THURSDAY, OCTOBER 18
The knock at her apartment door startled Jaime so that coffee sloshed out of her mug and onto her hand. “Ouch.” She glanced at the clock, then turned toward the door. It must be Chandler. “Coming.”
She grabbed the rag from the sink and wiped up the spill before heading to the door, trying to avoid Simba who seemed determined to wind around her legs and trip her. She scooped him up and opened the door. Her heart stuttered a moment as she took in Chandler standing there, Aslan at his side. The man looked like he’d stepped out of a Banana Republic ad in his khakis, sweater, and dark pea coat. How did he keep Aslan’s long, golden fur off that coat?
Simba tensed, then struggled free of Jaime’s hold and leapt to the tile. He poked his nose in the air and strutted back toward the couch. Aslan whined but looked at Chandler and didn’t budge even though Jaime knew it must be killing him not to follow the cat. As if to emphasize his freedom, Simba leapt to the couch’s back and stretched his front legs. The stinker was taunting Aslan.
She pulled her attention back to the man in front of her. “Good morning.”
“Hey.” The word lazed out of his mouth. Not a drawl, but a caress. “You going to let us in?”
“Of course.” She fought a losing battle with the heat that crawled up her neck into her cheeks, until the scrutiny of his look had her blushing. “Let me grab a jacket. Help yourself to coffee. I’ve got travel mugs.” Before she could say anything that might make her more flustered, she waved him into the apartment, noting again how the space shrank when he stepped inside. “I’ll be right back.”
The moment she escaped into her bedroom, she closed the door and leaned against it. The space of palest blue walls and white bedding did little to calm her. Instead, she breathed deeply and tried to force peace into her veins. Once her heart had returned to an almost normal rhythm, she pushed away and hurried to the mirror. Shoot, color heightened her neck and cheeks.
There was no way he could have missed her reaction to him. She was a mess, but this modern-day hero wanted to spend his off-duty hours with her. In fact, he’d finagled his vacation time to make time for her before the incident at his work created the space for today. The real danger was that the more time she spent with him, the harder she would fall.
There would be no halfway measures when it came to Chandler Bolton.
That should terrify her, but instead she was intrigued. Emilie would tell her to relax and enjoy it, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe though . . . maybe he was a man she could will herself to trust.
“Everything okay in there?”
She bit back a grin. Busted by his impatience. That had to be a good sign. “I’ll be right out.”
Jaime grabbed her clutch and a hooded squall coat. While she wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing, the weather looked like it would maintain a decided chill in the air. She added a pair of gloves to the ensemble just in case. Now to convince him she was relaxed and eager to spend time with him, when in truth she felt as tightly strung as a cat in a room of rocking chairs. A scratching at the door warned her time was up, and she opened the door for Simba. He wound around her legs, tail high, a soft rumble coming from him.
She scooped up the cat and buried her face in his fur. “Keep the place safe while I’m gone, all right?”
Simba batted her chin with a paw and continued to purr.
She set him on the blanket at the end of the comforter and slipped her clutch around her wrist.
Chandler watched as Jaime came out of the bedroom, pulling her heavy dark waves of hair from her coat’s collar. What would it feel like to bury his hands in that thick mane?
She scooped her keys off the counter and slid them into a pocket. “Did you find the coffee?”
He shook his head, unable to form words, and she pushed a button on the Keurig. “This is made from beans a friend brought back from the Dominican Republic. It’s got a rich flavor I think you’ll like.”
When she handed him one of the cups, he bit back a laugh as he read the words scrolling across it. Women who read are dangerous. She glanced at the cup and colored again. He could get used to watching the way her cheeks turned into soft roses. “Sorry. You can have this one instead.” She slid the other mug his way. Too much Monday, not enough coffee.
“I like them both.”
“I do too.” She added more than a splash of some fancy creamer to hers and tapped the lid in place. “Let’s go adventure.”
He let her open the door since he couldn’t figure out where she stood on chivalry. His mom wouldn’t be proud, but Jaime was a riddle he needed to crack. He put a hand at her back as they walked down the hallway to the elevator. She didn’t step away, so he’d call it progress.
He helped her into his truck, and a comfortable silence fell as he steered through the late morning traffic toward the Mall. Favor was on his side, as he found parking large enough to accommodate the pickup along Constitution Avenue. Soon Aslan was reluctantly clipped to the lead, and they joined tourists strolling the Mall.
“Where would you like to start?”
Jaime flipped her hair away from her face. “Could we go to the World War II Memorial? I don’t have to be at Madeline’s until seven tonight.”
“Absolutely.” There was something sacred about the space, something that called to his soul with the reminder that some battles were worth any sacrifice. The war on terrorism felt so unrelenting and futile sometimes that he needed the reminders that the country had fought other, large wars on multiple fronts and won. We could do it again this time if the country maintained its will, though the unity of World War II couldn’t be easily replicated.
They walked past the Washington Monument on their way to the Memorial. Aslan stayed close to his side as they waited for traffic to ease before crossing 17th Street and entering the large memorial.
She stiffened at one point, and he stopped her. “What’s wrong?”
“I feel like I’m being watched, but that’s crazy.” Her eyes darted around. “Look at all the tourists here.”
The place had its share for an October morning. He didn’t want to think that someone was keyed into her, that the shadow at Busboys and Poets hadn’t been his vet but someone else. “Where do you see them?”
“That’s just it. I don’t.” She huffed out a sigh. “I’m imagining things. Maybe Tuesday after the hearing, I’ll be able to laugh at myself. All stressed over nothing important.”
He didn’t want to tell her she was wrong, but as he scanned the crowd he didn’t see anyone who seemed especially focused on her.
“Forget I mentioned it.”
He turned his attention back to her and tipped her chin up with a finger. “Don’t ever apologize for being alert. I want to keep you safe too.”
She leaned into his touch and nodded. “Thank you.”
He had to consciously step back and turn to telling her the history of a monument that she probably knew as well as he did. All the while he kept his gaze moving behind his sunglasses. The placement had been controversial when the WWII Memorial was constructed, but Chandler couldn’t imagine it anywhere else than nestled between the Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument. The oval series of fountains in the pool would be winterized soon, but right now they added a peaceful note. Jaime walked down the shallow steps that led into the Memorial and then spun slowly. Her face wore a solemn expression as she walked to a stone bench built into a ramp and sat down.
He joined her, and Aslan crouched next to her, placing his head in her lap. She absently stroked his head.
“I never got to ask my great-grandpa what he did at the Pentagon during the war.” There was a trace of sadness in the words.
“What would you have asked?”
“What he did. What it was like. Did he wish he got sent to a front?” She turned away so that all he saw was her shadowed profile. “So many questions I’d ask.”
“We all have those.” The past was a giant void that couldn’t be filled, but he knew she was talking about more than just the questions she wanted to ask about the war.
“Chandler, how can you work with returning veterans every day?”
“How can you work with those accused of terrible crimes?”
“It’s not the same.” Her jaw firmed.
“It is. You are called to help people navigate the criminal system. I’m called to help people reintegrate to a new normal when they return from combat tours.”
“Called? That’s a strong term.”
“It’s the best word. I’ve seen you light up when you talk about what you do. It’s more than a job.”
She nodded but let the words die as if they reminded her she didn’t have a job. After a few minutes she stood and wandered out of the memorial. They next waited in line at the Washington Monument, followed by a breathtaking view of the city’s monuments from the top. Morning wore into afternoon, and they grabbed tacos from a food truck before heading back down the Mall to where the Lincoln waited at the other end. As twilight fell, he sensed her walls shift. Then he snapped a photo of her sitting on the steps of the Lincoln with her arm around Aslan as twilight painted bright colors across the sky, and he felt something shift inside him as well. She slipped into his heart, and he couldn’t evict her if he wanted.