in the flesh.”
Randi swallowed and nodded. She did see. For the first time since this entire frightening episode had begun. For the first time she was able to place herself in Travis McLean’s shoes. And in a way she wished this weren’t so. Suddenly a situation that had been alarming, but clear-cut where she was concerned, had taken on a complexity she wasn’t certain she could deal with.
“One minute I was gazin’ out my hospital window,” Travis was saying, “and the next—there he was! The spittin’ image of me as a kid! I tell you, lady, it was unnervin’. But after I picked myself up off the floor—”
“You started putting a few things together,” Randi interjected, knowing that was what she’d have done.
Travis grinned. “Yeah. First, there was this feelin’ I’d had, way back in the emergency room, that I’d met you before.” His eyes ran over her, the gleam in them appreciative. “Your hair was shorter then, but I’m unlikely to forget a pretty face, much less a beautiful one—Don’t you dare duck your head! You’re a beautiful woman, Randi Terhune, and I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
After a moment he went on, “Anyhow, it’d already dawned on me where I’d seen you before. Took me a while, but the image finally fell into place-just before I saw you ‘n’ Matt together, by the way. After that, I asked a few questions here ‘n’ there…”
“At the hospital, you mean,” she said with a note of disapproval.
Travis’s sheepish grin was disarming. “Yeah,” he said, “but don’t go gettin’ all huffy on me, huh? C’mon, admit it. You’d’ve done the same.”
She gave a noncommittal shrug, then a thought struck.
“But the staff at Johns Hopkins wouldn’t have been able to tell you where I’d gone on vacation. How’d you learn that?”
Travis heaved a sigh. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and studied her. He had a strong feeling she wasn’t going to like this. Still, in for a dime, in for a dollar. He’d determined to be honest with her; he might as well be completely honest.
Still, it was easier said than done. Despite her calm of the moment, Randi reminded him of a skittish filly. As if, with one wrong word from him, she’d bolt and run—as, in fact, she almost had. He’d sensed an odd sort of vulnerability in her from the beginning. He’d felt it, lying just beneath the surface of that professional facade, and wondered what was behind it. There were those years of therapeutic counseling she’d had….
Well, he’d make it his business to find out more about that. Meanwhile he had some owning up to do. “You’ll recall my mentionin’ I went into government service when I left medicine?”
She nodded warily.
“Well, in my line of work, I have, uh, access, shall we say, to some computer data banks, and—”
“Data banks? You mean computerized files like—Are you with the IRS or something?” She was familiar with the Internal Revenue Service’s use of such files. What taxpayer wasn’t? Just the thought of his having access to everything from her social security number to the amount of her net earnings got her dander up. Weren’t they supposed to be confidential? Limited to use in tax matters?
Travis was looking more sheepish than ever. “Uh, not the IRS…”
“Well, what exactly?”
“Uh, the CIA.”
“The…the Central Intelligence Agency?” She looked incredulous.
He shrugged. “‘Fraid so, sugar.”
“Oh…my…God,” she breathed as several things fell into place. The gunshot wound, the VIP treatment from Bethesda and Johns Hopkins, helicopter and all. Even his cavalier attitude toward the wound. As if such things were commonplace with him—which they probably were! “Yyou mean spying and…and all that?” she asked in an unsteady voice.
Another shrug. “These days, not so much. Matter of fact, it’s mostly a desk job.”
“Desk job! No desk job got you your shoulder shot up!” She
Randi swallowed and nodded. She did see. For the first time since this entire frightening episode had begun. For the first time she was able to place herself in Travis McLean’s shoes. And in a way she wished this weren’t so. Suddenly a situation that had been alarming, but clear-cut where she was concerned, had taken on a complexity she wasn’t certain she could deal with.
“One minute I was gazin’ out my hospital window,” Travis was saying, “and the next—there he was! The spittin’ image of me as a kid! I tell you, lady, it was unnervin’. But after I picked myself up off the floor—”
“You started putting a few things together,” Randi interjected, knowing that was what she’d have done.
Travis grinned. “Yeah. First, there was this feelin’ I’d had, way back in the emergency room, that I’d met you before.” His eyes ran over her, the gleam in them appreciative. “Your hair was shorter then, but I’m unlikely to forget a pretty face, much less a beautiful one—Don’t you dare duck your head! You’re a beautiful woman, Randi Terhune, and I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
After a moment he went on, “Anyhow, it’d already dawned on me where I’d seen you before. Took me a while, but the image finally fell into place-just before I saw you ‘n’ Matt together, by the way. After that, I asked a few questions here ‘n’ there…”
“At the hospital, you mean,” she said with a note of disapproval.
Travis’s sheepish grin was disarming. “Yeah,” he said, “but don’t go gettin’ all huffy on me, huh? C’mon, admit it. You’d’ve done the same.”
She gave a noncommittal shrug, then a thought struck.
“But the staff at Johns Hopkins wouldn’t have been able to tell you where I’d gone on vacation. How’d you learn that?”
Travis heaved a sigh. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and studied her. He had a strong feeling she wasn’t going to like this. Still, in for a dime, in for a dollar. He’d determined to be honest with her; he might as well be completely honest.
Still, it was easier said than done. Despite her calm of the moment, Randi reminded him of a skittish filly. As if, with one wrong word from him, she’d bolt and run—as, in fact, she almost had. He’d sensed an odd sort of vulnerability in her from the beginning. He’d felt it, lying just beneath the surface of that professional facade, and wondered what was behind it. There were those years of therapeutic counseling she’d had….
Well, he’d make it his business to find out more about that. Meanwhile he had some owning up to do. “You’ll recall my mentionin’ I went into government service when I left medicine?”
She nodded warily.
“Well, in my line of work, I have, uh, access, shall we say, to some computer data banks, and—”
“Data banks? You mean computerized files like—Are you with the IRS or something?” She was familiar with the Internal Revenue Service’s use of such files. What taxpayer wasn’t? Just the thought of his having access to everything from her social security number to the amount of her net earnings got her dander up. Weren’t they supposed to be confidential? Limited to use in tax matters?
Travis was looking more sheepish than ever. “Uh, not the IRS…”
“Well, what exactly?”
“Uh, the CIA.”
“The…the Central Intelligence Agency?” She looked incredulous.
He shrugged. “‘Fraid so, sugar.”
“Oh…my…God,” she breathed as several things fell into place. The gunshot wound, the VIP treatment from Bethesda and Johns Hopkins, helicopter and all. Even his cavalier attitude toward the wound. As if such things were commonplace with him—which they probably were! “Yyou mean spying and…and all that?” she asked in an unsteady voice.
Another shrug. “These days, not so much. Matter of fact, it’s mostly a desk job.”
“Desk job! No desk job got you your shoulder shot up!” She
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