Secret Agent Under Fire

by Geri Krotow

  “Here.” Kayla pointed at the chrome, bullet-shaped container at the end of the counter. “Sleepy sounds good about now.” She fiddled with a second tulip arrangement. This one was smaller, almost miniature, with pale peach tulips and daisies. And some other greenery Abi didn’t recognize.

  “You mentioned starting a small business. What do you have in mind, Abi?”

  “I’ve no earthly idea.” Actually, the tiny niggle of an idea had sprouted over the last day or two, but she wasn’t ready to commit to it. Commitment regarding anything wasn’t viable. Not until they dismantled the cult and Abi was at the epicenter of the takedown ops.

  “You’ll figure it out. Have you thought of going back to school?”

  “I did, but I’m not interested. I’ve spent enough time in classrooms.” And workshops and continuing certification for her weapons handling, physical fitness and knowledge of arson forensics. It made for a great résumé but Abi preferred to be outdoors, with no one grading her actions.

  “Understandable.” The shop phone rang. Kayla looked at the ID. “I’ve got to take this, sorry. But I wanted to mention to you that there’s a great yoga class every Saturday morning in town. I think you’d enjoy meeting the other women that attend.”

  “I’ll think about it. Take your call—it’s okay, I’m on my way out. Thanks for letting me chat.”

  “Here you go.” Kayla handed Abi the peach tulip bouquet, now wrapped in a doily and cellophane and tied with a huge cream ribbon.

  “Oh, thank you, Kayla!” Abi’s arms instinctively rose to give Kayla a hug but she was already answering the call. Kayla gave her a wink and a wave before giving her total attention to the person on the other end of the line.

  Abi left the shop in a bit of a fugue. People being positive and upbeat for apparently no reason. This was what daily happiness was all about. Something that had eluded her during her time with the FBI, save for the brief fling and quick but doomed engagement to Fred.

  Yeah, she could get used to a place like Silver Valley. Especially the “belonging” feelings. When she reached her car she dialed Keith’s number. He picked up on the second ring, his voice guarded.

  But in less than thirty seconds they had scheduled a meet-up.

  Chapter 4

  Keith waited for Abi at Cumberland Café, Silver Valley’s favorite breakfast spot. The place was jumping, as always, be it the Sunday morning after-church crowd or parents who’d stopped to let someone else prepare their breakfast after rushing their gremlins off to school. He kept his focus on the menu, trying like hell to ignore the way his anticipation roiled in his gut. He hadn’t looked forward to seeing a woman, professionally or personally, in forever. Or longer. At any rate, too long.

  The bell above the door perked his attention and he allowed himself the gift of watching Abigail walk into the diner. She wasn’t tall but definitely not petite, either. Her figure was athletic, a testament to the chase she’d given the arsonist two days ago. It didn’t surprise him that his body responded to her sheer attractiveness, not that he was used to getting erections in public. The scorch of annoyance that he found it difficult to control his baser instincts made him stand and reach out his hand to hers before she was in arm’s reach. For crap’s sake, he must look like some kind of grade-school kid meeting the babysitter he had a secret crush on.

  Her eyes widened fractionally in recognition of him before she walked toward the table. As she neared, her eyes flickered to his outstretched hand and a mocking smile curved her pink-lipsticked mouth. She placed her hand in his. “So nice to see you again, Keith.”

  “Hello, Abi.” He grasped her hand but allowed her to control the shake. One single, firm movement. No up-and-down ritual or enthusiastic pumping. Abigail was a full-fledged professional and had obviously worked in a man’s world for a long time. She shook hands like a man.

  But her hand didn’t feel like anything other than a soft, smooth, feminine asset. Underscored by the flowery scent she gave off. He wondered if it was perfume or if she liked expensive soaps. The thought of soaping her down in a shower...

  Son of a whoopie pie.

  Abigail Redland was off-limits. Not only because it was good to keep definite boundaries with the people he worked with, but because he wasn’t looking for even a short relationship with a woman he knew nothing about. After getting burned by local community members that he’d saved during a fire, trust wasn’t his strongest virtue at the moment. He felt safer with casual liaisons that had a preset time limit agreed upon by both parties. There were enough women in Silver Valley who felt the same way. He didn’t need to act on his feelings for Abi. Not that he had feelings for her. Feelings were complications he couldn’t afford.

  “Thanks for saving us a seat.” She pulled her hand away and slid into the booth. He liked how she looked around the diner as if it were an artifact in a museum. “I absolutely adore the diners in Silver Valley. When I lived in DC, I got used to a few local places but nothing as fun as a diner. I missed them from when I grew up.” She pointed at the menu. “What’s the best dish here, in your opinion?”

  He slid back into his bench seat. “You must not have been in Silver Valley very long if you don’t have your own favorite by now.”

  “I’ve been here long enough.” She frowned at the list of variations on French toast. “There’s not one version I don’t want to try. Except maybe for the scrapple.”

  “Scrapple has its place. Not quite sausage, not quite...grease. Meaty lard. Very tasty.”

  “Huh. I’ll tell you what... I’ll bet it was good for the farmers here about two centuries ago, when it was cold out. I’ll pass on it for today and go for the carbs. The wild berry French toast looks delicious.”

  “That’s a good choice. They freeze fresh berries in the summer and use them all year.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I dated a girl in high school whose parents owned a berry farm.”

  She blinked. “Is that a thing?”

  “Of course. There are farms for just about everything. But most do grow a variety of produce. It’s hard enough making a living with several different crops.”

  “I grew up in the city, so farming isn’t something I’m familiar with.”

  Wow, was Abigail Redland admitting she didn’t know something? “Are you feeling well, Abi?”

  Her eyes were bright, which lent a depth to their chocolate hue he hadn’t noticed yet. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

  “It’s just that I thought FBI types never admitted when they were wrong or didn’t know something.”

  She pursed her lips and raised her brow in mock disapproval. “Very funny, Mr. Who-the-Hell-Are-You-at-My-Fire-Scene.”

  Abi sat opposite him in a cherry-red wool jacket, and he noticed that the buttons were the shape of little white sheep. Another, softer side of her? As she unwrapped her fuzzy scarf, it snagged on one of the ewe buttons.

  “Careful. You’re tearing up your scarf.” He pointed and she looked down. Her fingers deftly untangled the button and she shrugged out of her coat, revealing a slim-fitting, long-sleeved red top.

  “It’s okay. I can make another one.”

  “You made your scarf?” He wasn’t any kind of expert but the lacy thing didn’t look like anything handmade he’d ever seen before.

  She nodded. “And this jacket, actually. It’s boiled wool. Felted. Meaning I knitted it about ten sizes too big and then shrunk it in a huge soup pot on my stove. Hot water felts untreated wool.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I wish I were. I’m a fiber nerd with a law-enforcement hobby.”

  “And your favorite color is red?”

  “Bingo.” She picked the menu back up. “Maybe I’ll save the French toast for next time. I can’t decide between the gluten-free cherry crepes or th
e hearty hot cereal.”

  “Go for the gusto. Their cherry crepes are renowned.”

  “So you’ve had them?”

  He laughed. “I’m a Silver Valley native and Cumberland Café has been here as long as I remember. My family used to come in here regularly once we settled in the area, when I was still in middle school. So, yes, between family meals and high school dates, I’ve had just about everything on the menu at least a time or two.”

  “Only high school dates? Where do people go on adult dates here?” Her expression of sincere curiosity made him smile.

  “Oh, we like to go four-wheeling while doing some chew, spitting it out on the way to the firing range.”

  “I’m not one of the transplants who thinks this is some kind of hick town, Keith.” Her eyes softened. “I like it here. A lot.”

  “Where are you from?” He didn’t think it was DC.

  And, like that, the sparkle in her eyes was gone. She didn’t meet his glance as she sipped her ice water. “Originally? Philadelphia. After I joined the FBI, I worked in a few different places but mostly DC. You? You said your family ‘settled’ here?”

  “Yes, when I was thirteen. My folks were Foreign Service Officers, and my sisters and I lived all over the world. My older sister lives in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, with her family—she’s working for the State Department, just like Dad did. My other sister lives here in town and owns the local floral shop. Once Dad could retire from the government job, he did, and now my parents still travel as much as they can afford to. And run a gift-shop-slash-international-interior-decorating business in town and online, with treasures they find all over.”

  “Treasures as in archaeological or more like knickknacks?”

  “Definitely knickknacks. Which is why I have nothing of the sort in my place.” Crap—would she think he was hitting on her, suggesting she’d be at his place to see what he had?

  The waitress came and took their orders. Abi tilted her head after he placed his.

  “You ordered it just because I did?”

  “No, I happen to like cherry crepes, too.”

  Keith studied her and didn’t care if it made her uncomfortable or if he was being too forward. “Abi, you didn’t answer my question. Tell me more about where you’re from. What made you pick the FBI and, more relevant, why arson?”

  She remained apparently relaxed as she leaned on her forearms, her hands atop one another. She wasn’t at ease, though. The tightening of her fingers around her wrist, the slight jut of her jawbone wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone unless they were watching for it. And Keith was watching.

  “Full disclosure—I was just at your sister’s flower shop. I hadn’t put you two together yet. And I really like her.”

  Unlike you. Keith snorted. “Kayla’s got a nice little business going. She might not have the benefits I do working for the town, but she’s raking it in now that her shop is well established.”

  “‘Little business’? Would you call this restaurant a ‘little’ business?”

  “Chill. I’m not the jerk you’re trying to make me out to be. I’m pro-woman.” He gave her his best smile.

  Abi raised a brow and motioned at his face. “Really? You think a Cheshire Cat grin is going to change my mind about you?”

  Ow. Sucker punch to the ego, that one.

  “Back to you, Abi. Tell me why you do what you do.”

  Her eyes—a man could take a long dip in them. Nothing permanent, of course. But a nice, long, leisurely swim. Naked.

  She looked away. “I was always interested in law enforcement, so I had two majors in college—criminal justice and studio art. After I graduated, the FBI was a logical choice.” He really wanted to know why she’d picked arson but sensed it wasn’t the time to ask. She’d tell him when she was ready.

  “I understood that they don’t take college grads as agents, that you have to work for a couple of years in the real world first.”

  She grinned. It warmed her entire face, illuminated her dark eyes and the freckles on her nose. “That’s where the studio art major came into play. I managed a large craft store franchise until I was eligible to apply to be an agent. It took me a few times, believe me.”

  “So why have you quit the FBI? Are you going to sell fabric paint on QVC?”

  “How do you know so much about crafting and home television shopping?”

  It was his turn to feel interrogated. “I was home a lot last year.” He wasn’t about to tell her his struggle with the depression he’d slipped into when he’d been falsely accused of wrongdoing. When all he’d ever worked for had been destroyed along with his professional reputation. “It’s a long story and nothing for today. Tell me about you, Abi. Why did you leave the FBI?”

  Her eyes narrowed and her grin vanished. He’d discovered Abi’s line in the sand.

  “No one reason. I never really intended for the agency to be a career. It was a chance to gain experience before I...” She stirred her water with the straw, the ice clunking against the plastic glass, and it was as if she were looking into a crystal ball. “I guess I thought I’d end up in local law enforcement or at a fire station like my dad. But I can’t say law enforcement’s what I plan to do for the rest of my life. I needed a change, that’s all.”

  “So your dad is a firefighter.”

  “Was.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, nothing that awful. He’s still alive and still working. He just...he just switched jobs midcareer.” With that her eyes clouded and she closed her mouth into a grave line.

  He’d expected to be annoyed when she stopped being open to him. Instead he couldn’t hide from the sliver of excitement that flipped in his gut. Keith loved a challenge and was finding that, in the short time he’d spent with Abigail Redland, she’d been nothing less than a complex puzzle to figure out. He loved puzzles, complicated problems. Abi fit the bill. So what was with the shaky feeling in his midsection?

  Why should he care what the full picture of Abi would reveal?

  * * *

  Abi enjoyed her brunch with Keith but was very aware of his being on edge, or, rather, at the edge of asking her more questions. Instead she kept things on the case or on her background, minus the Trail Hikers part. It shouldn’t bother her so much to leave out this one part of her job here. She was used to never discussing her work with close friends and colleagues. It was the way of an FBI agent, and it was her way. She’d chosen fire science and arson investigation out of guilt over a teen stunt gone horribly wrong. A decision that had cost her best friend’s life and her father’s firefighting career.

  But here in Silver Valley it felt different. As if she were in a place where no one cared about her past. Or maybe it was Keith. She didn’t like admitting it to herself, no more than she enjoyed working with someone when she wasn’t being completely truthful. But she had no choice when it came to her Trail Hiker role.

  She smiled at Keith.

  “Chief Todd and Rio think we need to work closely together. That I need to bring you along with me as I go through each arson site again.”

  Keith’s eyes narrowed and he set his knife and fork down. “Bring me along?”

  “I mean, let you know where and when so that you can meet me, if you want to. Although since I plan on hitting each site over the next couple of days, it might be easier to drive together.”

  He started shoveling his crepes into his mouth again. “That’s better,” he mumbled around the food, and Abi thought that maybe she wasn’t feeling herself. Because the very kind of rude table manners that normally annoyed her seemed...sensual. Manly. For scrapple’s sake, Keith Paruso made everything he did appear manly. The guy didn’t know how to do anything in a usual, regular guy kind of way.

  “So you want to come along with me? Meet me?”

&nbs
p; “Either I can pick you up where you live, or you can come get me.” He pulled out a business card and quickly wrote on the back. “That’s my address and email. The cell number on the front is my only phone.” She flipped over the card and noticed the Silver Valley Fire Department seal.

  “Thanks. Nice business card. Can you start today?”

  “I should be able to. I’ll check in with the station when we’re done.”

  Abi was relieved when her phone vibrated. The screen lit up with a text from the real-estate manager she’d been working with for the past two weeks.

  “I’m sorry to cut this short, Keith, but I’m going to have to cut out of here a bit sooner than I thought.”

  “Is it about the case?”

  “No.” At his unrelenting stare, she capitulated. “I’m on the hunt for a more permanent rental than the business suite I’ve been staying at. As much as I love the free buffet breakfast every morning, I need more space.”

  “We’re not done, Abi. We need to figure out what role each of us has in this and how we’re going to get to the bottom of the arsons.” His expression was back to being totally professional without a hint of the genuine interest she’d sensed moments ago.

  “Real-estate agents can be tough to pin down and I’d rather not have to reschedule with her.” He’d take the hint, surely?

  “Does she have a place for you?”

  “Looks like it.” And it was the rent-to-own situation she’d discovered in the real-estate office window, which she was very excited about. Finally she was thinking about settling down somewhere that wasn’t in the middle of a big city. She’d found that living in one could be the loneliest place on the planet when all you did was work, sleep, repeat.

  “Where is it, Abi? If you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Of course not. You just gave me yours. Not that it’s like belly buttons or, um, whatever. You know, you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” What the hell was wrong with her?

  Keith grinned. “I don’t think that expression refers to belly buttons.”