Special Ops Rendezvous. Karen Anders

very upsetting news.”

      “Oh, no,” Kate said, her blue eyes clouding. “What is it?”

      “Dr. Owens was murdered this morning.”

      “Your psychologist? Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Sam. I know that he was a very good doctor.”

      “He was.”

      Trey studied his face. “What is it, Sam?”

      “I don’t know. I can’t help thinking that this may have something to do with Mom’s assassination attempt and Mike’s...” Sam’s throat constricted. “Mike’s meltdown.”

      “This is all such a terrible business and I’m so sorry all of you got so involved in it. I know my political aspirations haven’t been easy on you all.”

      “You did what you thought was good for Dad’s seat and for the family. We all know that, Mom,” Sam said.

      As Maddie brought the lunch down, Sam stood up to help her with the tray. He saw Dan Henderson watching him with more than just a passing interest. He was watching him like a serious, vigilant Secret Service agent.

      * * *

      Late morning the next day, Sam entered his local coffee shop and stepped into line. He was behind about four people when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and his gaze collided with Olivia Marshall’s.

      “Well, hello there,” she said, beaming.

      Even with that sudden prickling sensation back, he couldn’t help smiling at her, feeling as if his day just got a bit brighter.

      She looked good today, too. Her brown eyes sparkling, her multihued hair swinging free around her beautiful face. She was dressed in a butter-yellow shirt and a pair of snug, well-worn jeans. She looked delectable and smelled delicious.

      “Olivia? You following me?”

      She cocked her head and gave him a wry smile. “What if I was?”

      He flashed a grin. “Ah, then I might have to think you were flirting with me.” His frustration with himself and the whole freaking ordeal was finally what had driven him out of the house today.

      She laughed. “Oh, Sam, if it’s not clear, I must be terrible at it.”

      “No, you’re fine at it.” Damn, this woman intrigued the hell out of him. She was so at ease in her skin, which, he realized, most of the women of his acquaintance, regardless of their beauty, were not. And by not playing on it, she had somehow managed to seem all the more sensual and attractive. Which should make absolutely no sense, but the fact that he couldn’t get her out of his mind was proof enough.

      “How about we share a table?” she said.

      He hesitated. The prickling sensation on the back of his neck refused to go away and, in fact, only grew stronger. Instincts this strong were rarely wrong. But they were usually rooted in something substantive. There had to be more here than he was seeing. And yet, at the same time, he’d never wanted more to be wrong.

      All last night—while he’d been distracting himself with a Chicago White Sox game and found it increasingly difficult to keep his mind on any of the innings for longer than a few minutes—he could only think that had to be some babe to interrupt his baseball obsession.

      He wanted—needed—to create more distance because he thought about Dr. Owens a lot last night. He’d checked both of his handguns and neither of them had been fired. That gave him a measure of relief. But if he hadn’t killed Dr. Owens, maybe he’d been the reason he was murdered. He wasn’t used to his thoughts being so clouded and paranoid, and he knew his judgment could be off. He simply had to find an edge and hold on to it.

      Keeping his distance from this woman wasn’t giving him the clarity he wanted. And all the thinking and distraction weren’t going to help.

      “Sure. I’ve got nothing but time to kill.”

      She gave him a smile, and there was absolutely nothing impersonal about it.

      “What can I get you, sir?”

      He realized that he’d been standing there staring at her. He forced his attention away from her face to the barista.

      After placing and receiving their orders, he and Olivia walked over to a table by the window. People were walking by on the sidewalk.

      “So, how did you end up at Rosebud Spa? Not exactly a place where a rough-and-tough Special Forces guy hangs out.”

      “Ha! No, not exactly. I got referred.”

      “By whom?”

      He wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to talk about his mental issues with this woman. She had seen him after he’d woken from that disturbing nightmare and she was so open and easy to talk to. “Dr. John Owens, he’s a psychologist.”

      She made a small reaction, her eyes dimmed. “I heard he was murdered.”

      “Yes.” His chest got tight and he had to look away. Damn his mental state. He felt he was acting like a little girl, but he had to admit a great fondness for Dr. Owens. “He was a good man.”

      “I’m sure.”

      “How did you end up working at the Rosebud?”

      “I was looking for a job that would give me some pickup work. The owners were looking for a fill-in. It works out for me.”

      “You have only the one job?”

      She looked away and he got that prickling again. Could just be his paranoia and he was reading something into nothing, given his fixation with trying to figure out what set off his instincts with this woman.

      “I work another job. A boring office job. Nothing special.”

      He couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary in her statement. But in this situation he always followed his gut. “I can’t imagine that. I’ve been in the field so long serving Uncle Sam I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’t enlisted.”

      “I can tell it’s something that you’ve been thinking about. You looking to retire?” She took a sip of her coffee, keeping her gaze trained on him.

      “I don’t know. I’m tired, and to be honest, I have thought about getting out.”

      “Burned out? I’ve seen that before in my job.”

      “I bet.” He finished his coffee and decided it was a good idea to nip this in the bud and get the hell away while the getting was good. He rose.

      She rose, too, and stood directly in his path. “Look, what do you have planned today?”

      Startled by her question, he didn’t answer right away. “Like I said, I’m killing time.” He regretted the words immediately. She was fixin’ to ask him to spend more time with her. He was sure.

      “I’m going to the flea market at the fairgrounds, then the Museum of Art. They have a really nice park nearby. You interested?”

      Was he ever, and not in just spending the day with her! His initial reaction was to be pleased and flattered as a man would be when a woman he was interested in showed the same in return. Which was the wrong reaction entirely. His gut was telling him something was off. But it might have nothing to do with her. And yet...that was the first thing he’d felt. A good wake-up call that his gut was probably as paranoid as his head.

      “Am I reading you wrong?” she asked.

      He didn’t move away. He told himself he just wanted to see her eyes up close, get a better idea of what he might be reading in her.

      “If I am, I apologize. But I don’t normally have to work this hard for a date.”

      Thoroughly charmed, he laughed. Up close like this, with the sunlight illuminating that captivating hair, he got caught up in her look. For someone so forthright