by Irene Hannon
The two men headed in the opposite direction, and she turned the key in the ignition, disgusted.
What a way to start the work week.
But she wasn't giving up yet. An idea would come to her.
It always did.
"I'll have a small house salad with low-fat dressing:" Mark closed his menu and handed it to the waitress.
"What happened to your usual burger?" Nick arched an eyebrow.
"I overdid the calories Friday night. I need to cut back this week"
"Hmm. Turkey club for me, Nick told the waitress, passing over the laminated menu. "Was it worth it?"
"Oh yeah." Mark leaned back in the booth and grinned. "The food was great. But the company was even better. A perfect Valentine's Day. What did you end up doing? Wait ... let me guess." He pretended to give it serious consideration. "You worked on the house"
"For a while" Nick selected a pack of crackers he didn't want from the small basket on the Formica table in the diner, tore it open, and popped one in his mouth. He'd been too keyed up to sleep when he arrived home Friday night and had spent a couple of hours installing crown molding in the master bedroom. Meaning his response wasn't a lie. "Speaking of houses, did you and Emily do any hunting this weekend? I thought your goal was to be out of her condo by spring"
"It is and no, we didn't. The snow gave us a good excuse to stay home and ... veg" He winked and his grin broadened.
One side of Nick's mouth quirked up. "Still in the honeymoon phase, I see. Anyway, there's a nice fixer-upper in my neighborhood:"
"Forget it. I've already inhaled my lifetime allotment of drywall dust, thanks to you"
"I warned you about that before you came last summer"
"I assumed your reference to the house as a construction site was an exaggeration, not a literal description"
"I'm always honest"
"So I learned. By the way, did you ever figure out how the press heard about the doll lady?"
"Yeah. She'd asked a friend whose husband is a cop to see what he recommended, and they talked about it when they went out to dinner. I called the restaurant, and the manager ran the credit card receipts from that night. The reporter was there"
"How did you find out the woman talked to her friend about it?"
"She told me"
"You didn't mention that when you called me Friday night to check if Emily or I had mentioned the story to anyone"
This was starting to get sticky.
"I asked her after that:"
"You called this woman back on your night off ?"
"No" Nick popped the other cracker in his mouth.
Mark narrowed his eyes. "What's with the crackers?"
"What do you mean?"
"You never eat crackers. You always say they're wasted calories and too high in fat"
"I'm making an exception today"
"Why?"
"What is this, the third degree?" Nick complained.
Several beats of silence ensued. Mark hadn't been selected for the FBI's elite Hostage Rescue Team because he was a slouch, and Nick knew he was rapidly putting two and two together. Nick's vague answer and irritation, plus his admission that Rachel was good-looking, plus his uncharacteristic eating behavior added up to an obvious conclusion.
"You went to see her, didn't you?"
Mark had figured it out even faster than Nick expected.
"Yeah, I did. She was very upset about the leak. I wanted to verify that it didn't come from our end and help her get to the bottom of it"
Folding his arms across his chest, Mark leaned back and smirked. "Whatever you say. Did you have a nice visit?"
"She was very pleasant."
Mark laughed outright. "Give me a break. You said a week ago she was pretty. And I seem to recall you using words like sincere, intelligent, articulate. What's wrong with admitting you like a woman? And now that Emily has offered a reasonable explanation for the doll phenomenon, you don't have to worry about her being a nutcase. The door's wide open-if the lady's interested. What kind of vibes did you pick up when you stopped by?"
"Pretty good" Nick shifted on the seat and wiped up some condensation from his iced tea glass with a paper napkin.
"That's a start. How long did you stay?"
There were few people Nick trusted implicitly. Mark was one of them. Though their paths had taken different directions after their Academy days, converging again on a daily basis only in the past six months, they'd never lost touch. If Nick was going to begin sharing personal information with anyone, the man across from him would be a safe choice.
"Three hours:"
Choking on his soda, Mark groped for a napkin from the metal holder and wiped his mouth. "You stayed three hours?"
"Yeah"
"I hope you bought the lady dinner."
"No. She offered to feed me"
Mark chuckled and shook his head. "You're full of surprises today. And here I was worried about your love life"
"It was only a dinner, Mark."
"True" He took another, more cautious, sip of soda. "You plan to make it anything more? If the lady didn't have plans on Valentine's Day, she must be available"
"I'm considering it"
"Don't consider too long, my friend. As you advised me last summer when I was trying to decide what to do about Emily, don't let a great opportunity slip through your fingers. I recall you saying that women like Emily don't come along every day. You were right. And the doll lady might fall into the same category."
"Your situation was different. You guys had known each other years before. You had a history together"
"So start creating one with ... what's her name, by the way?"
"Rachel."
"With Rachel. Maybe you could send her flowers to thank her for dinner"
It was Nick's turn to smile. "I already did"
"Good for you." Mark grinned. "And a smart move. Women melt when they get flowers"
"I'll keep that in mind." Nick stirred his iced tea and sent his friend a wry glance.
"Hey, I'm just trying to help. You wouldn't want to let the right woman slip away."
Nick stopped stirring. "Aren't you rushing things a little? I've known Rachel all of ten days"
"It doesn't take long to sense if a relationship has potential. And this one sounds promising."
"You're jumping to way too many conclusions"
"Nope. I've been there. I know the smitten signs"
"Oh, please. Spare me."
"Look at the evidence:" Mark leaned forward and ticked it off on his fingers. "A, you gave Rachel the benefit of the doubt last week despite her implausible story. B, when we all met for dinner that night, you defended her sanity even before Emily proposed her theory. C, you admitted Rachel was pretty and noted her other sterling qualities. D, you went out of your way to visit her on Valentine's night. E, you stayed when she invited you to dinner. And F, you sent her roses' Mark sat back. "Verdict? Smitten"
As an FBI agent, Nick knew how to evaluate evidence. And it was hard to refute Mark's conclusion. He did like Rachel. A lot. And while he had no intention of rushing into a relationship, he did plan to give it a chance and see where things led.
"Well?" Mark prodded when he didn't respond.
"No comment:"
Mark chuckled and speared a forkful of lettuce. "I rest my case."
Well, wasn't that interesting.
Claudia slouched in her car and watched the tall, sandy-haired guy she'd seen at FBI headquarters on Monday step out of a car and greet Rachel in the parking lot of Madeleine's restaurant. She smiled as he took the woman's arm, nodded toward the entrance, and escorted her to the door.
Yes!
Claudia now had her connection! Rachel was talking to the FBI. She'd seen it with her own eyes.
And a good thing too. She'd given herself until Wednesday noon to get the psychic story approved, and this was a photo finish. For most of the past two days she'd spent every spare minute trailing Rachel, hoping to f
ind some link to local law enforcement. It had been a long shot, and she honestly hadn't expected it to pay off. This new development was almost too good to believe.
It would be better, though, if she could get Rachel to comment on her contact with the agency. As a plan formed in her mind, Claudia put the car in gear and headed toward the school where Rachel taught in the afternoon. There wasn't much chance the woman would bend, considering her adamant refusal to participate last week. Still, now that Claudia had established a definite connection to the FBI, it was worth a try.
But while her input would be great, Claudia was pretty sure Stacy would give her the green light to proceed with or without Rachel's comment. How could she not? Claudia had observed a meeting between the woman and an FBI agent.
And where there was smoke, there was usually fire.
The only empty parking space Rachel could find at Stafford Elementary was at the far end of the icy lot, requiring a long walk in wind chills near zero. But considering the warm glow left over from her hour with Nick, she doubted she'd notice the frigid cold.
His call last night suggesting they meet for lunch had left her with a tingle of anticipation that had played havoc with her sleep and brightened her morning despite the heavy gray clouds suggesting the imminent arrival of yet another storm. And their too-brief interlude had lived up to all her expectations. In deference to her limited time, he'd chosen a restaurant on the route that linked the two schools where she taught-yet more evidence of his consideration and thoughtfulness. And the small tea room had been charming, with French decor, excellent food, and a quiet ambiance conducive to conversation.
He'd taken charge of the latter from the outset, skillfully guiding the discussion from movies and books to travel and hobbies. It had been more like a typical first date than their unexpected Valentine dinner had been. Nothing heavy, just a pleasant exchange that put them both at ease. And that was okay with her. If things developed between them, if their comfort level with each other grew, there would be opportunities for heavier discussions later.
Best of all, he'd left her in the parking lot with a promise to call again.
Rachel was so focused on reliving their lunch-and avoiding the icy patches on the asphalt-that she didn't notice Claudia Barnes until the woman fell into step beside her.
"Hello, Ms. Sutton"
Taken aback by the reporter's unexpected appearance, Rachel jolted to a stop.
"Sorry to startle you:" The woman smiled. "I wanted to let you know my story will be running in Friday's edition. And that there's still time for me to incorporate a couple of quotes from you. I wouldn't want you to give away anything that might compromise an investigation, of course, but a general comment or two about your discussion with the FBI agent at lunch today would be great:"
Tension coiled in Rachel's stomach. "Have you been following me?"
"Doing research," the woman corrected.
"I told you I don't want anything to do with your story. And I also don't appreciate you eavesdropping on my friends during private dinners at restaurants" Rachel resumed her trek toward the school, sorry now she hadn't found a parking place closer to the entrance.
Her comment seemed to take the reporter off guard, but the woman recovered with alacrity and fell into step beside her. "I commend your friendly FBI agent for his investigative skills:"
"It wasn't difficult to figure out where you got your lead. I only told the story to a couple of people" Rachel picked up her pace.
"Ms. Sutton, be reasonable:" The reporter matched her stride for stride. "The story will run with or without your participation. If questioned on the facts, I'm willing to stand in front of a judge and say I heard the doll story myself from your friend and that I witnessed you conversing with an FBI agent. You might as well make a comment"
Rachel came to an abrupt halt and faced the woman, anger nipping at her words. "For your information, Ms. Barnes, my lunch with Nick had nothing to do with that doll. Furthermore, it's been suggested to me that the doll simply triggered some memory from my childhood. I believe that's a reasonable explanation. Implying I'm a psychic, let alone that there's a crime connection to my experience, is not only a stretch, it's very misleading. Please don't bother me again"
Turning on her heel, Rachel covered the remaining distance to the double glass doors at a half-run. She was afraid the woman would follow her into the school, but to her relief the reporter halted a few steps from the entrance. As the door swung shut, Rachel peeked over her shoulder. Claudia Barnes smiled, waved, and walked way.
Once the woman disappeared, Rachel sagged against the wall, giving her unsteady legs a second to recover. She wanted to ring Nick, but a quick glance at her watch confirmed she was running late for her first class of the afternoon. The call would have to wait. Besides, it wasn't urgent. There was nothing he could do about the situation. Yet the mere sound of his voice would reassure her.
And the pleasant implications of that fact helped dispel the anxiety Claudia Barnes had left in her wake.
"I hear you're collecting dolls"
His topcoat half shrugged off, Nick pivoted toward the open ing of his cube. Ellen Levine regarded him, her expression difficult to read. A former reporter, the svelte, fiftysomething media relations manager was a savvy spokesperson who knew all the tricks of the trade. She could court-or divert-the media, depending on which tactic best suited the FBI's purpose.
Thoughts of his lunch with Rachel had distracted him all afternoon as he drove around following up on leads for a case, but Nick's focus sharpened at the woman's comment. "Where did you hear that?"
"A certain reporter by the name of Claudia Barnes. St. Louis Scene"
"How did she connect me to this?"
"You'd have to ask her that yourself. She wouldn't answer that question for me"
"When did she call?"
"Two-thirty. That was her second attempt to get information, by the way. She showed up in person on Monday. Claims a psychic by the name of Rachel Sutton brought a doll here ten days ago, saying it gave her bad vibes. Is that true?"
Hanging his coat on a hook in the corner of his cube, Nick perched on the edge of his desk. "Yes. All except the psychic part. Rachel Sutton is not, and did not claim to be, a psychic. I filed a 302 and an FD-71 and considered it closed until Ms. Sutton called to inform me the press had contacted her. This Claudia Barnes overheard a friend of Ms. Sutton's talking about the situation to her husband in a restaurant and decided it was newsworthy."
"I doubt the reporter had your name Monday when she stopped by, or she would have used it. Any idea how she got it?"
"No" Nick knew Rachel wouldn't have given it to her.
"What did you do with this doll?"
He tipped his head toward the small shopping bag shoved in the corner of his office, under the workspace.
Leaning into his cube, Ellen surveyed the disreputable-looking Raggedy Ann smiling back at her from the shadows. "Why did you hold onto it?"
"I'm not sure. It's probably full of germs:"
"That would be a safe bet" She straightened. "Barnes claims St. Louis Scene is going to run a story on paranormal phenomena and that both you and Ms. Sutton will be mentioned. She wanted a statement from us"
"I assume you said no comment"
"Yes. This is more a heads-up that your name will soon be in print:"
"I've had worse things happen. But I'm sorry if this is causing problems for you or the Bureau"
Her lips twitched. "I've dealt with tougher issues. So has the FBI:" She gestured toward the doll. "If you want my advice, wear gloves when you pitch it"
As Ellen exited, Nick noticed the blinking light on his phone. Preoccupied, he punched in the code, half listening to his messages. Until he got to the one from Rachel.
"Nick, I wanted to let you know that Claudia Barnes was waiting for me in the parking lot at school after our lunch. She saw us at the restaurant. I think she's been following me. I brushed her off, but I realized later I might
have said your first name. I'm afraid, with her tenacity, she might find out your last name and try to contact you. I wanted to warn you:' There was a slight pause, and when she continued the worry in her voice had been replaced with warmth. "I also wanted to thank you again for lunch. It was lovely. The best part of my day. Take care" The line went dead.
Another mystery solved. If Rachel had told the determined reporter his first name, it would have been an easy matter for her to track him down. He was the only Nick at the office. A simple phone call to the receptionist asking to be transferred to his line would have supplied the information she was after.
But Rachel's slip revealed her inexperience with the press. And also suggested she was ill-equipped to deal with the fallout the article could produce. While he'd reassured her that most people took the coverage in St. Louis Scene with a grain of salt, and that readership wasn't that high, the story would bring a few weirdos out of the woodwork. She needed some preparation for that. And a little moral support wouldn't hurt, either.
He could supply both.
Besides, it gave him a good excuse to hang around with her over the weekend. A smile tugged at his lips as he dropped the receiver back into the cradle.
And that was one piece of fallout he didn't mind in the least.
Debra swung into a parking spot near the front door of Little Folks Academy, lamenting as always the need for child care. If things had gone as planned, she'd be a stay-at-home mom. But at least her salary as a paralegal allowed her to be selective in her daycare choice. She tried to take some consolation in that.
As she stepped inside the building, the other harried parents who'd come to claim their children gave her no more than a passing glance or a brief, distracted nod. That was fine with her. She didn't want to get chummy with anyone. Danielle was all she needed.
"Oh, hi, Ms. Kraus:" Marsha, one of the college-age girls who helped with the afternoon rush, gave her a frazzled smile. "I'll get Danielle for you in a minute, okay? We're kind of swamped:"
