MICHAEL SLATER TOOK a deep breath of the sea breeze wafting through the screened-in porch of his parents’ summer house in Howarth, Maine. Below him, sparkling through the evergreen branches and birch trunks, spread Fischer Bay, dotted with islands glowing green in the early sun. The still-chilly morning air, spiced with the scent of pine and the sea, flowed over him with a cleansing freshness that went a long way toward instilling peace in his always-restless soul. The place definitely got under your skin, into your blood.
He took a few steps toward the south edge of the porch, running his hand along the screen, wet from last night’s rain, causing a shower of drops to fall on his bare forearm. During the year he’d spent nursing his mother, he’d begun to appreciate solitude, something he’d never thought would happen after thirty-three years jammed with people.
But not this much solitude.
He clenched his fist; muscles contracted in his forearm, rolling away the drops of water collected from the screen. Since his energies had stopped being focused on keeping his mother alive, keeping her comfortable, he’d started wanting someone around. Maybe Riley would want to visit. He missed Riley. Maybe a woman. He damn well missed women. He could see a woman here, in this idyllic place, moving around the house, reading on the porch or sitting on the rocky shore watching the water.
He laughed; the sound startled a hummingbird hovering at a nearby tree. Maybe he should pack up and go back to Boston, back to telephones and electricity and cynical city dwellers before he turned into a total sap.
Sounds that had grown unfamiliar broke the tranquil morning behind him in the woods. A rough engine, a truck or a van, crunching stones on the dirt road, pinging them out of the way of its wheels. Slate swung around, staring apprehensively through the house toward the front entrance. Who the hell would be coming at this time of morning?
The bell rang twice, impatiently. He went to the door, grimacing at the intrusion into his day.
A pimply, long-haired kid moved his head in rhythm to whatever horrible music was blaring through his headphones directly into his eardrums. “Telegram. Sign here, please.”
Slate quelled a flash of alarm, signed the form and took the telegram into the house, breathing in relief when the noise of the van engine faded away. He went back out onto the porch and opened the envelope slowly, carefully. Then stared, adrenaline making his body taut.
Just one word: Gemini.
MELISSA SAT ON THE EDGE of her bed in unfamiliar tight black pants, an olive-green tank top and chunky shoes, staring at the Brand-New Her in the mirror. Her straight bob had given way to a short cut that outlined the shape of her face and head and made her eyes look enormous. And lo and behold, freed from the weight of its former length, her hair had actually managed to wave slightly, though it did better on humid days.
After the haircut—miraculously, she’d gotten the appointment two days after she decided on her new look—she’d gone on to take a free makeup lesson at a department store counter, and emerged looking like some Bride of Dracula who had never seen the sun. Pale powdery skin, dark lips, orangey blush in places she never blushed. Layers of eye shadow in progressively lighter shades, which was supposed to make her eyes look “natural,” but which changed their shape so that she scarcely recognized herself… It had been a horror.
So she and Penny had invaded the makeup aisle at Walgreen’s and spent an extended evening with Cosmo as their guide, trying to see if their fresh-faced farm-girl features could be coaxed into exotic sensual splendor.
Okay, well, they got close enough.
Then there was the manicure, and the pedicure, and the rather painful waxing, which did leave her legs fabulously smooth after the welts died down.
Melissa smiled at herself in the dark-framed mirror on her dresser. She did look different. Older. More sophisticated. Better. Up until now, it had been easy—a fun week. But now it was going to get harder, and scary. Now she was going to go over to Rose’s apartment and ask how to meet a man she could have a wild, meaningless fling with. It was like the research was all finished, and now she had to sit down and write the term paper.
She curled her lip. So far she’d made it to the side of her bed closest to the door. The next step would be walking out into her living room. From there, it was a matter of, say, fifteen feet to the front door. Six more to cross the hall. Then the knocking, the waiting, the small talk, and finally, Getting to the Point.
She shook her head in a quick shudder of denial. Insurmountable. She couldn’t do it. Or maybe she could. But maybe tomorrow would be a better—
The phone rang next to her bed. She reached over her ivory bedspread and picked it up eagerly, hoping it was Penny, who would convince her tomorrow was a much better option. Or maybe one of her college roommates, who would talk to her until it was too close to dinner to go over there, or maybe—
“Melissa, it’s Bill.”
“Bill.” Her way-over-him heart gave a traitorous flip. Was this a sign? A sign she was barking up the wrong tree entirely? “How…how are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Fine.” He was distracted, uneasy. He had something to say. She knew without seeing him that he was puckering his mouth and drumming his fingers impossibly fast on whatever surface he was near. “How are you doing?”
“I’m great…. What’s up?” Did he miss her? Did he want to see her? Did he want to get back together?
Forget it. Ha! She’d just tell him—
“I wanted to tell you…” He gave an exasperated sigh. “Maybe this was a stupid mistake. But I thought you should know.”
“Yes?” That I’ve been dreaming of you every night, Melissa. That I miss you more than I can say.
Oh? Sorry, Bill. Life without you is just peachy. In fact, I’m about to—
“I met someone. I’m seeing someone. I…wanted you to hear it from me.”
Melissa clenched her teeth in a huge happy smile and pasted her eyes open extra super-by-gosh wide. “Oh! Bill that’s fabulous! I’m really happy for you. And thanks for telling me. That was so sweet of you!”
“Oh, man, I’m so glad you’re not upset. She’s pretty terrific.” He gave a gooey chuckle. “Hey! Maybe you could come over sometime and meet—”
“Bill, thanks so much for calling. Great to hear from you. Gotta go. Bye.”
Melissa hung up the phone, clenched her fists at her sides and punished her cool gray carpet with angry strides to the mirror, chest heaving from rage and hurt and humiliation and whatever else she could possibly be feeling. What bizarre, illogical trait made her want Bill to still want her just so she could have the luxury of disappointing him? So she could sit on her satin pillow, bejeweled and perfumed, smile indulgently and wave her silk hanky to the guards to drag him off to her castle’s Rejected Males Room?
The minute he’d made it clear he didn’t want her, her castle had turned into a scummy pond, and she was a princess reverting to frogdom, crouching on a cold slimy lily pad, lonely and hurt.
Well, to hell with him.
She turned abruptly and stalked through her apartment, swiped her keys off the hall table, banged through her door, took four furious steps down the corridor and knocked on Rose’s door before she could weaken even slightly and change her mind.
“Who…who is it?”
Melissa frowned. Had she knocked that hard? Rose sounded like she expected the entire Boston Police Force brandishing large weapons.
“It’s Melissa. Can I talk to you?”
The door opened and Rose appeared, looking wan and uneasy and about five years younger than she had that night with the Saudi prince last week. She wore bright blue capris, and an oversize white shirt that probably used to belong to one of her male admirers.
“Sure. Sure.” Rose smiled and beckoned. “Come on in. You look different. Did you change your hair? I like it. It looks kind of like mine.”
Melissa nodded and touched her short hair self-consciously, unwilling to admit she’d had Rose’s sleek, natural style in mind. Not that you saw much of Rose’s hair since it was usually hiding under wigs.
“Would you like a cup of tea? I’m just making some.”
Melissa nodded again and wandered among Rose’s whimsical, colorful assortment of rugs, chairs and knickknacks, wondering what the etiquette was for asking someone she barely knew to recommend a sex partner. She picked up a hand mirror with the beautiful, delicate face of a girl painted on the back, and replaced it carefully on the cluttered coffee table.
“Lovely day.” Rose smiled graciously. “I’m going to a Red Sox game tonight. Looks like we’ll have good weather.”
Come on, Melissa, spare her the small talk and get to the point. Melissa stopped opposite a bizarre giraffelike statue made out of tin cans wired together. “Oh, you have a Randstetler sculpture!”
“Is that what it is?” Rose rescued the shrieking kettle from its distress and poured boiling water into two cups. “A friend gave it to me. I can’t say I love it.”
“Your friend is very smart. Randstetler is starting to make a name for himself. His works will probably skyrocket in price. Strange guy, really into animal rights and kind of preachy about it. He works it into every subject.” Melissa gently touched the giraffe’s aluminum nose. Okay. Enough prattle. Out with it. “Listen, Rose. I wonder if I could ask you sort of a strange favor.”
Rose laughed, a nice warm sound not at all like the silly giggle she’d been making in the hall with His Majesty. “I specialize in granting strange favors. And I was thinking of asking you for one, too. You first, though. Have a seat and ask away.”
Melissa flopped into an overstuffed burgundy chair with a white lace antimacassar spread across the top. “I broke up with a guy a few months ago… Well, he broke up with me.”
“Ugh.” Rose wrinkled her nose, handed Melissa her tea and sank into a chair opposite. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine. I’m fine now.” Melissa set her mug carefully on a flowery coaster. “In fact, I’m ready to date again.”
“Good for you.”
“But I was wondering…well, the truth is, Bill and I…we didn’t have the greatest sex life.”
“Double ugh.” Rose grimaced. “You’re well rid of him.”
“But before I start looking seriously… Since you seem to know so many guys, I was wondering…if you knew anyone I could have a fling with.” Melissa covered her face with her hands. “Oh, man. If you knew how hard that was to come out with…”
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Rose laughed again. “I think it’s a great idea. Everyone should have a wild romance or two.”
Melissa dropped her hands. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“Sort of.” The friendly warmth in Rose’s face dimmed. She took a sip of tea and brightened again. “Well, I’m happy to help. I do seem to know a lot of men.”
“Oh, thank you.” Melissa practically gasped out her relief. “I was so afraid you’d be offended.”
Rose shook her head. “Nonsense. I admire you. I bet a lot of women want what you do, but don’t have the courage to go after it.”
“I don’t feel courageous.”
Rose shrugged. “What do they say in all the war movies? Courage is about acting brave when you’re not feeling it.”
“Thanks.” Melissa grinned. For all her artifice around men, Rose was amazingly genuine.
“So, are you talking nice sweet gentle teacher? Or fulfilling your every fantasy with Mr. Studmuffins?”
“Mostly the latter.” Melissa blushed, feeling as if she were discussing an order of meat at the supermarket. “I don’t want to settle down until I’ve experienced some more of what everyone makes such a fuss about.”
Rose smiled, a rueful Mona Lisa half smile. “You don’t think a husband can give that to you?”
“Not what I’m after.” Melissa swallowed some tea and shook her head emphatically. “Husbands come with the whole truckload of Having a Relationship. I want it free of the cargo this time, so I can try out being someone different, just for a while.”
“I see.” Rose put her tea down slowly. “Well, I’m hardly the one to talk you out of it. You’re sure this is what you want? I mean, most women find it hard to…be intimate without falling in love.”
“But you don’t.”
“No.” Again the rueful smile. “I don’t.”
“Well, I won’t know for sure until I try, but if I’m acting out a personality that isn’t really me, and he’s not the kind of average nice guy I usually go for, then I don’t think the risk of real love is high.” Melissa shrugged, stilling her hands, which had been twisting in her lap. “And if I get hurt, it’s my fault. I asked for it.”
“True.” Rose sat quietly for a moment, then slapped her thigh. “So. If you’re sure, I know I can help you.”
“Oh. Wow. That’s great.” Melissa forced a smile, suddenly on the verge of panicking. What the hell did she expect? She was here because she knew Rose could help her.
Rose stood and went over to the window, glanced out rather anxiously, then perched on the sill. “I wonder if I could ask you a favor, too.”
“Sure, of course.”
“I need a place to…get away from it all for a while. I don’t have much money, and I thought maybe if your family’s condo in the Berkshires was free, you could…rent it to me cheap in exchange for Tom?”
Tom. The name shot a shiver through Melissa’s body. Oh, geez. “I…don’t see why not. My parents don’t usually go up until mid-July. But I’d have to check with them.”
“That would be great. I really need a vacation.” Rose smiled, but her hands clenched the sill beneath her. “At any rate, Tom would be perfect. He’s the friend of a friend—they may have dated briefly. Amanda can’t say enough about him—handsome, sexy, gentle. One of those guys who’s into women but not commitment. You’ll probably like him.”
“Oh. Wow. Okay.” Melissa nodded rapidly, feeling like a complete fool.
Rose headed to the phone. “And if you don’t, it’s not like you have to do anything. I’ll call Amanda for his number. Are you free tomorrow night?”
“Uh. Yes. I’m free.” Tomorrow? Was she ready for this? Tomorrow? Did she really want to? This was totally terrifying.
Rose picked up the phone and dialed, smiling at Melissa. She chatted with Amanda and got Tom’s number. Half fascinated, half freaking, Melissa gulped, feeling as if she’d run out of air and saliva at the same time. The entire twenty minutes she’d spent in Rose’s apartment had had a surreal quality. She couldn’t quite seem to grasp that this was really happening, as if the whole scene might be just another daydream.
Rose reached to dial Tom’s number, then stopped, hand in midair, and bit her lip. “Uh, Melissa…why don’t you go home and check with your parents about the condo? I’ll try Tom and let you know about tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Okay. Great.” Melissa gulped the last of her tea and beat a hasty retreat. Back in her apartment, she called her parents, hands shaking. What was she going to say? Hi, Mom, hi, Dad. I need to rent our condo to a friend in exchange for wild sex with a guy I don’t know. Would that be okay?
Her dad answered and summoned her mom to the phone. Somehow, Melissa managed to stammer out the request, brushing aside their numerous concerned questions. Yes, she was fine, just a little tired. Yes, the job was great. Yes, she was eating well. No, she didn’t miss Bill. Okay, no problem, bye.
Poor Rose. Melissa hung up the phone, disappointed. Her parents were opening the condo early this year, to celebrate their fortieth anniversary over Fourth of July weekend.
Immediately a knock sounded on the door. It was Rose, looking a little anxious. “Did they say it was okay?”
“I’m sorry. They’re using the place this weekend. They almost never go up this early. I didn’t expect it to be a problem.”
“Oh.” Rose tried to smile, but it was a ghastly effort. “Thanks for trying.”
Melissa looked at her curiously, wondering exactly what she was so eager to get away from. Maybe one of her guys had turned stalker on her. “Rose, are you—”
“I spoke to Tom.” Rose broke in nervously, as if she knew what the question would be. “You’re all set.”
“Oh?” Melissa’s voice yodeled on the one syllable. This was it. Another step along the way; another part of the transition into the woman she hoped to explore.
Help.
“Eight o’clock, tomorrow night. My place.” Rose cracked a brittle smile, not quite meeting Melissa’s eyes. “He said it’ll be his pleasure.”
“I HAVE A DATE TOMORROW?” Riley stopped, one foot-long sub sandwich in each hand, and curled his lip at his grinning friend. “I was going to take Leo to the movies so my sister could have an evening to herself.”
“I know little Leo needs a man in his life, but so, apparently, does the fair Miss Rose. You get to be some guy named Tom.” Slate leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows suggestively, obviously relishing being back in the trenches. “She wants sex lessons.”
“Sex lessons? You have got to be kidding.” Riley grabbed plates from his cabinet and plunked the sandwiches down, feeling as if he’d eaten something rotten. This Rose person was bad news. “Why the hell would a woman like that need lessons?”
Slate shrugged. “I guess even professionals like to keep in shape, though according to the Feds she’s not actually a hooker.”
“Just your friendly neighborhood hedonist. Not a hell of a lot of difference if you ask me.” Riley banged the plates on the Shaker-style table he’d made in his basement workshop, his stomach churning. Sex lessons. Of all the stupid games…with something that should be so natural. “Are you sure you heard right? It wasn’t Tom that needed the lessons from her?”
“I’m sure. I’m guessing playing teacher floats Tommy’s salami.” Slate took a huge bite of his sub and chewed; his boyish blue eyes crinkled mischievously. “Some guys are into that stuff.”
“Oh, man.” Riley took a swig of milk and pushed his plate away. “They didn’t train me for this in the marines.”
“You’d rather penetrate Iraqi lines than the fair Ms. Rose?”
Riley glared at him. “Forget lessons. I’ll show up as the plumber.”
“And investigate her pipes?” Slate blinked innocently as Riley rolled his eyes in disgust. “This is the perfect setup, Riley. If you can’t find the portrait the good senator ditched with her on the first go-around, you have a good excuse to go back—provided you can find something to teach her.”
Riley dropped his head in his hands and groaned. He’d have to call Karen and reschedule the time with Leo. Slate was making too much sense. The FBI had backed Captain Watson’s insistence that Riley develop a friendship with Rose so he could search the apartment and find out what she knew.
Unfortunately, any searching while she was gone would attract undesired attention to the Feds’ involvement in the case. Her place was being watched by the cops and Jake Allston, the crime boss who’d originally bribed Senator Mason with the portrait, and who wanted to keep it out of the hands of the police so it wouldn’t become crucial evidence in a trial against him.
Riley raised his head and sighed wearily. “Rose doesn’t know this guy?”
“Nope. They’ve never met. But her reputation must have preceded her. The guy was drooling all over the phone. You should have heard her work him. Man! She was something.” Slate put his sandwich down and crossed his arms over his chest, hands in his armpits—his characteristic gesture when something unsettled him. “Funny thing, though, I got the feeling that underneath, she’s scared to death. I’m betting Miss Rose is in this way over her head.”
Something in Slate’s voice snapped Riley out of his self-pity. He stared at his friend. “Oh? Why don’t you take this one, Slate? You’ve been in Maine for a long time. You must have gotten pretty lonely.”
Slate held up his hands in surrender. “Not me. You’re the one Captain Watson asked to do the job. The Feds want the police kept happy while they check out who’s leaking information to Allston’s men. Besides, you’re the international sexpert around here, if our time overseas was anything to go by.” He made a face and jerked his thumb to his chest. “I was the sucker with the girl back home.”
Riley nodded, shoving back the sympathy he knew his friend hated. Slate had been faithful in the face of endless temptation. Unfortunately, his girlfriend hadn’t seen fit to return the favor. Not surprisingly, Slate had taken it hard. His mother’s death over the past long year hadn’t helped. When he’d showed up on Riley’s doorstep the day before, thin and down, Riley had been shocked. Today was the first sign of the return of his humor and sense of fun—the perfect cover for the brilliant, ruthless operator he was. Riley had done well inviting him to be in on this case. The FBI wasn’t known for granting favors, but they’d let Slate in with a surprising lack of protest. Apparently Gemini’s reputation extended beyond the military.
“And I’ve got a hot date, too, with the real Tom.” Slate grinned around a mouthful of cold cuts. “To make sure he has lots and lots of other plans until this operation is over.”
“And then?”
“Then I get to kick back and be available. I might be useful, since I’m invisible as far as the cops are concerned.”
“And as far as Jake Allston’s people are concerned.” Riley resignedly pulled his plate closer and started on his sandwich. Unfortunately, he had to admit he was the right man for the job. The stolen miniature of Queen Elizabeth was the crucial link needed to prove Senator Mason’s involvement in Jake Allston’s corrupt empire. Allston had used it to bribe the art-loving senator in return for legislation favoring Allston’s business interests. With the portrait, the Feds could grant Mason immunity from prosecution in exchange for his testimony against Allston. Since Riley had been invited in by the police, his involvement would create a buffer zone between the Feds and the cops while the Feds investigated the leak in the force. All the pieces fit. Everyone was happy. Except Riley.
He felt as if he’d been assigned to seduce a viper. Not that Rose would need much seducing, unless she and Tom did have some master-slave thing to act out. In that case, he’d have to pretend to seduce her, while they both knew the entire scene was a bunch of crap. He swallowed a bite; the bread tasted like glue in his dry mouth.
Sex between a man and a woman was supposed to flow, to evolve naturally out of mutual desires and tastes. It wasn’t something you should have to program or teach. Experimenting was all very well; he’d done his share. But how much better to lie together and simply savor what all humans were born to do.
He washed down the glue with a swallow of milk. He’d have to try damn hard either to find the portrait right away, since Captain Watson and the Feds seemed so certain it was in Rose’s apartment, or be absolutely, one-hundred-percent sure it was somewhere else.
ROSE CRAMMED FIVE PAIRS of underwear, two bras, three T-shirts, two pairs of shorts, two mini-sundresses, deodorant, shampoo and a toothbrush into the largest purse she owned, her movements jerky and hurried. She wasn’t sure where she was going yet. Once she got to South Station she could decide. Her budget would only allow travel by train, but she couldn’t pass up this opportunity to leave.
Melissa would be in her apartment in an hour; anyone keeping an eye on the place would see a slender young woman entertaining a man. Nothing so unusual about that. Rose had been careful on the phone, with Melissa out of the room, to make it seem as if Tom would be meeting her tonight, in case her phone was being tapped. He’d sounded so eager and had accepted the “teacher” role so readily, she felt horrible leaving Melissa to face him. But they’d work it out. Or not. Either way, by the time whoever wanted her—or whatever he thought she had—found out she was missing, Rose would be long gone.
If things didn’t work out with Tom, Melissa would go back to her own apartment and her own life, and only wonder once in a while where her neighbor had gone. If things did work out, no doubt she and Tom would use Melissa’s own apartment after tonight. Melissa would be in no danger—of that Rose felt sure, or she wouldn’t be doing this.
She’d considered slipping a note under Melissa’s door, explaining the switch, but after seeing the horror of nerves on Melissa’s face when Rose announced that the date had been set, she knew her neighbor wouldn’t show if she thought Tom expected Rose herself. And Rose really needed Melissa to be in the apartment tonight. Just tonight. So she’d have a chance to escape.
She slung the bulging bag over her shoulder, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious that it contained more than the usual purse items. After one last look in the mirror to adjust her blond wig, check her makeup, fasten a sweater over her bare shoulders and flowered sundress, Rose let herself out of the apartment and slid her key under Melissa’s door as planned. Too impatient to wait for the elevator, she took the stairs down three floors to the basement and slipped out the back entrance.
On the way to the Harvard Square T stop, and on the ride from Cambridge to Boston, she channeled her nervous energy into looking happy and carefree—a woman out on a shopping spree, planning to return home tonight for a romantic assignation with Tall Dark and Handsome. She got off at South Station, checking as casually as she could for anyone else leaving the train who might seem unduly interested in her and where she was going.
Then she hurried up the escalator and lunged toward the turnstile, at the exact same moment as a distinctly male body wearing a T-shirt and jeans.
“Sorry. After you.” The distinctly male body stepped back and gestured her through. She turned, looked up and met a pair of dynamite blue eyes under short, military-style blond hair. Eyes brimming with boyish humor, intelligence, warmth and a touch of something grim and steely that even in Rose’s near-frantic state fascinated her.
She smiled her thanks and pushed through the turnstile ahead of him, wishing it was some other day and that she was, in fact, on the mindless, infinitely cancelable errand she wanted everyone to think she was on. Then she could take time to delve into those eyes and what lay behind them. It had been awhile since she’d gotten to know someone close to her age.
“I’m Mike. Slater. Friends call me Slate. What’s your name?” He fell into step beside her, fanning the spark of her regret into a painful ember.
“I’m Rose. Just Rose. Friends call me Rose.” She sent him an I’m-only-teasing smile so he wouldn’t think she was making fun of him. Guys hated being made fun of. Their egos couldn’t stand it. Though this one seemed so natural and boy-next-door in spite of his incredible sex appeal, he might not have minded.
“Where you headed?”
“Train station.” Her smile grew wary. Even a natural, heavenly built boy-next-door could be a threat. Someone out to make sure she disappeared, one way or the other. Or someone trying to keep her from leaving.
Rose clenched her teeth. She hated this. Hated not being able to trust anyone. Hated that everything and everyone might be something other than they seemed. That this nice-looking guy might be about to drag her out to some deserted lot and threaten to shoot her for whatever he thought she’d done, or whatever he thought she had.
The sooner she was out of Boston, the better. Even by talking to this guy, even if he was innocent, she’d already attracted someone’s attention. Someone who could answer questions about her if he bumped into people who wanted to know. As much as she wanted to linger and listen and look, she had to get rid of him.
“What time’s your train?”
“I’m not…it’s not for a while.” Only a few dozen yards into the crowded main room of the station she’d be able to see the departure schedule and take her pick of time and destination. Why couldn’t he have waited to ask until then, so it wouldn’t be so obvious she had no idea where she was going?
“I’ve got a long wait, too. I’m meeting a friend. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Oh, gosh. I don’t think so, thanks.” She quickened her pace; he kept up easily.
“I just want to buy you a drink, that’s it. Juice, milk, soda, whatever…doesn’t have to be booze.”
“No, really. I’m fine.”
“I don’t mind. There are some decent places here.” He gestured toward the assortment of eateries in the station.
Rose stopped and turned to face him, struck again by the depth and complexity of the expression in his eyes. “Are you always this persistent?”
“No.” He grinned and crossed his arms, hands shoved into his armpits. “Usually I don’t even ask in the first place. So I guess I don’t want to start off a career of asking strange women out with a dismal failure.”
She couldn’t help a small smile. This guy would probably be a lot of fun. Damn the timing all to hell.
“I’m sorry. I just have to be so careful.” She bit her lip. “Everyone has to be careful these days.”
“Okay, no problem.” He held up his hands and backed away. “Nice to meet you, Rose. Have a good trip.”
He grinned once more and strode off toward the food court. She took a quick, deep breath. Stupid as it sounded, and as much as she had been anxious to shake him off, now that he was gone, she felt terribly alone.
She pulled herself together, scanned the departure board, chose a train to D.C., so she’d have the most stops to choose from, bought her ticket and a newspaper, and settled down to wait.