Betrayed

Chapter 9

Elena called a car-repair service the next morning, took a cab to work, and met the auto mechanic in the S&D parking lot. She’d expected that he’d have to tow the car away, but after looking under the hood, he fiddled with some stuff and told her to try and start the car.

It started right up, and she was grateful that the problem had been easy to solve.

“You had a couple of loose spark plugs,” he said.

Not knowing much about cars, she answered with a small nod.

“Kind of an uncommon problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t usually happen spontaneously.”

When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Could anyone have fooled with your vehicle?”

She felt the hair at the back of her neck bristle. Why would anyone fool with her car? But she only answered, “I don’t think so.”

Of course, Shane had fiddled with her car, she reminded herself. But that was only after it wouldn’t start.

Still, the mechanic’s assessment was unsettling.

Could someone have arranged the incident? And why?

She flashed back to a few days ago when she’d thought she’d seen a car following her. Was this related? And were there security tapes that showed what was happening in the parking lot? It crossed her mind to ask Shane—or was that a good idea?

She hadn’t intended to get involved with him again. In fact, she’d intended to stay away from him for a lot of reasons, including last night’s talk with her brother, which she was trying to push to the back of her mind.

But her life had a way of changing rapidly these days, starting with the hostage situation in the personnel department. That had thrown her into contact with Shane. The next day he’d asked her to lunch. And today he came to her office again.

She looked up in surprise when she saw him.

“I was wondering what happened with your car,” he said in the deep voice that set her nerve endings tingling.

“It’s okay.”

“What was wrong?”

“The mechanic said it was loose spark plugs. He said that was unusual.”

He kept his gaze on her. “Do you have any reason to think someone could have…tampered with your vehicle?”

She’d wondered the same thing, but she only said, “I hope not.”

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. “Not just because of the car.”

“I have, too,” she heard herself say, then blushed furiously. “I mean—about you.”

“I was hoping we could go out to dinner,” he said.

She had wondered if he was going to make another move. She’d thought she’d make up an excuse if he did, but she heard herself saying, “All right.”

“Are you free tonight?”

“Yes.”

His face lit up like he’d been worried about her answer, and she had the feeling that this wasn’t all that easy for him, either.

“What’s a good time for you?”

“Maybe seven.”

“I’ll pick you up at your apartment.”

As soon as he walked away, she had the impulse to call him back and say she’d changed her mind. But she didn’t do it. What was she supposed to say—that she’d remembered a previous engagement?

Besides, she was in a mood that felt strange. Perhaps even unique. She’d focused on her career goals for so long that maybe she’d forgotten the reason for them. What was the point of getting ahead in the world if your life was all work and no play? Hadn’t she imagined that she’d get married some day and start a family? And raise her children differently from the way her parents had raised her.

She pulled herself up short. Shane Gallagher had asked her out to dinner—and she was already entertaining fantasies about marrying him.

That was certainly getting ahead of herself. But she wanted to spend time with him, and there was nothing wrong with doing it. Yesterday she could have told herself that and believed it. But then her brother had shown up and asked her to do something so totally at odds with her moral code that she could hardly wrap her head around it. And now she was going out to dinner with the head of security?

She forced thoughts of her brother out of her mind and focused on work until she left the office promptly at five. She rushed home, where she took a shower, brushed out her hair, and stood in front of her closet, trying to decide what to wear. She should have asked where they were going. Then she’d have a better idea of what outfit to choose. Not something she wore to work, she decided. Instead she picked a royal-blue sundress she’d bought on sale. It was almost the color of the blouse Lincoln Kinkead had given her. And that had looked good on her.

As seven o’clock approached, she stood in front of the mirror, wondering if she should change into something more buttoned up. When she heard a knock at the door, she knew it was too late for second thoughts.

She walked down the hall in the wedge sandals that she’d chosen to go with the dress, then looked through the spy hole before opening the door.

Her heartbeat picked up as she saw Shane standing there, even though his image was distorted by the lens.

When she opened the door, her breath caught. Obviously he’d done something similar—gone home and changed into an outfit that he hadn’t worn to work. In this case, it was a blue-and-white-striped, short-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark slacks.

They stood looking at each other for a long moment, each of them seeming a bit uncertain.

“Nice dress,” he said. “The blue looks great on you.”

“Thanks.” She turned back to get her purse and a shawl, in case it was chilly in the restaurant.

“Where are we going?” she asked, as he led her downstairs to the SUV.

“I made a reservation at the Fire Station. I guess I should have asked first.”

“I haven’t heard of it.”

“It’s a fun place in Silver Spring. A combination restaurant and brew pub in a former firehouse that’s almost a hundred years old.”

“That does sound like fun.”

They drove to the restaurant, which had been remodeled into a bar and two-story dining area. Instead of a podium, there was a desk made from the front of an old fire engine. A statue of a Dalmatian dog sat on the floor beside it.

“I asked for a table upstairs where it’s quieter,” Shane said as the hostess led them past a bar where the lights in the barrel-vaulted ceiling kept changing color. They ascended a set of wide steps with openwork metal railings to a large balcony room overlooking the main floor.

As Elena had at lunch, she ordered iced tea when the server asked what they wanted to drink, and Shane got one of the beers on tap.

“They make great battered onion rings,” he said. “We could share some for an appetizer—unless you don’t like them.”

“I do,” she answered, thinking how strange it was to be sitting here with this man. She’d known her parents wanted her to marry someone who’d come from San Marcos. She’d never explicitly said no, but she knew that wasn’t what she was picturing for herself. She wanted to be in the mainstream of American society, with… She stopped herself from finishing the thought, then looked up and found Shane watching her. What was he thinking about her? Was he thinking relationship? Or was he going to start asking her about Arnold?

She ordered seafood risotto for dinner, and he ordered a rare rib-eye steak.

“How are things at work?” he asked as he sipped his beer. Was he being casual, or was he probing?

“Good. There’s nothing urgent on my desk right now,” she answered. “How about for you?”

“I’m settling in.”

The onion rings arrived, and they each reached for one. When their hands collided, they each drew back quickly.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“I think we’re both hungry,” she said, then wondered if the words had a double meaning. Focusing on the rings, she took a couple of bites.

“These are good.”

“You told me you like reading. What else do you do for fun?” he asked.

“You already saw my apartment. I like going to garage sales and picking up finds. I guess that goes back to my roots, where you always bargained in the marketplace.” She took another bite. “What about you?”

“I guess I’m a movie buff.”

“Action adventure?”

“Only if there are characters I can get into.”

“Did you see Avatar?”

“Yeah, I liked the way they translated traditional values to that planet.”

“Pandora,” she supplied. “I loved the way the good guys won—and they weren’t the humans.”

“Yeah. What’s your favorite music?”

“Well, I don’t understand why people think rap is music. I like the oldies. Creedence Clearwater Revival.”

He hummed a little of “Proud Mary.” “How did you get into that?”

“Music was a way to understand America.”

“A good way. If you don’t take everything you hear as gospel.”

She wanted to know more about him and asked, “How did you hear about the security chief job?”

He hesitated for just a moment. “Networking at a conference. I ran into Ted Winston, and he said he was retiring.”

Was that truly how he’d heard? Did that hesitation mean he had some reason to fudge his answer? But why would he?

“Do you think Bert Iverson was mad when he didn’t get the position?”

He gave her a steady look. “I don’t think so. Bert likes being number two and not having so much responsibility. Why do you ask?”

She took a bite of onion ring and swallowed, wishing she hadn’t brought up the subject of the assistant security chief. Finally she said, “I was just wondering. I mean, if I’d been at a company for a few years and someone from the outside was hired for a job I’d been qualified for, I might be…”—she paused for a moment, then chose the word—“resentful.”

“He’s always been helpful to me. In fact, he showed me the ropes when I came on board.”

“That’s good.”

Shane shifted in his seat, and she knew her comment had made him think about Iverson—perhaps in a different light. “Did you hear anything about his being unhappy about my taking the security chief spot?”

“No. I was just relating to how I’d feel,” she answered, taking a chance and letting him know what her reaction would have been.

“Some people don’t want added responsibility.”

“I like it when people rely on me.”

“Do you have aspirations to be head of IT?”

She gave him a startled look. “Me? I’m much too junior.”

“But you must have plans.”

“I always thought I’d work for a while—then get married.” She stopped short, wondering how that sounded on a first date. If this was actually a date.

She was glad when the server chose that moment to arrive at the table with their food.

The young woman set the risotto in front of Elena and the steak in front of Shane.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked.

“I think we’re fine,” Shane answered and glanced at Elena for confirmation.

She nodded in agreement.

After she’d taken a few bites, he asked, “How’s the risotto?”

“Good. Do you want to try some? Or is it lady food?”

He laughed. “I’m not one of those guys who won’t eat quiche, and I like risotto, but not as a main dish. I’ll see how it tastes, if you’ll take some steak.”

They exchanged some of the food, both of them saying they liked the other’s meal. Elena was thinking she’d never done this with a guy before. It was strangely intimate.

Shane cut a piece of steak and ate it before asking, “I was thinking about your car. Could anybody have disabled it to harass you?”

“Why would someone do that to me?”

He shrugged. “Well, you were on television. Maybe somebody made you a target because of that.”

“Does that make sense?”

“As much as anything else these days.” He kept his gaze on her. “Or is there someone who might have a more personal reason to go after you?”

She felt a little shiver climb up her spine. “I don’t think so. Why would they?”

“Are you having problems with anyone at work? Or anyone in your family?”

The question came too close to home, and she wished he hadn’t opened the subject. Could the car incident have something to do with her brother? And then there was that car she’d thought was following her.

“You’re thinking about who it might be,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

For a split second, she thought about mentioning her brother. Then she warned herself that was a bad idea.

“It’s nothing I want to talk about,” she said quickly.

“Okay. Forget I mentioned it.”

They finished their meal, and he asked, “Do you want some dessert?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“The banana split is good.”

“What is it?”

“You’ve never had a banana split?”

“No.”

“The one they have here is half a banana, vanilla ice cream, caramel syrup, whipped cream. It’s good. We could share one.”

“You’re tempting me.”

“Then let’s indulge.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

If she’d thought having a bite of dinner was intimate, sharing the dessert was a lot more so. Each of them dipping their spoons into the gooey concoction and taking bites, then coming back for more.

“This is good,” she murmured. “I didn’t know banana and ice cream went so well together.”

“Way before your time—and mine—drugstores had soda fountains where they sold drinks and ice cream dishes. The banana split was invented by an apprentice pharmacist at a drugstore in Latrobe, Pennsylvania, in 1904.”

“How do you know?”

“I was curious about who came up with the idea and looked it up. You can find anything on the Web these days.”

“Uh-huh,” she answered, thinking she wouldn’t find out about her brother’s problem there.

“Traditionally it had chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream. And often walnuts.”

“I like this one better.”

“So do I.”

She watched him enjoy the confection, letting him have some of her portion and thinking that he was like a kid who’d been given an unexpected treat. He scraped up the last of the melted ice cream and looked at her.

“You let me have more than my share.”

“We’ll both have to work it off. I’ll bet you’ve got exercise equipment at home.”

“And you don’t?”

“What would you recommend for a lady who doesn’t want to spend too much?”

“Free weights. I could show you some toning exercises.”

“Okay.” When would that be? she wondered.

Shane paid the bill, thinking he’d had a good time this evening—even when they’d talked about stuff like Bert Iverson.

“Thanks for dinner,” Elena said as they reached his car.

“I enjoyed it.”

“Yes.”

They both climbed into the front seat, and as he drove back toward her apartment, neither of them said much. He could feel tension crackling inside the vehicle as they approached her parking lot. Both of them were wondering how the evening was going to end.

He knew what he’d like to do. Not what you did on a first date with a nice girl. Particularly one from a very conservative culture.

Had it been a date? He wasn’t exactly sure of the definition in the early part of the twenty-first century.

He should simply drop her off and leave, but he was thinking that he wanted to prove to himself that she wasn’t having an effect on him.

Slowly he pulled up in front of her building and cut the engine, feeling his tension mount. Should he drive away? Or reach for her. He watched as she unbuckled her seat belt in preparation for exiting. Her next move might have been to thank him for a nice evening and exit the car quickly, but when he unbuckled his own seat belt and put his hand on her arm, she went very still, then turned toward him, a questioning look on her face.

He could have told her he’d see her the next day at work. Instead he slowly pulled her closer, ready to let her go if she did anything to tell him she didn’t want the contact. Instead of drawing away, she came easily into his arms, and he folded her close.

“Elena.”

“Yes.” Was she simply answering to her name or giving him permission? To do what—exactly?

When she tipped her face up, he lowered his head, touching his lips against hers. He had been prepared to leave it at that, perhaps a chaste good-night kiss on a first date.

But as soon as his mouth touched hers, he knew he’d been fooling himself all along. He wanted to kiss her. And more. He increased the pressure, brushing his lips back and forth against hers, and feeling the contact send little sparks to his nerve endings.

He nibbled at her lips, increasing the pressure, silently asking her to open for him. She resisted for a moment, then opened her mouth, and he caught the sweet scent of her breath before his tongue slipped inside so that he could play with the interior of her lips and the line of her teeth. She made a small sound of approval low in her throat and angled her body so that her breasts were pressed against his chest. As he absorbed their twin pressure, he wanted to reach between them and cup one, but he resisted the urge because he was fairly sure from her response to him that she didn’t have a lot of experience with men.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hand along her arm and over her back, and finally combing his fingers through her thick dark hair. He’d wanted to touch that hair all evening, and she didn’t stop him from doing it now.

He could feel her breathing accelerate—and his along with it. He stroked his tongue along the side of hers, loving the intimacy. He had known she would taste wonderful. And he had been almost sure that she would respond to him. Now the reality of what was happening between them was like a whirlwind swirling through his senses.

He wanted to go inside with her where they could have the privacy he craved. He wanted to take off her clothing and stroke his hands all over her body, concentrating on the sensitive places and watching to see the effect he was having on her.

For long moments he contented himself with holding her and kissing her while his body clamored for more.