Hide and Seek. Samantha Hunter

must be paying you better than the rest of us.”

      He just laughed, and didn’t elaborate. She was touched that Nathan was going all out to impress her—he was really pulling out the stops. Whatever he hoped could come of this probably wasn’t going to happen.

      It was the probably that bothered her—making room for doubt—not so long ago it would have been definitely.

      He knew how to get under her skin, though it wasn’t an entirely uncomfortable feeling. He stopped on the sidewalk halfway to the car, turning her to him, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders.

      “Listen, we’re just going to have a nice time. No expectations, so relax. I just wanted to do something special for you.”

      “You do things all the time, the flowers, now this…”

      “I do it because I want to, not because I’m trying to pressure you. There is no pressure, okay?”

      She felt the knot in her chest loosen a little, and she smiled up at him; his irises were dark in the dusky light of the evening. He stepped a little closer, and she swallowed, feeling her breath come a little faster. Her tongue darted out to moisten dried lips, and he groaned a little.

      “I know it’s more traditional for the kiss to happen at the end of the date. Let’s just get that particular pressure out of the way now, you think?”

      She found herself nodding, not entirely of her own volition, though she didn’t have much time to think about it. His mouth met hers. It was a gentle first kiss, an introduction, a question and a promise of what might come later. It startled her to realize, when he pulled back, that she wanted more.

      Much more.

      Damn.

      He smiled and took her hand, though she could see the pulse at the base of his throat beating faster than before. Smiling in spite of herself, she followed him quietly to the car.

      “SO YOU HAVE FOUR SISTERS?”

      Nathan lifted his glass of Chardonnay as if inspecting the color, looking over the top of the crystal at Jennie’s features, warmed by the candle lantern on the table between them and relaxed by a good dinner and several glasses of wine. How did she get even more lovely every time he looked at her? The little voice in the back of his head had been sending warnings every ten seconds that he was walking on thin ice pursuing this woman whom he was also investigating. He took another sip from his glass, washing them away.

      She was very likely innocent—he’d never seen a single thing in the time he’d worked with the HotWires indicating Jennie was a mole. On top of that, Ian Chandler and E. J. Beaumont were no one’s fools. Unless they knew, the voice chided. Was he being naive? He wrenched his mind back to her question.

      “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought.” He set his glass down, unable to take his eyes off her. “Yes, four. Mary, Kathryn, Shelly and Gwen, in that order. I’m the only boy, and the youngest.”

      She laughed then, her face lighting up. “You poor guy. They must have had such fun with you. Did you find yourself being the victim of dress-up parties at a young age? You must have been like a little doll to them.”

      He shook his head, grinning. “I learned early on how to defend myself from all that. Dad helped. Said he wouldn’t have his only son growing up girlie. Of course, he made sure his daughters could hold their own, so he wasn’t a complete sexist.”

      “So you’re the baby. Your parents kept trying for a son?”

      “No, they were just really Catholic. No birth control and the like. Mom actually had a few miscarriages in between each of us, which accounts for the intervals in our ages, but I was her last, at forty-two. When I get on her nerves, she tells me they played with the idea of naming me, ‘Enough.’”

      As he laughed with her at the joke, he studied her carefully, as well. The family life he’d grown up in shouldn’t be completely unfamiliar to her—or to Maria Castone, anyway. She’d also been raised in a Catholic Boston family that adhered to traditional values, when it came to religion and reproductive traditions, in any case. It was a subtle form of fishing, a way to find out what was going on under the surface. She didn’t bite, however.

      She didn’t even blink, showing no sign of connecting with what he was saying. She was very good at keeping it all hidden, then again, she’d had lots of practice. The warning voice started humming again, and he shut it off.

      “You don’t often see large families like that anymore.”

      “People can’t afford them, not that we could, either. It was a stretch a lot of the time, but there was plenty of love to make up for what we didn’t have.”

      “That’s nice.”

      “How about you? Sisters or brothers?”

      He thought he saw something flicker briefly in her eyes but then it disappeared—whatever it was, it was sad.

      “No, I was adopted. An only child of older parents. They’ve passed on now.”

      “So you’re all alone?”

      When she shrugged, he saw the tightening of her facial muscles, the way she averted her gaze. Whatever the truth was about why she was here, and what she was up to, she wasn’t thrilled with this topic of conversation. The pain of the secrets she carried inside, no matter what they were, created a flicker of hope that she wasn’t the criminal they were making her out to be.

      If she had been separated from her family for all this time, completely cut off through the protection program, he couldn’t help aching for her.

      He didn’t know if he could live the way Jennie had had to live. He wished he could say something, tell her he sympathized. He couldn’t. Not yet anyhow.

      Her tone was neutral, though, when she replied. Practiced, like a speech she’d delivered many times before. “No, I’m only alone when I want to be. Family is not the only way to fill your life.”

      “That’s true, I suppose.”

      “You know, I never did ask, but what did you do before you came to the HotWires unit? I know you have psychology and criminology degrees, right? How’d you end up working in a tech unit? Why aren’t you out there doing all that profiler work we see on TV shows?”

      He paused, unsure whether he should go along with her blatant change of the subject, taking the focus off of herself. But this was a date, not an interrogation. He frowned, hating how business was interfering with what should have purely been pleasure. He shoved thoughts about the investigation aside and went along with her.

      “Well, you know I grew up in Boston, and that I’m Irish.” He added the last with a smile and an affected brogue he’d picked up from his grandfather, who had been determined to give up neither his native language nor his accent even though he’d lived in America twice as long as he’d lived in Ireland. Grandad used to joke that the accent got him laid twice as often as his American friends without one, and Nathan could confirm that he’d used it in college with similar results.

      “I went to college there, no need to move out of the house and spend more money when you have some of the best schools in the country outside your back door. Not to mention the best ballpark in the world.”

      Jennie arched an eyebrow, but she had a sparkle in her eye that charmed him. “You love Boston?”

      Was the sparkle because she’d grown up in their beloved city, as well?

      “With all my heart. Miss it, so I try to get back often enough. Have you ever been?” He asked the question with a slight sinking feeling—so much for leaving the investigation behind. And the question dulled the sparkle she’d had.

      “No, can’t say that I have. It sounds like a lovely place, though.”

      “You should visit sometime.”

      “Maybe