if they’re the marrying kind. The one-night stands don’t care, but I’m kind of over that.”
“Why do they lose interest?” I didn’t see the reasoning behind that. Scott was a really attractive guy, fabulous build, nice, funny, and had a steady job. What wasn’t to like?
“Some don’t like the fact that the profession is dangerous and I travel a lot. Others are a little more . . . avaricious.”
Oh.
The returning waiter saved me from having to reply to that. I asked Scott about his job and where he grew up, resorting to my usual trick of getting a man to go on about himself so as to avoid talking about myself. There were few topics that interested a man more than his own accomplishments. But with Scott, it didn’t last for long. We were finishing off the main course, lamb (“Finally some meat,” he’d said), when he brushed off another of my questions.
“Enough about me,” he said. “Tell me more about you.”
“I already did,” I insisted.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but he just grinned. “I’ve got four siblings,” he said. “I can do this all night.”
That got a reluctant laugh from me. “Fine, you win,” I conceded. “What do you want to know?”
“So what’s your favorite color?”
“Aqua.”
“Favorite song?”
“Anything by Pink.”
“Movie?”
I sighed dreamily. “Titanic.”
Scott snorted. “You’re such a girl,” he groused.
“So glad you noticed.”
“Worst movie ever. There was room on that door for two people.”
“There was not!” I argued. “They would have sunk and then they both would’ve died.”
“Now that would have made it a good movie,” he deadpanned. I hid a grin and rolled my eyes at him.
He kept quizzing me through the cheese course and I started turning the tables on him, asking him what his favorite things were.
“Gee, a cop whose favorite movie is Die Hard,” I teased. “Could you be more of a cliché?”
“It’s agent, not cop, and I’d hate to disappoint you.”
What could have been an awkward evening turned out to be one of the more enjoyable Christmas dinners I’d ever had. By the time we’d finished the bûche de Noël dessert, I was so full my jeans were no longer big around the waist.
It was dark by the time we were back outside and I shivered, even wrapped in Scott’s coat. He curved his arm over my shoulders and drew me close to his side as we walked back to the hotel.
“It’s your last night in Paris,” he said. “Anything else you want to see or do?”
I hesitated, sure he had to be freezing. “Um, no, that’s okay.”
“Tell me,” he prompted.
“It’s just so beautiful,” I said. “But I know you’re cold.”
He stopped and looked down at me. “What do you want to see?” His smile was indulgent and his eyes kind. I relented.
“Notre Dame.”
“You’re in luck,” he said. “I actually know where that is from here.” He pulled me close to his side and we set off again. It was a bit of a hike, but not too far. The streets weren’t teeming with pedestrians, which was really nice. We crossed the Seine onto the Île de la Cité, and once we were in sight of the cathedral, I gasped.
Ablaze with lights, it was a sight to behold. A huge Christmas tree stood in front and there was no line to get in.
“Is it still open, do you think?” I asked.
“Let’s find out.”
It turned out we were just in time to be the last visitors of the day. The inside was even more beautiful than the outside and I lingered a long time looking at the stained glass and the crèche. Finally, we had to leave.
“That was . . . amazing,” I said to Scott as we began the walk back to the hotel. “A really bad day has turned out to be one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had.” I looked up at him. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Despite the knot of lead in the pit of my stomach that had Devon and his lies written all over it, Scott had managed to give me a precious gift that I’d remember always.
“Thanks aren’t required,” he said. “I’m glad I was here. I’m even gladder that I was the one you called when you needed help.”
We stopped by a crêpe stand near the hotel, which also happened to have hot wine. Scott teased me over my ability to still eat a Nutella crêpe even after the meal we’d had.
“There’s always room for chocolate,” I said around a mouthful.
He stopped by a car I assumed was one he’d rented and took a suitcase from the trunk before going into the hotel. It wasn’t until we were back in the room that I realized this might be awkward since there was just one bed in the tiny space.
; Scott seemed to read my mind because he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll sleep in the chair.”
I eyed the wooden chair dubiously. “You can’t be serious.”
“What can I say? I’m a gentleman.”
I laughed, his joking and easy manner calming my nerves. “I think I can handle staying on my side, so long as you agree to stay on yours.”
He raised three fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “Scout’s honor.” Reaching into his suitcase, he pulled out a worn T-shirt and handed it to me. “Thought you might like something else to sleep in.”
“Thanks.” I disappeared into the bathroom and considered briefly before taking off my underwear and washing them in the sink. I hung them to dry and carefully folded the clothes Scott had bought for me. The T-shirt was as long as a nightshirt on me and I trusted that Scott wouldn’t try anything.
He was checking his cell phone when I came out of the bathroom and he glanced up. His gaze took in the T-shirt and I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. But he said nothing, politely turning his back to give me some privacy. I was exhausted and slid gratefully into bed, pulling the covers to my chin.
“Are you coming to bed?” I asked.
He turned back around. “Shortly,” he replied. “You go ahead and go to sleep.”
I yawned. “Thanks again,” I sighed.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Merry Christmas, Ivy.”
“Merry Christmas.”
I was dozing, halfway between sleep and awake, when I felt the bed dip. I cracked my tired eyes and saw Scott had lain down next to me on his back.
“Aren’t you going to get under the covers?” I mumbled.
“Nah,” he said softly. “Better this way.” He turned to look at me, a rueful smile on his lips. “I wasn’t really a Boy Scout.”
That made me smile, then I was out.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Come on, Ives, please come out with us tonight.”
I sighed in exasperation. “Logan, I told you, I really don’t want to do the New Year’s Eve party thing.”
“But I’m going to feel bad, thinking of you sitting here in the apartment all by yourself while I’m out having a good time,” he said, waiting patiently while I finished tying the bowtie on his tux.
“I sincerely doubt that,” I retorted. “I’m guessing you’ll have a blonde on each arm long before midnight rolls around.”
It had been five days since I’d flown back to the States with Scott—Agent Lane—and I’d thrown myself back into my “normal” life. It was a life that had seemed so dull before, but which was now a welcome respite after what I’d been through. I’d told none of what had transpired to Logan—nothing about the virus, my sickness, or Paris—I’d only said that it hadn’t worked out between Devon and me. He hadn’t had much to say about that, but I could tell by the relief in his eyes that he wasn’t unhappy about it.
Logan shot me a wicked grin. “A threesome you say? Why you naughty girl.”
My cheeks grew hot and I slapped his arm, pushing him away. “Go on, get out of here. I’m sure Lee and Sam are waiting for you.”
At the mention of his work buddies, Logan glanced at his watch. “Yep. Already late.” He shrugged on his tuxedo coat and slid his cell into the inside pocket.
“Have fun,” I said with a smile. I was sure Logan would have no trouble finding female companionship tonight. The tuxedo was tailored and fit perfectly, accentuating his wide shoulders and lean hips. The black fabric went well with his dark hair, making his blue eyes stand out. I felt decidedly underdressed in my T-shirt and leggings.
He glanced over at me, his gaze softening, then he was back and hugging me.
“All right, you don’t have to come, but no moping, okay?”
I squeezed him back, glad that things were right between us again. When he loosened his grip, I stretched up on my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“That’s the kiss I get for New Year’s Eve?” he joked. “You can’t do better?”
“I’m saving myself,” I teased.
Something passed across Logan’s face, but I couldn’t read what it was. Disappointment, maybe?
“I’ll see you later, Ives,” Logan said. “Happy New Year.”
“You, too.”
After he left, I stood there staring at the door for a few minutes, trying to figure out if I had missed something between Logan and me, why he’d seemed subdued when he left. It was out of character for him, but there was no reason for it. Perhaps he was just feeling moody. The holidays did that to people.
Shoving my lingering unease aside, I made a pan of brownies and broke open the cheap bottle of champagne I’d bought and stored in the refrigerator. Curled up on the sofa, I was in the last hour of Titanic and halfway through my bottle of champagne when there was a knock at the door.
I jerked up from where I’d been lying, immediately thinking of Jace, and wished I still had my gun. But the last I’d had it, I’d nearly shot Devon. I hadn’t seen it since dropping it on the floor of his closet.
Cell phone in one hand, I cautiously approached the door as the knock came again. Peering through the peephole, I let out a sigh of relief. I pulled open the door.
“Is the FBI making house calls now?” I teased.
Scott grinned, a hint of relief crossing his face. “Thought I’d drop by on my way home, see how you were doing.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said, stepping back so he could come inside. “How are you?” I closed the door behind him.
“Well everyone’s jealous that I got to go to Paris for a few days, so I’m taking a lot of shit about that,” he said.
“I hope you didn’t get into any trouble,” I said.
“Nah. It’s fine.”
“You didn’t . . . tell . . . anyone about the things I told you, did you?” I asked. I’d thought about that later, wondering at the wisdom of all that I’d confessed to Scott in that Paris hotel room.
But he shook his head. “No. And I didn’t give anyone these either.” Reaching inside his jacket, he removed a manila envelope. Taking it, I noticed it was postmarked from Paris. The journal sheets. “I assumed you sent these to me for safekeeping?”
I nodded, leafing through the pages. I wondered what it said. Devon had lied about it being the vaccine. What else could it be? I guess I’d never know.
“Thanks for bringing it by,” I said, stuffing the papers back into the envelope. “So what are you doing about the case then?”
“Short of Devon Clay confessing and corroborating everything you told me, nothing,” he said. “Nothing can be proven, and without another witness, it’s all hearsay and speculation.”
Hearing Devon’s name spoken aloud was still a shock to my system, but I kept my expression carefully blank.
“But I also wanted to tell you that we found the guy you told us about,” he continued. “The one who you said was there the night Mr. Galler was murdered.”
My eyes flew open wide. “Really? You found him?” I knew I’d been right about that guy.
“Well, yeah, but he’s dead,” Scott clarified.
Of course he was. I sighed. I wasn’t sure how to feel about Mr. Galler. He’d inherited a disturbing legacy, but his continued research into a vaccine had consequences that had hurt people. Whether he’d done it for nefarious or for philanthropic reasons, only God knew.
“We’re marking the case as unsolved for now,” he said.
I nodded, then caught him glancing at my clothes. I self-consciously ran my fingers through my hair. “Sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t exactly planning on company—”
“You look beautiful,” Scott blurted.
A slow smile curved my lips. “Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself.”
Gone was the cheap tie. Tonight he was wearing dark jeans and a charcoal Henley, a heavy leat
her jacket over that, and he looked nothing like an FBI agent. The scruff of a couple of days’ growth of beard darkened his jaw and his dark hair fell over his forehead in a wave. He moved to smooth his hair and I saw the glint of his gun in its holster underneath his arm.
“Listen, I, um, I’m not trying to interrupt your evening,” he said. “I just . . . wanted to tell you that and, um, well, I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go out sometime. Maybe grab a drink, or dinner, or something?”
He was nervous, which was so sweet. My smile widened and I nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Scott beamed at me. “Perfect! That’s great! Okay, well, I’ll give you a call then.”
“Okay.”
“So, Happy New Year,” he said, reaching to hug me. I automatically hugged him back. The scent I remembered from Paris drifted from his clothes and I inhaled deeply. The hug went on just a tad longer than it probably should have, but for once it was with a man that I didn’t mind.
“Happy New Year,” I echoed. When he let me go, I added, “I’m glad you came by.”
“Me, too.”
He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to my lips, but he didn’t kiss me. I was okay with that. A date was one thing. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be physical with another man so soon after Devon. But maybe Scott wouldn’t mind taking things slow.
“Well, good night,” he said, releasing me and heading for the door.
“Good night.” I watched him walk down the hall and disappear into the stairwell. He glanced back once before going through the doorway and I gave a little wave. Then he was gone.
I smiled to myself as I closed and locked the door. Maybe something good had come out of all that. I liked Scott. I liked him a lot.
I’d missed Kate and Leo’s last kiss, but sat and watched the rest of the movie anyway, forgetting to watch the clock to ring in the new year and by the time I remembered, it was already half past midnight.
“Oh well,” I said. “There’s always next year.”
I finished off the bottle of champagne, feeling decidedly tipsy now, but I didn’t care because I was just going to bed. The alcohol would also help me sleep. I’d had a couple of bad nightmares since I’d been back, waking up in a cold sweat and tangled in the sheets, but I hoped they’d just go away with time.
