He turned to Harper, who was wearing a sly grin. “You clever bastard…” He put his hand on the other man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks, John. I owe you one.”
“Take her somewhere nice, Ryan. She deserves it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ryan let go of his friend’s shoulder and hurried down the steps, wrapping her up in his arms before they shared a lingering kiss. Harper watched from the top of the steps with a rueful grin, laughing a little at the strange compatibility of the couple. Ryan with his unkempt hair, tattered sweater, and heavy boots, while Katie looked like she had just stepped off a runway in Milan.
Harper thought of Julie and his smile grew. As he walked toward the parking lot and his own waiting car, he decided that they would enjoy a night out on the town as well. After all, life was too short for anything less.
CHAPTER 22
ASHLAND, VIRGINIA,WASHINGTON, D.C.
Nicole Milbery had been in the real estate business for sixteen years, and had never wanted to do anything else. Now, at thirty-seven years of age, she was a slender woman of medium height, well known and highly respected in her community. Her shoulder-length honey-blond hair was layered in the latest style, and her soft, doelike brown eyes belied the dogged determination and intelligence that was a hallmark of her character and the reason for her considerable success. She was the sole proprietor of Milbery Realty, an agency based in the northern reaches of Virginia that catered primarily to upscale clientele.
The person sitting across from her now did not fall into that category. He was looking for something far more modest, 120 acres at the most, and only to rent. Although her profit on the deal would be marginal at best, she found herself unwilling to hurry the proceedings along. He was a strikingly handsome man. The dark brown hair was streaked with gold, and she noticed that it drifted over his forehead into his eyes, which were the most amazing color of green she had ever seen. His full lips were perfectly centered beneath a long, straight nose; the clean- shaven jaw was square and firm, and his skin radiated a healthy glow.
He had come into her office just forty-five minutes earlier. When they shook hands he had smiled, revealing boyish dimples and a set of perfect white teeth. Her breath had caught in her throat, and ever since that moment, her professional poise had seemed an arm’s length away, just beyond her grasp when she needed it most.
“So, Mr. Nichols,” she said, deliberately emphasizing the seductive quality of her voice. Her eyes were locked onto his. “I think we’ve made some good choices here. When would you like to take a look at these properties?”
He covered his mouth and faked a cough to hide his sudden grin. Just hearing her say it made him want to laugh. He had chosen it on a whim three years earlier, and in retrospect, he knew it had been a mistake. The very name itself occasionally drew attention, something that he was definitely not looking for.
Still, it was amusing.
He moved his hand away, once again in full control. “As soon as possible, Nicole,” he said with another charming smile. “I have time today, if you do. And please, call me Tim.”
He thought the third house would suit his needs perfectly.
It was a farm, really, 97 acres situated on earth that would now be teeming with hundreds of rows of red winter wheat if the fields had been seeded in early September. Because they had not, the recent rainstorms had washed away much of the topsoil, leaving behind what could only be described as a lake of mud.
The property was located just off Chamberlayne Road north of Richmond. It was a rural community; the closest house was a half mile away, but Interstate 295, which ran east and west, was less than 3 miles away, and I-95, which ran north to Washington, was not more than 4 miles to his west. He turned his attention back to the one-story red brick house as they walked away from Milbery’s Ford Escape and up the hard-packed dirt of the driveway.
“As you can see,” she was saying, “the house itself is somewhat modest, but really quite lovely. I know it looks small, but the basement is finished and quite extensive. Perhaps the best part of all is the privacy.”
They were inside, moving steadily through the small structure. “This is the den. Hardwood floors in every room.” She stamped her heel lightly as if to prove her point. “Plus, a cozy little fireplace for the cold nights that we’ve been getting. Perfect for you and… Is there a Mrs. Nichols?”
Will Vanderveen held up his left hand, which was missing a ring on the third finger. When he winked at her, she blushed and turned her face away.
He looked around at the depressing surroundings. What a shit hole, he thought. He would never have been caught dead living in such a place voluntarily, but for less than a month, he could suffer in silence. Besides, he was interested in the property for other reasons.
“Nicole, do you think we could take a look at the barn?”
It was far more impressive than the house, a solid structure with staggered floors that followed the contours of a gently sloping hill. Vanderveen looked around, pleased by what he saw. From the road, only the very top of the barn could be seen, as it was located behind the house. The interior was dry and warm. It offered an entrance on only one end, but there was a large sliding door with a heavy lock. More importantly, the single entrance was wide enough to accommodate a large commercial van. He kicked aside some of the straw to reveal a hard concrete floor.
It couldn’t have been better.
He turned to ask a question and found her facing away from him, leaning over to pluck a wayward piece of straw from the top of her shoe. He thought she had timed it well. His eyes moved over her ass, firm beneath the short red skirt, and down the long, taut legs to the three-inch heels she was wearing.
She removed the offending article and stood up quickly. Turning to face him, she immediately caught his wandering gaze. A small smile played over her glossy red lips. “Do you like it?” She was trembling with anticipation. “The place, I mean.”
He wasn’t embarrassed at all. He held her eyes and said, very quietly, “It’s perfect.”
“So you’ll be taking it, then?”
“I think you could say that, Nicole.” He was already walking toward her, slowly working the buttons loose on his shirt. “You could definitely say that.”
It had been two days since the meeting with Director Andrews at Langley. Ryan spent the mornings at Headquarters, but the afternoons were reserved for Katie alone. They went window shopping in Georgetown, and for long walks hand in hand through the stark winter contrasts of Rock Creek Park. They ate at ridiculously expensive restaurants on the Hill, and even took in a play at Ford’s Theatre, something she had wanted to do for a long time.
It was late in the evening on the third day when they arrived at the Capital Grille, a small, elegant restaurant on the corner of 6th and Pennsylvania. As always, Ryan felt a pleasant little jolt at the way heads turned to follow Katie’s passage through the crowded dining area. She was wearing a slinky black dress that ended at midthigh, and sling-back heels that perfectly accentuated her long, slender legs. Her usual glossy pink nail polish had been replaced by a clear lacquer, and her hair was swept up into an impossible pile that she had somehow secured with a number of silver barrettes. Ryan thought she had never looked more beautiful.
The meal was delicious and the surroundings nothing less than spectacular. Katie was amazed when Senator John McCain came walking through the door, immediately followed by a phalanx of junior staffers. Ryan almost had to restrain her from jumping up to point and scream like a giddy schoolgirl; Katie followed politics with the same degree of enthusiasm her peers reserved for musicians and celebrities.
He wondered how she might react to the fact that he was meeting with President Brenneman in less than a week, but decided that the reserved atmosphere of the restaurant was no place to find out. He pictured her probable response: You’re kidding, right? You’re so full of shit, Ryan!” All of this in a loud voice, overheard by the horrified waiters as they tried to figure out what to do. The image caused him to laugh out loud, as did the questioning look that she shot him across the table.
When they returned to the Hay-Adams just after midnight, the warmth of their suite was a pleasant reprieve from the damp snow that was drifting over the city. Katie collapsed onto the bed without kicking off her shoes, still floating from her Congressional sighting and the excellent ’94 California chardonnay they had consumed with their
