A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(10)

“I know lots of things. Trust me, I have files worth of annoying small-talk questions I can ask as we creep through this blizzard at ten miles an hour. I figured the subject of wine seemed the most innocuous.”

She sighed, as if resigned to her fate. “The wine business is good.”

“I’m curious: who’s your typical customer?” he asked. “Do you get a lot of hard-core collectors or more locals from the neighborhood?”

“I get all types. Some people are just beginning to dabble in wine and looking for a comfortable place to learn more. Others are more experienced drinkers who like to come in and relax while sampling the wines we have open. Then there’s a third group, who I would describe as serious collectors.”

As Nick had guessed, she relaxed when discussing the subject of wine. Good. “I don’t know much about wine myself. I did hear a story a few weeks ago about some collector from Chicago who spent over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on a case of wine.” He turned to Huxley. “Can you believe it? Two hundred and fifty thousand.” He checked back in the rearview mirror. “You’re the expert, Ms. Rhodes—in the wine world, what does one get for a quarter of a million dollars?”

“A 1945 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild.”

“Wow. You came up with that awfully fast. I take it you heard about the auction, too?”

“Actually, I helped that particular collector locate the wine,” she said. “I knew it was going to auction and that he would be interested.”

“The guy had a strange name . . . I think he owned a restaurant or something.”

Huxley looked over at Nick but remained silent, having realized that their interrogation of Jordan Rhodes had begun.

“Xander Eckhart,” Jordan said.

“Must be nice having customers who buy a quarter million dollars worth of wine.”

For a brief moment, she loosened up a bit. “Unfortunately, that sale went to Sotheby’s,” she said with a smile. “But, yes, Xander is a good customer.”

And therein lay the question, Nick thought. Just how good of a customer? “I take it you know him well?”

“Well enough, I suppose.”

“How well?”

There was a pause, and he saw the stiffening in Jordan’s posture the moment she clued in.

“You want to know about Xander. That’s what this is about?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She appeared genuinely shocked. “Why would you be investigating Xander?”

Nick ignored the question, shifting into interrogation mode. “How would you describe the nature of your relationship with Eckhart?”

She seemed to weigh her options before answering. While sitting in the backseat of an SUV, in the middle of a blizzard, with two armed FBI agents in front, she didn’t have many. “Xander has been a regular customer of my store for a few years. I often handle special orders for him, expensive or rare wines you can’t get through a distributor.”

“Have you had any interactions with him outside the store?” Nick probed.

“Perhaps I really should call my lawyer. I’m suddenly finding myself very uncomfortable with this situation, Agent McCall.”

He caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “Why would talking about Xander Eckhart make you uncomfortable?”

She adjusted her position in the backseat, crossing one leg over the other. “Why don’t you spare me the interrogation and just get to the point?”

“Outside the store, do you see Eckhart socially?”

“Occasionally. We know some of the same people, so from time to time I’ll run into him at a party or at one of his restaurants. And every year I attend a charity fund-raiser that he hosts at Bordeaux. The party is this weekend, as a matter of fact.”

“Is that the full extent of your personal relationship?”

She locked eyes with him in the mirror. “What else would there be to our relationship, Agent McCall?”

“Do you have any sort of intimate connection to Eckhart?”

Her voice was smoky in the darkness of the backseat. “Just a deep appreciation for good wine.”

She turned away from him and stared out the window once again. Nick got the message, loud and clear: Conversation over.

When they arrived at the FBI office, he parked the car in the spot closest to the entrance of the glass and steel midrise building. The parking lot was virtually empty—with the snowstorm, nearly everyone had gone home for the evening. With a nod, he indicated to Huxley that he would get Jordan. He stepped out of the car and opened the back door.

Jordan hesitated before sliding across the seat. She stepped down from the SUV—one high-heeled, leather-booted leg first, then the other. Because Nick held the door open, they stood close to each other.

Thick snowflakes fell around them and tangled in her hair. Her voice was low, her tone as cold as the air. “The next time you want to know something, Agent McCall, don’t bother to sweet-talk me first. Just ask.”

“I assure you, Ms. Rhodes, when I sweet-talk a woman, she knows it.” He held out his hand, being polite. “You’re not going to get far in those boots.”

She ignored his hand. “Watch me.” She turned in her heels and walked away from the car, heading through the semi-plowed, snow- and ice-covered parking lot toward the entrance of division headquarters.