didn’t seem like Bart at all. He was ferociously loyal and caring; he’d be a great father. “There’s more to that story.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Nolan said. “Bart’s son went into the military when he was eighteen. He did a tour in Iraq and got into trouble with the military police. Rather than be incarcerated, he went AWOL. The military classified him as MIA.”
“How did you find out he was still alive?”
“Victor was using an alias. We found blood at the site of the abduction. When we ran tests, we found a DNA match through the army database.”
A father kidnapped by his own son? She hated to think of the betrayal. There must be another answer. “The fact that his blood was at the scene doesn’t prove that Victor is the kidnapper. He might have been trying to protect his father. Like you, he might be searching for Bart right now.”
“Anything’s possible.” But Nolan sounded skeptical.
“I know Bart was in the CIA for a long time,” she said. “He must have a lot of enemies.”
“True.”
“If Victor took him, he might be keeping his father out of sight to protect him.” She wanted to believe that Bart’s son wouldn’t hurt him. “How much do you know about Victor Bellows?”
“Under his alias, he was involved in some bad stuff. It’s hard to believe that Bart’s son would grow up to be a criminal, but that’s what it looks like.” He paused to take a breath. “I have reason to believe that Victor is here in Washington.”
“That’s the actual reason you’re in town, isn’t it? If you weren’t looking for Victor Bellows, you would have left security for Governor Lockhart’s event to Stacy’s fiancé.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What other reason could there be?”
“Maybe I came here to meet you.”
Was he flirting with her? Tess had been out of the dating game for such a long time that she barely recognized the signs of male attention. “To meet me? Why? What have you heard?”
“I might have heard that you’re a charming woman with black hair and eyes like sapphires. Someone might have told me that you’re creative, smart and efficient. According to rumors, you’re the total package. You can even cook.”
She felt her jaw drop. “Is that so?”
“Thus far, I’m not disappointed.” A grin twitched the corner of his mouth. “But I haven’t tasted your mushroom and asparagus risotto.”
How did he know that was her best dish? When she was working as a caterer, she could always count on her risotto. Apparently, he knew more about her than she did about him. That disparity had to end.
Near the Marine Memorial, he merged onto a main route to cross the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge. Nolan drove like someone who was familiar with D.C. and Arlington.
“Doesn’t look like you need directions,” she said.
“I’ve spent time in this area.”
“At the Pentagon?” she guessed.
He shrugged and said nothing. Pulling information from him was like plucking tail feathers from a chicken. He seemed determined to maintain an aura of mystery, which should have been irritating. Instead, she was intrigued.
Gazing through the windshield at gray skies, she said, “Cloudy day. Do you really need those sunglasses or are they a necessary accessory for security men?”
Another grin. “Are you teasing me, Tess?”
“I dare you to take them off.”
He stopped for a red light, turned to her and whipped off the dark glasses. For less than five seconds, his gaze met hers. Then the sunglasses were back in place as his attention returned to the traffic.
She wasn’t so quick to recover. Shocked, she jolted back in her seat. She was drowning, struggling to catch her breath. Why was this happening to her again? Was she losing her mind?
In Nolan’s eyes, she saw a ghost.
Her fingers clenched, and she dug her nails into her palms, hoping the stab of pain would wake her from this insane illusion. It wasn’t possible. Joe Donovan was dead.
Chapter Four
As they drove onto the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge, Tess was aware of the other vehicles, the heavy clouds and the dark waters of the Potomac. But she saw them all in a blur. She heard herself speaking but had no idea what she’d said.
Nolan’s eyes were a dark gray, more deep set than Joe’s but exactly the same color. Nolan’s left eye was a few centimeters lower than the right. He wasn’t perfectly handsome, wasn’t her darling husband. And yet, in those few seconds when she’d looked into the windows to his soul, she saw Joe Donovan.
“Tess? Are you all right?”
His raspy voice—unlike Joe’s clear baritone—called to her. She needed to respond. Didn’t want him to think she was a nutcase even though there was no other explanation. “Headache,” she said. “I have a little headache.”
He was immediately solicitous. “Should I take you home?”
“No.”
He drove past Foggy Bottom toward Georgetown University, the place where she and Joe had met. Whispers of the past tickled her ears, telling her that she’d found the love of her life. That could not be. Nolan wasn’t Joe. She couldn’t allow herself to confuse the two. Their eyes were similar. So what? Lots of men had gray eyes.
More firmly, she said, “I’m fine. My stomach will be fine.”
“I thought it was your head.”
“Whatever.”
Thankfully, they drove past the turnoff to the university. If he’d pulled up in front of the coffee shop where she and Joe had spent hours together when they were dating, she might have gone into full-blown fantasy mode, imagining herself as a wide-eyed college student who’d fallen madly in love with a handsome marine. That wasn’t her. Not anymore.
Tess had a new identity, a satisfying identity. First and foremost, she was Joey’s mom. Then, she was a business-woman who needed to show the man driving this slick Mercedes that she was responsible and merited referrals.
Swallowing her confusion, she pulled herself together. The smart thing would be to avoid any further interaction with Nolan. No sidelong glances. No flirting. Most definitely, she wouldn’t touch the man. Pretending calm, she asked, “Who is the person we’re meeting?”
“His name is Omar Harris. He’s a friend of Bart’s.”
“A spy?”
“CIA,” Nolan said. “He’ll arrange for our clearance so we can take a look at the blueprints for the museum.”
“Why did he need to see me?”
“Covering his bases. You’ll have to give him the name of your events coordinator at the Smithsonian.”
Though she wasn’t quite sure why she needed face time with this person, Tess didn’t ask for further explanation. A lot of the protocols in Washington were absurdly complicated.
Nolan found a parking place at the curb in a neighborhood of storefronts. The tree branches were lined with fairy lights that were lit even though it was daylight. The shop windows featured colorful Christmas decorations—snowflakes, tinsel and big red bows. A bell-ringer on the corner solicited contributions. Instead of waiting for him to come around and open her door, Tess climbed out quickly. She didn’t want to risk having Nolan take her hand to help her.
He stepped onto the sidewalk beside her. “Is something wrong?”