In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) (9 page)

A wave of panic swept over her.

Clutching at straws, Rachel left the door half open and tried
a threat of her own. "You might want to think about libel issues
before you use my name without my permission:"

"Are you denying that you found a doll, sensed terror or danger when you held it, and that you shared your story with law
enforcement?"

Much as she was tempted to say yes, Rachel didn't believe in
lying. Instead, she remained silent and did her best to maintain
a neutral expression.

"That's what I thought" The woman pulled her keys out of
her purse, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. "It's not libel if
it's true, if it's newsworthy, and if there's no malicious intent.
If you change your mind about talking with me, you have my
card:"

With that, the reporter swiveled on her three-inch heels and
strode down the walk, the outline of her form blurring in the
dim glow from the streetlights. As she slid into her car and
started the engine, large flakes of snow began to fall, clinging
to the frozen ground as if to erase any evidence of the woman's
visit. Seconds later, the sporty red vehicle disappeared down
the dark street.

Closing the door, Rachel stumbled to the couch in front of
the fireplace and sank down. What was she supposed to do
now? What could she do? St. Louis Scene might not be the PostDispatch, but a lot of people probably read it. Some of them
would know her. Students. Clients. Co-workers. And once they
saw her story, they'd either avoid her, pepper her with questions,
or laugh behind her back.

None of those scenarios were good.

Too agitated to remain seated, Rachel rose and began to pace, her initial shock giving way to anger. Because of a careless mistake-or indiscretion-her reputation was about to be
ruined. Thanks to the FBI.

When Rachel had walked out of the downtown field office a
week ago, she'd never expected to initiate further contact with
the Bureau. Her one dealing with the agency had been more
than enough to last a lifetime.

But she couldn't let this leak go unreported. The situation
needed to be addressed. Someone should be held accountable.

Rachel had just one contact at the FBI. And she had a feeling
he wouldn't be happy about this turn of events, either. That he'd
do his best to track down the guilty party.

Unless he was the culprit.

A possibility she didn't even want to consider.

"Big plans tonight?" Mark propped his shoulder against the
edge of Nick's cube in the bull pen and stuck his hands in his
pockets.

"Nope. How about you and Emily?" Nick swiveled around in
his chair to face the other agent.

"A nice, quiet dinner for two by the fire. I'm picking up a
four-course meal from Gourmet to Go on my way home. Add
some candlelight and a little soft background music ... we'll be
set for the evening."

"Sounds like a plan"

"You aren't working on the house tonight, are you?"

"I might:"

"It's Valentine's Day"

"I'm aware of that."

Folding his arms across his chest, Mark gave him a specula tive look. "What gives with you, anyway? You were quite the
man around town in our Academy days. At least by reputation.
When did you become a hermit?"

"First of all, my reputation was greatly exaggerated. I've always
led a pretty quiet life. But I'm not a hermit."

"You are when it comes to dating"

"Let's just say I'm selective"

"Or hard to please"

"Who are you to talk? You didn't exactly rush to the altar.
How old were you when you married Emily two months
ago?"

"Thirty-eight. Same as you. But I had a very active social life
before that"

"You know, you're falling into that stereotypical newlywed
trap." Nick leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind
his head.

Twin furrows dented Mark's brow. "What trap?"

"The I'm-deliriously-happy-and-l-want-all-my-friends-tobe -this -happy-too trap"

"Well, I am and I do"

"I appreciate your concern. But leave my love life to me,
okay?"

"I would if you had one"

"The subject's closed, Mark." Nick swung back to his
desk.

"Fine. I'll let it rest. For today." He peeked around a file cabinet into the corner of Nick's cube, where the patched Raggedy
Ann smiled back at him from under the work space where it
had been shoved, only its head visible above the small shopping bag. "Still have the doll, I see. I thought you were going
to pitch it"

"I am"

"When?"

"Soon."

"Is that subject off limits too?"

"Go home to Emily, Mark"

"Okay, okay. I can take a hint:" At Nick's dubious look, Mark
flashed him a grin. "Have a good weekend. And don't inhale too
much drywall dust."

"I'll try not to. By the way, if you and Emily get bored, I can
always use a couple extra pair of hands"

"I did my time at your place. And Emily and I can find other
ways to entertain ourselves"

Chuckling, Nick waved him off. "See you Monday."

As Mark exited, Nick checked his watch. It was almost quitting time. If the place had cleared out a little early last Friday,
today the exodus was even more noticeable. Everyone must
have Valentine's Day plans.

One of these years, maybe he would too. But at this point
it was in God's hands. He'd bent the Lord's ear about it often,
praying that a special woman would grace his life. All he could
do now was trust-and be open to opportunities that came his
way.

As he shut down his computer, Nick put thoughts of his
solitary Valentine's evening aside. What good did it do to wish
for the impossible? This year was a wash. Standing, he stretched
and reached for his coat. Time to call it a day.

He had one arm in his topcoat when the phone rang. Leaning over, he checked the caller ID. The number was local but
unfamiliar. And it was two minutes to five. The day was a breath
away from being officially over. Meaning he could ignore this
call in good conscience. There was an emergency number if
someone needed urgent assistance. He slid his other arm into
the sleeve and draped a muffler around his neck.

"You gonna get that?"

At the question from Steve Preston, the reactive squad su pervisor in the St. Louis office, Nick stifled a rueful sigh. It was
just his luck that one of the bosses would be passing by at the
wrong time.

Switching gears, he snagged the phone and gave Steve a mock
salute as he spoke. "Special Agent Nick Bradley"

"Agent Bradley, this is Rachel Sutton"

The woman with the velvet brown eyes and soft lips.

Nick forgot all about Steve as he tried to regroup. Rachel
Sutton was the last person he'd expected to hear from again. He
did his best not to sound too surprised-or too pleased. "Ms.
Sutton. How can I help you?"

"You can find out who leaked my story to the press"

He'd missed the anger in her tone when she'd greeted him.
It came through loud and clear now. As did her distress. And
her message.

"Let's back up a minute:" Frowning, he shoved one edge of
his coat aside and planted a fist on his hip. "Tell me what happened"

"I just had a visit from a reporter with St. Louis Scene. Claudia
Barnes. She knew all about my experience with the doll and my
visit to the FBI. She's doing a story on paranormal phenomena
and wanted to interview me for the local angle. And she says
she's going to tell my story whether I cooperate or not. I want
to know who tipped her off."

Nick's brain went into high gear. He'd told no one about Rachel's story except his four best friends on Friday night. And
he had absolute confidence in their discretion. Besides, he was
pretty certain he'd never mentioned her name during that conversation. On top of that, they'd had the secluded corner of the
restaurant to themselves. There wasn't much chance anyone
would have overheard the conversation. The FD-71 and 302
forms he'd filled out after her visit had gone straight into the
file. He'd shared them with no one.

"It wasn't the FBI, Ms. Sutton:"

"It had to be. I'm not saying it was deliberate. But the whole
place was probably laughing about my visit all week. Someone
may have let it slip in a casual conversation that was overheard
by the wrong person"

"No one was laughing about your story, I can promise you
that"

"Maybe not that you observed. But you can't be sure about
that-or about how it might have leaked:"

"As a matter of fact, I can. Because no one knows about your
visit except a couple of trusted friends"

Several beats of silence ticked by. "You didn't tell everyone
at your office?"

"No"

A soft sigh came over the line. "I appreciate that. Thank you.
But ... if that's true, how did this reporter get her information?"

It was a good question. And he didn't have an answer. "I
don't know. But there has to be a logical explanation:" Out of
the blue, an idea popped into his mind. One that he wasn't
convinced he should pursue. Yet the words came out before
he could stop them. "I'm getting ready to leave the office, and
I'd be happy to stop by and talk this through. I'm sure we can
nail this down:"

Silence greeted his offer, and he suddenly remembered what
day it was. He'd noted her ringless left hand when they'd met;
surely she had plans for Valentine's Day. No woman that good
looking would be spending this evening alone.

"Sorry," he amended, feeling like an idiot. "The significance
of the day escaped me for a moment. I'm sure you have better
things to do tonight. But I'll be happy to help you try and get to
the bottom of this another time:"

There was a brief hesitation before she responded. "To be honest, my plans for tonight involved a nice dinner, a good book,
and some quiet time by the fire. In light of what's happened,
that's a bust anyway. I wouldn't mind some assistance trying to
figure out how the press got hold of my story ... and how I'm
supposed to deal with the fallout when this hits the papers:'

She didn't have a date.

That surprised Nick as much as the leak. But in a much more
pleasant way. "I can be there in half an hour, if that's okay:"

"That sounds good. I'll see you then'

As the line went dead, Nick adjusted his muffler and buttoned
his coat, the whisper of a smile tugging at his lips. He was sorry
about the leak and all the grief it would cause Rachel. It seemed
the fates had not been smiling on her the day she'd stumbled
across a little girl's lost toy in the parking lot. The grinning,
orange-haired doll had caused her nothing but trouble.

But it had brought some good luck too. To him, anyway. And
perhaps the very opportunity he'd been praying for. Because
thanks to a very shabby Raggedy Ann, he was going to spend
part of his Valentine's Day with a beautiful woman after all.

She shouldn't have agreed to let him come.

Annoyed with herself, Rachel paced the length of her small
living room, her dinner forgotten. A man like Nick Bradley surely
had places to go any Friday night, let alone this Friday night. But
his surprising offer had thrown her, and she hadn't stopped to
consider how an impromptu visit might mess up his Valentine's
Day plans.

When the imposition occurred to her five minutes after they
hung up, she'd tried to call him back. The recorded message that
greeted her told her he'd already left. The best she could do now
was apologize for her lack of consideration and send him on to
whatever lucky woman was waiting for him.

Her doorbell chimed, and she jerked to a stop mid-pace.
At least her body did. Her pulse, on the other hand, bounded
forward at double speed.

Good grief, Rachel. Get a grip! The man is here on business.

One look through the peephole, however, and what little
remained of her composure evaporated as fast as Nick's frosty
breath. It ought to be illegal to be that good-looking. Those cobalt
blue eyes were to die for, and while tall, dark, and handsome
had its merits, she'd always preferred the clean-cut, fair-haired,
all-American look Nick Bradley had in spades. Add in a strong
jaw, firm lips, and an endearing, slight crook in his nose that
suggested he may have broken it once, and the total package
was way too appealing.