Jan Hambright - Camouflage Cowboy

His irises were electric blue, his stare leveled on her with pulse-zapping heat that made her cheeks light up. “But thank you for offering. I’m not sure I could have held on much longer. If you hadn’t spooked him, he might have gotten away with this.” She squeezed the brown leather bag she gripped like a lifeline and realized her hands were shaking uncontrollably. “Oh. I don’t feel so good.”

Concern crossed his features and settled around his mouth in the granite-hard line of his lips. She was suddenly sure this man, if asked, could and would trail the thug to hell and back.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside somewhere.” He stood up and helped her stand by putting his arm around her waist. Pulling free from him wasn’t as option, she realized as her stomach roiled, roiled again and settled down with several deep gulps of air.

Perhaps she should have eaten breakfast…or lunch for that matter, but her son Caleb’s treatment days were always like this. Next time she’d be sure to put a banana or something in her purse.

“I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” Her declaration seemed to fall on deaf ears as he steered her toward the door of the café.

“You’re suffering from mild shock. It’ll pass in the time it takes you to let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

She couldn’t argue with his assessment. Her knees trembled, her feet tingled, and if his strong arm weren’t wrapped tightly around her waist, she wasn’t sure she’d be standing right now. She had half an hour before she had to pick Caleb up, and Holy Cross Hospital was only ten minutes away. She could make it in plenty of time.

“You’re right. I suppose the surprise of almost having my arm jerked off by a stranger is a good reason to sit down for a minute.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.” He chuckled deep in his throat, a soothing male sound that made her smile as he reached out with his free hand and pulled open the door to Talk of the Town Café.

She stepped inside, absorbing its cool retro 1950s interior, complete with red-and-white upholstered booth seats, and a black-and-white checkerboard tile floor. It was a novelty she could get used to—if the Help Wanted sign in the window managed to come down after she applied for the job. And maybe, if she were lucky, the man with his arm around her would come in every once in a while so she could buy him a cup of coffee as thanks.

Nick zeroed in on a booth in the rear of the establishment, away from the noise of the regular afternoon crowd.

This was his orchestrated break in his assignment, and he didn’t plan to waste an iota of it. He might not get another chance at a one-on-one conversation with the target of his investigation.

The café’s owner, Faith Scott, waved to him from behind the counter and raised the steaming coffeepot in her hand.

He nodded and grudgingly let go of Grace to help her into the booth’s seat before taking a spot across from her with his back to the room.

“Coffee?” Faith had already turned their cups upright in their saucers before Nick realized he was staring at the woman sitting across from him.

“Yes. Please. And for you?”

“Just water, no ice,” Grace said. “I’m not sure my nerves could handle a shot of caffeine right now.”

He watched a tentative smile curve her full lips as she considered him through eyes tinted a shade-of-heaven blue. This wasn’t the army way of conducting an interrogation, but he couldn’t help enjoying the view.

“Would you like a piece of pie? I just took a cinnamon-apple-crumb out of the oven ten minutes ago,” Faith said from next to their table.

Nick broke eye contact with Grace Marshall and immediately felt his blood pressure drop a fraction. “Not for me, but maybe…” He glanced back at Grace, anxious to prompt her response. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Grace.”

“Maybe Grace would like a piece.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ve got to run in a few minutes.”

“I’ll get your water.” Faith turned and headed for the counter, leaving them alone in silence.

Reaching across the table, he extended his hand to her. “I’m Nick Cavanaugh.” The moment she put her delicate palm into his, a jolt radiated through him. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around Freedom before.”

Her gaze dropped for an instant. “I spend most of my time at home, or at work.”

He released his grasp and leaned back into the booth seat just as Faith put a glass of water in front of Grace.

“Thanks,” she whispered, locking her fingers around it for an instant before raising it to her mouth and taking several deep swallows.

Nick sensed her caution, saw it in the way her nails blanched against the glass in her hand as she lowered it to the table.

Trust. He needed to establish a level of trust between them, and fast. He was losing her with every tick of the second hand on his watch, and for some reason, that mattered to him.

Rocking slightly to the left, he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I know you’ve got to leave soon, but I want you to have this just in case you need to contact me.” He opened his billfold and pulled out a Corps Security and Investigations card with his name and cell number on it.

“If you change your mind and want me to describe the purse-snatcher to the police, just give me a call at this number.” He slid the card across the table to her.

She picked it up and stared at it for a moment before nonchalantly putting it in her sweater pocket. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’m fine. I have my purse, and its contents. It might be better if we drop the matter entirely.”

Curiosity jetted across Nick’s mind and he focused his gaze on Grace’s beautiful face. How was it she’d managed to avoid giving him anything more than her first name? Sure, he had an entire paper file amassed on her: he knew where she worked, where she lived, what she drove and damn near what she’d had for dinner last night, but his desire to glean it from her own lips was falling flat. The woman was playing it safe, a fact that intrigued him and bothered him at the same time. What was she hiding?

“I really need to get going.” She took another quick swallow from her glass, put it down, snagged her purse and slid out of the booth.

“Thanks again for your help, Nick.” She gave him a sweet smile, turned and walked to the café counter, where she spoke to Faith Scott for a moment.

Nick turned slightly, watching Faith reach under the counter and pull out a sheet of paper, hand it to Grace, then return to her customers.

He turned back around and waited for the jingle of the bell on the café door to signal Grace’s departure from the establishment.

Reaching into his jean jacket, he pulled an evidence bag out of the inside pocket. Grace may be tight-lipped with personal information, but DNA held no such pretenses, and he planned to make a mitochondrial comparison with the sample the governor had already given him. He grasped the glass at the bottom where she hadn’t touched it, dumped the remainder of the water into her unused coffee cup and eased the glass into the bag.

“Uh-huh.”

The sound of a throat being cleared raked over Nick’s nerves. He stared up at Faith and the coffeepot in her hand.

“What are you up to, Nick?” she asked as she topped off his java.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

She grinned. “Does this have anything to do with your secret assignment for Governor Lockhart?”

Nick shook his head and slipped out of the booth. “You know the things we do at CSaI are hush-hush.” He winked at her as he tucked the evidence bag inside his jacket. As long as no one knew what that assignment was, the secret was safe.