“Thank you,” she said softly, knowing her words wouldn’t be enough, and probably wouldn’t be accepted at all. Especially considering what her father and his cronies were doing to these people and those they love. “Thank you.”
The server nodded, turning to Max. “It’s not a problem. Mr. Wilcox is welcome here.” And without another word, she closed the door leaving them alone with a huge elephant in the room.
“This is…unexpected,” she finally said when she could speak. “I—”
He shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m glad you were able to come.”
She laughed. “Really?”
He nodded. “You could have said no,” he said. “You could have said something like you hated dessert or…”
“I was celiac,” she smiled, looking at one of the huge posters that covered the walls, talking about ways to help customers who had various medical issues. “But we’re fine, and I’m not. Though I think there are a few places in Silver Spring that specialize in gluten-free dessert choices.”
He nodded. “Either way, I’m glad to share this with you.” He paused. “I’m here a lot, as you can tell.”
She grinned. “It’s like you’re the mayor.”
He barked out a laugh. “No, really. It’s …they’re nice, and I…” Suddenly he was embarrassed, as if he considered the way people reacted to him something to be ashamed of.
“It’s not a bad thing,” she said, covering his larger hand with hers. “Being liked, you know. Generally.”
“Possibly.” He paused, as if he wanted to change the subject.
She waited but his words weren’t forthcoming. Instead, he looked at her, stared, focused. He reached out to touch her cheek, brushing her cheekbones with his knuckles, and as he leaned in…there was a knock at the door.
They pulled away as suddenly, as if they were two guilty teenagers caught doing something they shouldn’t.
“Come in,” he said, half distracted. She was glad she wasn’t the only one distracted by the prospect of kissing again.
The door opened, revealing two women carrying things that smelled more amazing than she’d ever smelled in her entire life. Not even a random pie place she’d visited during the five minutes she lived in Albany.
“Wow,” she managed. “This…”
“Best pie I’ve ever eaten,” he admitted once the door had closed. “I’m glad this was an option.”
She smiled. “Best option. So our crusade will be driven and fueled by pie?”
“It’s a crusade now?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Maybe? Possibly? I don’t know? But it’s something.” She took a breath, a swallow of water, and suddenly his hand was on hers.
“Pie first, then talk?”
She picked up her fork and cut into the pie. It was flaky, perfect and on first glance seemed exactly the kind of fuel she needed to tell Max the true nature of the favor she’d be asking of him. More importantly, the pie tasted even better, filled with buttery crust, sweetness and fruit. Yep, she decided. Their crusade would be fueled by pie.
“So,” she asked by way of introduction. “What do you know about trusted journalists who accept leaked documents?”
He put down his fork, took a drink from his glass of water. “I know a lot of people are doing so at great personal cost. Trusted journalists….hmm.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the table, almost as if he was trying to summon the words. “There’s a blog I know that’s been pretty good with leaks, managing them and organizing them. Why?”
He was cagy with his words, cagy and specific all at once. As if he was protecting people still.
So she had to ask. “You don’t trust me?”
She watched as he bit his lip, then took another piece of the pie. “I don’t know what you’re asking me to help you do.”
“I understand,” she said. “And I get it. It’s…” She sighed, taking a second to drink some water. “It’s hard. Because I have something that needs to get out, to get into the world, but I can’t. I can’t do it directly. For many reasons, most of which you probably already know. But the primary one is my sister, Jess. She’s …her future.”
She stopped speaking, holding back tears that wanted to pour out of her. This wasn’t a moment to cry. “Anyway, it’s not just about me. This …thing I have...this thing I need to the world to see is…huge. It’s bigger than me, bigger than you.”
He sat up and stared at her. “Are you telling me you have something that you want to leak, something you want me to help you leak?”
“Yes.” She could see the question in his eyes, the question he didn’t want to ask. And if it was her, she’d want to know too. “I have the notebook. A scanned, verified copy of the notebook.”
There was a pause, an indrawn breath, widened brown eyes. She couldn’t have sculpted surprise on his face better. But it was wiped away as quickly as it came, when shock turned to sharp focus.
“Can I see it?”
She swallowed. She should have known he’d ask the question, should have known that he wouldn’t take her word as written in stone. He was a pragmatic sort of guy, and she, an unknown quantity, was asking him to take a leap of faith.
“I don’t have it with me. My sister scanned it, and we’ve got copies on flash drives. Can you connect me with a journalist? Do you…know someone?”
“I’ll need to see it first,” he said. “It’s only…”
“Fair. Yes.” She paused tapping her finger on the table in front of her. If she was asking him to make a leap of faith, she probably should make her own. “I’ll…my sister and I go to dinner at a restaurant across from my building. Come with us? Meet us…tomorrow?”
There was a long time before he answered. He grasped her fingers He nodded. “Yes. I’ll do that.”
And as they finished their pie in silence, she found herself looking forward to the future, secure in the fact that Max Wilcox really could help her change the world. Even if it was at the expense of her heart.
SIX: THURSDAY
C aroline couldn’t sleep once she got home from seeing Max, so getting up early Thursday morning was a chore.
“You’re dragging,” Jess pointed out as Caroline entered the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“I may have a solution to the notebook problem,” she said, taking their conversation down to its bare bones.
“Notebook problem? You mean the notebook that could change the world? That problem?”
Caroline shook her head and poured herself some coffee. “Yes. That problem. I found someone I trust to help us figure out how best to leak it.”
“Leaking is good. Leaking is very good. Is this the guy you were in the paper with? The guy you took to the exhibit?”
She nodded. “I invited him to dinner tonight. If that’s okay?”
Jess nodded. “Fine. Absolutely so.” She paused. “And he’s just helping us with the notebook? Or is he going to help you with getting a life that isn’t all about me?”
“What?”
“Oh come on.” Her sister rolled her eyes, full of teenage judgment and angst. “Stop being so shocked. Our older siblings are boring and dumb enough for all of us. We need lives. I’ll get one eventually, and you need one now.”
“Jess…”
Her sister shook her head and took a bite out of her toast. “Let’s face it, Abigail is painting the town as boring as she can and lord knows what Tyler is doing, and with whom. You, my dear sister, need to know that having a conscience doesn’t mean you don’t deserve happiness.”
“I have happiness, Jess. I have you, the kids at school, Deborah…”
Jess made a face and Caro didn’t like the look of it at all. “Seriously. You have like a year and a half of me before I travel and see the world, along with maybe a hot Secret Service guy and fall inappropriately in love with him. Or something.”
She laughed.
“Just because Mom and Dad are horrible doesn’t mean you have to spend your life cleanin
g up after them by yourself. You need to, I don’t know, find your happy.”
This was not the conversation she wanted to have with her sister. Not at all. Yet she appreciated her sister’s honesty and her heart. If she’d done something right as a sister, and as a substitute parent, it was the fact that she’d helped to raise a child who wanted happiness for others.
So Caroline sighed and smiled at the brilliant young woman her baby sister was becoming. “Promise me you won’t play matchmaker?”
“Are you kidding?” Her sister snickered, then focused. “Fine. You’re serious. Until we see if he’s good enough to give the full scan to, then I’ll hold up. But afterwards? Of course I’ll play matchmaker if he’s worthy of you.”
Whether he was worthy or not, Caroline had a feeling she and Max were running out of time. They were playing a dangerous game of espionage and politics, and the deeper they got, the less chance they’d have to explore the steadily growing chemistry between them.
MAX WAS GREETED by a few snickers as he got into the office on Thursday. His enterprising coworkers had left a picture on his desk. No, it wasn’t just one. His desk was covered with framed copies of the random pictures of him and Caroline that had made their way into one of the many free DC dailies.
If he was honest, he’d say they were good pictures. He could see the spark in Caroline’s eyes as they walked around the party in Arlington. He saw her smile as they walked through the exhibit at the Spy Museum. But all he could see were memories, moments of something he was starting to believe they wouldn’t have a chance to explore. Not now at least, and who knew when. Now they were partners in espionage, preparing to leak information that might save the world. That sort of ruled out dating.
He yanked himself out of the overly sentimental, depressing thoughts, and forced himself to sit down and look at his schedule. Thankfully he only had a quick meeting set for later in the day and a few briefing papers to write. The other things on the to-do list weren’t arduous enough where he couldn’t take an hour for lunch and leave before six.
So he dashed off a quick email asking Klein if he was free for lunch. As he was about to grab the folder that containing his background material for the first paper, he saw his boss standing at the threshold of his office. As this kind of random visit rarely happened, it usually meant that she felt something was off.
“Hi, Chana.” He kept his tone as friendly as possible. “Do you need something?”
“Is there something we should know about?” Her hand moved in a vague manner towards the photographs.
He was initially annoyed, but his annoyance faded into understanding. These were dangerous times. Not only were Jason Crosby and his wife menaces to society in general, but also to what J Street stood for. Now, this morning, his boss was confronted with pictures in a random tabloid of him and a Crosby child in what appeared to be a compromising position. Of course his boss would ask, and she’d have a right to.
“Not really,” he said after a pause. “And if there was, you know I’d tell you.”
Chana nodded, then she gave him a searching look before heading out of the cubicle towards the main open-plan work area. Of course she had no idea about the bigger picture; about the leaking or the notebook. Hopefully he’d be able to keep it that way.
If not, he’d deal with the implications later.
MAX VOWED that he wouldn’t again let Klein pick the lunch spot after a disaster involving a restaurant where nobody knew what the chef was serving for lunch…not even the chef. He loved farm-to-table and local ingredients, but there was a line that couldn’t be crossed and that was when a chef didn’t know he was serving for that moment’s lunch.
Today meant a drink, or at least close to it at a fusion pub that played both Celtic music as interpreted by klezmer bands, or Klezmer music interpreted by an Irish band, not far from the office. Of course, as per usual, Klein was there when he arrived.
“Twice in one week, during the day?” Klein said as Max joined him at a table in the dark corner of the room. “Really?”
“Consider it a good day,” he replied. “A good week, even. Problem?”
“For me?” Now it was Klein’s turn to laugh. “Nope. Though I’m thinking you’ve got one.”
“Why would you think that?”
“You’re such a schmuck.” Klein shook his head and slid a menu across the wooden table top. “Let’s face it. You briefed me Tuesday, hell, you even called her at the table when I was sitting there.”
“Fine,” Max replied. “You got me.”
“So what do I need to know about last night that I didn’t see in the papers?”
He MInstead of giving in to his impulse to laugh, Max focused on the important question. Klein didn’t bullshit. “You know a journalist you trust?”
Klein raised an eyebrow. “A journalist I trust for what? Also you need to be specific. Local? International?”
“Local, for potential international impact. If this thing….” He took a quick glance at the menu. “If this thing is what it purports to be, which I’ll know tomorrow, then I’ll need someone I can trust to give it to.”
Klein took a drink from the glass of water a waitress brought over, crunched a few ice cubes and waited. Finally when the waitress had left, he asked. “You’re looking for someone to give it to? In person?”
Max nodded, drummed his fingers against the menu. “No other way would work. I think the handoff would have to be on Saturday, too.”
Klein looked shocked, stunned even. “Saturday?”
“During the game,” Max explained. “You know, the late game at Kettler. When half the universe is there but most—”
“Right. When everybody gets way too drunk to notice anything that isn’t alcoholic. Right. Okay.” Klein nodded. “So the thing. The reason you need a handoff at a Saturday late afternoon hockey game is?”
Max didn’t answer. Instead, he took the napkin out from under the silverware and removed a pen from his inside jacket pocket. He wrote the most important and concise words he could think of on the napkin, before folding it over and sliding it across the table.
“You’ll burn this later.”
“Or I’ll tear it up into fifty million pieces now.” His friend unfolded the napkin and stared at the words.
There was a choke and a cough, making it clear that his friend understood the magnitude of what he’d just been told.
“No wonder you came to see me. Fucking Crosby. How did she?”
“She said her sister did it. The little one. She stole it, scanned it. Took the scanned copy, left the original.” He shook his head, his words sounding way too nonchalant for how he felt. “Thought I was being tested, but definitely not for that.”
Klein, the ass, laughed at him. “Are you kidding? I mean seriously, the woman took you to a movie about resistance, then brought you as her date to the gala, formal opening of the goddamned exhibit at the Spy Museum celebrating Woodward and Bernstein. What the hell did you think she was testing you for?”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “True. Absolutely true. Why me though?”
“God only knows, dude,” Klein replied. “Who knows why things happen the way they do, who knows what she was thinking. But dude, you’re…well, you have a reputation, and even if you don’t coast on it, you’re a good person doing good work for people. That means something. People like you for some crazy reason. Maybe she does too?”
Max nodded. “So the game is late. That will work.”
Klein raised an eyebrow. “Saturday? What? Yes. Late game Saturday. You going to services Saturday morning?”
Max’s favorite Saturday morning service was only held once a month, for reasons he didn’t understand. This Saturday was the Shabbat in question. “Saturday’s their day, huh?”
“Yep. Services are nine a.m., bright and early. That means I’m not going Friday night, because otherwise I’ll never make it through the next day with temple and hockey. Either way, you need to let me know if you’re c
oming so I’ll save you a seat. Also I’ll email you the name of the correspondent.”
“I appreciate it,” Max replied. Then he paused to stare at his friend. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Klein returned. “Now let’s order because I’m starving and I have to get back.”
CARO NEEDED to calm down before her dinner plans with Jess and Max. She was about to step past the point of no return, and it had her feeling a little off.
She settled down on the couch and poured herself a glass of wine. She even put her feet up on the table in a way she wouldn’t do in front of Jess. But her sister wouldn’t be back for a few hours, her after school activities keeping her occupied. That meant Caroline had the apartment to herself, minus the Secret Service agents who’d been around so long that they’d become a part of the furniture.
She grabbed her phone, intending to take a quick glance at her Twitter feed. And then dropped it as if it was on fire.
Her father was tweeting again. Not only tweeting, but issuing the kind of tweets that would bring the already fragile diplomatic structure of the nation to a halt. God.
She steadied her fingers and reached for the glass, taking a healthy swallow of wine before putting it down. It was better to drink wine, she decided, than confront the deluge of childhood memories, times where unpredictable bursts of her father’s rage triggered her mother’s quick temper, where hours after screaming matches and slammed doors produced parents covered in long sleeves, clutching at each other.
That combustible combination of disaster was why she got Jess away from Sophia and Jason as soon as she was stable enough to do so, and why each of their siblings avoided that toxic mess of a marriage in their own way. Even now when Twitter existed as an outlet for Jason Crosby’s rage, she was taken back to that place.
Her phone rang and the display told her it was Tyler. The last thing she wanted was to take a phone call from him, but she did anyway. “Hello?”
“Do you know how much I want to be in Florence, right now?”
Rogue Desire: A Romance Anthology (The Rogue Series) Page 24