KIT FORRESTER took a sip of her beer and eyed the man sitting across from her. Drew Carmichael looked every inch the business tycoon he was. At over six feet of lean muscle, his blond hair, blue eyes, and strong chin gave him a hint of New England aristocracy. And she knew that, truth be told, Drew could trace his family back to the Mayflower. But it was his presence more than his appearance that conveyed an inherent sense of authority.
And authority was good, considering what Kit knew his other job to be.
She set her glass down and leaned forward. “Drew, in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never, and I repeat never, asked me for a personal favor.”
Her eyes stayed on his face even as he flicked a look out the window. Under normal circumstances, she might think he was just taking in the view of the beautiful winter night through the front picture window of the small restaurant in which they sat. But as charming as the Hudson Valley of New York, and particularly Old Windsor, was this time of year, she suspected Drew was being vigilant rather than appreciative.
His eyes came back to hers. “I know, Kit. Believe me, I know. And you can say ‘no.’”
“But you’d rather I say ‘yes,’” she said, finishing his thought, if not his statement. Drew gave very little away, but she’d known him long enough, nearly fourteen years now, that she could see in the shadows of his expression the unease she heard in his voice. “Tell me what you need,” she said.
She watched some of the tension leave his eyes, but he paused before answering as a couple came through the door, followed by a gust of cold wind, and headed toward the bar. Once the new patrons were well away, Drew set his elbows on the table and moved closer to her.
“Jonathon Parker is an agent with MI6, which, as you know, is the British version of the CIA.”
Kit nodded. She traveled a lot for her job, met a lot of interesting people, knew a lot of interesting things—especially considering the fact that for the past eight years, she’d helped out Drew and his employer more than a few times.
His position as one of the board members for his family’s multi-national conglomerate was a perfect foil for his real job with the CIA. And Kit, well, she was the high-flying daughter of a very wealthy, and very deceased, businessman. That, coupled with her own international success as an award-winning writer of modern literature, gave her easy access to people and places.
“Jonathon was placed on probationary leave several days ago,” Drew continued. “They’re investigating his potential involvement in the release of information that compromised several key MI6 assets in the Middle East.”
“That’s not good,” Kit said, leaning even closer to Drew. She knew what she did for him, for the agency, was potentially dangerous, but she never really gave it much thought. She knew Drew well, trusted him, and trusted that if he asked her for help, it was for a good reason. Still, she didn’t like the idea of anyone else knowing what she did on the side.
Drew let out a little huff of air that could almost, but not quite, be called a sardonic laugh. “No kidding. It’s not good for anyone involved. Not Parker; not the assets.”
“So, what do you want me to do?” she asked. “This sounds professional, but you said you needed a personal favor.”
Drew took a sip of his own beer, set it down, and took a deep breath. “You’re already going to Rome later this week. I was hoping you could stop by London on your way through and hand off some information for me.”
“Drop it to Parker?” she asked.
Drew gave a single, sharp nod.
Kit stared at her companion as her mind went through the logic. She didn’t know all the ins and outs of the CIA, but she was pretty sure that passing information from an active agent to an agent being investigated wouldn’t be looked upon kindly. Especially considering that the agent being investigated was foreign. She also didn’t know what would happen to Drew if he were caught, but she was certain it wouldn’t be good.
“Drew,” she said, concern lacing her tone.
“You don’t have to do it, Kit. And if you choose not to, I won’t hold it against you.”
“But?” she prompted. Drew wasn’t the most straight and narrow guy she knew—she figured, in his job, he couldn’t be—but he was one of the most principled. If he wanted to involve himself with an agent under suspicion, he had to have a reason.
Again, his gaze traveled out the window before returning to her. She could see he was debating whether or not to answer. Finally his eyes slid closed, and for a moment, he looked older than his forty years.
“Drew?” She leaned forward and laid her hand on his arm. He opened his eyes.
“I’m not going to lie, Kit. It got bad. Three of the four assets were killed within days of the information leak. Whoever did this deserves whatever justice the British decide to mete out. But it wasn’t Parker. He’s being framed.”
“Framed?” She couldn’t help the single eyebrow that shot up. When spooks started framing each other, it was bound to get messy.
One side of Drew’s mouth ticked up into a smile. “I know, it’s like a bad version of Who’s On First when spies start playing these games. If it ever gets unraveled, it will be a miracle.”
“But you know Parker wasn’t involved?” she pressed, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.
“He wasn’t,” Drew answered with certainty.
“And why can’t this go through official channels?”
Drew let out a sigh. “Because the information I have isn’t information that we, the Agency, want to share with MI6. And before you ask,” he said, raising a hand to stave off her question, “the official Agency answer is still ‘no,’ even when we know that it will likely ruin the life of a great agent.”
Kit sat back in her chair and, for a moment, regretted getting into this conversation in the first place. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind that she would help Drew, she’d just been so stunned when he’d asked for a personal favor that she’d started asking questions. And, not surprisingly, she didn’t like what she’d ended up hearing. She didn’t like that her own government seemed to value life so little. She wasn’t naïve and knew that there might be a very good reason why the CIA didn’t want to share whatever information Drew was referring to, but still, the thought that they might have information that could help someone and choose to not use it didn’t sit well on her shoulders.
“If you don’t want to—”
“Of course I’ll do it, Drew. I was just thinking that I’m glad I’m not the one who has to make these decisions. I’m glad I’m not the one who has to weigh the value of sharing information against the lives it might help or harm.” She took another sip of her drink and set it down with a small smile. “I’d totally suck at it,” she added.
Drew smiled back—a real smile. “That’s because you have a heart and you’re human.”
Kit rolled her eyes. She was a softy; she’d freely admit to that. But Drew wasn’t giving himself any credit. He had a tough job, and she knew how much he cared about just about everything. Maybe too much.
“So then,” she continued. “Now that we’ve settled that, what are the particulars?”
Drew slid two business cards across the table to her. Both were printed with her name and generic contact information. One had a small, Celtic design in the upper right corner, a design taken from her first book, Celtic Shelter, and the other had a similar design, only it was in the upper left corner. The cards looked normal and bore nothing unusual that would draw attention to them.
“This one,” Drew said, his finger tapping the card with the mark on the right side, “is for Ambrose.”
Fabio Ambrose was a diplomatic liaison located in Rome. She’d met him on numerous occasions and had already been planning to see him, at Drew’s request, on her upcoming trip to Rome. Ambrose was her official assignment.
“And this one,” Drew said, sliding the other card over, the card with the design on the left, “is for Parker.”
“And how will I meet Parker?” she asked, taking the cards and tucking them into her purse. She wasn’t sure what information was on them or how the intended recipients would retrieve it, but she assumed it was some sort of old-school dot technology where information was encoded in tiny pixels that made up the print.
“That’s easy,” Drew said, leaning back in his chair, looking a little bit more relaxed than he had just a few moments before. “His sister is a journalist who covers financial news.”
Kit laughed. “And, let me guess, financial crimes as well?”
“The two do tend to go together,” Drew answered with a grin.
“How fortuitous then, that the book I’m currently working on revolves around the impact such a crime has on a small community.”
Drew’s grin widened into a smile. “I thought so too. Isabelle Parker would make an excellent interview subject. She’s older than Parker by several years and has been on the beat forever. A request from you to meet wouldn’t be unusual.”
Kit shook her head and smiled. “I’ll do some research on her and have my publicist contact her tomorrow. Provided she’ll be in town, I can fly through London and spend a few days there before heading to Rome for Marco Baresi’s party.”
Marco was a fellow writer and her mentor. He was also, at one point years ago, something more. Marco had recently received a very prestigious European book award, and his publisher was throwing him a huge party to celebrate. Of course she would be there. And when Drew had found out, he’d asked her to contact Ambrose while in town. It would seem she was adding Isabelle Parker to her list now as well.
She looked down at her purse and contemplated the two business cards inside. One was Drew doing his job. But the other, well, thinking of it gave her pause. She wasn’t about to back out, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t concerned.
“Drew? Are you sure?” she asked, bringing her gaze up to his.
She knew he saw the seriousness of her question and her concern for him. His expression softened even as a world-weary look stole across his face.
He nodded. “Yes, I’m certain. He’s a good agent and I’ve known him for years. When I heard what was happening, I knew it wasn’t him. And when I found the information that could prove it, well, that just made it all that much more clear in my mind. But,” he said, taking a deep breath and then letting it out, “as much as I hate to admit it, I can see why we don’t want to share what we have with our counterparts in England. I even agree with the decision.”
“But?”
“But Parker will know what to do with it. I trust him not to share it, but to use it to clear his name.”
“That’s a lot of trust to put in someone, Drew,” she pointed out.
He gave her a wry smile. “Ironic, isn’t it? Spies aren’t supposed to trust anyone with anything, yet I’m entrusting him with information that could not only pose a threat to the US but also get me fired and likely imprisoned too.”
Kit studied him for a moment and saw the resolve in his eyes. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not sure of the wisdom of your decision either, but I do trust you.” She took the last sip of her beer and looked around the room. It was sometimes surreal meeting with Drew, knowing the shady world he operated in, then looking around and seeing couples laughing, families dining together, and the world going on.
“Is there anything else I should know?” she asked, bringing her attention back to her companion.
Drew finished his drink and set the glass back down on the table. He didn’t look up as he answered, but kept his focus on his fingers as they caught the moisture gathered on his glass. “I’m not going to lie and say this meeting with Parker is like all the others, because it isn’t. I haven’t heard anything that would indicate that there could be problems, but just be safe, Kit. Be aware of what’s going on around you. You have good instincts; use them. If something doesn’t feel right, trust that feeling.”
Kit frowned. Drew had given her this same speech any number of times when she’d first started shuttling information for him. But he hadn’t given it in years. That he felt the need to now came as a surprise.
It made her want to ask, yet again, if he was sure he wanted to go forward with his plan. But remembering the look of certainty in his eyes the first time she’d asked, she knew she already had her answer. And so she nodded in response to his warning.
“Always,” she said.
His eyes watched hers for a moment, then traveled down to her empty beer glass. “Shall we?” he asked, nodding toward the door, ending the meeting.
“You go on ahead,” she said, suddenly feeling like she wanted a little time alone with a glass of whiskey. Drew frowned. She smiled. “Really, Drew, please. I know you have to drive back to New York City tonight, so go on ahead. I’m just going to have another drink, enjoy this view,” she said with a gesture toward the picture window, “and then head home.”
“You sure?” he asked, concern still lacing his tone.
“Yes, I’m sure. Go. Drive safe. The roads are cleared from the snow last night, but they still get icy.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Drew said, rising with a smile of his own and donning his black cashmere scarf and coat. “I know, the Taconic Parkway is winding, ice builds up, and people don’t drive safely.” He mimicked what she told him nearly every time he visited during the winter months.
“Just call me ‘Mom,’” she said with a laugh as he pulled on his leather gloves.
Drew rolled his eyes, then bent down and kissed her cheek. “You’re almost decade younger than me, but you do give my mom a run for her money in the worry department.”
“Just be safe,” Kit said, grabbing his scarf and stopping him from straightening away. He might joke, but she meant every word and wanted to make sure he knew it. His face was a few inches away from hers, and it occurred to her that the position was an intimate one. Though it had never been like that between the two of them, she knew that if anyone she knew saw them, gossip would ensue—the joys of a small town.
“Be safe,” Kit repeated, quietly.
Drew’s eyes held hers for a moment, then he gave a tiny nod. “You too,” he said, then dipped his head and gave her one more kiss on the cheek. Reluctantly, she released him and watched him walk out the door.
Through the window, she saw him climb into his silver Mercedes SUV and back out of the plowed parking lot. She glanced down at her purse again, hoped like hell Drew knew what he was doing, then ordered a shot of whiskey.
***
It was just after ten when Kit finally made her way to her car. Consisting of a post office, a general store, and Anderson’s, the restaurant she’d just come out of, Old Windsor, was never a very happening spot. It was even quieter on this cold, Sunday evening.
Her boots crunched the snow as she crossed the street toward her car. Kit loved the winter, but in temperatures hovering around zero this time of night, she was glad for her gloves, hat, and scarf, not to mention her long down coat that nearly reached the top of her boots. A small gust of wind blew, and the frigid air snaked under her scarf and down her neck. She hunched her shoulders in protection as she reached into her pocket for her keys.
Concentrating on where she was putting her feet, Kit was startled to hear the sound of a car door opening. Her head shot up and her step faltered. Parked next to her own vehicle was a black Range Rover. She knew a lot of people who drove Range Rovers, especially this time of year, but only one who would show up like this. Despite the cold, she paused about ten feet from her destination and watched as a jacketed figure unfolded itself from the ominous-looking car.
“Kit,” her brother said.
“Caleb,” she responded. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her brother in five months, almost enough time to believe he wasn’t a part of her life. Almost enough time to accept, again, that she was fine on her own; that she was fine with having no family.
“We need to talk,” he said. Kit didn’t respond for a moment. She and her brother didn’t talk. They never talked. Not anymore. There had been a time in their lives when that hadn’t been the case. There had been a time when she’d idolized her older brother, when he’d looked out for her, when they’d gone fishing together, and when she had believed that he had an answer for everything.
But that time had long ago passed, and they hadn’t been in each other’s presence for more than a few days a year for over a decade. Kit started to speak but stopped short when a second figure emerged from the passenger side of Caleb’s car.
She was glad her face was hidden in the shadows of her hat and scarf as Garret Cantona, her brother’s right-hand man, straightened to his full height. Kit was tall, easily five foot eleven, but Garret’s six-foot-three form dwarfed hers. Like Caleb, he wore jeans and work boots, but rather than a jacket, Garret sported a black sweater and a gray beanie. She knew the hat covered light-brown hair that, if it got too long, curled in ways that bothered him. And she felt, more than saw, his light-blue eyes—eyes rimmed with thick, black lashes—studying her.
“And I see you brought your Mini-Me,” she added, forcing her gaze from Garret back to her brother in time to see a look of irritation flicker across Caleb’s face.
“Kit,” Caleb warned.
She let out a little breath of annoyance. It was too cold to be having this conversation now. “I’m going home. If you’d like to follow me, feel free. You know I have enough room for you. If you don’t want to stay with me, there are dozens of bed and breakfasts around. I don’t care either way, but I’m too cold to be standing out here right now.” She almost added that they could feel free to camp on her property too, since that was exactly what Garret had been doing when she’d first met him. Her brother had been in town helping a friend of hers and had brought Garret along. She’d discovered Garret camping on the back edge of her eighty acres—close enough to a road to be easily accessible, but far enough away from everything else to be seen. Why her brother hadn’t had him stay in the house with them was a mystery to her.
“Cantona will go with you,” Caleb all but ordered.
Kit laughed. “I don’t think so, Caleb. You can meet me there.” Both cars had been backed into their spots, and Kit had to pass Garret as she made her way to her driver’s side door. Keeping an eye mostly on the icy path, she glanced up at her brother’s companion as she drew alongside him. His eyes were trained on hers, but she could read nothing in his expression. She wished it were the same for him—that he would find her expression as neutral as she found his—but she wasn’t as good at this game as either of the two men who stood with her. Still, he stepped back and let her pass.
After unlocking her door, she slid onto the leather seat and shivered as her cold jeans pressed against the backs of her legs. She reached for the door but Garret was already there, closing it. And for a moment, for a very brief second, she thought she saw a question in his eyes. Then the door shut.
“Go with her,” Kit heard Caleb say as she fumbled with her key in her gloved hands.
“No,” Garret responded. “It’s not as though she’s going to run, Forrester. You just dropped in on her after five months of no contact. Give her space,” he added.
Kit heard Caleb start to reply, but whatever he said was lost to her as her engine roared to life. She pulled out onto the road and turned west, toward home. Through her rearview mirror, she saw both men climb back into Caleb’s Range Rover. She wasn’t sure what to feel when his headlights appeared through her back window.
Not wanting to think about the sudden appearance of both Caleb and Garret, Kit turned her mind to her meeting with Drew. She wasn’t going to back out, but the more she thought about it, the more anxious she became—for Drew, not herself. She didn’t know the half of what he did in his job, but she knew he was committed to it, almost too much so. She also knew he wasn’t married, and from what she could tell—from her conversations with him and with their mutual friend, Dani Williamson, now Dani Fuller—he’d never even had a relationship that had lasted more than a month or so.
If the MI6 agent, Parker, was playing him, Drew could lose everything—everything he had worked so hard for would disappear. The thought made her stomach turn. Drew was one of the good guys, and he deserved some happiness in his life—in whatever form that came.
Kit made a promise to herself to do what she could to help Drew and was already mentally planning the adjustments she would need to make to her schedule to accommodate his request as she pulled onto her long driveway. In the distance, she could see the top of her home. That sight, and the drive from the road to her abode, always brought her a sense of calm.
That sense of peace was why she lived in the Hudson Valley. She was young, almost thirty-two, with a career that kept her in the public eye to a certain extent and, over the years, more than one person had asked her why she chose to live alone in such a small, rural town. Ironically, even though she was a writer, it was a question she couldn’t adequately answer with words—it was just this thing she felt each time she came home that drew and kept her here.
Her house came into view as she rounded a gentle curve. Unlike most houses in the area, hers was modern in design. From the driveway, it resembled the side of a staircase, with three levels climbing the hill. The lower level held a guest room, laundry room, and all those other rooms that only occasionally got used, like her TV room and gym. On the middle level was the main living area and kitchen, and the upper level had two more guest rooms and her massive master bedroom suite with an attached office. Every side of the house that wasn’t tucked against the hill was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows.
It was bigger than she needed just for herself. But when working with the architect, she’d been adamant that the home be designed in such a way that it would be easy to sell if she ever wanted to—which meant standard things like more bedrooms, a big, easy living area, and nothing too crazily custom. At least that’s what she’d told the architect. Although it was something she thought about less and less with each passing year, in rare moments she wondered if she’d really been hoping to fill the house with her own family. It wasn’t that she thought she was getting too old; age had nothing to do with it, and she knew she was still young. But after having lived on her own since she was seventeen, she often wondered if she might be too set in her ways to ever be able to live with someone else, let alone raise a family.
Taking a deep breath and forcing those thoughts from her head, Kit pulled around to the parking area carved into the hill at the back of the house. After parking in her garage, she didn’t bother to wait for her brother and was in her kitchen pulling off her hat and gloves when Caleb and Garret came in, each carrying a duffel bag.
Her eyebrow went up. “So, I guess you’re staying.”
“We need to talk,” Caleb repeated as he dropped his bag in the entryway and stepped into the kitchen.
“I wasn’t planning on seeing you tonight and, believe it or not, I don’t actually have time to talk with you right now,” she said as she removed her coat.
Garret had placed his bag on the floor and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her.
“Kit.” Again, Caleb’s voice held a hint of warning.
“Look, Caleb, as Garret pointed out, you just dropped in on me. I do have a life and, in fact, I’m not even going to be here very long. I’m heading to Europe the day after tomorrow to attend a party for a dear friend of mine. Between now and then, I have a number of things I have to do, some of which I need to do tonight.” Like reschedule her flight through Heathrow so she could meet up with Isabelle Parker.
Her brother opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “The downstairs guest room you use whenever you decide to show up is made up. You,” she said, turning to Garret, “can either sleep on the sofa down where Caleb sleeps or there are two more guest rooms upstairs. Both are made up and both have attached baths.”
“You can sleep on the sofa,” Caleb interjected. Kit let out a sardonic laugh at the order issued from her brother. At one point in their lives, hearing the protective tone in Caleb’s voice would have felt normal, would have made her feel cared for. Now it was just ridiculous. Not only were they all adults, but Caleb had long ago given up the right to be protective of her in any way.
Garret chuckled. “I don’t think so, Forrester. Between a bed and a couch,” he shook his head, “it’s a bed for me.” And to prevent any further discussion, Garret grabbed his bag and headed up the stairs. Neither she nor Caleb said anything as he left. And when they heard the door to one of the guest rooms click shut, the silence between Kit and her brother suddenly felt heavy.
“He won’t bother you,” Caleb finally said. “We’ve worked together for years,” he added. He wouldn’t dare was left unsaid.
“I know,” Kit said. “Ian told me about Garret when he was here with you last fall helping Jesse with that mess.” She didn’t mention that she had actually met Garret; it seemed easier not to. Saying she’d heard of him from Ian MacAllister, the county sheriff and a mutual friend of hers and her brother’s, seemed reasonable.
Caleb and Garret had come to offer their help, and considerable expertise, to Ian when one of Kit’s good friends, Jesse, had gotten caught in the crosshairs of a woman who had stalked and nearly killed her on more than one occasion. While Kit was grateful for the help Caleb and Garret had provided, the fact that both had up and disappeared from Windsor before she’d even had the chance to thank them served to remind her of just why Caleb was no longer a significant part of her life. Not even when he was standing five feet in front of her in her own kitchen.
They stood for another silent moment, and with every passing second, the gulf between them seemed to open wider and wider.
“I have some things I need to do,” she said abruptly, breaking the building tension.
“We do need to talk, Kit,” Caleb said as she started to walk away.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs, tempted to just keep walking. But she didn’t. Instead, she turned to face him. He was watching her, still standing where he’d stopped when he walked in. She and her brother didn’t have much of a relationship, but he was still her brother, and he had come to help her friend Jesse when he’d been asked.
“I have some things I need to do tomorrow, but I should be free by the afternoon,” she said. She saw another look of irritation flash across his face, but it was gone almost as fast as it had come. He gave a small, curt nod. She waited for him to pick up his bag and head downstairs, but when he didn’t, she said her good night and climbed the stairs to her own sanctuary.
***
Two hours later, Kit was still awake. She’d changed her ticket, adding a layover in England rather than flying straight to Italy as she’d originally planned. She had also researched Isabelle Parker, the journalist, and e-mailed her own publicist to see about setting up a meeting with Ms. Parker while she was in London.
The change to her schedule had been easy, but given that she was expected at a party in Rome on Friday and had anticipated arriving Wednesday, she needed to move her departure up a day to give herself enough time in London. That meant she’d be flying out the next day rather than the day after. Caleb wouldn’t like that, but it wasn’t like he’d given her any warning that he was coming, so she shoved aside what little guilt she felt for not sticking around.
After finishing things up in her office, she’d taken a shower in an effort to quiet her mind and body. But it hadn’t worked. And now, at just after midnight, she stood alone in her room, in her pajamas, staring out at the winter night through her floor-to-ceiling windows.
And it came as no surprise when, behind her, she heard her bedroom door click open and shut. Even without the soft sound, she would have known when Garret walked into the room. For good or for bad, it was just like that between them. Looking over her shoulder at him, she watched as he paused a few feet into the room and met her gaze.
“Mini-Me?” he said, his lips quirking into a shadow of a grin.
“If the shoe fits,” Kit responded into the quiet of the night. He had showered too; his hair still looked damp. He was in jeans again, with a white t-shirt and bare feet.
“I’m three inches taller than your brother,” he said, coming toward her.
She turned her attention back to the window. “Being a Mini-Me is more a state of mind than a physical state.”
He chuckled as he came to stand beside her, but she didn’t feel much like laughing. Running a finger down the side of her face, he brushed her hair away from her profile. “I’ve missed you,” he said.
She couldn’t deny the little hitch in her heart at hearing those words, but she didn’t want to go there with him. It would be so easy to turn into his arms and finish what they’d started all those months ago. But all the months apart had made her realize something—while her body might want Garret, the life he could offer her, that he could offer them, wasn’t one she wanted. So she changed the subject.
“It was for nights like this that I had all these windows put in,” she said, placing her palm on the glass pane. It was cool to the touch, and the heat and moisture from her hand created a small ring of fog. She paused and watched as it disappeared. “There are maybe four or five nights a year when we have both snow and a full moon, and even fewer that are clear nights with new fallen snow,” she said.
Kit kept her gaze on her little valley, letting the raw beauty of it seep into her soul. A fox trotted across the driveway several yards away from her house, then disappeared into the woods. The full moon hung in the dark sky, its light reflecting off the snow and casting the night into an encompassing kind of blue. Trees created shadows that fell in muted patterns onto a ground that looked blanketed with diamonds.
“The beauty of it is almost enough to make me believe in magic,” she said quietly as she let her hand drop.
“Kit,” Garret said. He made a move that would bring him closer to her but stopped when she shrank away. The peace that had flirted with her as she’d looked out at the night vanished.
“You’re upset,” he said.
The funny thing was, she wasn’t upset. She had every right to be, but she wasn’t. She was something much worse; she was disappointed. Sad.
She shook her head. “I’m not going to deny that we have chemistry, Garret.”
“Just chemistry?” His voice was flat as he cut her off.
“Yes, chemistry,” she repeated, then finally turned to look at him again. In the light of the moon, she could see his blue eyes locked on hers. The physical pull she felt when she held his gaze seemed to mock the idea that what they shared could be “just” anything.
“Chemistry,” she said one more time. As if saying it would make it so.
He didn’t blink. He didn’t so much as move a muscle. Then he seemed to take an internal deep breath and relax. His shoulders dropped an inch and a small smile played on his lips.
“I read an interesting article on my flight here,” he said.
His non sequitur caught her by surprise and she frowned in response.
“It was about love at first sight. Do you know how many women believe in it?” he asked.
Too many, she thought to herself, but she said nothing and shook her head.
“34 percent,” he answered. “Do you know how many men believe in love at first sight?” he continued.
“A lot less,” she guessed, feeling cynical.
“73 percent,” he stated.
She simply stared at him for a long moment. He couldn’t possibly be telling her he was in love with her. They did have some something—something she had never experienced with anyone else—but they had only spent less than three days together.
She cleared her throat and looked away. “Well, it’s not the love at first sight that’s most important, it’s the love at the one-hundredth or one-thousandth or ten-thousandth sight that really matters.”
For a moment, Garret said nothing. Then he sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I could have,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t sure what I would say. Or if you would even have wanted me to.”
That last sentence was said more as a question. Would she have wanted him to call? The girly girl in her said yes, of course he should have called, but the woman in her, the woman who had her life figured out and knew what she wanted out of it—including what she did and didn’t want out of a partner, was a little bit glad he hadn’t.
“I don’t know.” She answered what he hadn’t really asked. And Kit knew her honest response hurt him. She felt his energy change. She hadn’t intended to upset him, but she wasn’t going to lie—not to him, not to herself.
Gathering her strength, she turned to face him. Kit could feel the heat coming off his body and was once again struck by how easy it would be to slide her arms around his waist and bury herself in him. But she wouldn’t.
“There is something between us, Garret. I’ve already conceded that. But what I want for my life isn’t what you can give, and I’m not interested in asking you to change.”
“Then don’t,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’m not, Garret. The man you are is someone I admire and like and, yes, am attracted to. But don’t ask me to change, either. Sometimes love or lust or chemistry or whatever you want to call it isn’t enough. A wise woman I know who has been married for over fifty years once told me that it’s often not the big things that ruin a relationship but all the little things. And though I don’t doubt your sincerity and I believe your feelings for me are real, I’ve had enough people in my life like you—people that can’t or don’t talk about their work and that come and go as the job dictates—to know that it’s not what I want for my life.”
She saw his jaw tick at that. But she needed for him to hear this. It wasn’t him she was rejecting, it was the kind of life he led, and she wasn’t about to try and change him. She’d been honest with him about that, too.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said.
“It doesn’t?” she challenged. She couldn’t see any other way it could be. Garret led a life of secrets. A life that required him to be places within a moment’s notice. A life that didn’t allow him to share when he’d be going, where he’d be going, or why he was going, let alone when he might come back.
“It doesn’t,” he insisted.
“Fine, then,” she said. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
Garret shrugged. “I don’t actually know. Caleb said he needed to talk to you, and I came along for the ride because I wanted to see you.”
“Where did you fly from?” she pressed.
He gave her a hard look as he realized what she was doing.
“How long will you be here?” She hated throwing these questions at him, but he had to see her point.
“I don’t know, Kit.” He didn’t like that she was pushing, but she needed him to understand.
“And where will you go when you leave?”
“I don’t know,” he bit out.
“And how long will you be gone?”
“I couldn’t say,” he managed as his jaw ticked again from the tension.
Kit paused as exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed her. Letting out a small sigh, she spoke. “I know, Garret,” she said, her voice quiet in the darkness. “I know you can’t say or don’t know. And I know you’re okay with living like that, but I’m not. So, as easy as it would be to lead you to my bed right now, I’m trying to be a grown up about this and put some value on what I want—what I really want for the long term rather than just what I want right now.”
She felt the tension radiating from his body and knew this was as hard for him as it was for her, because she did believe he was sincere in whatever feelings he had for her. Which made it all that much more important to be honest about where she stood and what she was feeling.
“And I think you know as well as I do that if we end up finishing tonight what we started five months ago, it’s going to be more than a one-night stand,” she said. “We can’t cross that bridge and expect to be anything other than completely involved.”
Even as she said the words, a sense of sadness swept through her. She’d half expected the emotion, but it still didn’t feel good. And though she knew in her heart she was doing the right thing—she knew in her heart that now was not the time or place for her and Garret—she still felt the sting of loss.
Maybe Garret felt it too, but his expression shifted from one of frustration to something infinitely more kind and intimate. He didn’t take a step toward her, but he did raise his hand and slip his fingers under her hair at the nape of her neck. His thumb brushed across her jaw and she stood still under his touch. After what seemed like forever, he bent forward and softly, gently, brushed his lips against hers. For a heartbeat, she allowed herself to close her eyes and just feel him.
Her eyes opened when he pulled back a few inches. He held her gaze. “I understand what you’re saying, Kit, I do. I even respect it. But this isn’t the last conversation we’re going to have on the issue.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that, but even if she’d had a response, Garret wasn’t going to wait around to hear it. He dropped his hand, turned, and walked away.
For a long time after the door had closed behind him, Kit just stood and stared at the place where he had been.