No one protested, and soon the group dispersed. Lara lagged behind, close to her desk. She pictured Elizabeth Grant again. Was it fair that she should be allowed to relax while Elizabeth’s life had been snuffed out that day?
“Hey.” Nick came up beside her, keys twirling around his index finger. “I’m assuming you aren’t liking our latest assignment.”
Lara didn’t smile. “Not particularly.” She grabbed her bag and slipped her jacket on. Her shoulder still bothered her but not as much as taking a temporary hiatus did.
“I didn’t take you for someone who liked the term ‘rest.’” His lips quirked up in the corner. It made the attractive man even more so, but Lara wasn’t in the mood to banter.
“She was in the middle of trying on swimsuits,” Lara said. “Overpowered and strangled in a dressing room while trying on a pink bikini.”
Nick’s smirk turned down. His expression darkened.
“We’ll get them,” he said, voice low. “Whoever they are, whoever is behind this, we’ll get the sons of bitches.” Lara wanted to point out that the fact that they weren’t even sure who they were dealing with was already a step backwards that they couldn’t afford, but Nick spoke again. “But Victoria is right. Sometimes we need to regroup—to step back—or we might miss something that’s right in front of us.”
The way he said the last part caught Lara’s attention in a way that surprised her. Suddenly the space between them didn’t seem so expansive. She took a slight step backwards, dipping down to scoop up her keys.
“That may be true, but that still doesn’t mean I know how to rest. I probably couldn’t if I tried right now.”
“You mean after the chase today you aren’t the least bit tired?”
Lara shook her head. “I’m weirdly still amped up.”
Nick laughed.
“I know what you mean. Why don’t we grab a beer, and we can try out this whole ‘resting’ thing together?”
Lara raised her eyebrow. “If that’s a pickup line, I’ll have to tell you it’s a crappy one,” she said, smirking. However, the part of her that had stirred at the mention of “together” already had her answer.
Nick held up his hands to show his innocence. “Even though we’re new partners, sharing a beer or two is par for the course,” he answered reasonably. “Plus, if you don’t come I’ll be forced to drink alone.”
He turned, and she started to walk out with him.
She was still having problems trusting him—anyone—but to be successful in closing this case, she needed their partnership to work.
“Nick Delano isn’t a fan of the bar scene? Color me surprised,” she joked.
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Agent Grant,” he shot back.
“Ditto,” she replied quietly.
* * *
Nick ordered two beers as soon as they sat down. The bar, nicknamed The Pit, was filled with what Lara was realizing must have been cops.
“That explains why this place is busy, and it’s not even five yet,” she commented after making the observation to Nick.
“What better way to rest than drink among your equally burdened brethren?” he said with an influx of sarcasm. “Not to mention, we get one hell of a discount.”
Nick got their beers and slid one to her. They clinked the bottles together, and both took long drinks.
“So, if you won’t tell me about your time as Eve Johannsen, then maybe you can tell me about Lara Grant?” He raised his eyebrow in perfect unison with his smirk. If Nick wanted her to open up, she’d definitely need the alcohol between her hands.
“What do you want to know? My favorite color?” she said, trying to make this work. The very attractive man across from her was broaching a subject that she rarely talked about.
Would she ever have a life—undercover or not—that didn’t make her cringe to openly discuss?
“Wow, that’s a pretty personal question,” he said, feigning offense. “I wasn’t going to ask something that serious until after you’d had a few.” He shrugged. “But since you brought it up...”
Lara followed by example and took a good drink off of the top. She didn’t always like the taste of beer, but right now it was welcomed.
“I like black,” she answered. “It’s simple, classic, chic.”
“Your favorite color is black,” he deadpanned.
“What? Was I supposed to say pink?”
The agent shook his head. “I never pegged you as a pink-loving kind of woman.”
Lara raised her eyebrow. “And why is that?”
Nick leaned against the bar top and smirked.
“Because I think you’re a bit more difficult than that.”
He raised his beer up, and she couldn’t help but clink to that.
“My favorite color is red, if you were interested,” he continued. “But since you didn’t ask...”
Lara laughed, surprising herself. She knew he deserved more from her than the quiet that she wanted to supply. He was her partner, after all. A man who believed in the bond that came with that title. Lara took another swig. So Lara did something she hadn’t been able to do while undercover.
She opened up about herself.
“Okay, you want to know about me? Shoot.” She held up her bottle. “But be warned, just because you ask doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
Nick’s eyes widened in mock delight, and he thrummed his fingers against the bar and gave her an appraising look.
“Okay, let’s jump right in. Where are you from? Local or transplant from somewhere humid as hell?”
“Rockaway Beach,” she answered.
“Ah, I’m all Brooklyn baby over here.”
“That seems fitting.”
He flashed her a grin.
“If my mom had had it her way, we would have left for the coast instead,” he continued. “But Dad had his hands in the pies here.”
“May I ask what pies we’re talking about?” Lara asked, interest piqued.
“He’s an attorney,” he answered, no pride evident in his voice. “The kind interested in money and fame and all the trimmings you get from those two mixed. He’s the guy you see on the news blocking senators all the way down to drug lords, swearing up and down every one of his clients is one-hundred percent innocent.” Nick snorted, rolling his eyes. “I don’t get it, but to each their own.”
Lara didn’t know how to respond right away. His admission was brief but seemed oddly personal. His face had hardened, his eyes had gone momentarily into slits. She didn’t think he’d meant to open up that much so soon. He took another drink. Lara decided it was only fair to give something of hers up in return.
“As you know, my dad was a detective. Queens NYPD. Retired a few years back,” she said. “I’m still operating under the assumption that a majority of kids of cops become cops themselves. Or, some version of them.”
Nick laughed.
“I’d have to agree with you there. In the academy I met quite a few people with law enforcement in their family.”
“It’s like a disease,” she said, giving him a sly smile. He held his beer out to clink to that.