Chapters (32)
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
Despite Holly’s protest, Nathan paid for their drinks. At her Explorer, Nathan asked if she still wanted him to drive. Because of the glass of wine, she said yes. Legally, she wasn’t drunk, but because of her position in the FBI, discretion was the better part of valor. He agreed and tucked her into the passenger’s seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Holly kept checking her side mirror, looking for anyone who might be following them. As they wound their way through the deserted streets of downtown Sacramento, Nathan did the same, using the rearview mirror. Two peas in a pod, he thought.
Holly’s home was in a planned residential neighborhood with neatly landscaped yards. As he approached her driveway, she leaned across him and hit the button on the garage-door remote attached to the Explorer’s visor. He held his breath as her left breast brushed across his arm. For a few seconds, their faces were inches apart. He pulled the SUV into her garage and killed the engine. This time, Holly waited while he climbed out and opened her door. She punched a six-digit number into the keypad by the door and the blinking red LED changed to solid green. Once inside, Holly rearmed the system and turned on some lights.
“Nice,” Nathan said. Her kitchen was spotless, cleaner than his, which was saying a lot. Either she didn’t spend a lot time in here, or she was obsessive about tidiness. He suspected it was a combination of both. The blue granite countertops were a perfect complement to the dark cherry cabinets. In the family room, mission-style furniture was arranged at right angles to a big-screen television. Several limited-edition prints of Wyland’s seascapes adorned the walls. He recognized one of them, a pod of orcas, because the original oil was in his La Jolla home. No need to mention that.
She set her purse down on the counter. “I don’t have any nonalcoholic beer, but I’ve got a pitcher of tea in the refrigerator. Glasses are in the cabinet above the dishwasher.” She disappeared down the hall on the right. “I’ll be right back.”
“I like your home.”
“Thank you. Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to check phone messages and email.”