Open Secret

by Fiona Quinn

  “Sounds like your day was no better than mine. I think maybe Mercury’s retrograde or something.”

  “Something.” Avery stretched out her legs and took a long swig from her bottle of water.

  “No good manuscripts being pushed under your nose?”

  “Nothing new. Everything is same old, same old. Rename the characters and tell the identical story.”

  “Hmm. Well, since you have nothing interesting to say about your day, let’s get right to it. George’s not playing nice?”

  “Too nice and too hovering. He wants me to sleep with him.”

  “I’ve met his wife. I’d bet you anything he’s not getting any, and he’s remembering how you rocked his world when you did have that one-for-the-road, one-night stand just before he walked to the altar.”

  “It was a mistake. A great big, depressing, I-lost-my-damned-sanity mistake.”

  “Still, you weren’t married when you two boinked, so Jesus says you’re a slut.”

  “Gosh. Thanks.” Avery laughed, feeling the tension start to ebb.

  “Now listen, if you start to fall prey to George in New York, remember, the Bible didn't make any stipulations about using the back door.”

  “Lolly!” Avery gasped in mock horror.

  “And I know for sure, because I asked Father Pat.”

  "You know that man is going to have an aneurism and die, and it will all be on your conscience."

  "Oh, he loves it. I'm not sure he understands all of it, but he schedules extra time for me at the confessional.”

  “Well that’s one sin I won’t have to confess. No worries about me ever sleeping with George again. Ever. No matter what the Bible allows for.”

  “Good because, I didn’t listen to you scream in my ear yesterday to get you all sexified for George. I’m team Rowan. I so hope everything’s going to work out tonight with you two. You deserve a nice guy. Someone who treats you like you should be treated. Do you have a condom in your purse?”

  “Right now, there’s no way I could have a relationship. I have Mom. And no, of course I don’t have a condom in my purse.”

  “Someone who loves you would help you with that burden.” Lola’s voice had just a touch of pity in it. If it came from anyone else, Avery would have been offended. But she knew her best friend was speaking from their long history and mutual devotion.

  “Yeah, well, if he loved me, and then this situation happened, I might agree. But who in his right mind would wade into my pool of crazy?” Avery cleared her throat.

  “When does Rowan pick you up?”

  “We’re having a late dinner. He’s still in meetings.” She stopped to check the clock. “I have a half hour to get myself ready. I told one of my romance writers I’d meet her for a drink at her hotel. It’s just up the street from the FBI Headquarters, and I thought it would be better if I met Rowan over there.”

  “That’s cautious of you.”

  “I’m an editor, I live in a world of plot twists.”

  “Be open to the possibility that those twists could be good ones. I liked Rowan’s reactions on Skype the other day. His voice is all warm and sexy. You’re going to go, relax, and enjoy. This is about having some fun. Can you use this half-hour to lighten up a little? Eat some chocolate. When you get home, I want details.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rowan

  Wednesday night

  New York City

  He’d arrived earlier than intended. His Lyft driver was damned aggressive. Rowan wouldn’t mind except he knew that Avery was having drinks with one of her authors, and he didn’t want to interrupt her work. Mixing her private life with her career life might be uncomfortable. And meeting Avery in person for the first time was bound to feel a bit awkward.

  Rowan didn’t like that he was empty handed. He’d considered bringing her flowers, but with nowhere to put them, she’d be dragging around a wilting bouquet all night.

  Maybe he could send some flowers to her room tomorrow.

  Rowan had gone back to his hotel and changed into a pair of jeans and a button down shirt. He wanted to take Avery somewhere relaxed with zero pressure. A suit felt like it would make things too stiff and formal.

  Was he over thinking this?

  His Ranger brothers would bust his balls if they could see this playing out. Okay, he was nervous. The good kind. The expectant kind. It had been a long time since he’d felt this way.

  Rowan got out of the car and nodded to the bellhop who pulled open the giant brass and glass door for him. He took a moment at the entrance to scan, mapping the room. A habit.

  Walking farther into the lobby, he spotted her.

  Avery stood in a small group of women. She had her back to him. But he knew it was her by the way his heart skipped a beat before it raced in his chest. He stepped forward, standing under the opulent dome ceiling and blew a long breath from between his lips.

  The woman opposite Avery looked straight at him when he did that. She put up her hand to fan her face as she made some comment about him.

  The group unwound to turn and look.

  Rowan slid his fingers into his front pockets and rocked back on his heels.

  That’s when Avery caught his eye. The look held. His breath held. The world stopped.

  She blinked and smiled and with a little bounce, she stretched out her hand toward the group. She turned her head to say something to them, but didn’t break eye contact with him. Then she rushed, laughing, straight toward him, and he held out his arms to catch her up and spin her around. A grin stretched wide across his face.

  It was heady.

  It was unexpected.

  It was magic.

  With her hands resting on his shoulders, he set her down. He saw it dawn on Avery what she’d just done. Her face turned pink. Self-recrimination moved into her eyes. And he wouldn’t let it. He wanted that moment to be exactly what it was—a slice of time when nothing was held back. It had been so natural. He wanted that. So he bent his head and kissed her.

  Warm and soft. Sweet, like warm cherries under a summer sun. That was the kiss that clinched it for him. Gone. He was gone. “Hi, Avery,” he said, his lips just brushing against hers.

  “Hi, Rowan.”

  As Rowan laced his fingers with Avery’s, he straightened back up and glanced over at the women in her group, who were clapping and cheering and making a ruckus. “One more kiss. One more kiss,” they chanted.

  “They’ve been drinking since noon,” Avery said.

  Rowan wrapped his free arm around her waist, and dipping her back, kissed her again, long and satisfying, her arms tight around him, her body melting against his. “Still,” he moved his mouth to her ear to whisper, “I don’t mind obliging them.”

  “Chivalrous of you.” She laughed as he brought her back to standing.

  “Isn’t it?” He dropped a kiss on her nose. She was a lot more petite than he’d expected. He stood a good six inches taller than she was, and she was in heels. Her body was curvy and toned. Her long blond hair fell in soft curls to her breasts. Her breasts…yeah, he needed to move his mind to cleaner thoughts. “Are you ready to go or do you still have work to do? I can wait in the lobby.”

  Avery waved at the group. “Nope. They’re too sauced to do anything meaningful work-wise.” She looked up at him and smiled. “I’m ready when you are.”

  He was ready all right.

  Man, was he ready.

  But she probably wasn’t thinking the same thoughts he was.

  They walked out the doors into the night air.

  “You’re in heels. Should we walk or shall I hail a cab?”

  “The temperature is perfect. I’d prefer walking if you don’t mind,” Avery said.

  Hand in hand they started up Broadway to Worth Street toward Little Italy. He’d called and made sure that his favorite restaurant had a private table set aside for him. Avery stopped and rested her head on his bicep and looked up at the FBI Headquarters building. “This is wh
ere you were today?”

  “Some of today,” Rowan said.

  “I’ve been in there before. I have a T-shirt to prove it.”

  They set off walking again. “I can’t imagine a circumstance that would put you in that building.”

  “Propaganda, Dr. Kennedy.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my attention.” They paused then crossed the street.

  “The FBI likes to help writers write stories that shine the Bureau in their best possible light. To that end, the FBI wants to influence writers to put out books with a positive spin. Every year, there’s this big writer’s convention here in New York City. The day before, the FBI hosts an all-day class full of shock and awe.” She used her free hand to waggle spirit fingers. “It’s very impressive.”

  “Sounds like a great time.”

  “Ha. The one time I did the class, I learned that I am most certainly not built to be a spy. You know when you watch a movie and you think, I could do that. That’s how I’d be. Well,” she reached across to lay her hand on Rowan’s chest, “not you. You do that kind of thing in reality.” She dropped her hand again, and Rowan wanted it back—the warmth of her hand on his heart.

  “What happened?”

  “We had to do a background check before we went. And we were told that we couldn’t bring our phones in or any weapons. So that’s all fine. I don’t have a gun or anything. I had some pepper spray, and I left that back at my hotel. I didn’t really think things through.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “I was standing in line to have my purse go on the belt for the x-ray machine, and I started inventorying the things I had with me, like my credit card knife.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, it’s the size and shape of a credit card, I carry it in my wallet for opening boxes and what have you. It folds origami-like to become a very sharp blade, like a razor. It’s handy.”

  He nodded.

  “I had a Leatherman, and a Swiss Army knife. And there was one other thing that I’m drawing a blank on. Anyway, four things that would get me in trouble. I go to the guard at the door and tell him the problem.”

  “He said get rid of them or don’t come in.”

  “Exactly. I asked if he could hold them somewhere for me and that was a no. Could I put them in the trash and dig them out later? That was a no. It was like two hundred dollars’ worth of—”

  “Weapons.”

  “Tools I had in my purse.”

  “Why were you carrying a Leatherman?”

  “One of the wheels on my suitcase kept coming loose, I needed a larger Philips head than I had on my Swiss Army.”

  “And why did you need a Swiss Army?”

  “Cork screw for my wine.”

  “Okay, so you have all this contraband. What did you end up doing with it?”

  “The guard said I could try to leave it outside somewhere, so that’s what I did. I crossed Broadway, and I was looking for somewhere I could hide the stuff. And there was nowhere. So I started thinking like a heroine in a novel. Where would a female protagonist hide this stuff? If I was a spy, and had to leave something for someone else in one of those dead drop thingies, how would I do it?”

  He was grinning hard. “How did you do it?”

  “Badly.” Avery grimaced. “I saw a bin. You know the bins, the kind where they leave rental property newspapers?”

  “Like those?” Rowan pointed over at the three periodical boxes lined up next to the public mail drop.

  “Exactly. There weren’t enough papers in there that I felt confident that they wouldn’t all be picked up, then someone would get my tools. So I went around behind it. I was concealed from view from the street by the UPS truck. And I thought I was pretty slick as I squatted down behind the thing. It wasn’t all that heavy, I pushed it with my shoulder just enough that I could slide everything under, then I stood back up. There’s this ring of New Yorkers staring at me. I brushed off my hands and walked on as if nothing had happened.”

  Rowan had stopped in place and turned to listen to Avery, chuckling under his breath.

  “I went back into the FBI Headquarters. The guard looks at me. I give him a thumbs up, get in line, go through the check, get escorted up to the class, sit down, and that’s when I started to sweat.”

  “What? Why? You thought one of those people just went up behind you and stole your tools?”

  “No! No, I thought they’d go look, see the weapons and call the police. The police would come, the bystanders would point to the FBI Headquarters, and at any minute, the NYPD would swarm into the conference room and arrest me in front of all my colleagues.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s against the law for someone to leave knives in the streets. And then it got worse. I thought, oh no! There I was hiding something under an object in front of FBI Headquarters. They might think it was a bomb! They might have watched me on their security cameras and think that I was a terrorist. They might even cordon off the road and evacuate the block and have a robot out there looking to see what was planted on the street corner. And I’d never know to go explain, because there were no phones and no windows in our room. The FBI agents were going to arrest me.”

  “For what?”

  “Making them worried and using precious tax payer dollars on a bomb robot. Snarling traffic and inconveniencing the citizens by hiding weapons on the street.”

  Rowan was laughing so hard he could hardly stand up. Avery didn’t seem to mind. She was smiling back at him. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, then held her hand to his heart until he stopped laughing. “You are so right. You should never try to be a spy. You’re just too tender for that life.” He pulled her hand and got them walking again. “Are you hungry? We’re not far now.”

  Avery looked up the road then focused back on Rowan. “Can I be honest?”

  “Always.”

  “I’m not really in the mood to be in a restaurant right now. I’m an introvert by nature, and I’ve been around a lot of people today.”

  “But you still have to eat.”

  She stood still, her gaze held his, and he thought maybe the hunger in her eyes could be his imagination. Or a reflection of his own emotions. Rowan looked up the road again. Should he? “My hotel is just past where I was taking you for dinner. We could go there and order room service. Would you rather do that?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Avery

  Wednesday Night

  New York City

  “He said what now?” Rowan had his arm around Avery and was mostly holding her up as she leaned into him, laughing. They had been laughing from the point where she told him her ridiculous FBI story all the way up the road.

  It was hard to walk and laugh at the same time. Their progress was measured in inches and feet. People along the way picked up on their mood, grinning and chuckling along with them as they passed.

  It was so cathartic to laugh this way.

  A stranger in a busy city, Avery couldn’t care less what folks thought of her, so she threw her head back and laughed loud and hard when Rowan told her about the time he had to steal a camel and ride it out into the desert with no idea what he was doing, his legs wrapped tightly around the camel hump and holding on for dear life.

  By the time he’d finished the story, she was gripping at the stitch in her side.

  They’d made it, drunk on hilarity, to his hotel and into the elevator.

  He had asked her about what kinds of pick-up lines men had used on her. So she was telling him about her trip to Cancun and the guy in the tiki hut.

  “He said, ‘Do you want to pet my leezhard?’” She affected a deep-voiced foreign accent.

  The elevator door slid open, and they stumbled into the hallway.

  “I’m standing there trying to figure out if he’s saying what I think he’s saying or if maybe someone had taught him an English phrase that he was mangling. He was so earnest and expectant. ‘I’d like to show you my le
ezhard,” she said with the feigned accent low and intimate. “’I want you to touch heem.’” She bobbled her eyebrows like a cartoon Casanova. “‘I promise you, you’ll like it very much.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Rowan gasped as they walked up the hallway to his room.

  “Yeah, then he reaches into the leg pocket on his camo pants and pulls out a bearded dragon and sets it on his shoulder. ‘This eeze my drinking partner. I call heem Smaug.’”

  “An actual lizard in his pocket?” Rowan swiped his card across the lock and got a green light. He pushed the door wide for Avery to go in first. “Not a really bad pick up line?”

  She stepped inside then turned, her eyes crinkled with mirth. “An actual lizard.”

  Rowan followed behind and shut the door, watching her take up a position, leaning back against the wall and looking up at him.

  The mood shifted.

  Both together, like a well-choreographed dance. Their laughter fell away to a quiet intensity that an author would write something like, “she looked at him with longing.” No. “She looked at him with hunger in her eyes.” More. “She looked at him and tried to telegraph, ‘rip my clothes off me, take me to your bed, and make me cross-eyed with orgasms!’” Avery chuckled. Yeah, well. The truth was the truth, she thought. I wouldn’t mind that at all.

  Rowan stepped forward and brushed the hair from her cheek.

  She focused on the warmth in his eyes and drank him in. Avery wanted this picture to stay with her forever. The way he looked at her, she was beautiful. The way he looked at her, she was respected.

  Avery had never experienced this level of trust and freedom with someone in her life.

  This picture, this moment, she wanted to put it in a bottle and hang it on a golden chain around her neck, under her blouse against her heart, so she could lift it up and breathe it in like a heady perfume when she needed joy.

  Rowan moved his gaze from her eyes to her mouth. He grasped her chin and stroked his thumb over her lips. His breath caught then released. He looked back in her eyes again. “You’re astonishing.”