by Tami Dane
“Distractions can be good sometimes,” I agreed.
The waiter came just then, left some appetizers for us, and disappeared.
“I hope you don’t mind. I ordered for both of us while I was waiting.” He gently pulled his hand away.
I set mine in my lap. “I don’t mind at all.”
“So tell me, what’s a rough day for the daughter of Jim Skye, aka Irvine, like?”
“It started after I got your call. I wanted to buy a new outfit for tonight—”
“Nice, is that it?” He motioned to my top.
“Yes. Thanks. Anyway, I headed out to the store to find something nice. Everything went great until I was driving home and my car died. In the fast lane on I-95. It took forever to get a tow. And then I spent hours at the dealership while the mechanics worked on it. That was no joy. But on the bright side, my car was fixed, and here I am.”
Damen’s smile couldn’t be more adorable. “Yes, here you are.”
The next two hours flew by. We ate. We laughed. We talked about just about everything, including our childhood. It came as no surprise that they were very different. By the time dessert had been delivered, I was feeling very much at ease with Damen, and hopeful that something wonderful was happening between us. It was much too soon to make any snap judgments about our long-term potential, but things were looking promising.
When he took my hand as we walked from the restaurant, I felt a goofy smile spread over my face.
He held the door for me.
He walked me to my car.
He looked deeply into my eyes and asked, “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”
He asked permission? How easy would it be to fall in love with this man?
“It would be more than okay.” I closed my eyes and held my breath.
He caged my head between his hands and gently tipped it. The kiss was a soft but not tentative seduction. My head spun. My knees quaked. It was a kiss that made stars explode behind my closed eyelids. I slid my hands up his chest. My fingertips dipped between planes of rigid muscle. An image of him shirtless flashed through my mind, and my body went instantly hot.
When the kiss ended, I nearly fell over. Thankfully, I had his scrumptious body there to help steady me. I stared up at him. Maybe I gaped a little. His smile made me wish he’d kiss me again, harder.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening, Sloan Skye.”
“Thank you, Damen ... ? You never told me your last name.”
“My last name is Sylver. I’ll call you.”
Still a little tongue-tied, I nodded. “Damen Sylver.”
The next morning, I floated into the office. Last night had been like a fantasy come true. I’d never had a more romantic date. I’d never felt so alive.
JT, on the other hand, looked half dead.
“Rough night?” I asked.
“You could say that.” He scrutinized me. “You look different. Is it your hair?”
I smoothed my hand along the side of my head, hoping no wayward strands had sprung loose from the ponytail. “No, it’s the same as always, though I’m about ready to ditch these extensions. They’re a real pain.”
He squinted. “There’s something different.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pranced over to my cubicle and got settled in.
JT paid me a visit a few minutes later. I brought a chair for him. Then he heaved a sigh.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I skimmed the search engine results for aswang.
“It’s Hough. She called me ten times last night.”
“Ah, ten times? That’s rough. Why did she keep calling?”
“It was one thing after another.” Leaning back in his chair, legs sprawled in front of him, he let his head fall back until it thumped against my cubicle wall.
I instantly interpreted Brittany’s behavior as an attempt to get him to come over. That made me slightly uncomfortable, which irritated me. I had, after all, kissed another man last night. I had moved on.
If only my emotions were so easily shut off.
“Any news of another victim?” I asked, moving to safer territory.
“Since we lost track of Onora Dale, the deaths have stopped. I’ve come to the conclusion that she’s moved out of state. I sent out a bulletin to all the FBI satellite offices, asking them to notify me if there is a similar murder in their area. As of this morning, there’ve been none reported anywhere in the contiguous forty-eight.”
I grimaced. “She wouldn’t just stop. I don’t think she can. So where is she hiding?”
Looking extremely disappointed, JT shook his head. “If only I’d been wearing a cup that day.”
“It’s not your fault. She was much stronger than I’d expected. She caught us both off guard.”
“I’ve got Hough watching her cell phone and credit cards. If she makes a call or spends money, we’ll know. In the meantime, I think I’ll tail Lucas Dale again today. I have a feeling he knows where she’s gone. He’s protecting her.”
“I wish he’d believe us, if we told him how dangerous she is.”
“It’s like she has the guy caught under a spell.” JT stood. “I guess I’ll head out.”
“Later.”
JT left, which meant I was in the office by myself. Hough, evidently back from medical leave, was locked in her Cave of Wonders. I could hear her keyboard tap, tap, tapping.
With no clue what to do next, I powered up my loaner laptop and stared at the welcome screen.
What did we know about Onora Dale?
We knew she worked as a contract medical biller.
We knew she had been married but wasn’t any longer.
We knew her age, her Social Security number, where she banked, and that she had a clean driving record and no criminal record.
But that was about it.
Oh, and we strongly suspected she turned into a blackbird-like creature after dark and drained the blood from pregnant women.
She’d need access to medical files to locate her victims. Thus, I felt it was safe to assume she’d probably look for the same kind of work she’d done in Baltimore, no matter where she lived. Taking that assumption further, I figured she’d probably held a similar job before moving to the Baltimore area. Maybe in Ohio. And Michigan.
I knocked on Hough’s door.
“Entrez-vous!” she called.
I entered.
“What’s up?” Hough asked while still staring at one of her monitors. White numbers flashed on a black screen.
“How much digging have you done into Onora Dale’s personal life?”
“Not a whole lot. I’m watching her credit cards and have run her Social and her driver’s license. Other than that, I think JT’s been focused on finding her through her ex-husband.”
“Can you do me a favor, then, and see what you can find out about her?”
“Sure,” she said, her attention still focused on the screen. “Just give me an hour or so.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
“By the way”—Hough stopped working and looked at me—“about JT. If you think I’m interested in him as more than a friend, you’re wrong.”
I back-stepped toward the door. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it does. Why wouldn’t it? He cares about you. Like genuinely cares.”
I really didn’t like talking about this here, at work. Especially with Hough.
I said, “First, how can he ‘care’ about me when we’ve only known each other for such a short time? And second, like I said, it doesn’t matter. We can’t get involved. It would look bad for both of us.”
Hough leaned closer. In a soft voice, she said, “Do you really think there aren’t other agents sleeping with each other, here in the bureau? It happens all the time. As long as you keep it out of work, you’re fine. Hell, I can name three couples that have gotten married in the past two years. None of them have faced any disciplinary action.”
“But I’m an in
tern. I’m not even an agent yet. I would hate to lose my chance at being accepted at the FBI Academy because of something silly, like an affair.”
Hough dismissed my concern with a hand flop. “Honestly, the FBI isn’t going to let you go. You’re too smart. Too good. You could probably sleep with half the bureau and you’d still get in.” She went back to staring at her computer monitor. “Anyway, I felt I needed to clear the air between us.”
“Thanks.”
I left her lair feeling a lot less floaty than when I’d first walked into the office.
I slumped into my chair, poked around on the Internet, doing my best to dig up some background information on Onora Dale. My cell phone rang about a half hour later.
Damen Sylver.
I answered, “Hello?”
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At work.”
“Any chance you can get away for lunch?”
I glanced at Hough’s door, then checked the time. “Shouldn’t be a problem, but I’m on the clock. I can’t go anywhere too exotic, like Fiji. I only get an hour.”
“Well, damn. There goes that plan.”
“Wait, were you really ... ?”
There was that glorious, rumbling chuckle again, warm and adorable. I couldn’t help smiling to myself.
“No, I was just kidding,” he said. “I reserve trips to Fiji for special occasions, like one-week anniversaries.”
“Sheesh, what do you do for a one-month anniversary?”
“You’ll just have to wait to find out. Can I pick you up in twenty?”
“I’ll have to meet you. Unless you have a military ID and can get on base. My office is in Quantico.”
“Not a problem. See you then.” He ended the call.
I stared at my computer for about thirty seconds, then raced to the bathroom to see how bad my hair really looked.
When I came out ten minutes or so later, makeup touched up, hair fluffed, there was a pile of papers sitting on my desk. And JT was leafing through them.
“I thought you were tailing Lucas Dale.”
“Baltimore’s got a man on him. I thought I’d come back and see what other angle we could take with the case. I see you’ve been busy.” He gave me an up-and-down look. “Going somewhere?”
“Well, actually, I made plans for—”
Damen Sylver picked just that moment to come strolling into the unit. While I floundered a little, he headed straight toward me, his beaming smile in place.
“Sloan, I’m a little early. Would you like me to wait outside?”
JT visibly sized up the prince. Something flashed over his face.
The prince offered a hand to JT. “Damen Sylver. I’m a friend of Sloan’s.”
“This is Special Agent Jordan Thomas,” I said. “We’re going to lunch.”
JT gave the prince’s hand a quick shake before turning to me. “I’ll see you after lunch.”
“Okay.” I grabbed my purse and started toward the door. Damen set his hand on the small of my back and fell into step beside me.
I could feel JT’s stare drilling into my back as we left.
Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.
—Anne Lamott
28
“Is there something going on between you and Agent Thomas?” Damen hadn’t even waited until we’d gotten out of the building before asking me that question.
But I was determined to wait until after we were outside to answer it. “I’ve been told he cares for me.” I strolled out the main exit into a blazingly bright afternoon.
“That much is obvious,” he said as he escorted me to the limo idling in front of the building. “But that’s not why I asked. It was more you. I get the sense that you have feelings for him.”
The limo’s driver got out, hustling to open the passenger door for us.
I didn’t get in the vehicle. “Well ...” How to handle this one? Here I was, about to go on a date with an incredible man—a man who wasn’t an FBI agent; who wouldn’t put my career in jeopardy. We had only gone on one date. He didn’t have a right to dig into my personal life, any more than I had a right to dig into his.
Still, I felt he deserved an honest answer. “We went out once. But then, before things got carried away, I decided it would be a bad idea. I’m an intern. He’s an agent. And I’d like to get a permanent position with the FBI, once I graduate. Getting a reputation for sleeping with senior agents doesn’t seem the best idea.”
At Damen’s tip of the head, I climbed inside, found a comfy seat, and waited for him to make himself comfortable too. “Now that I’ve answered your question, how about you answer mine?”
“Sure.” Sitting next to me, he set an arm on the back of the seat and crossed an ankle over a knee.
“How is it you were able to stroll right into the FBI Academy? You’re not military. You told me that at dinner. Is it the prince thing? I assumed that was kept hush-hush.”
“It is kept quiet. Nobody in Quantico knows anything about my royal status. I can’t tell you more, but suffice it to say, there are quite a few places I can access that the normal Joe Civilian can’t.”
“Are you an agent too? FBI? CIA?” The car started rolling. “I mean, if you’re an FBI agent, I shouldn’t be going to lunch with you. It would be a conflict of interest, like with JT.”
“Don’t worry, your reputation won’t suffer.”
Little warning bells rang in my head. Whenever anyone said the words “Don’t worry,” I did exactly that—I worried.
I made a point to return to work exactly one hour later. My lunch with Damen was nice. He knew exactly how to distract a girl. He’d arranged everything. Flowers were waiting for me at our table, which just happened to be tucked in a private banquet room. He’d ordered everything ahead of time, so our waiter paid us regular, but discreet, visits to deliver drinks, then salads, hors d’oeuvres, the main course, and finally dessert. The food was amazing, the service outstanding, and the conversation—after a bumpy start—great.
But it was over. And it was back to reality. Back to JT.
Feeling a little uncomfortable, I strolled into the unit with the flowers kind of hidden in my folded arms. I saw JT working in his cubicle as I hurried to mine.
No sooner had I tucked the flowers into the corner of my cubby than he was knocking on my partition wall.
“How was lunch?” he asked, with his eyes glued to the flowers.
“Good, thanks.”
“While you were gone, Hough and I did some digging. I found out Onora Dale has connections to an adoption agency in Columbia.”
Adoption agency? That made sense.
I asked, “Are you thinking that she’s funneling the stolen infants through the agency?”
“I’m hoping.”
So was I.
But there were some problems with his theory. “First, how is she delivering them without leaving any traces of blood? How is she removing them from the scene if she’s not even entering the premises? And, assuming she was somehow taking the children, how would she explain having so many?” I asked. “If she’s feeding three times a week, that’s over one hundred fifty children a year. You’d think that would trigger some suspicion.”
JT shrugged. “I put in a call to the agency’s director. She’s agreed to meet with me in an hour and a half. Do you want to come with me?”
“Sure.” As much as I dreaded the thought of being cooped up in a car with JT for hours—the drive was over an hour, one way—I needed to set our personal issues aside and keep working with him, just like I had been doing, up to that point.
He thumbed over his shoulder, in the general direction of his cubicle. “I’m just going to shut down my laptop and pack up. Then we’ll leave.”
“Okay.” I did the same, leaving everything but my purse in my cubicle.
Now that we were no longer staying
at the rental, I’d be driving my own car home later. I’d grab my stuff before going home.
We were on I-95, heading north, ten minutes later. From the moment we left, JT didn’t speak a single word to me. To ease the uncomfortable silence, I turned on the radio and tuned it to a news station.
Twenty minutes later, he broke the awkward silence. “I know your personal life is none of my business, but I thought I should tell you. Damen Sylver is with the bureau. He’s out of the WFO, the Washington Field Office.”
I bit back an expletive and said, “Thank you.”
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“I do.”
I spent the rest of the drive trying to decide how to handle Damen Sylver. I basically had two options: ignore his calls and end it now, or confront him about the lie. By the time we’d pulled up in front of the adoption agency’s humble brick-faced building, I’d determined I wasn’t the blow-him-off type. I didn’t enjoy confrontation, but I was hurt and angry, and I wanted to let him know.
Oh, yes, Agent Sylver would hear from me soon.
That settled, I cleared my head, took a deep breath, and headed inside with JT. We needed to stop Onora Dale. That was where I needed to focus.
Men are trouble, Sloan. All of them. You should know that by now.
A smiling young woman sitting at a reception desk greeted us as we came in. We told her we had an appointment with the director, and she asked us to take a seat in the waiting area, which was currently empty.
Two minutes later, a middle-aged woman dressed in a conservative suit and pumps stepped into the waiting area and introduced herself.
JT and I stood.
JT offered a hand. “I’m Jordan Thomas. This is Sloan Skye. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”
“It’s not a problem. I’d been planning on working late, anyway. Fran O’Donnell. How can I help you, Agents?”
JT cleared his throat, then said in a low voice, “We’d like to ask about one of your volunteers, Onora Dale.”
