to the system. And, that night, as I was leaving the office, I saw Doc accept an envelope through the open window of a fancy black car. Doc called off work the next day, and no one’s heard from him since.”
“Do you know where he lives?” Chase interrupted from behind them, and both women jumped in surprise. Angela had forgotten he was there.
“He’s got a brownstone on Botolph St in Back Bay.”
“Address?” Chase demanded as they neared the end of the park.
“Umm, don’t know exactly but it’s the second unit on the corner of Botolph and Follen St. Name’s on the buzzer.” Jaida turned the stroller toward the street. “I gotta go.”
“Thanks, Jaida,” Angela called as the woman walked away without another word.
“Where’s Botolph St.?” Chase demanded, tugging Angela toward another exit.
“That way.” Angela gestured with her arm. “We need to talk to Richards.”
“I know. That’s where we’re going.” He threaded his way through the crowd. Angela remained silent during the walk. Until now, deep in her heart, she had been afraid that she was looking for answers that didn’t exist. For the moment, at least, it appeared that her instincts were right on.
As they approached the building Jaida had mentioned, Chase continued past, practically dragging Angela who tried digging in her heels.
“Hey, we passed…” she protested.
“I know, Angel,” Chase muttered. “We need to check the area before you go barreling in.”
Angela rolled her eyes in frustration. “Geez, it’s not like the guy is a terrorist or master spy.”
“And you know this how? Christ, woman. How the hell did you survive working for the FBI? You have no patience.” Chase hauled her to a small sidewalk café, choosing a table with a view of the Richards’ brownstone, and requested coffee and menus.
The smell of food stimulated Angela’s empty stomach, and she blushed profusely when her stomach growled. “Sorry, I’m hungry.” She covered her rumbling stomach with her hands. “I didn’t eat much last night, and you didn’t give me time to eat this morning.”
“Sorry, babe. I frequently miss meals on missions so I eat when I can. I’ll try to remember to feed you at regular intervals. That beast is kind of loud.”
“Hey!” she complained. “That’s not nice.”
“Neither is the sound coming from your stomach,” he teased, just as the waitress arrived.
Angela ordered the breakfast combo with eggs, pancakes, fried potatoes and bacon while Chase requested an egg white omelet. Twenty minutes later, he stared at Angela’s clean plate. “I thought for sure you’d have lots left over. Where did you put all that food?”
Smiling widely, Angela patted her very full belly. “Dad used to joke I had a hollow leg. Seriously, though, I love good food.”
Chase simply shook his head in response to her confession, his face showing his disbelief.
“What? You’re not one of those that think women shouldn’t eat, are you?” she asked, her own face registering horror at the thought.
Chase smirked, “Most women I know don’t eat. They nibble, usually on things like salad, carrots or celery. They certainly don’t inhale the lumberjack of all breakfasts.”
Glancing at him from under her lashes, Angela surmised, “So now you think I’m unladylike, right?” She snorted, “All women, except for those anorexic models, eat. Some just pretend otherwise in front of men, especially men like you. Put a plate of brownies in front of them during a girls’ night, and they’ll fight over the last one just like the rest of us.”
“Now that’s a visual. A bunch of scantily clad women wrestling over a brownie. I wouldn’t mind seeing that myself,” Chase joked, as he placed several bills on the table. “Time
“Do you know where he lives?” Chase interrupted from behind them, and both women jumped in surprise. Angela had forgotten he was there.
“He’s got a brownstone on Botolph St in Back Bay.”
“Address?” Chase demanded as they neared the end of the park.
“Umm, don’t know exactly but it’s the second unit on the corner of Botolph and Follen St. Name’s on the buzzer.” Jaida turned the stroller toward the street. “I gotta go.”
“Thanks, Jaida,” Angela called as the woman walked away without another word.
“Where’s Botolph St.?” Chase demanded, tugging Angela toward another exit.
“That way.” Angela gestured with her arm. “We need to talk to Richards.”
“I know. That’s where we’re going.” He threaded his way through the crowd. Angela remained silent during the walk. Until now, deep in her heart, she had been afraid that she was looking for answers that didn’t exist. For the moment, at least, it appeared that her instincts were right on.
As they approached the building Jaida had mentioned, Chase continued past, practically dragging Angela who tried digging in her heels.
“Hey, we passed…” she protested.
“I know, Angel,” Chase muttered. “We need to check the area before you go barreling in.”
Angela rolled her eyes in frustration. “Geez, it’s not like the guy is a terrorist or master spy.”
“And you know this how? Christ, woman. How the hell did you survive working for the FBI? You have no patience.” Chase hauled her to a small sidewalk café, choosing a table with a view of the Richards’ brownstone, and requested coffee and menus.
The smell of food stimulated Angela’s empty stomach, and she blushed profusely when her stomach growled. “Sorry, I’m hungry.” She covered her rumbling stomach with her hands. “I didn’t eat much last night, and you didn’t give me time to eat this morning.”
“Sorry, babe. I frequently miss meals on missions so I eat when I can. I’ll try to remember to feed you at regular intervals. That beast is kind of loud.”
“Hey!” she complained. “That’s not nice.”
“Neither is the sound coming from your stomach,” he teased, just as the waitress arrived.
Angela ordered the breakfast combo with eggs, pancakes, fried potatoes and bacon while Chase requested an egg white omelet. Twenty minutes later, he stared at Angela’s clean plate. “I thought for sure you’d have lots left over. Where did you put all that food?”
Smiling widely, Angela patted her very full belly. “Dad used to joke I had a hollow leg. Seriously, though, I love good food.”
Chase simply shook his head in response to her confession, his face showing his disbelief.
“What? You’re not one of those that think women shouldn’t eat, are you?” she asked, her own face registering horror at the thought.
Chase smirked, “Most women I know don’t eat. They nibble, usually on things like salad, carrots or celery. They certainly don’t inhale the lumberjack of all breakfasts.”
Glancing at him from under her lashes, Angela surmised, “So now you think I’m unladylike, right?” She snorted, “All women, except for those anorexic models, eat. Some just pretend otherwise in front of men, especially men like you. Put a plate of brownies in front of them during a girls’ night, and they’ll fight over the last one just like the rest of us.”
“Now that’s a visual. A bunch of scantily clad women wrestling over a brownie. I wouldn’t mind seeing that myself,” Chase joked, as he placed several bills on the table. “Time
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