Chapter 2 #2
“You know a lot about drug smuggling.” The kidnapping comment made her knees go weak.
“That’s what Harris did?”
“Oh, please. You already know.”
“I swear I’m not who you think I am.”
“Hmmm.” She wanted to believe him.
“I know a little, but from the other side. Military side.”
“What did you do?”
“Can’t talk about it. I just retired.”
“Officer?”
“Colonel.”
Her face couldn’t hide that she was impressed, but if he was lying…
“Want to see my discharge papers? My ID?” He winked at her. “They’re up in my room, with my etchings.”
She was being silly.
“No. If you were here to hurt me, you could have done it in the alley.”
“I would never, ever hurt you,” he said, suddenly serious.
“I’m doing it again. Some psychotherapist,” she said aloud, her eyes rolling so hard, she could feel them etching the word stupid into her skull. “I can’t even enforce my own boundaries.”
“Boundaries?”
“I’m oversharing. Paranoid. And I really shouldn’t be drinking this.” Holding the drink aloft, she made a point of drinking about a fourth of it, the kick of alcohol in the cool, sweet citrus making her feel a bit wild.
“Are you trying to scare me off?” He crossed his arms over that big chest. “Won’t work.”
“I’m sorry, Dennis. Today is not my best day.”
“Is any day really our best day?”
“That’s a very philosophical question.”
“Nah. More like rhetorical.”
“You don’t believe in best days?”
“Any day I wake up is a best day.”
“I really want to know what you did in the military.”
“And I really want to hear the whole story about your ex.”
“Seems like we have a lot of stories to share,” Ana said, her stomach fluttering with attraction.
The paranoia was slipping away. There was nothing a private investigator could get out of her that wasn’t already known by law enforcement, and besides, there was something about Dennis that made her believe him.
Trust him.
Her stepfather’s voice shattered her mood: You always trust too easily. Look where that got you with Harris. She visualized stuffing a giant marshmallow in his face and he was muted.
“You go first.”
“Mine is easy. I met Harris when we both rescued a kitten from a dumpster behind a hotel restaurant kitchen.”
Dennis paused mid sip, and Ana felt a little thrill of success. The guy was clearly struggling not to do a spit take.
“Really? What a coincidence.”
“It was love at first sight.” The joke was meant to be lighthearted and playful, but he went serious at her words.
So soulful. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered harder as he captured her gaze.
“And what did Harris do for a living?”
“What did he say he did, or what did he really do?”
“You can tell me anything you want, Ana.”
“He said he sold high-end residential real estate along the New York-to-Portland corridor for wealthy international clients.”
“And he actually…”
“Dealt drugs. A lot of them.”
“Bet he laundered money, too. Lots of Russian house hunters?”
“How did you guess?”
Dennis just smiled.
And drained his glass.
“Am I really that naive? Does everyone know something I don’t? Harris seemed like a nice guy when I met him. Plenty of nice people sell real estate to wealthy buyers.”
“‘Nice’ people launder money and deal drugs, too.”
On the other side of the restaurant, the piano player began a Billy Joel song, but at a slow speed, giving it a mournful, resonant tone.
“Harris was nice. Until he wasn’t.”
Dennis looked at her, sharp and dangerous, his eyes boring into her.
“Don’t tell me he hurt you.”
Not really a question, not exactly a threat, the simple sentence turned her libido into a shockwave, attraction for this mysterious man going into hyperdrive.
Harris had turned her into a tool, and she’d gone along so innocently, a con’s sucker to the max. Processing it with a friend who was a therapist over the last month had been key to finding her confidence again.
Barely. She needed time. Lots more time. The trauma from Harris’s deception wasn’t going to slip away easily.
“No, he didn’t hurt hurt me. And thank goodness for my stepfather, who protected me financially.”
“Banker?”
“Tax lawyer.”
“Even better.”
“Harris and I were together for a few months. Wild commissions would come in and he’d be flush. Worked long hours, his schedule was never the same. He blamed it on his clientele, who viewed time zones as archaic.”
“Because the rules didn’t apply to him.”
“I see you know him.”
Just then, the server appeared with a bottle of sparkling water and a charcuterie board that made Ana groan in advance, knowing her pants would need to be unbuttoned after eating half of that.
Then again, at the rate this date-not-date was going, she might be unbuttoning her pants later for a very different reason.
“Amazing,” Dennis told the approval-seeking server, who placed two empty glasses next to the water bottle.
“Another round?” she asked him, pointing.
“Another?” he deferred to Ana.
“Bourbon, neat. Maker’s. Double.” Her need to tell the story was greater than her desire to maintain firm boundaries.
“I’ll have the same,” Dennis said smoothly, cutting a wedge of brie as the server left.
“Matching me drink for drink?”
One eyebrow cocked as he paused, a cracker in his hand. The way his eyes roamed up and down her body made her wonder how it would feel to roam her hands over those big, tight muscles, to be caged between those thick arms, under him in bed, his powerful thighs pumping.
“I could drink you under the table, through the floor, into the lobby, and down the sidewalk into a sewer grate.”
“I’m not a lightweight!”
“Compared to me, you are.” He took a bite and smiled at her as he chewed, then reached for the water bottle and poured them each a glass.
“I’m not getting drunk tonight just to prove a point.”
“Good. Because neither am I.”
“I’m getting drunk tonight because I’ve had a terrible day.”
“Yet another thing we have in common, Ana.”
“Tell me about your terrible day.”
He scrunched up his face as if it weren’t worth talking about. For two beats, she thought he’d gone silent, but he sighed and replied, “I’m not sure who I am right now.”
“You just discovered that today?”
“Over the last few months.”
“Literally? As in, you were adopted as a child and only recently found out?”
He stared at her.
“Man, you’re dark and intense, Ana. Why would you even say that?”
“Because it’s one possible interpretation of what you’re saying.”
“You ever work with a patient who had that happen to them? For real?”
“Maybe.”
“Can’t tell me? Confidentiality and all that?”
“Maybe.”
“This is going to be fun.”
“Why?”
“Because normally I’m the cagey one.”
“How do you know? You just said you don’t know who you are.”
Laughter, sonorous and deep, was his answer.
“I’m fine on that. My childhood was great, parents love me, good relationship with my siblings, blah blah.”
“Not blah blah. Good for you.”
“I had nothing to do with it. Tell my parents good for them.”
“You love them?”
“Hell, yes.”
She reached for a deglet noor date and a slice of manchego.
“Wonderful.”
“But they live a really specific kind of life. Small town in Maine. Really rural.”
“You’re moving back home?”
“I am.”
“From..?”
“All over, but in the last ten years, mostly the Middle East. Some time in Germany and Ukraine.”
“Big life.”
“Big life, now small life.”
“This is your choice? You weren’t kicked out?”
“One hundred percent my choice. I loved my job. Left home at eighteen. Earned a bachelor’s and master’s degree in the Army. Then I spent the better part of a decade and a half doing work I couldn’t talk about–can’t talk about.”
“Sounds evasive.”
“See? We’re twinsies.”
Maybe the alcohol was loosening her up. More likely, though, it was the conversation.
“Not twins, Dennis. You had a loving childhood. Parents who love you.”
“You don’t?”
“I have my mom. My dad died when I was thirteen.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s fine and alive.”
“Sorry about your dad. How did he die?”
“Plane crash.”
“Oof. Small aircraft?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Most people say the flight number when they talk about big commercial plane crashes. Not so with small planes.”
“He was a wealth manager. One of his ten-figure clients invited him for a golf week at Cape Kidnappers in New Zealand.”
“The Bannister crash?”
“How do you know that?”
His face went blank.
“I just do. It was in the news. I was home on leave then and my mom was sort of obsessed with the coverage. I remember how the reporters called it the eight-billion-dollar crash. Combined net worth of everyone on board. Freak lightning, right?”
“Yes. Completely random. And my mom was supposed to go, but didn’t.”
“Good thing.”
“Well… she didn’t because she was having an affair with my grandmother’s tax attorney.”
“Ouch. And that man is now your stepfather?”
Sharp. He was paying attention.
“Why am I telling you this?”
“Because I was actually a psychologist in the Army and people tell me I’m a good listener.”
Her laugh felt like a pressure cooker getting some relief.
“Liar.”
“Good instincts. But I’m right, aren’t I? She married the attorney, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t like him.”
“We’re... cordial. Polite. I’ve always felt like he doesn’t like me.”
“Who couldn’t like you, Ana?”
“Apparently, my stepfather.” Laughing, she gave him an odd smile. “He’s been my stepfather for almost two decades. It’s fine. Just... distant.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a credit card, handing it to him.
“What’s this for? I said dinner’s on me.”
“I owe you for this impromptu therapy session, Doctor..?”
“Love. Call me Dr. Love.”
“Original and not at all cheesy.”
Before he could reply, his phone buzzed. He reached for it. Read the text.
And began to laugh.