I could have stood there like that for an hour or two enjoying the moment, no problem.
Two elegant women walked by and smiled approvingly, exchanging a look. That’s Paris for you.
Before I could reciprocate with the hug Lindsay let go of me and stepped back, then turned and walked away.
‘Don’t be a stranger,’ I said. At the same time I was thinking there might always be a reason for me to drop by in Washington, and who knew – I was very good at tracing people. One comms operative shouldn’t be too difficult to track down.
Or maybe that was a bad idea.
She didn’t stop or turn, but bent her head. I wondered if she was having second thoughts. I could cope with that.
Then my phone rang and I swore silently. Callahan, it had to be. Looking to clear up some agency-related mess for the record because someone had their ass in a sling. Well, he was going to have to wait. This was more important.
‘Can I call you back?’ I muttered without checking the screen. I was busy trying to spot Lindsay.
‘You better had.’ Lindsay’s voice coming out of the phone took me by surprise. It was low and throaty and carried traces of a smile which had me doing the same thing. ‘And make it soon, you hear? Citera out.’
I looked up and saw her hand holding her cellphone in the air and waving. Next second she was gone, lost in the crowd.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The real Isobel Hunt, whose persona I borrowed with kind permission. Thank you, Isobel. You did just fine!
David Headley of DHH Literary Agency, for his ongoing support and encouragement.
Kate Lyall Grant, for her enormous enthusiasm for my writing.
Natasha Bell for the very best editing and catching all my bloopers; and the rest of the team at Severn House.
