Falling Again (3 page)

Unfortunately.

He took her hand as he helped her out of the cab and didn’t let it go as they started walking. After a few minutes of sauntering through the unusually warm night in silence, he said, “You should know—I got credit yesterday I don’t deserve.”

“Oh, why?”

“I knew you were in town so you weren’t exactly out of context when I saw you.”

“How did you…?”

“Amanda. She calls me occasionally to meddle in my life. And always to make sure I get back safely from an overseas assignment. During the latest conversation she happened to mention you were here so I thought I’d use this chance to get to know you better without the interference of my loving but bothersome sister.”

She stopped in the shadow of one of the cherry trees and looked up at him, her head slanted to one side.
He’d been looking for her? Why would he do that?
“Now I’m the one who’s flattered. I’m not sure what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just let me do this…” He put his hand at the nape of her neck and drew her mouth toward his.

It was better than she’d imagined, having his mouth on hers. It was both sensuous and sweet, seducing her rather than demanding from her, making her want to give him what he was asking for even if she didn’t understand why he was asking. He kissed her top lip, then her bottom lip, then coaxed them apart with his tongue. When he had adjusted his mouth on hers, finding the perfect fit between them, he used his tongue to taste the inside of her lips.

Her arms went to his shoulders and his arm circled her waist, pulling her close. She was on the verge of deciding she’d do just about anything to keep the kiss going when two teenaged boys on skateboards come whizzing past, cat-calling and making sucky-kissy noises. The mood was broken. They ended the kiss with laughter and continued their stroll in the moonlight.

At the hotel he asked if she would have dinner with him again the next night, since she’d be gone for the weekend and he couldn’t see her. It must have been the moonlight or maybe the kiss. Probably both. Because she agreed to meet at seven the following night. He kissed her again, sealing the deal. As she went down the escalator into the lobby, she knew it wouldn’t be too hard to get used to kissing Nick St. Claire. The question was, should she?

The next day, Nick texted Fiona a couple times, asking about her day and whether she’d gotten one of her clams to open up, inquiring if there was any kind of food she hated and moving their meeting time to six-thirty. His messages were a pleasant change from what usually clogged her phone—breaking news alerts, which may or may not be news or alert-worthy, and boringly similar press releases boasting of some minor accomplishment someone wanted featured in the paper.

When she got back to the hotel at six she tried for the second time in a couple of hours to reach her boss but got voicemail again. Odd. Why wasn’t he around? Maybe one of her colleagues would know. She started to make another call until she saw the time. She was running close to being late for meeting Nick, so she texted “where are you?” to her editor and moved to her next problem: what to wear.

Nick had said the night before was a date, but she was still unsure why, exactly, he was paying attention to her. To be honest, she was unsure why she was paying attention to him, other than the fact he was handsome, charming, and sexy. Which made him right for her attempt to get back on the horse, so to speak. Of course, that image only gave her impure thoughts about saving a horse and riding a cowboy. And that sure wasn’t on the menu.

So she didn’t want to come across as hot and ready for a tumble with a young stud. Given the clothes she had with her, the sexy look seemed out of her reach anyway.
Oh, hell, McCarthy, be honest. Even if you’d packed everything in your closet you couldn’t pull off hot and sexy with someone so young
.

Finally she decided on the pale blue sleeveless silk dress and soft, unstructured jacket in a nubby fabric she’d planned to wear to the wedding. As she carefully reapplied makeup, she concluded she was making too much out of this. It was no big deal, at least not for him. It was merely dinner with a friend. Even though he said it was what he wanted to do, maybe Amanda asked him to be nice to her and he’d agreed because he’d enjoyed talking to her in Portland. Maybe. Although, come to think of it, maybe not. She doubted Amanda had asked him to kiss her. It was confusing.

After brushing her hair one more time, she took a last look in the mirror before heading for the elevator. She looked okay. If it was a favor for his sister, at least she wouldn’t embarrass him. Riding down to the lobby she had to admit, regardless of his age or why he’d asked her out, she was looking forward to seeing him again.

He was waiting in the lobby. This time he wore the black leather jacket he’d been carrying the other day, gray pants, and a dark red T-shirt snug enough to show off his amazing pecs.

“You look nice,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek.

“Thank you. You look quite nice yourself. Can I buy you a drink so we can class up the bar with our presence before we go to dinner?”

“I thought I’d give you a rare treat and take you to my place for a glass of wine before dinner, if it’s okay with you. But I have to warn you, my place isn’t much more than where I keep extra clothes between plane trips.”

She laughed. “You make it sound like you live in a storage unit. Why are we going there if it’s so inhospitable?”

“Self-protection. Once my sister knows—and she will find out—that we’ve had dinner a couple times she’ll cross-examine you about my life. I want you to tell her you’ve been to my apartment and it’s so well appointed I could be featured in some house and garden magazine. Or at least the style section of a small-town newspaper.”

“She hasn’t been here to see for herself?”

“Every time she tries, she gets diverted to Ohio by our mother who wants to see her only grandchild. It’ll be up to you to satisfy her curiosity.”

“And what makes you think I’ll agree to take your side in a scheme to game my friend?”

“Because I can see in your eyes you’re kind, and I can rely on you to feel sorry for me because I have such an intrusive sibling.”

“Not exactly what I’d say I feel for you, but I guess I can at least reassure her it isn’t rat and roach infested.” She was sucked in again by the bedroom eyes and the sexy smile. “I…I mean, you are varmint-free?”

“I’m more interested in the first part of the sentence, the part about what you feel for me.”

“I just meant I don’t feel sorry for you, Nick.”

“That’s all?”

Damn. Would she ever figure out what this man was after? “Now I feel like I’m the one being played. Am I?”

He never answered the question with anything other than his smile, because the doorman opened the door to the cab he had hailed for them and helped her inside.

• • •

His apartment didn’t live up to the bad press Nick had given it. On the second floor of a modest but newly renovated building near Dupont Circle, it consisted of a living area with a small kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom. The living room reminded Fiona a bit of the apartment she’d lived in right out of college—the couch was a futon, the extensive DIY bookcases overflowed with books. Only the two chairs grouped with the couch around a small table looked like they had come from a real furniture store.

But if the furniture wasn’t outstanding, the accessories certainly were. The cloth on the small dining table as well as the rugs looked Central American and the fabric covering the pillows on the futon was, she guessed, Thai silk. The walls were hung with beautifully framed photographs of colorful marketplaces, exotic landscapes, and people in ethnic dress—his work, she assumed. And he had electronic gear she would have killed for. On the dining table was the biggest MacBook she’d ever seen. On one bookcase shelf she saw a Bose dock with an iPod Touch, above the top shelf was a flat screen TV and there appeared to be an iPad and a Kindle on the table in front of the couch.

As she walked around the room, admiring each photograph, she said, “I think you were underplaying your apartment so I’d be wowed by it. Your photographs alone are amazing. I’ve always liked your landscapes in Amanda’s dining room, but these are even more spectacular.” She gestured toward the bookcase. “And your collection of electronic paraphernalia is truly impressive.”

His grin acknowledged his pleasure. “Thanks. The art is from my first solo show at a local gallery a few years back. And the gear is an addiction. In addition to what you see, I have another TV in my bedroom and more camera equipment than any sane person should have, even one who makes his living with it. The guy who sold me renter’s insurance couldn’t believe I had so little furniture and so much other stuff, even when he saw it.”

“So, great images on the wall, expensive—but insured—electronics, enough comfortable furniture to feel like home and not a rat or a roach in sight. Maybe not a candidate for a magazine spread but a nice place for a responsible grown-up to live. Sound like what Amanda needs to hear?”

“With an emphasis on the
responsible grown-up,
which she seems to forget I am.”

“Are you serious? She’ll ask?”

“She has fussed over me all my life. Part of it is, she loves playing big sister to her baby brother. Part of it is, she’s a fusser. She’ll ask.”

Fiona started to ask how much of a baby brother he was but wasn’t really sure she wanted to know so she kept quiet as she watched him pour two glasses of a very nice red wine. He handed one glass to her and motioned her to the futon.

During the course of drinking the wine the conversation turned to what Nick was working on. Fiona was unaccountably pleased when he told about an offer he’d had to shoot a story about recreation opportunities in the Cascade Mountains to begin after his next assignment in Canada. If he took the offer, he’d be in the Northwest for about two weeks, most likely based in Portland.

As they finished their wine, Fiona asked, “You said you’d made a list of places to eat to impress me with your good taste and sophistication. So where are we going tonight?”

“Should have known better than to try and slip a statement like that past a reporter. It’s a Cuban place in Adams-Morgan. They have good food and good music. And we have a seven-thirty reservation.”

The restaurant wasn’t far and the evening pleasant so they walked. Nick took her hand as they started out, which she was surprised to find felt comfortable, as if they’d been a couple for a long time. Focused on his thumb caressing the back of her hand, she almost missed the greeting from a man who called her name as they crossed the street a block away from their destination.

“Oh, my gosh, Hank. How’ve you been?” She dropped Nick’s hand and gave the man a hug.

The drivers trying to negotiate the intersection laid on their horns and made the three of them run for the sidewalk.

“I’m great,” Hank said when they got to the sidewalk. “And you?”

“Same.” She turned to her date. “Nick, this is Hank Lewis. He used to work for
Willamette Week,
and then moved up in the world to a gig with the AP here. Hank, Nick St. Claire.”

“What are you doing just walking around town like you don’t have a care in the world when there’s a hot story back in Portland?” Hank asked.

“What hot story?”

“Haven’t you had your phone on? What’ve you been doing for the last few hours?” He looked from Fiona to Nick with a knowing smirk.

“Come on, Hank, what’s going on?”

“Guy fired two shots at the mayor during the City Council meeting today.”

“You’re kidding. Now I know why I couldn’t find my editor this afternoon. Do they know who?”

“They got him. Some man named Preston Garland. The cops kept everyone in the building from leaving and the mayor and her chief of staff ID’d the guy. Cops arrested him on site.”

“Not the smartest assassin in the world, apparently.”

“No, but I heard he has interesting ties to some white power groups.”

“Oh, shit. Come have a drink with us and tell me more.”

“Love to,” Hank said, “but I’m on my way to meet someone myself. We can talk in St. Michaels. I assume you’ll be at the wedding tomorrow.”

He said his goodbyes and Nick and Fiona continued down the block to their restaurant. They were immediately seated and Nick ordered glasses of wine for them.

Their server returned with their drinks and they ordered dinner—the arroz con pollo and ropa vieja Nick recommended. After the server left, she picked up her glass and took a sip.

“So,” Nick said, “from what your friend says, things aren’t the usual laid back and mellow in Portland.”

When she returned the glass to the table, she held the stem in her hands and, staring into the bowl, twirled the glass between her fingers. “Awful, isn’t it?” She moved restlessly in her chair. “I don’t think anything like this has ever happened before.”

He laughed. “You’re dying to make a couple phone calls, aren’t you?”

“I’d apologize for being so obvious, but I’m afraid terminal curiosity is an incorrigible part of my personality.”

“And what makes you a good reporter. So make the phone calls. I’ll have the waiter hold our meals for…what…ten minutes?”

“Make it fifteen, if you really don’t mind.” Although she tried to keep her expression under control, she was sure he could see excitement on her face about the hot story, mixed with relief she wouldn’t have to wait to follow up on it.

“Believe me, I understand. Try being around me when the light is exactly at the right angle for the shot I’ve been stalking for a few days. I’d mow over my mother to get what I was after much less put off dinner with a date.”

“You’re terrific. Should I leave or…”

“No, no, no. Stay here, so I can eavesdrop.”

He signaled to their waiter while she dug her cell phone out of her purse. She called around her office until someone answered the phone. When she found out Sam Richardson was one of the detectives in on the investigation she called him, too. Sam was the one cop who would always answer her calls—he was married to her friend Amanda and she’d done him a few favors over the years. Now it was his turn to do her one.