Deceived

by Irene Hannon

Kate rested her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her palm. “It just goes to show you should never judge by appearances.”

  “That happens a lot with my colleague Dev too. He tends to be a goof-off in the office and when he’s not on duty, so few people who meet him casually would ever guess that when the pressure’s on, he’s a total pro—cool under fire, focused, deadly serious. Or that in his undercover ATF days, he went over to the dark side to infiltrate a ruthless Hispanic gang in the Southwest that dealt in drugs, gun trafficking, intimidation, and extortion.”

  “Double wow.” Kate set her napkin on the table beside her empty plate—when had that happened?—and leaned back. “Is your other partner an intriguing mix too?”

  Connor gathered up the last of his beef. “Nope. Cal is Cal. Steady. Calm. Reasoned. Serious. The kind of guy who does his homework and covers your back, no matter the risk to his.”

  “In other words, what you see is what you get.”

  “That about sums him up.”

  She picked up a stray grain of rice from the glass surface of her dinette table and scrubbed at the smear left behind. He’d been candid about his colleagues—would he be the same about himself?

  Only one way to find out.

  “So what about you?” She deposited the rice on her plate and took a sip of water. “Are you what you seem?”

  For a fraction of a second, his hand hesitated as he scooped up more rice. If she hadn’t been watching closely, she’d have missed the infinitesimal pause.

  And it wasn’t a positive sign.

  Nor did the sudden undercurrent of tension vibrating in the room produce a warm and fuzzy feeling.

  Bad move on her part.

  As he chewed his last bite, taking far longer than necessary, she tried to figure out how to backtrack, to restore the easy camaraderie that had developed during their dinner.

  But he responded before she could come up with a diplomatic way to change the subject. “Depends on what you see, I guess.”

  She toyed with her fork. Was he looking for honesty—or a lighthearted comeback? Hard to tell.

  Yet how could he take offense at a compliment?

  She gave him a steady look. “I see a conscientious, honorable man who knows his job and is willing to do whatever it takes to get that job done. Who has a clear understanding of duty and responsibility. Who’s worthy of trust and confidence.”

  “You read the Secret Service motto on my desk.”

  “Guilty. And I have a feeling it’s true both on the job—and off.”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I appreciate the kind words, even if they’re not 100 percent accurate.” Before she had a chance to reply, he stood. “Could you point me to the bathroom? The soy sauce left me with sticky fingers.”

  “Sure. First door on the left.” She gestured toward the hall, tucked under the steps that led to the two bedrooms on the second floor.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She watched him disappear. A few seconds later, a door clicked closed.

  The symbolism wasn’t lost on her. Nor the message.

  Connor might be willing to talk about his colleagues, but his own life was off-limits. When he returned, he was going to change the subject, bring their impromptu dinner to a conclusion, and leave without clarifying his last comment.

  And it needed clarifying.

  Because based on the brief, sudden shaft of pain that had seared his eyes, his rebuttal of her praise hadn’t been a standard-issue, modesty-prompted dismissal. She’d seen that look often in her counseling work. Unless her instincts were way off base, something had happened in Connor Sullivan’s life that he wasn’t proud of.

  Sighing, Kate stacked their plates. It appeared she wasn’t the only one involved in this case who was carrying around a lot of baggage. Even people like Connor, who presented a strong, in-control face to the world, had their scars—and their regrets.

  But he didn’t strike her as the type of man who shared them.

  And she doubted he’d make an exception for her.

  He should have realized where the conversation was heading and steered it in a different direction. Or responded with a witty comeback to Kate’s are-you-what-you-seem-to-be question.

  Instead, he’d given her an opening to pursue the subject. And pursue it she had.

  Connor twisted the faucet and plunged his hands under the cold stream. Too bad her flattering assessment of him was flawed. He might have lived up to the Secret Service motto on the job, as she’d suggested—but in his personal life? Different story.

  The very reason Lisa had walked away.

  He shut off the water and dried his hands, the faint echo of a familiar heaviness settling in his chest. The ache of loss had dulled through the years, and he’d moved on, but the regrets—and shame—lingered.

  Perhaps they always would.

  Hand on the knob, he considered his strategy. He didn’t want the evening to end on a strained note, not after he’d worked so hard to get Kate to relax once he’d realized he wasn’t the only one having second thoughts about their dinner together.

  On the other hand, it was possible he was overreacting to that awkward moment. His abrupt change of subject might barely have registered with his hostess. By the time he returned, she could be clearing the table and putting coffee on, the brief glitch in an otherwise pleasant evening forgotten. By her, at least.

  Time to test that theory.

  Leaving the guest bath behind, he retraced his steps down the hall to the dining area.

  The table was empty, save for a couple of cellophane-wrapped fortune cookies and a folder. She was at the sink, rinsing off the plates. Coffee was brewing.

  So far, so good.

  He moved to the arched doorway that led into the kitchen. “You work fast.”

  She turned at his comment, an artificial smile pasted on her face, her shoulders taut.

  Not so good.

  She’d tuned in to his uneasiness after all. And why not? She was a counselor. A woman who dealt with problem-plagued people every day. Who was used to spotting issues and talking clients through them.

  She was also a woman who’d dealt with plenty of her own trauma. Enough to recognize it in others, even without her training and professional experience.

  “I put on some coffee if you’re interested. And I left a copy of the police report on the table. I didn’t know if you wanted to look through it here or just take it with you.”

  Take it with him and exit fast, if he was smart.

  But his smarts seemed to have deserted him tonight.

  Instead of doing the prudent thing, he walked over to the table and picked up the folder, weighing it in his hand. Not very thick for a report on two deaths. It wouldn’t take long to read. But that was a job for later. He wanted total focus for that task—and he wasn’t likely to achieve that with Kate a few feet away.

  Yet he didn’t want to leave.

  Just do it, Sullivan. Get out of here.

  Taking a deep breath, he turned back to her. She was leaning against the sink, arms folded, watching him.

  “I’ll give this a thorough review over the weekend. Thanks for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.” She reached behind her and gripped the edge of the counter. “Look . . . before you go, I want to apologize. I have a feeling I stirred up some painful memories for you a few minutes ago, and I know how hard it is to be reminded of things you’d rather forget.”

  Connor’s fingers tightened on the folder. She’d confronted the elephant in the room—and why not? This was the same woman who’d shared her story about Valium addiction, risked censure in the name of open, honest communication. The lady didn’t back away from the hard stuff. She had guts.

  More than he had.

  Otherwise, he wouldn’t have kept his less-than-honorable secret buried all these years, hiding it even from the partners who’d been his best friends since college days.

  Truth be told, facing a bullet w
as easier than losing face or admitting his flaws.

  So much for Kate’s sterling assessment of him.

  He loosened his tie, suddenly feeling too warm despite the hardworking air conditioner humming in the background. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  “There’s always a need to apologize when you cause pain. Even if it’s unintentional.”

  Unintentional pain.

  The perfect opening . . . if he was brave enough to take it.

  But would she understand? Would she recognize that while he’d made mistakes, he’d learned his lesson and changed for the better? That now he truly was a man worthy of trust and confidence—both on and off the job?

  And what if she didn’t? What if she decided he wasn’t worth the risk and backed off from the attraction flaring between them?

  He looked down at the folder in his hands. Background on a tragedy she’d shared with him, just as she’d shared her darkest secret. And she deserved no less in return. Relationships needed to be based on full disclosure.

  Might as well face the inevitable.

  Summoning up every ounce of his courage, he gestured toward the table. “If you have a few minutes to spare, I’d like to tell you a story—even though it’s not about my proudest moment.”

  Her eyes softened, and the taut line of her shoulders eased a fraction. “I have plenty of minutes to spare. My Friday nights tend to be quiet—and solitary. Would your story go down easier over coffee?”

  Not likely. But at least a mug would give him something solid to hang on to.

  “It might. Thanks.”

  Thirty seconds later she joined him, setting a steaming mug of black java in his place as she slipped back into her seat.

  She’d remembered his coffee preference from their first meeting.

  For some reason, that helped validate his decision to spill his guts.

  He took a cautious sip of the undiluted brew, careful not to burn his tongue. “Do you remember the conversation we had about my Secret Service job, that morning we were watching the daycare center?”

  “Yes. You said you liked your work, but that it dominated your life to the exclusion of everything else. You also mentioned an epiphany that led you to reorganize your priorities.”

  She’d been paying close attention then too.

  “I can see why you’re good at what you do. Those kinds of listening skills must serve you well with your clients.”

  Her gaze didn’t waver. “I’m not wearing my counselor hat tonight.”

  Then what hat are you wearing?

  The question hung between them, unasked—and unanswered.

  Better that way . . . for now.

  “Well, there was a specific incident that caused me to have that epiphany.”

  “There usually is.”

  He took another sip of coffee. For some reason, the straight-up taste he preferred was bitter on his tongue tonight. “This one involved a woman.”

  She remained silent, her placid, receptive expression unchanged, inviting confidences.

  “Her name was Lisa. She worked in PR at the Kennedy Center. Our paths crossed during a security detail I was in charge of for some visiting heads of state who wanted to attend a performance there. We began dating, and eventually I started thinking about marriage. Then, at the age of twenty-eight, she was diagnosed with breast cancer.”

  Sympathy flooded her eyes, and she reached out to touch his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  He looked down at her slender fingers resting against his, wishing he deserved her compassion.

  But he didn’t.

  He lifted the mug, disengaging from her—and missing the connection at once.

  After swallowing the bitter coffee, he set it aside. “Before you jump to any wrong conclusions, she made a full recovery. Last I heard by way of a former colleague, she’s been declared cancer-free.”

  Kate frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. If you had marriage on the mind, why aren’t the two of you still together?”

  “Because we were never together much to begin with—which was the crux of the problem. Being on the vice president’s detail was a 24/7 job, much of it spent out of the country. Trips were often scheduled with very little notice. It was almost impossible to maintain any kind of personal life. I did manage to arrange some time off to be there for her first chemo treatment, but two days later I was called back to deal with an unexpected trip to the Middle East. Lisa wasn’t feeling too rocky, so I didn’t think it was a problem. But the rough stuff began a few hours after I left. To make matters worse, I wasn’t there for the next two treatments, either.”

  The grooves on Kate’s brow deepened.

  Not a positive sign.

  “Is that why you two broke up? Because you weren’t there when she needed you?”

  “Partly. But more than that, I think she assumed it was an omen of things to come. Lisa grew up with a workaholic father who had an international travel job, and she didn’t want her children to have an absentee father. Nor did she want an absentee husband who put his job above all else.”

  Kate gave him a direct look. “I can understand that.”

  His own gaze remained steady. “I can too, in hindsight.”

  She gave a tiny nod, as if she approved of his answer. “So she decided it was better not to have a man in her life than to have a man who wasn’t there anyway.”

  “That was part of it—but there’s more to the story. During one of my trips, she became ill very suddenly. Her new neighbor intercepted her stumbling to her car and ended up driving her to the ER. They clicked. And despite the fact he was a senior-level international airline pilot, he managed to adjust his schedule to be on hand during the worst parts of her chemo treatments. He was the one who held her while she threw up. Who ran errands for her. Who picked up food to try to entice her to eat when her appetite disappeared. Long story short, they ended up getting married.”

  Compassion once more softened her eyes. “That must have been very difficult for you.”

  Again, more consideration than he deserved—and time for more true confessions.

  He squeezed his mug, welcoming the sting of heat on his fingers. “Yes. I was blindsided by the breakup. But I shouldn’t have been—and I wouldn’t have been if I’d stayed close enough to know what was going on in her life. If you love someone, you should be there for them during the tough stretches, no matter the cost to yourself—or your job. Love’s supposed to bear all things and endure all things. It’s not supposed to fail.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You know your Bible.”

  “I’ve renewed my acquaintance with it over the past few years, after letting my relationship with God lapse for too long.”

  She studied him, her next words slow—and careful. “Since your love wasn’t as strong as it should have been based on that guidance in Corinthians, could it be you didn’t love Lisa as much as you thought you did?”

  “Maybe.” But it didn’t absolve him from guilt. “She was fun to be with, and the relationship was convenient—for me, at any rate. But at the time, I thought it was true love. So I should have been there for her. Putting my job first, especially during a crisis in her life, was flat-out wrong.”

  Her silence told him she agreed, and his stomach coiled as he took another sip of his cooling coffee. Time to wrap this up—and try to deal with the fallout.

  “After the breakup, I took a long, hard look at my life . . . and I didn’t like the hotshot I’d become, whose job was always priority number one. As a result, I started going back to church, had a lot of heart-to-hearts with the minister, and decided if I ever got serious about a woman again, our relationship would get top billing. I also decided to make a new start. When the opportunity with Phoenix came up, I realized God was giving me the chance I’d prayed for. I walked away from the Secret Service and never looked back.”

  Silence fell in the kitchen as Kate studied him. “Since I didn’t know you in your Secret Service days, I can’t speak to the m
an you were then. But I stand by what I said earlier about the man you are now.”

  She wasn’t holding his past mistakes against him.

  Amazing.

  He finished off his coffee before he attempted to speak, hoping his words didn’t come out in a croak. “I appreciate that. And I want you to know one other thing. I’ve never told that story to anyone.”

  Surprise flickered in her eyes, along with a question. One she didn’t voice.

  He answered it anyway, since he’d already broken every rule he’d formulated for this evening and long ago crossed the line from professional to personal.

  “You shared your story about your struggles with Valium; I thought it was only fair to reveal the skeletons in my own closet. I think honesty and transparency are important in any relationship, and I’m hoping once this case is resolved, we can get to know each other a lot better on a personal level—if you’re interested.”

  She picked up one of the fortune cookies and played with the cellophane wrapper. When she spoke, he had to lean close to hear her soft words. “You know, after John died I wrote off romance. He was a wonderful husband, and I figured I’d had my chance at happiness. That he’d always be the center of my life, even if all I had left were memories. But much as I loved him, memories aren’t enough to chase away the loneliness.” She looked over at him. “That’s a long-winded way of saying I’m interested.”

  Warmth filtered into the corner of his soul that had lain cold and dark and dormant for five long years. “Despite what I told you tonight?”

  “In some ways, because of it. I’m honored you trusted me enough to share your story, and I’m impressed by the way you learned from your experience and changed for the better. That’s all God asks of us; how could I expect more?”

  Once again, his throat contracted. He wanted to tell her how much her words meant to him. Wanted to stand up, fold her into his arms, and press her close to his heart. To hold her—just hold her. That would be sufficient . . . for now.

  But even that small display of affection was too much, too soon. No matter the confidences they’d exchanged, until this case was over, he needed to maintain some professional decorum. Or salvage what was left of it. He owed it to his colleagues to play by the Phoenix rules, as they had.