seconds later, her cell phone rang. When she answered, his whisky-rich voice came through the car’s speakers.
“So I’ve been thinking about your question. My character has decided he doesn’t want to see other people.”
“What made you change your mind? Let me guess—the Maserati.”
He chuckled. “Our cover story is that my character has been smitten from the moment he met you. He’s not about to let another man get anywhere near you.”
“Your character sounds a little possessive. Is this something my character should be worried about?”
They came to a stop at the light that would take them onto the Drive. Nick’s voice was low, even smoother than the car’s engine. “I think your character secretly likes it. You’ve been dating boring, uptight guys for too long. You’ve been looking for something different.”
Jordan looked sharply at the SUV in front of her. “I think your character presumes too much.”
His eyes caught hers in the rearview mirror. “Does he?”
The light turned green, and they drove off in opposite directions. As Jordan headed north, away from downtown and with Nick’s car safely out of sight, she decided it was time to change the subject. “What do you want to know about the layout of Xander’s office?”
“As much as you can tell me.”
As she sped along the Drive with the gray expanse of Lake Michigan on her right, Jordan filled him in on as much as she remembered. She finished the call with Nick just as she pulled into her garage. She hung up and sat in her car for a moment, thinking about his comment.
You’ve been looking for something different .
Presumptuous words. Very presumptuous. But she couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to them. Pushing the thought from her mind, she opened the car door and hurried into her house. There was one thing, at least, she knew without a doubt.
It was far too cold to be sitting outside thinking about Nick McCall.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, suit in hand, Nick walked along Michigan Avenue toward the parking garage where he’d left his car. He made a phone call.
It was a truth universally acknowledged that FBI agents in possession of great skill and talent, even those who frequently engaged in the practice of trash-talking, understood that there were times when all bullshit needed to be set aside in order to get a job done.
This was one of those times.
After two rings, another agent answered Nick’s call.
“Pallas.”
“It’s McCall. I’ve got a problem.”
“The Eckhart op?”
“You got it. Huxley’s out with the flu.”
“What do you need?”
“Backup in the van.”
“I’m on it.”
“Meet me at the office in ten minutes.”
“Yep.”
Nick hung up the phone, mentally running through his checklist. Ridiculously overpriced Ralph Lauren suit? Sixteen hundred dollars, all of which had better be reimbursed by the Bureau. Backup man? Technically free, although he’d be hearing about this from Pallas for a long time. Nabbing the moneyman of the city’s most notorious gangster while infiltrating an exclusive wine tasting?
Priceless.
Eight
AFTER A TEN-MINUTE pit stop at home to change her clothes and throw on some makeup, Jordan hurried out the door and walked the three blocks to DeVine Cellars. The streets were relatively quiet since most stores and businesses hadn’t opened yet. Her cell phone buzzed loudly in her purse. She saw that it was Christian and answered.
“You couldn’t at least send me a metrosexual to work with?” he asked.
She grinned at that. “How did the shopping go with Nick?”
“We survived. That’s about all I can say. You should’ve seen his expression when he saw the colors of the ties I’d pulled to go with the suit. He told me that where he comes from, men don’t do boysenberry. I shudder to think such a place exists.”
“Boysenberry? You are lucky you survived. Thanks, Christian. I appreciate your help.” Jordan made a mental note to send
“So I’ve been thinking about your question. My character has decided he doesn’t want to see other people.”
“What made you change your mind? Let me guess—the Maserati.”
He chuckled. “Our cover story is that my character has been smitten from the moment he met you. He’s not about to let another man get anywhere near you.”
“Your character sounds a little possessive. Is this something my character should be worried about?”
They came to a stop at the light that would take them onto the Drive. Nick’s voice was low, even smoother than the car’s engine. “I think your character secretly likes it. You’ve been dating boring, uptight guys for too long. You’ve been looking for something different.”
Jordan looked sharply at the SUV in front of her. “I think your character presumes too much.”
His eyes caught hers in the rearview mirror. “Does he?”
The light turned green, and they drove off in opposite directions. As Jordan headed north, away from downtown and with Nick’s car safely out of sight, she decided it was time to change the subject. “What do you want to know about the layout of Xander’s office?”
“As much as you can tell me.”
As she sped along the Drive with the gray expanse of Lake Michigan on her right, Jordan filled him in on as much as she remembered. She finished the call with Nick just as she pulled into her garage. She hung up and sat in her car for a moment, thinking about his comment.
You’ve been looking for something different .
Presumptuous words. Very presumptuous. But she couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to them. Pushing the thought from her mind, she opened the car door and hurried into her house. There was one thing, at least, she knew without a doubt.
It was far too cold to be sitting outside thinking about Nick McCall.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, suit in hand, Nick walked along Michigan Avenue toward the parking garage where he’d left his car. He made a phone call.
It was a truth universally acknowledged that FBI agents in possession of great skill and talent, even those who frequently engaged in the practice of trash-talking, understood that there were times when all bullshit needed to be set aside in order to get a job done.
This was one of those times.
After two rings, another agent answered Nick’s call.
“Pallas.”
“It’s McCall. I’ve got a problem.”
“The Eckhart op?”
“You got it. Huxley’s out with the flu.”
“What do you need?”
“Backup in the van.”
“I’m on it.”
“Meet me at the office in ten minutes.”
“Yep.”
Nick hung up the phone, mentally running through his checklist. Ridiculously overpriced Ralph Lauren suit? Sixteen hundred dollars, all of which had better be reimbursed by the Bureau. Backup man? Technically free, although he’d be hearing about this from Pallas for a long time. Nabbing the moneyman of the city’s most notorious gangster while infiltrating an exclusive wine tasting?
Priceless.
Eight
AFTER A TEN-MINUTE pit stop at home to change her clothes and throw on some makeup, Jordan hurried out the door and walked the three blocks to DeVine Cellars. The streets were relatively quiet since most stores and businesses hadn’t opened yet. Her cell phone buzzed loudly in her purse. She saw that it was Christian and answered.
“You couldn’t at least send me a metrosexual to work with?” he asked.
She grinned at that. “How did the shopping go with Nick?”
“We survived. That’s about all I can say. You should’ve seen his expression when he saw the colors of the ties I’d pulled to go with the suit. He told me that where he comes from, men don’t do boysenberry. I shudder to think such a place exists.”
“Boysenberry? You are lucky you survived. Thanks, Christian. I appreciate your help.” Jordan made a mental note to send
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