From Mission to Marriage

Asheville, North Carolina--September 25th Clay's ears ached, his head hurt and, after the flight, he was in no mood for a cheerful greeting. He could see he was about to get one, though. The candidate was waiting for him, wearing that same wide smile she wore in her photos. No one had told her yet that she was being considered for COMPASS. As far as she knew, he was only there as a rep from Homeland Security, come to assist her in the investigation. She held up a hand-lettered sign with his name on it and looked straight at him. He nodded and strode over to her, his most intimidating glare daring her to be chipper. She stuck out her hand. "Agent Senate? Thanks for coming, sir. I'm Vanessa Walker." Cate had been right--this one was small, probably 105 pounds, and she looked about eighteen years old. He knew better, though. She was twenty-seven. "Agent Walker," he acknowledged, shaking her hand. Hers felt delicate, but her grip was strong. Not surprising. She had graduated second in her class at the FBI Academy and weak-lings didn't get through there. She laughed self-consciously and broke the connection, tossed the sign into a nearby trash receptacle and tried to take his carry-on away from him. It weighed a ton, so he held on. She let go with a shrug. "Okay. Off to baggage claim. You have a nice flight?" He grimaced ahead of them at the young mother dragging the five-year-old with the whine and the twitchy feet, who'd performed a horizontal River Dance on the back of his seat. "Not really." "Turbulance?" she persisted, following his line of sight to the kid. She didn't bother suppressing a chuckle. "You might say that." "Sorry. Would you like a drink?" He stared at her as if she had lost her mind. "Can you? Drink, that is?" Perky. Too perky. "Of course I can drink." "Do you?" "Not much. Why?" She shrugged. "Some people have a problem with alcohol. I like to identify the ones who do and avoid them in working situations. Got shot once when I didn't. Friendly fire, too." Clay mumbled a curse. "Don't get touchy. It's a fact. Do you smoke?" "An occasional cigar, never around loaded weapons." She laughed, a low sensual sound that did something salacious to his insides. "Ah, a sense of humor. Here we are!" As if reaching the baggage ramp were a feat to celebrate. They stood silently as they waited for the baggage to begin making its slow circle. But silence seemed more than she could stand for long. She took a deep breath and released it. "So, where are you from?" "Why?" Her lips tightened with exasperation. "I'm making polite conversation. Is it a secret?" He focused on the empty baggage ramp. "McLean,Virginia." She raised an eyebrow. "Conoy, Manahoac or Delaware?" "Do you really need the family history?" God, he sounded grumpy, even to himself. He tried to temper the question with a smile. It wasn't her fault he was exhausted. "Nope." Again she shrugged. "Just wondered. My mother was Italian, by the way. Daddy met and married her when he was in service. Most of us aren't full-bloods. And with those eyes of yours, it's pretty obvious--" Clay couldn't believe her lack of tact. "Why would you care?" "No reason. I just think it's good they sent an Indian. You'll understand what I mean when I say I've got a feeling some-thing's gonna pop." "Oh, right," he said cynically. "That mystical thing we have going. How could I forget all those movies I watched?" "You like to scoff, don't you? But you know it's so. My boss thinks my informant's just a woman taking potshots, trying to get this guy locked up because she found out he was an ex-con and he scares her. Me? I take it seriously when somebody discovers a possible threat and bothers to call it in." She took a breath, something he was beginning to wonder whether she ever needed. "I bStone, Lyn is the author of 'From Mission to Marriage ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373275144 and ISBN 0373275145.