A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(50)

Perhaps he could help her out with that.

“Jordan and I met two weeks ago, at her store,” he said. “On the night of the big snowstorm.”

Pete chuckled. “You really must’ve been jonesing for wine to go out in that mess.”

Nick reached across the table and linked his fingers through Jordan’s. “I think Fate had a higher purpose for bringing me to her store that night.” He winked at her. I’ve got this.

Melinda melted. “That’s so sweet.”

“Then what happened?” Corinne prompted.

Nick faced Jordan’s friends. For her sake, he’d tell the truth—perhaps not the whole truth—but at least nothing but. “Well, I asked Jordan a few questions, some quips were exchanged, and I distinctly recall her making a sarcastic comment about chardonnay. I can’t tell you exactly what happened from there, but five days later I found myself at Xander Eckhart’s party drinking pink champagne.”

Her friends laughed. Charles raised his glass. “That’s how it happens, Nick. A cute smile, a few clever words, and five years later you’re watching Dancing with the Stars on Monday nights instead of football.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Pete said indignantly.

As the group teased Pete, Nick felt Jordan squeeze his knee underneath the table.

She spoke softly as she held his gaze. “Thank you.”

It took far more effort than it should have to make his tone sound as cavalier as always.

“Any time, Rhodes.”

MELINDA AND CORINNE struck fast, cornering Jordan in the kitchen while she opened a bottle of Moscato d’Asti she’d brought to go with dessert.

“About your mystery man,” Melinda led in. “I think he really likes you.”

“I agree. This one has the legs to be around awhile,” Corinne said. “And I like him. Which, of course, is the most important thing.”

“We like him,” Melinda emphasized.

Jordan set the corkscrew on the counter, their enthusiasm making her feel like an even bigger jerk than before. Of course they had to go and like Nick. Although she couldn’t say she blamed them—he was laying on the charm a little thicker than usual tonight.

“I hope it seems like he likes me,” she said, trying to walk a fine line of truth with her words. “Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen when people date?” She reached into the cabinet behind her and grabbed six champagne flutes.

“It’s funny, though. It almost seems like he’s trying to hide it. Like how he kept sneaking looks at you during dinner,” Melinda said.

Corinne pointed. “I saw that, too!”

Jordan turned around. “I didn’t notice any unusual amount of looks.” She thought about this for a moment. If Nick had been looking at her, she supposed it was just part of the role he was playing that night.

“I like how he calls you Rhodes,” Corinne said.

“It is my name.”

“Yeah, but it sounds affectionate when he says it. Playful.”

“Flirty,” Melinda agreed.

“Naughty,” Corinne said.

The two of them burst into giggles.

Oh boy. Jordan took a sip of the moscato, thinking she was going to need a second round pronto if Melinda and Corinne continued the post-dinner debriefing much longer. She tried to diffuse their interest without giving anything away. “Look, Nick is a complicated person. Perhaps we should let this one simmer for a while before we read too much into his every move.”

Melinda leveled her with a stare. “Jordan. You don’t have to pretend around us. It’s okay to admit that you like this guy.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I brought him here tonight. That speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

Both Corinne and Mel waited expectantly.

Jordan caved and gave them what they wanted, sensing there would be no moving on—and no peace for the rest of the evening—until she did so. “All right. Sheesh. I like the guy, okay?” She waited for the sinking feeling that would come with the knowledge that she’d just told her friends another lie.

It didn’t happen.

She must’ve been getting better at this secret-agent-accomplice thing than she’d realized.

Eighteen

“WHAT DO YOU mean, you haven’t found anything on Stanton?” Xander demanded to know. “You must not be looking hard enough.” If Mercks thought he was paying four hundred dollars an hour for piss-poor surveillance, he had another think coming.

It was Sunday morning—over a week since Mercks had begun his assignment. They were back in Xander’s office, where he conducted all of his business. With the security system he’d installed to protect his cellar, it was the one place he always felt secure.

“Trust me, we’ve been looking.” Mercks was seated in one of the chairs in front of Xander’s desk. “First we started with the basics: Nick Stanton has no criminal history, good credit, and a clean driving record. He owns a condo in Bucktown valued at just under a half million, and pays his mortgage on time. Between checking and savings accounts, stocks, mutual funds, convertible securities, and bonds, he’s worth about another million. No outstanding debts, no unusual draws from his bank accounts.

“Next we moved on to personal information: he’s an only child, both parents are deceased. No ex-wives or kids, at least none that we could find. He grew up in a midsized town just outside of Philadelphia, and went to Penn State. Majored in management through the College of Business. Nothing remarkable in his academic records. Came to Chicago about a year after he graduated and has lived here since.”