Nameless (8 page)
“Looks like you know your way around this place,” he said just to break the silence. He wasn’t big on conversation himself but this was a little too quiet. He was used to all the noise on the beach outside his windows.
“I came here a lot as a kid,” she said as they passed the caretaker’s cottage. “I used to lie on the graves and pretend I was dead.” She went mute as if she’d just realized that she had actually made the statement out loud.
“I guess that makes me a little strange,” she noted, her tone a degree or two chillier.
“No, Grace, that makes you
a lot
strange.” His lips twitched with a smile, something they didn’t do often. “But a lot of people are strange so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
McBride’s mind conjured the image of Grace as a child skipping around the bleak headstones. Certainly didn’t fit with the uptight federal agent she had grown into.
At the Seventeenth Street wall, they made their way across the lowest point in the brick wall to a waiting taxi.
“The paparazzi won’t be expecting a member of the investigating team to load into a taxi,” she explained as he opened the door.
“Brilliant strategy,” he allowed, figuring it was her idea and that she felt in need of a pat on the back.
Grace hesitated before ducking into the back seat. “Worth wanted me to tell you how much the Bureau and the Byrnes appreciate what you did.”
McBride waited until she’d gotten in and he’d scooted into the seat next to her before saying, “I’m sure Worth was ecstatic.” He understood that his presence was something the man in charge would have preferred to avoid.
“The Tutwiler,” Grace instructed the driver.
At McBride’s look of confusion, she explained, “We’ll have you on a plane headed home tomorrow. Tonight you’re to relax and enjoy, compliments of the Byrnes and the Bureau.”
Getting on a plane tonight wasn’t exactly at the top of his list of things he couldn’t live without. But staying was somewhat out of his comfort zone. He had to wonder if the Bureau had a hidden agenda. He didn’t trust any of them, not even the pretty lady doing the babysitting.
She
was way outside his comfort zone.
That knowledge didn’t stop him from going stupid. “As long as you’ll keep me company, that’ll work.”
The city lights filtering into the back seat allowed him to see that guard she wielded whenever he crossed into personal territory go into lockdown. She set him straight posthaste. “Dinner I can do.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Grace.” He let it go at that. Probably the smartest move he had made all day … with the exception of finding the kid.
Vivian wasn’t sure dinner with McBride was a smart move. Being alone with him was like feeling her way through a maze. She never knew what would be around the next turn or when she was going to run into an impenetrable wall. And just when she thought she knew how to avoid getting caught in his traps, she found herself already in one. That unorthodox charm was getting under her skin and that was a mistake. Trusting this man in any capacity would be a major error in judgment.
The driver pulled beneath the canopy at the historic Tutwiler and Vivian paid the fare. An attendant opened the door and she emerged, glad to be away from the media frenzy at the cemetery. Alyssa Byrne was safe and that was all any good agent could ask for. Vivian should be relieved and grateful. But she couldn’t quite reach that nirvana. Too many questions were nagging at her.
As she and McBride made their way to the entrance of the grand old hotel she implemented a conscious effort to relax. The man intrigued her even as he tripped her every internal alarm. There wasn’t an agent in her graduating class who wouldn’t give her or his firstborn to have this chance to learn more about the legendary Hunter—no matter the circumstances that had brought them together.
Her thirst for wisdom was unquenchable. She wanted to reach that same kind of zenith in her career. She just didn’t want to fall the way he had. Even if her curiosity weren’t going a hundred miles per hour, making sure he was settled for the night was her job. Worth had given her strict instructions.
All she had to do was make sure McBride didn’t breach her personal boundaries and there wouldn’t be a problem.
Her mind kept wandering back to this afternoon’s events. She felt confused at best about the way the rescue had gone down. Success was the end result, but she had all those damned questions. One being, what was the significance of the word written on the child’s forehead? That and many other questions she would like very much to direct at the man next to her, but Worth had specifically instructed her to move on. He would handle the final loose ends on this case, including a call to Quantico with the information regarding Andrew Quinn’s name having come up. Her job was to entertain McBride, and when the approval was given, see that he got on the plane. For her, it was case closed.
If she could just accept that, life would be a hell of a lot easier.
Unfortunately easy had never been her style.
Inside the glorious Tutwiler lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandeliers, she approached the desk and pushed a polite smile into place for the clerk. “I’d like a room with a balcony and a nice view.” Might as well make McBride’s night in Birmingham as pleasant as possible.
Fearing that he would suddenly disappear on her, ultimately smearing her hard-earned record, she checked to see that he still waited near the French doors on the other side of the reception lobby. For a moment she allowed her gaze to linger on the man. He pretended not to care about anything, yet she had witnessed firsthand just how much he cared. Finding that little girl had meant as much to him as it had to Vivian. There was far more of the former special agent left in this guy than he wanted her to see … maybe even more than he knew.
But that didn’t change the fact that the Bureau was still suspicious of his part in this odd case.
Strong-arming her attention away from him, she surveyed the luxurious lobby. Her parents had given her a lavish going-away party in the ballroom just before she had left for college. She would never forget that night. Surrounded by her friends and only months away from hitting that eighteen mark. Her world had been perfect and full of dreams for the future.
A scant month later her life had forever changed, sending her on a whole different journey than the one she had expected to take.
The clerk’s voice snatched her out of the past. “I’m sorry,” she confessed, “I was lost in thought.”
“Your credit card, ma’am,” he repeated.
Vivian shook off the haunting memories and searched her wallet for the American Express the Bureau had issued her. When the card had been swiped, the room number and key provided, she thanked the clerk and rejoined McBride.
“Do you need some time to freshen up or would you like to go directly to dinner?”
Despite having spent the past eight or so hours with the man, when he looked at her, she was not prepared for the impact of those penetrating blue eyes. Standing here, in this setting, just the two of them, with the key to his room in her hand, was suddenly a big deal. She was tired, not at her best.
“If you’re giving me the option, I’ll go with the one that includes the drink first.”
The way he had performed this afternoon, she had almost forgotten about that bad habit. “The Pub it is then.”
He allowed her to lead, one would surmise because she was familiar with the hotel, but she knew better. He just liked watching her from behind. She would bet her favorite Miles Davis collector’s album that he used those lewd glances and remarks to keep her at a distance. He probably did that with a lot of people. Then again, she could be giving him too much credit, like Worth said.
Vivian selected a table on the farthest side of the room, in a dark corner. If McBride was half as spent as she, and she felt confident he was, they didn’t need any outside stimulation.
Not that any other stimulation was required with him around.
She dropped her purse in a chair. “I need to make a call. If the waiter shows up, order me a club sandwich, which I highly recommend, and a glass of white wine.” She didn’t pause long enough for McBride to ask any questions. Weaving through the tables headed for the restroom, she could feel his gaze on her. Looking back would only make her hesitate. No hesitating.
In the ladies’ room she stood in front of the sink and stared at her reflection. None of this was right. She had known something was wrong, off, whatever, as soon as she had read the first e-mail from Devoted Fan. Worth had played off her concerns. At the cemetery, she had told him again how she felt about the way this one had played out. It didn’t add up.
Nothing she said had convinced him to look at this logically—logically from
her
perspective, at any rate. In her opinion, the kidnapping hadn’t been about Alyssa Byrne or her father. The clues had been elementary. The location practically right around the corner from the field office. No ransom. No physical injuries to the child. When she had brought up all those details, Worth wouldn’t talk about it. He was too smart not to recognize the same inconsistencies she did. Schaffer, Davis, Pratt, they all saw the same things whether they said so or not.
And all of it pointed in one direction—to McBride. Vivian was certain. Oh, Worth agreed that the elements of the case pointed to McBride, but he leaned toward the theory that McBride had somehow set up the whole thing. He wanted McBride in town for the next twelve to eighteen hours to give him time to explore that avenue more thoroughly. And for Andrew Quinn, now retired, to be advised of the situation.
Vivian was the one who was supposed to keep McBride entertained. In other words, set him up a second time. Worth was on a witch hunt.
“God.” She closed her eyes, shook her head at the shortsightedness of the man she generally respected. How could he not see how wrong he was? Was it possible that someone higher up was putting the pressure on for him to investigate McBride? McBride’s connection to Quantico and the ugly ending to his career would logically point in that direction.
Unquestionably, she was prepared to do whatever necessary to get to the truth. If selling McBride out several times over was necessary to get the bad guy in the end, then so be it. But this was off … way off.
“Pull it together, Grace.” She took a breath. Stared sternly at her reflection. “Get through this. Don’t overanalyze. Do the job.” She couldn’t screw up her career over a burned-out legend. Like Worth said, her instincts could be wrong. The only thing standing between her and getting the job done was her own inflexibility.
When she returned to the table, the drinks had arrived.
“Did you make your call?”
The question startled her then she remembered the excuse she had given. “Oh. Yes.” She settled into her chair and savored a healthy swallow of her wine. If she were lucky, he wouldn’t ask her any questions she couldn’t answer. After the events of the past thirty or so hours, she had to consider that maybe McBride had the right idea.
If you couldn’t change it, just drink it out of your head.
He lifted the tumbler to his lips, took a long drink of his whiskey, watching her as if he suspected she was keeping something from him.
“You ordered the food?” she asked in an effort to make conversation. She hoped so. Having not eaten in hours, she surely didn’t need the wine going straight to her head, as tempting as that might be.
“Two club sandwiches, fries, and another round of drinks.”
She quelled a shiver. That he had that effect on her made her want to kick herself. Giving herself a break, she admitted that there was something about the man’s voice. Deep, sexy in a blatant, I-know-I-could-make-you-scream-my-name way. Any woman alive would react to the sensuality of it. But that was the thing. She didn’t usually react like other women. Maybe it was the mystique related to the legend that got to her. The whole “idol” thing. Every agent wanted to be able to accomplish what McBride had—before that fall anyway.
Whatever it was, she wasn’t going there.
Shifting her attention elsewhere, she surveyed the pub. “Quiet tonight. I guess we beat the crowd.” There were seven or eight couples spread around the dining area that was usually filled to capacity.
If he just wouldn’t stare at her that way, through hooded eyes that reached right inside her. If her own mutinous gaze didn’t keep straying to his lips, damp from the whiskey, or to those ridiculously sexy whiskers darkening his jaw. Then she might be able to pretend that he couldn’t in a million years get to her that way.
But all of the above prevented her from pretending.
“What is it you’re not telling me, Grace?”
The waiter arrived with their sandwiches. Vivian smiled and thanked him, more for the interruption than the food. She consciously relaxed her posture. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He dragged a cigarette from his pack and planted it in one corner of his mouth then lit it. As much as she disliked smoking, she observed each action with utter fascination.
“What’s the deal with Worth?”
Oh damn.
As if God had suddenly taken pity on her, her cell phone buzzed against her stomach. “Excuse me.” The relief in her voice came out way too obvious. She checked the display. Worth. So much for a welcome interruption. “Grace,” she said in greeting. Worth cut straight to the chase, his words souring the wine in her stomach. “I understand,” she assured him. She closed the phone and slid it back into its holster, a chill invading her bones.
Steeling herself as much against what Worth’s call meant as the questions McBride would no doubt have, she looked directly into those piercing blue eyes. “We have to go back to the office.”
The glass he had lifted for another sip froze halfway to his mouth. “Any particular reason?”
He asked the question as if he could care less but she didn’t miss the trace of curiosity and maybe the slightest hint of uncertainty in his tone.
“There’s been another e-mail.”