The Chance. Robyn Carr

I cook us dinner?” she asked.

      And he knew. He knew. He was going to have to lay it all on her—everything he held in his past. It might just freak her out. And if it didn’t freak her out, he’d be staying till Sunday morning. This was a beautiful, terrifying impasse.

      “Sure,” he said. “What time?”

      “Six?”

      “I’ll be here.”

      * * *

      After her date, Laine washed her face, brushed her teeth, put on her favorite pajamas, lit the fire in her bedroom and snuggled into bed. Ordinarily she would close her eyes, take a few deep, slow breaths and worry that sleep might elude her or that she’d wake with a start because some deep, subconscious fear chased her in the dark of night.

      Before the shooting she had been so highly disciplined she could grab sleep whenever it was available. After the shooting, she had suffered bouts of sleeplessness. Sometimes she thought she heard a gunshot and jolted awake, panting. When the FBI shrink had asked how she’d been sleeping she said, “Groggily, because of pain meds, I suppose. But I sleep. I’ve always been good at sleeping.” She could tell the shrink wasn’t fooled. Agents probably told her that all the time.

      But tonight she welcomed a little sleeplessness.

      She watched the fire and thought about that man, that handsome, delightful man. And thought about sex. Everything Eric had said and done on their first date indicated a man who was confident and thoughtful enough to be good in bed. She couldn’t remember when she’d had sex last.

      Oh, yes, she could—she’d just rather not. It was an agent she’d worked a case with in New York; when the case was wrapped, they’d gone out for drinks, back to his hotel and splat. Very disappointing sex. What was his name? Oh, right, Paul Remmings—DEA. Very nice guy, very sharp and quick, with quick being the operative word. Hmm.

      She knew one of the problems in law enforcement was being drawn to like creatures, probably because that’s where she spent most of her time. And when it came to civilians, she couldn’t let herself be transparent with them, which didn’t lend itself to intimacy. If she were completely honest with herself, that was one of the reasons for this hiatus—she needed to expand her boundaries, check out the real world, far away from the FBI.

      And bingo, what had the real world offered up? Oh, my, oh, my, oh, Eric. Both tempting and, based on what he said, tempted.

      Then she thought about cooking. It would have to showcase the best part of herself. Seafood chowder or bouillabaisse. Maybe crab legs. Or fresh catch...but she was partial to soups and stews, especially on cold nights. She considered a lot of options from chili to chicken soup.

      When she did finally fall asleep, she woke to a dark dawn, drizzle and frigid temperatures and it made her smile. This was custom-made for her second date—there would be a fire and a hot, comforting meal. She made a list that included gourmet coffee for him and a nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for her. She would make her own cheesecake—something cool on the palate after a heavy meal.

      She got her shopping out of the way first, settling on one of her passions—chicken and dumplings. No one had made dumplings like her mother and Laine had all her mother’s skills...and recipes. She’d start with crab-stuffed tomato halves and crispy Parmesan bread sticks. She got a start on her chopping and mixing and then, despite the cold drizzle, she went for a run to burn off a little of that hyper, anticipatory energy.

      On her way back to her house, she paced in front of the diner for a while until she was breathing more evenly. Then she went inside and jumped up on a counter stool in front of Gina.

      “Hey,” Gina said. “Great day for a run?” she asked, grinning.

      “It is, actually. Can you bring me something hot and wonderful?”

      “I have a secret stash of instant hot chocolate,” she said, pulling an envelope out of her apron pocket. “I can shoot a little whipped cream on top.”

      “Oh, yeah, I want that,” Laine said. Then she looked around. “No crowd today?”

      “Saturday lunch in the rain doesn’t usually draw a crowd, which is fine by me.” Gina poured hot water into a cup, added the mix, stirred and put it in front of Laine before bringing out the can of whipped cream. “You must be a dedicated runner to be out in this slop.”

      “I like the slop,” she said. She took a sip and said, “Ahhhh.”

      “That makes one of you,” Gina said. “I get tired of the rain and fog and live for the sunny days.”

      “I had a date last night,” Laine said softly. She smiled and knew her eyes glittered. “A good date. A nice date. And I’m having an encore tonight. I had to burn off some energy. I really don’t want to peak too soon. That’s always a prelude to disappointment....”

      Gina looked stunned. “With...?”

      “Eric. The gas man.”

      “Oh! Wow!”

      Laine looked outside and saw him walk out of the deli and hold the door for someone. “And speak of the devil,” she said. And then she watched in wonder as a pretty young woman came out. Eric let the door close, spoke to the young woman briefly, then they hugged. She thought her throat might close. “Oh,” she said quietly. Eric walked away. The woman crossed the street to the diner and Laine saw that she was just a girl, really. “God, she’s so young. What’s going...? He is much too old for her!”

      Gina laughed softly. “They’re not dating, Laine. He’s her father.”

      Laine’s head snapped back into forward position and looked at Gina in shock. “But...”

      The girl came in and walked right behind the counter. “Hi, Mom. Eric gave me an Amazon gift card.” Then she looked at Laine. “Hi,” she said, and Laine could see the resemblance—red hair, green eyes, but that smile belonged to someone else. Gina.

      “Ashley, this is Laine. Laine, meet my daughter, Ashley.”

      “Nice to meet you,” Ashley said. “I’ll go change and be right out to relieve you.”

      Laine was speechless. She didn’t even know what question to form first and she felt the color drain from her face. Great game face, Laine, she chided herself.

      “High-school romance,” Gina said. “Eric didn’t know about Ashley until about a year ago. I was very young and raised Ashley alone, with my mother’s help. The deli is my mother’s business—Ashley works there part-time, whenever Mom needs her help. And she’s here a few afternoons and evenings a week.”

      “He didn’t mention...”

      “I guess you can’t know everything about each other after one date,” Gina said with a shrug.

      “Having a daughter would seem real high on the list,” Laine said. And then she felt the color come back to her face with a vengeance and she thought, What the hell? I’m an experienced undercover investigator! I don’t go pale, don’t flush, don’t allow personal emotions to dominate my behavior or responses. But she said, “You and Eric?”

      “Getting along better than I expected we would. I located him and met with him to get some medical history from his side of the family, a purely practical thing. It was Ashley’s decision to meet him and at first it made me very nervous, very paranoid, but it’s worked out well for both of them, I think. He’s changed a lot in seventeen years. But then, so have I.”

      But for Laine, there was a red flag. Having children, having a child, being a parent—even a recent or part-time parent—would seem to be one of the most obvious things to mention, maybe right after what you did for a living. How had they spent almost four hours together without that subject coming up? Concealment? Because hiding information was one of the first signs something was wrong.

      Is that so, Agent Carrington? she chided herself. But