State Secrets. Linda Miller Lael

she laid the envelope addressed to Craig’s go-between girlfriend on the counter and asked that it be registered. While she filled out the form and paid the small fee, David had ample opportunity to study the address, but there was no helping that. She couldn’t very well turn around and say, “Please don’t look at this envelope. I’m sending money to my brother, who is a fugitive, you see, and there is a chance that you might be a reporter or even an FBI agent.” So she said nothing.

      “See you tonight?” David asked in a deep quiet voice as she turned away from the window to leave.

      Holly hadn’t even thought about the classes; she’d been too intent on getting that cashier’s check sent off to Craig. “Tonight,” she confirmed, but her mind was on the letter she had just mailed. It would reach its destination, Los Angeles, within a day or so. Had she done the wrong thing by making it easier for Craig to keep on running? She knew she had.

      She would have left then, but David caught her arm in one hand and stayed her. “Are you all right?” he asked, ignoring the impatient post-office clerk, who was waiting to weigh and stamp the package he still held.

      Holly nodded quickly and then fled. In her car, she let her forehead rest against the steering wheel for a moment before starting the engine and driving away. As she pulled into a supermarket parking lot a few minutes later, she was still trembling. She loved Craig; he was her brother. But she almost wished the FBI would catch him. That way there wouldn’t be any more lying, any more hiding, any more guilt.

      She got out of the car, locking it behind her, and went into the supermarket. Think about the couscous you’ve got to test today, she told herself. Think about the spices you’ll need. Don’t think about Craig and especially don’t think about David Goddard. It was a coincidence that he was in the post office just when you were. It was a coincidence!

      That seemed unlikely, but by the time she had chosen a cart and gotten out her shopping list, Holly had convinced herself that she was being fanciful again. Paranoid, like Craig.

      He was wearing a navy blue football jersey with white numbers, jeans and polished leather boots. Holly, exhausted from a day of making couscous over and over again, gave herself a mental shake. What did she care what David Goddard wore, for heaven’s sake?

      Her beautiful aquamarine eyes looked hollow and smudges of fatigue and worry darkened the flawless skin beneath. David ached for her. Things were going to get worse, maybe a lot worse, for Holly Llewellyn before they got better.

      If they ever got better.

      Again he lingered, quietly helping her with the mess left behind by thirteen people struggling with a complicated German recipe. I’ll have to go through this eight more times, Holly thought dismally. All the rest of this week. All of next week.

      “Coffee?” David asked, drying his hands on one of the pristine towels provided by the store.

      Holly found the idea oddly appealing, considering that, on at least one level, she was afraid of David Goddard. “I don’t know, I…”

      “Please?”

      She felt the pull of his blatant masculinity and tried to field it with words. “You didn’t take your fruitcake home last night,” she said. “The janitor must have thrown it away.”

      David folded his arms and arched one eyebrow. He saw through what she was doing; she just knew it. “I threw it away myself,” he replied, watching her. “I was afraid you might taste it and flunk me on the spot. Now, are we going for coffee or not?”

      Holly couldn’t help the nervous, weary chuckle that escaped her. “I’ll make you a cup at my place.” Now what made her say that? She never brought men to her house; only Skyler came there and he usually invited himself.

      “Great,” agreed the alarming David Goddard before she could take back the offer. “I’ll follow you in my car.”

      Holly put on her coat, thinking that the kitchen table at home was still littered with reference books and parts of the manuscript Elaine had been indexing all day. The remains of that day’s couscous experiments probably covered the counters, since Madge wasn’t supposed to clean until the next morning; tonight she was only baby-sitting.

      Reaching the parking garage, Holly was jarred to find that David’s car was next to her own. Not for the first time, she had the unsettling feeling that he always knew where she was and what she was doing. But that was silly. He was a gentleman, that was all. A rare enough animal these days.

      “You wanted to make sure I didn’t get mugged,” she guessed distractedly as he unlocked the door of a small, ordinary brown sedan.

      David executed a teasing salute, but Holly was looking at his other hand. The car keys he held were affixed to a chain bearing the insignia of a nationally known rental agency. He rented his car? That seemed odd, just as the vehicle itself was odd, unsuited to him in a myriad of vague ways.

      Puzzled, Holly got into her own car, started the ignition and, doubts notwithstanding, led the way to her sizable “cottage” on Spokane’s quietly elegant South Hill.

      “You rent your car,” she said the moment they were in her living room. Not “welcome to my house,” not “take off your coat,” but “you rent your car.” Holly felt stupid.

      “Yes,” David confessed readily. “Mine is in the shop.”

      Of course, Holly thought, but she was still bothered on a subliminal, barely discernible level. She drew a deep breath and forced herself to smile. “About that coffee I offered. This way to the kitchen.”

      David followed her across the shadowy living room, lit only by the dying fire in the hearth, and even though he was walking behind her, she was aware that he was taking in a tremendous amount of information just by looking around.

      “Be prepared for a mess,” she chimed, to cover her uneasiness. “My assistant and I spent the day making couscous.”

      They entered the kitchen and Holly stopped so swiftly that David nearly collided with her from behind; she felt the hard wall of his body touch her and glance quickly away.

      Madge was at the sink, just finishing an impromptu cleaning detail, but her presence wasn’t what caught Holly so off guard. Skyler was sitting at the table, sipping coffee. Why hadn’t she noticed his car outside?

      He looked up and there was a challenge in his brown eyes as they assessed David Goddard. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said coldly, rising from the bench at Holly’s table to glare at David.

      Skyler was acting like a jealous husband and it infuriated Holly, but before she could say anything at all David crossed the room and extended his hand to Skyler.

      “David Goddard,” he said in crisp introduction.

      Madge took in the scene with bright, interested eyes, but did not say anything. Neither did Holly, who was too taken aback by the intangible storm that was suddenly raging in her quiet, cozy kitchen.

      “Skyler Hollis,” came the grudging reponse.

      David took in Skyler’s sleek blond hair, elegant green sweater and custom-made slacks in one swift, indigo sweep. “Did you ever appear in GQ magazine?” he asked.

      Madge made a chortling sound and turned back to the sink. Holly rolled her eyes heavenward and then stomped over to the counter, where the coffeemaker waited.

      “I own a stereo store,” Skyler announced, either missing the reference to his wholesome good looks or choosing to ignore it. “What do you do, Goddard?”

      David, Holly saw in a quick glance over one shoulder, gave a slow smile. “I’m learning to make fruitcake.”

      “Fruitcake,” Skyler huffed, scowling. “I meant, what do you do for a living?”

      “I’m a door-to-door salesman,” was the icy and totally false reply. “I sell air fresheners. You know, those little bowls with the flowers in them—”

      “Here’s