“We’ve got less than ten minutes. This time, I really do need you to hide. Will you do that? Please?”
“Tell me your plan first,” she said, not answering his question.
“I don’t have one,” he said. “Other than to get more information out of them than they get from me and to keep you safe. Everything besides that is fluid.”
She let out a loud breath.
“I can’t focus on them if in the back of my mind, I’m wondering what you’re doing,” he said.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll be in the back of the closet, hidden behind the clothes.” She started to walk toward the bedroom.
“Stormy,” he said.
She stopped. “Yes.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, turned her and kissed her. All the emotion of the moment was packed into ten seconds of scorching pleasure.
Then he stepped back. “We’re not finished,” he said.
Agent Bride
Beverly Long
BEVERLY LONG enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She has both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com, or like her at facebook.com/beverlylong.romance.
For Brynn and Eric, who both made the leap from college kid to adult look easy.
Hope you’re having fun in Missouri!
Contents
Cal Hollister rarely let anything stop him. And that included the weather. But when the freezing rain in the upper plains had turned to snow, then more snow, making the I-70 corridor a real mess, even he’d had to admit it was time to take a break.
Now, an hour east of Kansas City, Missouri, he’d filled up both his gas tank and his belly. He sat back in the tattered booth of Dawson’s Diner and watched the television that was mounted in the corner of the truck stop. It was on mute and the words flashed across the screen. Early winter storm paralyzes Midwest.
Cal stopped reading, just as he’d turned off the radio in his rental car earlier. It was all they were talking about. The storm, the storm, the storm.
Missouri rarely got heavy snow and to get it in November was real news. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let a little ice and snow stop him.
He was going home. Back to Ravesville. The idea had taken root after Cal had talked to his brother last month and learned that Chase was getting the old house they’d inherited from their mother ready to sell.
Chase hadn’t asked for help. He never did. Especially not from Cal. But it was time for that to change. Cal had finished his assignment and put plans in motion to get back to the States. It had taken a month but finally, he was a mere hundred miles northwest of his destination, more than three weeks early for Thanksgiving dinner.
“All finished?” the waitress asked as she passed the booth.
“That was amazing,” Cal said. The woman had encouraged him to get the daily special, the roast pork, especially if he was pressed for time. He didn’t have a schedule but he’d gone along with the suggestion.
She smiled. “I know. People are always surprised. They don’t expect a place like this to have a chef. Pietro worked for years at Moldaire College in a high-end restaurant in their student union. He’s always talking about how he used to cater all the important events at the college, even the private parties that the president of the college hosted.” She picked up the dirty dishes. “Can I get you anything else? Maybe a piece of apple pie?”
“I’m stuffed but because I suspect it will be every bit as good as that roast pork, I’ll take it to go.”
“Good choice,” she said. She walked over to the pie case, opened the door, slid a piece into a cardboard box, and brought it and a plastic fork back to the table.
Cal