I nodded once, even though he couldn’t see me. “You’re the best.”
He disconnected. I was already parked under a streetlamp near the entrance. But Jason was right. I needed to be inside where it was light and where other people—safe people—would surround me.
It took me a minute to summon my courage, though. I climbed out, pressed the lock button on the key fob, and hurried toward the door. An ample-figured woman carrying an armload of books ambled in front of me as if she never moved faster. I did a quick recon over each shoulder, terrified my pursuer would spot me out here.
The woman with the books started to open the door.
“Let me help you, ma’am.” I reached over her shoulder and pressed the door open ahead of her.
“Thanks, dear.” She gave me a wide, lipsticked smile and headed for the counter with a RETURNS sign hanging above it.
I slid through the door, sinking into a cushioned armchair opposite the main desk, relaxing a little. I felt, what? Normal. It seemed normal to be in a busy city library on a winter evening. Normal to watch teens slouch past in leggings, Uggs, and earbuds. Normal to see a dad ushering his toddler son toward the children’s room. Normal even for the librarian to hold a finger to her lips when two men in suits started speaking in tones too loud for a library. The air smelled of books and paper and new carpet, exactly as it should.
As my breathing returned to a calmer pace—a more normal one—I pondered my earlier panics. What on earth had come over me this week? I’d acted the fool, the foolhardy, and the irrational being. Why? Such behavior wasn’t like me. Maybe it was being back in the place where I’d been a child. When I wasn’t expected to act like an adult. When nobody thought I needed to be anyone more responsible than a girl—albeit a smart and well-loved girl—my age, whatever it was at the time.
“Face it, Jordan,” I mutely scolded myself. “You’re no girl anymore. You own a business, a successful business. You are closer to thirty than any other age. You can’t go around prying into people’s lives without expecting consequences. And you definitely can’t be leaving your phone in the car at the end of the day while roving about a historic property alone.”
I’d also totally ignored the fortune-teller’s cautions. This was the second time I’d felt in danger. On the other hand, she’d said I would survive to return to the love of my heart. Abe. I closed the idea in my hand and held it tight, determined for it to be true. As I calmed, my posture sagged. I’d had a day way too full of discoveries and tensions. And then my stomach growled so loud the librarian across the way glanced up and smiled knowingly. It was definitely dinnertime.
My gaze whipped to the front door next time it opened, a smile already creeping over my face. But the slender young man who entered was not my buddy Jason, Cybercrimes Detective Wong. It was Tommy Moore. And he wore light-colored chinos.
Had it been Walter’s intern following me at the mission? Katherine had been wearing light-colored pants earlier, too. It was also possible nobody had been after me. Perhaps Tommy was merely here returning a library book. Did people his age even check out books from libraries?
Still, my heart rate revved up again. My chair was behind the copy machine, and I shifted in it so I wasn’t facing the door. Maybe Tommy wouldn’t see me.
“Hey, Moore,” Jason’s distinctive voice said.
Whew. He’d arrived. And . . . he knew Tommy? I twisted back to see them high-fiving.
“What are you doing here?” Jason asked him.
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Returning my mom’s books for her. See you on the field Saturday?” He laid three hardcovers on the Returns counter.
“You bet.”
Tommy headed out. Jason glanced around and crossed over to my chair. He squatted in front of me. “How’s it going, my friend?” He kept his voice to a murmur. “You had me worried.”
“How do you know Tommy?”
“Moore? He’s the newbie on my Ultimate team. He’s not bad, actually.”
I gave my head a little shake at this unexpected news. “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter 41
I perched in Jason’s kitchen on a wooden swiveling stool with a back. A glass of a very nice pinot noir sat on the counter in front of me, and I watched an aproned Jason wield a sharp chef’s knife. It wasn’t a big workspace, but he seemed well equipped with good implements. An array of high-quality saucepans hung from hooks above the gas stove and the sink was bare of dirty dishes. Not like some bachelor pads I’d seen.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” I asked.
“No. You relax. Nainai, my Chinese grandma, taught me this years ago. I can stir-fry in my sleep.”
My fingers were itching to do some cooking, but I’d have plenty of culinary fun after I got back to my restaurant. I crunched on a few wasabi-coated roasted peas as he chopped pungent ginger and cut a head of broccoli into bite-sized pieces.
He glanced over at me. “You okay with tofu?” he asked.
“Sure, love it.”
“So many people claim they dislike it. They don’t realize it’s a vehicle for other flavors. Like garlic, for example.” He used the flat of the knife and the heel of his hand to whack three fat bulbs, a trick that makes the skins slide off, one I’d learned long ago.
He had also set a bowl of skinny jicama spears on the counter to munch on.
“These are so good,” I said, savoring the crisp, slightly sweet root. “We can’t get jicama in Indiana.”
“Your loss, Rob.”
“I know. We have other positives out there to make up for it, though.” I took a sip of wine.
“What, like ice, snow, and tornadoes?”
“Yes, but also stunning springs
