Hotshot by Catherine Mann Page B

eyes alert, muscles straining at his blood-smeared white T-shirt. “Clearing the room sounds like a temporary fix.”
    “You know how kids are. Many don’t think beyond today.” Maybe Amber hadn’t needed a reason.
    “Any ideas who might be at fault this time?”
    She shook her head, not ready to speak on that subject until she had her thoughts together. “I just wish I’d been able to grab my backpack when I checked my office, but I didn’t see it right away, and it seemed more important to get the heck out of there.”
    “We’ll go back to the clinic once we’ve gotten the official all clear from the bomb squad.” He squeezed her shoulder, sending a shiver of something besides warm comfort down her spine.
    She glanced up at him, into his eyes, eyes very guarded.
    What didn’t he want her to see? And for that matter, another thought returned to niggle at her brain now that the threat seemed to have passed.
    “Vince, I appreciate your help, but how did you know to come back?”

    Paulina had made it through one bomb threat today, but she wondered how she would survive the other bombshell she would have to drop in Don’s lap before too much longer.
    For now, she decided to be grateful the workday had ended without exploding a congressional witness—and Don’s daughter. She’d left the office in capable hands while she ate and slept.
    With Don.
    She sat across from him at her small dining room table, a Brahms ballade softly coating the thick silence between them. He stabbed his fork through the chicken soufflé, deflating it one poke at a time.
    Soufflé?
    Okay, so it was a casserole cooked with cream of mushroom soup like her mama used to bake in their tiny Kentucky backwoods trailer park. But the smell comforted her, making her feel loved and relaxed—feelings she’d thought Don would need after a day like today.
    She’d figured wrong. He barely touched his food, and he certainly didn’t appear in the least relaxed.
    Paulina rubbed her cloth napkin along a smudge on the clear glass tabletop. “Have you spoken to Shay?”
    “No.” Poke. Jab. Bite.
    “Why not?” she prodded, a lot gentler than he tore apart his mostly uneaten dinner.
    “She’s probably busy giving statements.” He dropped his fork in favor of the crystal goblet and downed half the sparkling water with a lemon twist. “Deluca called to tell me she’s all right and that he’s making sure she’s settled for the night. If anything, I should be worried about Deluca’s boss chewing his ass for turning over the controls to the remote listening device and speeding away to the center. Scanlon’s normally cool, but he cursed up a blue streak over that one.”
    She ignored his attempt to distract her with talk of work. She’d had more than enough of the office with Congressman Mooney’s aide calling her repeatedly for security updates. Thank God the overeager aide wasn’t in the loop on the air force angle, or her phone would be ringing off the hook. “Seems to me Shay would want to know you’re concerned.”
    Paulina nudged a serving dish of steamed asparagus across the table—Jolly Green Giant straight from the can into a bone Waterford serving dish. She wasn’t much of a cook, but Don had never complained before.
    He grunted, the glass table providing a clear view of his knee jostling with agitation.
    She sagged back in her chair. “You take reticent to a whole new level.”
    “Then let’s don’t talk.” He dumped half the asparagus on his plate.
    “I would ask you to apologize for being rude, but I know you wouldn’t mean it.”
    “How do you know what I mean if I won’t talk?” he snapped, using his fork to spear and double over a stalk of asparagus before shoveling it in his mouth.
    “I can read your eyes.”
    A tight smile pulled at his mouth as he swallowed. “A downside to seeing an agent. You have those super-spooky skills at reading body language.”
    Seeing an agent? Not even dating or being in a