Caught by You. Kris Rafferty

So, I’ve finally done something that impresses you.” He smiled, winking. Then he leaned back, propping his feet up on the chair next to him. Spearing his fork into the carton, he twirled it, his gazed fixed on her mouth. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop licking her lips. When his smile grew naughty, she suspected he was thinking of their kiss back at the diner, like she was, only she was the one blushing.

      Avery filled her mouth with chicken, and told herself to stop screwing around. She was leaving this town, leaving him. Soon, he’d be someone she used to know. “You’re staring,” she said.

      His smile grew. “Am I?”

      “Yeah. You’ve been staring since we met.” She leaned toward him, took his carton of lo mein and ate some, before handing it back. Then she picked up the chicken carton again.

      “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable.” No, he wasn’t. If he was, he wouldn’t be sporting such a shit-eating grin. She was attracted to him. He knew it, and she hated that he knew it. An FBI agent, for heaven’s sake. She obviously had a death wish.

      “I already told you I have a jealous boyfriend. What do you think you’ll get out of this?” She waved her fork between them, indicating them as a couple. She really wanted to know, because she wasn’t an idiot. She’d already declared sex off limits, and he was a player. There was no love at first sight going on. So, what the fuck?

      He gave his head a little shake, and seemed a bit wistful, as if he too wanted the answer to that question. “Something about you, I guess. I don’t know if it’s that look in your eyes, or that you’re so damn sexy, or maybe it’s because there doesn’t seem to be anything you can’t do.” He smiled suddenly, lifting his brows. “Can you yodel? I’ve tried. It’s not so easy.”

      She laughed. He was so good at flirting. No, she couldn’t yodel. In fact, her skill sets were extremely narrow. Even laundry seemed to elude her. If it wasn’t for bleach, she’d have all pink socks as red items inevitably found their way into her whites.

      “Exactly what look do I have in my eyes?” she said.

      Vincent’s smile faded, though he continued to stare. “Like you’re caged.” His words seemed to shock even him, and then he was the image of regret. “I’m sorry. That was unkind.”

      That was the thing about honesty, she thought. It wasn’t always kind, but in this case, his words couldn’t have been truer. Her family was killed eight years ago. The price of justice had been high, and part of that price was waitressing in North Conway, New Hampshire. The alternative was Dante finding and killing her and Millie.

      “Patty, I’m worried about you,” he said.

      About her. Not any of the other customers in the diner this morning. Her. She was the only one he tracked down, followed home, waited until she’d showered, and then fed Chinese food. She believed him when he said he was worried. No one was that good of an actor. And she wasn’t receiving a danger vibe from him, but still his focus worried her nonetheless. Vincent was FBI. Just knowing him brought unwanted attention, and she was sitting with him, eating a meal with him, in full view of the town. It wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done.

      “Well,” she glanced at her watch, “stop worrying. I’m not your responsibility.” She had twenty minutes before her bus left, so she tried to relax and enjoy this free food. The chicken was delicious, and it would probably be the last time she’d eat at this restaurant. This, she’d miss.

      “Good food, huh?” he said. She nodded. “I bet there are other restaurants in this town that have good food, too. Maybe we could hang, spend the day together, go on a pub crawl tonight to let off some steam.” She shook her head. “Stay, Patty. Don’t leave.”

      She frowned, chewing. “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

      “The bus ticket. I know you’re going. Anyway, if you won’t stay for me, stay for the sheriff. He might have follow-up questions. The least you could do is make sure he knows how to reach you.”

      “I gave him my phone number.”

      He avoided her gaze, as if he were being shy. It was adorable. “Maybe I’ll want to reach you.”

      She rattled off her phone number and he smiled, all puffed up and satisfied as he inputted it into his contact list. This concession meant little to Avery. She’d memorized all her important numbers, so she’d lose little when she destroyed her phone’s SIM and GPS cards on the bus. A new phone could always be purchased at a CVS or Walgreens.

      Vincent dialed a number on his phone and seemed surprised when Avery’s rang.

      “Trust issues?” She sipped some water, hiding her smile, ignoring that her phone suddenly went silent.

      Vincent groaned, but with humor. “You have no idea.”

      A van’s sliding door opened across the street. Three people in business suits hopped out, looking official. Could have been Dante’s men, but Avery’s brain tagged them as Feds, because if they’d been Dante’s, they’d be shooting already. When they walked toward her and Vincent, holding up their credentials, she looked away, praying they were here for Vincent, maybe looking for a debrief on the diner dustup. She put her fork down and prepared a pretty goodbye, hoping to leave Vincent to it and get on with his life.

      He sipped his water and then wiped his hands on a napkin. He seemed curious to see their approach, but not concerned. “The jig up?” So, he did know them.

      A tall, manly, black-haired and blue-eyed Fed stepped forward, still holding out his credentials, but aiming it at Avery. It read Special Agent John Benton, FBI. Serious as death, the man locked eyes with her. “Avery Toner Coppola, the jig is definitely up.”