Darkness at the Edge of Town (Iris Ballard #2)(4)

“I went to a military academy,” he said. “If someone did something like this, he had to run five miles and face a tribunal. It didn’t happen often.”

“Poor baby. In that case, you want me to come down and shoot them for you?”

Finally, he chuckled. “Tempting, very tempting.”

“Seriously, though, things should die down now. Shelly was the last interview I’ve agreed to. I am now contractually obligated to lock myself in my house and write a book in three months. Some new scandal will grip the nation, and we’ll be yesterday’s news.”

“I hope so.” He paused for a second. “Sorry for complaining. I am proud of you, Iris. I want you to know that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You’re not hiding away like last time. You’ve turned…hell into something positive. You’ve come a long way in such a short time. I see you on TV, and I’m amazed. You look so beaut—” He stopped himself. “Healthy—you look healthy.”



Okay, yes, my heart skipped a beat when he almost said I was beautiful. Coming from a man who my friend Carol swore was designed by a committee of gay men and straight women, the sentiment meant a lot. I was by no means ugly; with long light-brown hair with flecks of blond in the right places, jade-green eyes, enough cleavage to rock a halter top, and no longer underweight, I got my fair share of compliments. But Luke Hudson fell into a whole other weight class. I’d actually seen waitresses fight to be the one to serve him. He had a large, muscular body, almost perfectly coiffed red hair, aquamarine eyes, and a killer smile when he used it. And if possible he looked better naked. The man was just…yummy. I often had to stop myself from thinking about him in those terms. Friends, just friends. I couldn’t handle anything else at that point. I’d just gotten him back. A flash of him lying on the floor of my basement after being shot three times crossed my mind. I said a silent prayer for the inventor of the Kevlar vest, hoping God had graced him with trillions of dollars and supermodels falling all over him.

“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “I’ve, uh, been trying yoga.”

“It, um, shows.” He cleared his throat. He did that when he was uncomfortable. “Sorry. So, uh, you’re leaving the circus, huh? Going back to Grafton?”

“Yeah. I think I’m going to rent a car,” I found myself saying. It had been nothing but a thought until then. “If I never see the inside of an airport again it’ll be too soon.”



“So, you’ll be driving through D.C. then?” he asked hopefully.

“I…yes. Yes, I will be.” My subconscious was a tricky bitch.

“Then we should have dinner or something.” He cleared his throat again. “Or, you know, we can…The symphony’s doing Handel at The Kennedy Center. I can get us tickets or…whatever.”

I drew my knees up to my chest, forming a ball. “I-I’d like that.”

“Good. Great. Excellent.” He cleared his throat again. “I can’t wait.”

“Me either. It’ll be, um, good seeing you again,” I said. “If it weren’t for the publicity stills I’m pretty sure I’d forget what you looked like.” Yeah, like that’d ever happen.

“I…yeah…okay then. Just let me know what time you’ll be in town.”

“Okay. Great. I’ll, uh, let you know. I have a meeting with CBNN tomorrow morning, so I’ll probably be there by four?”

“Okay. I’ll get the tickets. Clear my schedule. I…it’s a plan.”

“Yeah. A plan.”

“Okay then,” he said.

“Okay.” The uncomfortable silence filled the air on both our ends. “I’m gonna go now.”

“Yeah. Right. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.” He hung up.

I hung up with another smile on my face. It would be good to see Luke again. The last time we were in the same room was two weeks before, when he was awarded the FBI’s Medal of Valor. We went out for a drink afterward—ginger ale for me—with some of his buddies, and I was quickly phased out of the conversation. I snuck out without even saying goodbye, which I heard no end of for a week after. At least at dinner and the symphony it would be just the two of us. Alone. After that realization, the panic hit.



Oh, fuck, I thought. I’d just agreed to dinner and a show. It had been a while—okay, two years, three months, and five days—but if memory served, dinner and a show was a date. Did I just agree to a date with Luke Hudson?

“Oh, God,” I muttered as I picked up my phone again and called Carol. She was my sole female friend and my current advisor on all things romantic. Or at least she was the only person I trusted not to gossip about me or sell stories. Even my students had cashed in on my celebrity gravy train. I didn’t fault them too much, since I had as well. But Carol was a true friend who always helped me get my head on straight.

She picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” Carol asked in her milk-and-honey Southern accent. I was instantly homesick. It had been over three weeks since I’d been home and that was only for a night. I’d been living on planes and in hotels since I signed with Miranda and she began my press tour. I missed my home, my friends, and especially my German shepherd, Gus, more and more as the days went on. I would have started traveling earlier but wanted to stay and make sure Gus was okay after his surgery.