Baby Battalion. Cassie Miles

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СКАЧАТЬ far, I’m not disappointed.” A grin twitched the corner of his mouth. “But I haven’t tasted your mushroom and asparagus risotto.”

      How did he know that was her best dish? When she was working as a caterer, she could always count on her risotto. Apparently, he knew more about her than she did about him. That disparity had to end.

      Near the Marine Memorial, he merged onto a main route to cross the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge. Nolan drove like someone who was familiar with D.C. and Arlington.

      “Doesn’t look like you need directions,” she said.

      “I’ve spent time in this area.”

      “At the Pentagon?” she guessed.

      He shrugged and said nothing. Pulling information from him was like plucking tail feathers from a chicken. He seemed determined to maintain an aura of mystery, which should have been irritating. Instead, she was intrigued.

      Gazing through the windshield at gray skies, she said, “Cloudy day. Do you really need those sunglasses or are they a necessary accessory for security men?”

      Another grin. “Are you teasing me, Tess?”

      “I dare you to take them off.”

      He stopped for a red light, turned to her and whipped off the dark glasses. For less than five seconds, his gaze met hers. Then the sunglasses were back in place as his attention returned to the traffic.

      She wasn’t so quick to recover. Shocked, she jolted back in her seat. She was drowning, struggling to catch her breath. Why was this happening to her again? Was she losing her mind?

      In Nolan’s eyes, she saw a ghost.

      Her fingers clenched, and she dug her nails into her palms, hoping the stab of pain would wake her from this insane illusion. It wasn’t possible. Joe Donovan was dead.

       Chapter Four

      As they drove onto the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge, Tess was aware of the other vehicles, the heavy clouds and the dark waters of the Potomac. But she saw them all in a blur. She heard herself speaking but had no idea what she’d said.

      Nolan’s eyes were a dark gray, more deep set than Joe’s but exactly the same color. Nolan’s left eye was a few centimeters lower than the right. He wasn’t perfectly handsome, wasn’t her darling husband. And yet, in those few seconds when she’d looked into the windows to his soul, she saw Joe Donovan.

      “Tess? Are you all right?”

      His raspy voice—unlike Joe’s clear baritone—called to her. She needed to respond. Didn’t want him to think she was a nutcase even though there was no other explanation. “Headache,” she said. “I have a little headache.”

      He was immediately solicitous. “Should I take you home?”

      “No.”

      He drove past Foggy Bottom toward Georgetown University, the place where she and Joe had met. Whispers of the past tickled her ears, telling her that she’d found the love of her life. That could not be. Nolan wasn’t Joe. She couldn’t allow herself to confuse the two. Their eyes were similar. So what? Lots of men had gray eyes.

      More firmly, she said, “I’m fine. My stomach will be fine.”

      “I thought it was your head.”

      “Whatever.”

      Thankfully, they drove past the turnoff to the university. If he’d pulled up in front of the coffee shop where she and Joe had spent hours together when they were dating, she might have gone into full-blown fantasy mode, imagining herself as a wide-eyed college student who’d fallen madly in love with a handsome marine. That wasn’t her. Not anymore.

      Tess had a new identity, a satisfying identity. First and foremost, she was Joey’s mom. Then, she was a business-woman who needed to show the man driving this slick Mercedes that she was responsible and merited referrals.

      Swallowing her confusion, she pulled herself together. The smart thing would be to avoid any further interaction with Nolan. No sidelong glances. No flirting. Most definitely, she wouldn’t touch the man. Pretending calm, she asked, “Who is the person we’re meeting?”

      “His name is Omar Harris. He’s a friend of Bart’s.”

      “A spy?”

      “CIA,” Nolan said. “He’ll arrange for our clearance so we can take a look at the blueprints for the museum.”

      “Why did he need to see me?”

      “Covering his bases. You’ll have to give him the name of your events coordinator at the Smithsonian.”

      Though she wasn’t quite sure why she needed face time with this person, Tess didn’t ask for further explanation. A lot of the protocols in Washington were absurdly complicated.

      Nolan found a parking place at the curb in a neighborhood of storefronts. The tree branches were lined with fairy lights that were lit even though it was daylight. The shop windows featured colorful Christmas decorations—snowflakes, tinsel and big red bows. A bell-ringer on the corner solicited contributions. Instead of waiting for him to come around and open her door, Tess climbed out quickly. She didn’t want to risk having Nolan take her hand to help her.

      He stepped onto the sidewalk beside her. “Is something wrong?”

      “Not at all.” Avoiding eye contact, she glanced at her gold wristwatch. “I’m concerned about making it to my other meeting on time. It might be best if I catch a cab.”

      “I’ll drive you. I insist.”

      When he touched her elbow to guide her down the street, she flinched. He backed off, giving her plenty of space. Had she insulted him? She wanted to create the opposite effect, but she was scared. Given the choice between too close and too far, she opted for distance.

      Halfway down the block, he opened the door to the Minuteman Café and held it for her. Inside, the decor was red-white-and-blue homey with half-curtains on the windows, a long counter, brown leatherette booths and a silver tinsel Christmas tree by the cash register. The lunch rush hadn’t started, and there were only a few patrons. Which of these men was the spy? Was it the silver-haired gentleman? The guy in the black trench coat?

      Nolan went to a booth at the rear of the diner to greet Omar Harris. Dressed in sneakers, gray sweatpants and an insulated Georgetown hoodie, he looked like a jogger. His curly black hair was sprinkled with gray. His features were ordinary, which, she supposed, was a plus for a spy.

      After Nolan introduced them, he slid into the booth, leaving room for her. She had no choice but to sit beside Nolan with their thighs only inches apart. Using her briefcase, she created a barrier between them.

      Omar sipped from his coffee mug. “I recommend the Minuteman blueberry muffins.”

      “None for me.” She’d had a big waffle and sausage breakfast with Joey. “How’s the coffee?”

      “Passable.” СКАЧАТЬ