Geri Krotow - Secret Agent Under Fire

It’d always been busy and “insane” in DC, so Abi couldn’t relate to that part. The sense of being out of control of her surroundings, of having her quiet world shattered by a freak accident when life had been going so well until then? Yeah, she got that part.

“Hopefully the work we’re doing at the station will help put Silver Valley back in the ‘sleepy’ category.” She took a last sip of her coffee before looking around for a waste bin.

“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.”