3rd Degree (25 page)

How to explain the electricity shooting through him every time their arms brushed. Or the feeling he got when he looked into Lindsay's deep green eyes. She was so hard and tough - and so gentle and vulnerable. A lot like him. And she was funny, too, when she wanted to be anyway, which was often.

He wished he could do the big romantic thing, like in the movies, whisk her on a plane and take her somewhere. Call in to the office: That subcommittee meeting will have to wait, sir. Molinari felt a smile creep over his face.

“Takeoff should be in about five, sir,” the flight attendant informed him.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding. Try to relax. Chill. Sleep. He willed himself, thought of home. He'd been living out of a suitcase for two weeks now. It may not be how he wanted this to end, but it would be good to be home. He closed his eyes once more.

“Sir,” the attendant called again. A uniformed airport policeman had boarded the plane. He was escorted back to him.

“I'm sorry, sir,” the policeman said. “Something urgent has come up. I was told to hold the plane at the gate and accompany you back inside. The police gave me this number for you to call.”

A stab of worry jolted Molinari. What the hell could have happened now? He took the piece of paper and grabbed his briefcase and phone. He punched in the number, told the pilot to wait, and followed the security man off the plane. He put the phone to his ear.

MY PHONE STARTED TO RING just as Molinari appeared near the gate. I stood there and watched him. Seeing me, the phone to my ear, he began to understand. A smile came over his face, a big smile.

I'd never been so nervous in my life. Then we just stood there, maybe fifteen feet apart. He'd stopped walking.

“I'm the emergency,” I said into the phone. “I need your help.”

At first Molinari smiled, then he caught himself, with that stern deputy director sort of look. “You're lucky. I'm an emer-gency kind of guy.”

“I have no life,” I said. “I have this very nice dog. And my friends. And this job. And I'm good at it. But I have no life.”

“And what is it you want?” Molinari said, stepping closer.

His eyes were twinkling and forgiving. They reflected some kind of joy - cutting through the case, and the con-tinent that divided us - the same thing that was in my

heart.

“You,” I said. “I want you. And the jet.”

He laughed, and then he stood right in front of me.

“No” - I shook my head - “I just want you. I couldn't let you get on that plane without telling you that. This bicoastal thing, we can try to make it work if you like. You say you're out here every once in a while for conferences and the occasional national crisis.... Me, I get back there now and then. I got an invitation to stay at the White House recently. You've been to the White House, Joe. We can -”

“Sshhh.” He put a finger to my lips. Then he bent and kissed me right there in the skyway. I was so caught up in trying to be open for once, I swallowed my own words. My spine went rigid, and God, it felt so natural, so right for him to be holding me. I wrapped my fingers around his arms, holding on as tightly as I could.

When we let go, Molinari curled a grin at me. “So, you got an invitation to the White House, huh? I always wondered what it'd be like to sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom.”

“Keep dreaming.” I laughed into those blue eyes of his. Then I locked my arm around his and led him back toward the terminal. “Now your desk at the Capitol, Mr. Deputy Director. That sounds a bit more interesting....”

About the Author

James Patterson's most recent major international bestseller is The Lake House. He is the author of twenty-four books and lives in Florida.

The End