The Cradle Will Fall. Maggie Price

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СКАЧАТЬ happens, it’ll be without you. The FBI has asked for your assistance on a case. Consider yourself on special assignment.”

      “Yes, sir.” She arched a brow. “What sort of assignment?”

      Kelson rose. “I’ll let the agent in charge brief you.” The drift of her lieutenant’s gaze across her shoulder gave her the first indication of another presence in the office. “I understand you two have worked together?”

      “I’m looking forward to teaming with you again, Grace.”

      She went utterly still at the sound of Mark Santini’s deep, rich voice coming from behind her. A voice from her past. A voice whose owner had continued to haunt her over the span of six years, even though she’d loved and married another man during that time.

      Spine stiff, she forced herself to turn. And felt everything slip out of focus when her gaze met familiar eyes so deeply brown it was impossible to see a boundary between pupil and iris.

      Oblivious that the earth had just tilted beneath her feet, Kelson retrieved his overcoat, then moved around the desk. “Sorry I can’t stick around, Agent Santini,” he said, offering Mark his hand. “Like I said, I’m due to meet my wife at a Christmas party.”

      “No problem. I had hoped to get here earlier, but cutting through red tape to get that court order held me up. I’ll brief Sergeant McCall on the case so she and I can hit the ground running in the morning.”

      “Use my office as long as you need.” The lieutenant turned to Grace. “Agent Santini has cleared your assignment through the chief’s office.” Kelson snagged the paper he’d been reading when she walked in, handed it to her. “Here’s a memo to you from the chief that makes your assignment official. Keep me updated.”

      “Yes, sir.” Tucking the paper into the file folder, Grace watched her boss cross the office and walk out, closing the door behind him. Wishing she was also on the other side of that barrier, she pulled in a breath and glanced back at Mark. A good head taller than herself, he looked down at her, his gaze slowly traveling the length of her—from gray-sprayed hair to prison-matron shoes—with a few layovers.

      “Elderly is an interesting look for you, Grace.”

      “It fools a lot of juvie purse snatchers,” she said, and struggled for additional words that wouldn’t come.

      Physically, Special Agent Mark Santini had changed some in six years. His hair, as thick and black as her own, was still combed straight back, but it was cut shorter now, and silver had begun to salt the temples. The planes and angles of his face were leaner, sharper, and circles under his eyes evidenced lost sleep, yet the man was still down-to-the-ground gorgeous. Always a consummate clotheshorse, his black silk suit was tailored and expensive. But the coat hung somewhat loose off his broad shoulders, and the pants were a little baggy, as though he’d lost weight. Instead of making him look gaunt, however, the effect created an approachable, relaxed appearance.

      Grace was anything but relaxed as she clenched the file folder against her breasts. Mark stood so close she could have reached out and touched him. Touched the man who’d swept into her life with a startling magnetism that soon had her considering giving up her cozy, settled world. And even though she hadn’t, he had remained a ghostly presence that had nearly destroyed her relationship with Ryan Fox.

      She had loved Ryan with all her heart. To the depths of her soul. Just the thought of the doubts he had suffered because of her reckless behavior over Mark had her heart shattering all over again.

      She did her best to shove away the quick, instinctive tug of resentment that accompanied the thought. What had happened years ago had been her doing, not Mark’s. He had no idea she’d gone temporarily insane and made the decision to toss away her lifelong dream and meld her life with his. No idea that the history they’d shared had shaken the foundation of her subsequent marriage.

      “How are you, Grace?” His voice was all business, devoid of emotion.

      “Fine,” she said, using the same impersonal tone. “And you?” Strange, she thought, that two people who had been such passionate lovers could transform into nothing more than polite acquaintances.

      “Busy. Eternally busy.” He studied her with calm observation, his expression unreadable. “I was sorry to hear about your husband’s death. I sent a card. I hope you got it.”

      “I did. Thank you.” She stood perfectly still, picturing the masses of flowers and mountains of cards that had filled their home after Ryan died in the line of duty.

      Deliberately she shifted to settle the file folder in a nearby visitor chair. She used the moment, a much-needed moment, while her back was to Mark to steady herself. She had no desire to revisit that time three years ago when she’d lost so much.

      Schooling her expression, she turned to face him. A whiff of the familiar spicy male tang of his aftershave reached her. A quick clutching in her belly came and went. Dammit, what man wore the same aftershave six years running?

      Lifting a hand to her throat, she settled her fingers against the point where her pulse hammered as if she’d just chased down a fleeing felon. Her body was simply reacting to a known stimulus, she told herself. Nothing more.

      Wanting to steer the subject away from herself, she said, “I don’t doubt you’re busy, considering all the positive publicity you’ve garnered for the Bureau the past couple of years. Clearing the Boston Baby case must have made you the star of the Crimes Against Children Unit.”

      He slid one hand into the pocket of his trousers. As always, he looked as though he could emerge from a mass murder crime scene with an incredibly relaxed air. “Several other CACU agents also had a hand in solving that case. I’m just the one they chose to put out front at the press conferences.”

      No kidding, Grace thought. She felt sure he’d been assigned the spot in the limelight on that case because he fit the profile of what the media thought an FBI Special Agent should look like: tall and athletic, with a coolly handsome face and dark hair. Perfectly groomed. Santini possessed the totally centered grace of a natural-born hunter, who looked dashing both on television and in print.

      And in person, she admitted grudgingly. His compelling looks had attracted her like iron filings to a magnet when she’d first laid eyes on him six years ago. Then Mark had worked at the Bureau’s Oklahoma City office. She’d just been promoted to detective and had been assigned to the same multi-agency task force as he. The respect they developed for each other’s professional abilities quickly broadened to friendship, and they became lovers, drawn together by a passion that Grace had often sensed seemed stronger than both of them.

      Soon after that, Mark snagged the transfer he’d coveted to the CACU, based at Quantico, Virginia. And then he was gone—a man with no roots, no ties, infinitely comfortable with his lone-wolf existence. How different her life with Ryan would have been if she’d stuck to her guns after declining Mark’s offer to move to Virginia with him.

      Now here was Santini, intending to work with her again. He’d do whatever job he’d come to do, then be gone. And never once look back. Like before.

      This time, though, experience had taught her the value of keeping her priorities straight.

      She gave her watch a meaningful look. “Mark, if you could give me a quick rundown on your case, I’d appreciate it. I have family business to take care of this evening that I can’t put off.”

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