by Julie James
"Good to hear from you, boss," Nick answered pleasantly. He stepped out onto the terrace and waited for the conversation to go downhill from there.
"What the hell do you think you're doing in the Napa Valley?" Davis demanded.
Bingo.
"Nick Stanton figured he should treat himself to a little R and R. The real estate market for rental properties is really booming these days."
"Don't give me any of that Nick Stanton crap," Davis warned. "Do I need to remind you that you're in the middle of an investigation?"
"An investigation in which my primary objective is to appear to be dating Jordan Rhodes. As such, I see no conflict with my present location. Not to mention, I've checked in with Huxley and the other agents on the team several times while I've been gone—Eckhart's been quiet this weekend, sick with the stomach flu. He's scheduled to meet with Trilani on Tuesday morning, and I'll be back in town well before then. Today, as a matter of fact."
Davis grunted. "Well, don't you have all the answers?"
"You'd expect nothing less of me, boss."
"I expect you to remember that you're an FBI agent, that's what I expect."
"Trust me, that fact hasn't slipped my mind once since I've been here," Nick said sharply.
Davis paused, likely surprised by his tone. He responded carefully. "All right, Nick. You seem to have things under control. I suppose you've earned a little leeway."
"Thank you. You're ... not going to give me the touchyfeely speech about being your top agent again, are you?"
Davis chuckled. "No speeches. Just a question: violent motorcycle gang or insider trading?"
"Is this an opinion question? Generally, I frown on both."
"Good. Because one of them is going to be your next undercover assignment. Figured I'd let you pick. Personally, I'd go for the insider trading just for the cushy lifestyle. You'd be pretending to be a hedge fund trader, so we can probably get you something even better than the Lexus. Although Pallas made me promise that he gets to teach you how to ride a bike if you pick the motorcycle gang."
Despite the teasing, Nick remained silent. Another assignment. It was all happening so quickly.
"Still there, McCall?"
"Yes. Just thinking that this conversation seems a little premature. I'm not finished with the Eckhart investigation yet."
"According to Huxley, you guys are close. He seemed fairly confident we'd be able to wrap things up after Eckhart's meeting with Trilani on Tuesday. Do you disagree?"
Nick paused. "No."
"Glad to hear it. In addition to tying you up, I've had three agents practically living in a van outside Bordeaux for the last two weeks. The sooner we can finish this, the better," Davis said. "I know you've got your New York trip coming up, but as soon as you're back I figured we can start prepping you for your next case."
Nick knew this was how it worked. It was how he'd done things since he'd begun working undercover several years ago. He went from assignment to assignment and didn't think twice about it. But now ...
He looked through the window and saw Jordan standing next to the bed, packing the white dress into her open suitcase.
Like it or not, it was decision time.
JORDAN WAS BEGINNING to get nervous.
Nick had been acting strangely ever since he'd received the phone call at the resort. It was just like the time he'd gotten the call from "Ethan" at Eckhart's party—she knew something was up. Sure, he'd put forth a good effort during the drive from Napa to the airport, and again during their flight home, but she could see it in his eyes.
She'd asked him twice what was wrong and had gotten nowhere. She'd begun to think she needed to break out some seriously badass interrogation tactics—and then realized she had no such tactics. Although he did respond well to the thong and high heels technique.
Something to keep in mind.
When they got back to her house, Nick left his suitcase by the front door and carried hers upstairs to her bedroom. Jordan waited in the kitchen, eying that suitcase by the front door and becoming more worried as she contemplated its meaning. If she was reading between the lines and speculating about Nick's mysterious behavior—something she didn't want to do, but since he wasn't telling her anything she had no choice—she would have to say that it didn't appear as though he planned to stay the night.
Suddenly, she had a bad feeling she knew why Nick was behaving so oddly. She had only asked him for a weekend, and now that weekend was over.
She heard him coming down the stairs and pulled herself together. She was overreacting, obviously. She had to be. He liked her, and they'd just spent an incredible two days together. There was no reason to start getting all worried and presumptuous now.
She threw on a smile when he entered the kitchen. "Thank you for carrying that upstairs for me," she said, referring to her suitcase.
"Just how many bottles of wine did you stash in there?" he asked.
"Actually, it's the shoes." She tried to look casual. "So, should we talk about this thing you've been avoiding all day?"
Standing at the opposite end of the counter, Nick nodded. "Yes. Sorry—I've been mulling a few things over in my head." He took a moment, as if deciding where to begin. "That call this morning was from my boss. He wanted to talk about my next undercover assignment."
Jordan blinked in surprise. "Your next assignment? You haven't even finished the one with Xander yet."
"Eckhart plans to meet with Trilani on Tuesday morning," he said. "I think we'll probably be able to wrap things up after that."
Jordan's heart sank. So soon. Sure, she'd known the end of the investigation was looming, but she hadn't realized it was this close. "When do you begin your next assignment? I assume you at least get some time off, right?"
Nick shook his head. "Not much. I'd planned to go to New York to spend a few days with my family, and when I come back my boss wants me to start getting up to speed on the next assignment."
What about us?
Jordan caught the words just before they spilled out of her mouth. Nick's expression was unreadable, and it occurred to her: perhaps she hadn't been overreacting to the suitcase by the door. Perhaps, despite all the sweet words and the really, really fantastic sex and her gut instinct, she'd been wrong to think that her weekend with him had become something more than just a weekend.
In other words, perhaps she'd just become a Lisa.
Nick hadn't made a single promise to her over the weekend. In fact, he hadn't once brought up the subject of what might happen once they got back to Chicago. For her part, she'd deliberately avoided the issue, not wanting to look too pushy or needy. Besides, she'd figured, she was the one who'd taken the first step and asked him to go to Napa with her. Which meant the next move was his.
And now he seemed to be making that move. Backward. Right out her front door.
Still, she wasn't ready to give up just yet. She kept her cool, resolved to hear whatever it was Nick had to say. Assuming he had something to say.
"What kind of assignment is it?" she asked. There—she'd even managed to pull off sounding casual.
He shifted uneasily. Not a good sign.
"I could choose either a motorcycle gang or insider trading," he said.
You could choose neither, she thought.
But she didn't say it.
Instead, she decided to try a different tactic. The hell with beating around the bush. "So where does that leave us?"
Nick hesitated, then dodged the question. "Where do you think that leaves us?"
What Jordan wouldn't do right then for those badass interrogation techniques. He was being far too cagey. Also not a good sign.
Still, she pressed on. Hell, she would make this as easy as possible for him—she'd even start him out. "I think that this was an incredible weekend." She paused, waiting for Nick to pick up from there. Me, too, Jordan, he could say. And I want to keep it going. I don't care what it takes—we're fantastic together. Something along those lines
. Anything.
She stared at him expectantly. He stared right back at her. Undoubtedly the second longest amount of time they'd ever gone without talking.
Then ... the strangest look of resignation came over his face. And he finally picked up where she left off. Except he didn't say what she'd wanted to hear.
"But we both knew it was just a weekend," he finished, his voice noticeably flat.
Jordan felt the ache—a sharp pang—cut through her. It meant a lot more than that to me.
But she didn't say that, either.
Instead, she put on a brave face. She was getting pretty good at telling lies these days; she could handle one more. "You said your job made things complicated. I suppose this is the complicated part."
Nick watched her closely with those amazing green eyes of his. "I'd been hoping, actually, that things wouldn't have to be so complicated," he said quietly.
Ah, she got it—he didn't want her to make this awkward . Probably the reaction he was accustomed to from all the other Lisas in his life. But she had her pride. As she'd told him before, she was a big girl. She wouldn't yell, she wouldn't cry, she wouldn't beg him to stay. But she needed him to leave.
Her eyes stung at the thought.
Now. She needed him to leave now.
"We're both adults, Nick. This doesn't have to be a long, drawn-out discussion. We had our weekend together, and now we've come back to the real world. You've got your job and all the trappings and rules that come with that."
He stepped toward her. "So that's it?"
Jordan guessed that he'd expected her to at least ask him to stay one more night. But every moment she spent with him would only make this harder. "I think it's probably better to make a clean break. Given the inevitable."
"The inevitable." He stood up straight and folded his arms across his chest. "I have to say, this was not how I saw this conversation going."
She cocked her head at that. "Well, is there any other option?" Although she kept her expression carefully neutral, inside she felt anything but. Say you don't want to leave.
Nick studied her for a long moment. "No, I guess not."
A silence fell between them.
"I think, all things considered, that it's best if you go now." Jordan forced herself to meet his eyes, then had to look away before he could read too much in her own.
He nodded. "Yeah, I think so, too." He edged his way toward the front door, then paused. "Should I call you on Tuesday to let you know how things go with Eckhart?"
"Sure." Jordan followed him and watched as he grabbed his suitcase. The image of him leaving her place, suitcase in hand, would likely stay burned in her brain for a long time. But for now, she kept her chin up. All she had to do was keep it together until he walked out the door.
Nick rested his hand on the door handle, and when he looked at her one last time, what she saw surprised her.
His eyes blazed with anger.
"Well, Rhodes, thanks for the weekend," he said, his jaw clenched tight. "I'll be sure to send you a check for my half of the hotel room. Hell, maybe I can even write it off as a business expense."
Now that was a slap in the face. And Jordan was confused. Why would he be mad at her? "That's a little cold. You don't have to be an asshole about things."
His expression was incredulous. "I'm the asshole?"
She pointed between them. "Is there something I'm missing here? Because all I said was—"
"Don't bother, I heard you the first time," Nick said, cutting her off and yanking the door open. "I heard every word you said." He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Jordan stood in her living room, staring at the door in confusion.
Well.
No clue what that was all about.
Thirty
AFTER KYLE LET Jordan into his penthouse condo, a man dressed in a black tuxedo came around the corner and greeted her.
"Good evening, Ms. Rhodes." He held out his hand. "May I take your coat?"
"Of course. Thank you." Jordan handed over her coat and threw her brother a wry look when the man hurried off. "You hired a butler?" That would be so Kyle.
He slung his arm around her neck, half-hugging her, half-dragging her toward the dining room. "No, Dad brought in a waiter for dinner tonight. Hope you're in the mood for sushi, because he bribed the head chef from Japonais to cook for us."
Actually, she wasn't in the mood for sushi. Or any dinner, for that matter. For the last twenty-four hours, all she could think about was Nick. And thinking was all she'd been doing, since he hadn't returned any of her calls. She'd tried his cell phone three times and had left him messages. Not a word in response.
Given the way he'd stormed out of her house on Sunday night, it was obvious that they'd had some kind of misunderstanding. Clearly, they needed to work on their communication skills. An issue she intended to address with him as soon as he called her back.
For now, however, she had her family to deal with. This was her brother's homecoming dinner, the first time the three of them had gotten together since his release from prison and the hospital. "Sounds like Dad really went all out," she said to Kyle.
Grey was waiting for them in the dining room, with a glass of Scotch in his hand. He gestured magnanimously. "What can I say? How often does a father get to celebrate his son's release from prison?" His sharp blue eyes narrowed in on Kyle. "You better say 'only once.' "
Kyle held up his hands innocently. "Only once. I promise."
They took their seats at the dining table, which had been set with crystal stemware and china.
"Since this is a celebration of sorts, it's a good thing I brought something, too." Jordan handed a bag with her store's label to Kyle. "I figured it's been a while since you've had a decent glass of wine. So I thought long and hard about the perfect bottle for you."
Kyle looked touched. "Aw, Jordo, you shouldn't have. But I will gladly drink it regardless." He pulled out the wine bottle and checked out the label. He threw her a look. "Very funny."
Grey leaned forward. "What is it?"
Kyle set the bottle on the table to show him the label. "Orin Swift. The Prisoner."
Her father laughed, and Jordan smiled innocently. "It actually is one of my favorites."
As the waiter began to serve them sashimi and ahi tuna ceviche, Jordan and her father let Kyle guide them on how much, or little, he wanted to discuss his incarceration at MCC. Mostly, he talked about how he still couldn't believe he was out.
"Such a shame that I didn't get to say good-bye to my fellow inmates," he said sarcastically. "Actually, Puchalski was the only guy I liked. I still can't figure out what got into him."
As Jordan used her chopsticks to pick up a piece of hamachi, she decided it was best to get her brother off that topic as fast as possible. "Sounds like he just snapped."
"But why would he have a fork in his shoe?" Kyle mused. "That makes me think he was planning the attack, which doesn't make sense."
Let it go, Kyle. She shrugged. "Maybe he always keeps a fork in his shoe. Who understands why any of these felon types do what they do?"
"Hey. I am one of those felon types."
Grey tipped his glass of wine. "And who would've thought you would do what you did?"
"It was Twitter," Kyle mumbled under his breath.
"Maybe we should change the subject," Jordan suggested, sensing the conversation could only spiral downward from there.
"Okay. Let's talk about you instead," Grey said. "I never asked—how did Xander's party go?"
Now there was a potential land mine of a topic. "It went fine. Pretty much the same party as usual." Except for a little domestic espionage. She threw Kyle a look, needing help. Change the subject. Fast.
He stared back cluelessly. Why?
She glared. Just do it.
He made a face. All right, all right. "Speaking of wine, Jordo, how was your trip to Napa?"
Great. Leave it to her genius of a brother to pick the other topic
she wanted to avoid. "I visited that new winery I told you about. We should have a deal this week so that my store will be the first to carry their wine in the Chicago area."
Grey's tone was casual. "Did you bring Tall, Dark, and Smoldering with you on the trip?"
Jordan set down her chopsticks and looked over at her father. He smiled cheekily as he took a sip of his wine.
"You read Scene and Heard, too?" she asked.
Grey scoffed at that. "Of course not. I have people read it for me. Half the time, it's the only way I know what's going on with you two. And don't avoid the question. Tell us about this new guy you're seeing. I find it very odd that you've never mentioned him." He fixed his gaze on her like the Eye of Sauron.
Jordan took a deep breath, suddenly very tired of the lies and the secret-agent games. Besides, she had to face the truth at some point. "Well, Dad, I don't know if you have to worry about Tall, Dark, and Smoldering anymore. He's not talking to me right now."
Kyle's face darkened. "Tall, Dark, and Smoldering sounds like a moron to me."
Grey nodded, his expression disapproving. "I agree. You can do a lot better than a moron, kiddo."
"Thanks. But it's not that simple. His job presents some ... challenges."
That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
"Why? What kind of work does he do?" her father asked immediately.
Jordan stalled. Maybe she'd overshot a little with the no more lies promise. She threw Kyle another desperate look. Do something. Again.
Kyle nodded. I'm on it. He eased back in his chair and stretched out his intertwined hands, limbering up his fingers. "Who cares what this jerk does? Send me his e-mail address, Jordo—I'll take care of it. I can wreak all sorts of havoc on Tall, Dark, and Smoldering's life in less than two minutes." With an evil grin, he mimed typing at a keyboard.
Their father looked ready to blow a gasket. "Oh no—you do not get to make the jokes," he told Kyle. "Jordan and I make the jokes. You've been out of prison for four days and I seriously hope you learned your lesson, young man ..."
