by Lara Lacombe
“You had quite the scare last night.”
“Things got a little hairy,” Thomas conceded. Hard to deny when Harper had yet to take his gaze off the proof of it.
“Ready to come back?”
“Absolutely.”
Harper’s eyes shifted, meeting his own. Thomas tensed, waiting for his boss to protest, but after a beat the older man broke the impromptu staring contest to look down at the papers on his desk.
“Good. What’s happening with the case?”
That’s it? No suggestion that I’m not ready to come back to work? Surprised by Harper’s ready acceptance of his return, Thomas gaped at the man, his respect for his superior agent rising a few notches. No one wanted to be treated like a child, and Thomas appreciated the fact that Harper took him at his word when it came to his readiness for duty. Maybe he’s not so bad after all....
“Kincannon,” Harper said, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Your case?”
Thomas shook his head slightly, mildly embarrassed by the delay in his reply. Nothing like awkward conversational pauses to convince the boss you really were ready to come back to work. “Uh, Shannon has made good progress on identifying last night’s attacker.”
Harper leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “And? Anyone we know?”
Thomas shrugged. “Maybe. It looks like a guy named Victor Banner. He may be a pro—she’s still digging.”
“What’s his connection to Dr. Fleming?”
“Still unknown. She’s my next stop. I need to talk to her about last night, find out if he said anything to her before...well, before.”
Harper nodded. “There’s got to be something else at play here. Why didn’t he just kill her when he had the chance? Why keep her alive?”
“He wants something.”
“She told James he wanted the papers.”
Thomas nodded, Harper’s words confirming his hunch. “That’s pretty much what I figured.”
Harper frowned. “But we had the papers translated. It’s just a list of nonsense words.”
“Nonsense to us,” Thomas said, “but what if it’s a code?”
Harper waved his hand, dismissing the thought. “We’ve had cryptography examine the pages, and they haven’t found anything. If it is a code, it’s damn near uncrackable.”
“Not to Claire.”
Harper opened his mouth to respond, but Thomas cut him off. “Think about it—why would Novikoff send these papers to Claire in the first place?”
“Safekeeping? Maybe he meant to retrieve them later but was murdered before that could happen.”
“Maybe. But you have to admit the timing is suspicious. He just happens to mail her a package of mysterious papers the day of his murder? I don’t buy it. From all accounts, he was a smart guy. He had to know something was up.”
“All right. That still doesn’t explain why Dr. Fleming would be able to decode this message, if there even is one.”
“He could have sent those papers to any number of people if it was just a matter of keeping them out of the wrong hands. But he sent them to Claire. He had to have a reason for that, and I think it’s because she’s the key to understanding them.”
Harper studied him for a long moment, his expression impassive as he considered Thomas’s argument. Don’t ever play poker with this guy. Thomas brushed the errant thought aside, trying to keep his own expression neutral. If he appeared too enthusiastic, Harper might write him off as a conspiracy nut and refuse to entertain any more of his ideas.
“What do you propose?”
Thomas let his breath out slowly, sensing he was close to victory. Don’t blow it now....
“I’d like to take copies of the papers to Dr. Fleming and let her spend some time with them. Maybe something will catch her eye, or she’ll recall a previous conversation with Novikoff that will shed some light on the investigation.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Thomas shrugged. “Then I’ve wasted an afternoon.”
Harper narrowed his eyes at that, but then nodded. “Fine. Probably best for you to take it easy today anyway.” He looked back down at the papers on his desk, a gesture that Thomas recognized as his cue to leave. “Get a copy of the translations from Alan. Let me know if you learn anything new.”
“Will do.”
Thomas stepped into the hall, shaking his head. Maybe he was still feeling light-headed from the loss of blood, but Harper had seemed almost pleasant. While the man would never be the warm, fuzzy type, he had lost the prickly edge that had characterized the majority of their conversations. Maybe I should get hurt more often.
Feeling a spurt of excitement that had nothing to do with the progress he hoped to make on the case, Thomas let his thoughts drift to Claire as he collected the documents and left the office. According to his watch, it had been only a few hours since he’d last seen her, but it certainly didn’t feel that way. Time slowed to a crawl when she wasn’t near, a realization that should have bothered him more than it did. He was anxious to have her look at the documents and to ask her about last night’s attack, but more than that, he just wanted to be near her again.
She had a calming way about her, he mused, recalling the way she’d kept him from chasing after their attacker. She’d certainly distracted him in the hospital. He smiled at the memory of her kiss, a thrill of anticipation in his belly as he imagined kissing her again. And he would. Now that he’d tasted her, he wouldn’t be satisfied with just one kiss. He needed more.
But he would have to wait.
First things first. Eliminate the threat to Claire. Then he could focus on getting up close and personal with the sexy scientist.
* * *
The sun was bright and cheerful, warming Claire as she stood at the window cradling a cup of coffee. It looked like the perfect fall day; the sky was the clear, vibrant blue of a robin’s egg, and a slight wind stirred the red-and-gold leaves in the trees, sending a few drifting lazily down with each gentle gust. She glanced wistfully outside, wishing for the umpteenth time she could go for a walk or at least sit on the porch. She could hear the dim shouts of children as they played in the neighboring yards, their bicycle bells ringing while they rode in front of the house. The whole neighborhood was outside, it seemed, making her feel even more isolated. Probably too chilly, she told herself, drawing little comfort from the thought.
She turned away and walked to the table, setting down the mug before reaching up to rub her gritty eyes. She hadn’t slept well. Though she knew on an intellectual level that she was safe, her emotions were still raw from the attack. Every noise, from the gust of wind rattling the tree branches outside to the low hum of the heater cranking on, had made her jump, her heart pounding into her throat as she was jerked awake. After a few minutes, she would doze off only to be startled by the next unfamiliar sound, a seemingly endless cycle that had left her more exhausted than she’d been before going to bed.
A discreet cough behind her drew her attention, and she turned to find Agent Reynolds standing by the kitchen counter. “Good morning,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?”
“Okay,” she lied, offering him a small smile.
He glanced at her as he stirred sugar into his cup. “Uh-huh. That’s why you have such dark circles under your eyes.”
Claire shrugged, dismissing the observation. “I’ll be fine. I used to pull all-nighters in college. I just need a little caffeine.” She gestured to the mug on the table and sat as James walked over to join her.
“Forgive me for saying this, but you were a bit younger in those days. It might take a little more than caffeine to bounce back now.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she acknowledged, staring down at the mug cupped between her hands. “I just can’t turn my brain
off, which makes it impossible to sleep.”
“Still thinking about last night’s attack?”
She nodded. “That, and Ivan, and...” She trailed off, considering. Agent Reynolds and Thomas seemed to be friends, which meant he probably knew how Thomas was doing this morning, if he’d been released from the hospital. While she was worried about Thomas, she didn’t want any of his coworkers to think their relationship was anything other than professional. If word got out they had kissed, it could be a disaster for his career. But surely she could ask about him without raising too much suspicion?
She glanced up to find James watching her, his expression kind. Yes, she could ask this man. She’d just have to be careful about it, keep her tone neutral and her face guarded so she didn’t give anything away.
“Do you know how Agent Kincannon is doing today? Is he still okay?” That sounded good—concerned but not overly so. Perfect.
“He’s doing fine. In fact, he’ll be here in a bit to take over for me while Natalie gets some rest.”
Her hand jerked, sloshing coffee over the rim of the mug. Damn. So much for cool and collected. She glanced up to see if he had noticed, but he was already fetching a paper towel, which he handed to her with a wry smile. Of course he’d seen. And now he probably suspected her interest in Thomas’s condition wasn’t just a matter of common courtesy.
She dabbed at the small puddle of coffee. “Oh, really?” she said, hating that her voice sounded so high. “That’s good. That he’s okay,” she rushed to add, feeling her face heat as she finished mopping up her mess. “I know he said he was fine last night, but I’m glad to hear he didn’t have any trouble during the night.”
“Me, too,” James said, plucking the wet paper towel from her hand and walking over to deposit it in the trash. “He almost got himself killed.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Claire shot back, her temper flaring in defense of Thomas. He’d done a damn fine job keeping her safe last night, and Agent Reynolds had no right to criticize him, even if they were friends.
He regarded her quizzically. “Didn’t say it was,” he said mildly.
“Oh.” The fight went out of her at that, and Claire slumped back into her chair, feeling oddly deflated.
The man studied her for a long moment while he sipped his coffee. Claire fought the urge to fidget under his scrutiny, unsure of what he was looking for. The silence stretched between them, growing awkward, and she cast about for something to say. The ringing of his phone saved her from making a comment about the weather, and she sighed quietly as he shifted his attention away from her.
Had it really been only yesterday that this nightmare had started? She shook her head, still having trouble processing everything that had happened since that horrible email. A small part of her wanted to crawl into bed and sleep so she could wake up to find this had all been a terrible dream, the product of an overactive imagination and too much TV crime drama before bed. She’d open her eyes to find Ivan still alive, her life back to normal.
Except her life would never be normal again.
And as much as she wanted to hide under the blankets, that was the coward’s way out. Denying her new reality wasn’t going to make it go away, and the quicker she adapted to it, the better off she’d be. While she wanted nothing more than to rest, to let Thomas take care of her and protect her, she couldn’t let herself depend on him. She was used to taking care of herself and fixing her own problems, a lesson she had learned from her adoptive mother years ago.
Frank Fleming had been the glue that held their little family together, and after his death, her mother had pulled away. Claire had always suspected her adoption was driven by her father, not her mother, a fact that Dena Fleming had confirmed years later. Dena wasn’t cut out to be a mother, and any affection she’d felt for Claire had turned to resentment when faced with the realities of raising a child alone.
Why are you so needy all the time?
Why can’t you just take care of yourself?
Why won’t you leave me alone?
Stop bothering me!
While Dena had never been physically abusive, her neglect and outright hostility toward Claire had left painful scars. She could see now that Dena had been battling her own demons, but she couldn’t bring herself to forgive, and she couldn’t allow herself to forget. She hadn’t spoken to Dena in years, not since the day she’d graduated high school. The older woman had been visibly relieved that Claire had finished school, and to celebrate, she’d given her a stack of cardboard boxes.
“You’re an adult now. It’s time for you to move out.”
And so Claire had packed her things and left, staying on a friend’s couch until college started in the fall. She’d begged, borrowed and worked her fingers to the bone as a waitress to pay for school, and not once had she asked Dena for anything. She’d vowed that she would never again grow to depend on another person, knowing that if she didn’t need anyone, they couldn’t turn her life upside down on a whim. It was a plan that had served her well.
Until Ivan came along and breached her defenses.
And now that he was gone, Thomas was quickly patching up the gaps in her heart.
James snapped his phone closed and turned back to her with a polite smile. “That was Agent Kincannon. He’s about five minutes out. If you’ll excuse me...” He poured the remainder of his coffee in the sink, rinsed the mug and placed it on the counter. “I have a few things to take care of before he gets here.”
Claire offered him a weak smile and a nod. The news that Thomas was so close sent nervous zings of electric anticipation through her limbs, and she placed a hand on the table in a vain attempt to ground herself. Kissing him last night had been wonderfully distracting, but she’d been pulled away before they’d had a chance to talk. What if he hadn’t felt anything? Or worse, what if he’d only kissed her back because he felt sorry for her? Was there anything worse than a pity kiss?
Restlessness pushed her to her feet. She paced a few steps, turned and walked back to the table. She picked up the coffee mug and took a sip, frowning at the lukewarm temperature. Maybe another cup would help....
She dumped out the dregs and poured a fresh cup, added sugar and stirred. She took her time with the ritual, using it to get her nerves under control. So she was going to see him again—she’d known it would happen. After all, he was assigned to her case, so that meant she’d have to interact with him as long as there was a case. She’d just have to keep things professional from here on out. If she didn’t mention the kiss, perhaps he wouldn’t either. An implicit rejection was certainly preferable to having him tell her outright that he wasn’t interested. She shuddered at the thought. Her emotions were so close to the surface right now she was sure she’d start crying if he came in here and tried to let her down easy.
So don’t let him.
Distraction was key. All she had to do was steer the conversation away from any topics that came even remotely close to being personal, and she’d be fine. It wouldn’t be that hard. She did it at work all the time.
But she’d never kissed her coworkers. And none of them had bright blue eyes and a smile that kindled a warm glow inside her chest. She didn’t feel at peace around them, didn’t enjoy that curious lightness she felt around Thomas, as if his presence somehow lessened gravity’s pull.
And none of her coworkers had ever saved her life.
It would be so easy to fall in—
No. She wasn’t going to say it. The only L-word she was willing to consider was like. Anything else was far too risky.
I like him, she told herself firmly, emphasizing the word so her heart would know she meant business. Liking Thomas was acceptable. Loving him was not. For crying out loud, she had only met him yesterday! It simply wasn’t possible to go from nice to meet you to I love you in the space of a few hours. That was the st
uff of Hollywood movies, not real life.
Although, to be fair, armed assassins weren’t generally the stuff of real life either.
It was the stress of her situation, she decided, determined to be sensible. Thomas had prevented her attacker from hurting her, and had gotten injured himself in the process. His actions had inspired her to cast him in the part of the hero, and she’d built him up in her mind, making him out to be bigger, braver, stronger, better than he was in real life. Her attraction to him was a natural extension of her imaginings. Once he arrived, she’d see that he was just a man, and her emotions would settle back into place.
Claire picked up the mug and blew across the surface of the steaming liquid, pleased to have that sorted out. She would stay here until Thomas showed up, and once she’d seen him again and proved that her feelings were based on adrenaline, she could turn her focus to other things.
She didn’t have to wait long. She was a few sips into her coffee when he arrived. The low hum of male voices drifted in from the next room, and she closed her eyes, letting the comforting timbre wash over her, even as the sound of him made her stomach flip-flop.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and she turned away, presenting her back to the door. It was cowardly of her, but she didn’t want him to know how eager she was to see him.
“Claire?”
Oh, God. That voice. It rumbled through her, thrummed along her skin like a caress. Just like that, she was back in the hospital room, her mouth pressed to his and her body crying out for more. She took a deep breath to dispel the sudden jolt of lust and swallowed hard before turning around, hoping her face wouldn’t give away the effect he had on her.
“Hello,” she said quietly.
He looked good, she noted, relief making her feel almost giddy. She hadn’t expected him to be at death’s door, but seeing him now, wearing dark gray slacks and a navy blue polo that darkened his eyes to the color of lapis, he was the very picture of health. If it weren’t for the bandage on his neck and a subtle, lingering paleness in his lips and cheeks, she could easily pretend last night had never happened.
