The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(30)

“No shit,” he said before he could stop himself. He looked up and colored a little. After all, this was his daughter!

But she didn’t seem embarrassed. “Not boring, huh?”

“She’s amazing,” he admitted. “But I bet she doesn’t know the town is talking about her.”

“It’s because she stands out. Not in a bad way. Laine seems totally cool.” Then she got a little serious. “I’m glad you like someone, Eric. I don’t think you’ve liked many women since you got out of prison.”

He looked down. He could say those words pretty easily but it still filled him with shame when Ashley said them. After all, he’d never been there for her. He gave her a biological father she should probably be ashamed of. He wished, for her sake, he’d learned about her after becoming a Rhodes scholar or something. “Not many.”

“And apparently no one special,” she said.

He met her eyes. Green on green. She was so intuitive. So smart and empathetic.

“I’m very accomplished in the skill of identifying and avoiding potential problems. Now, that is.”

“So you found yourself a woman who could shake up your world?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Awesome. I have to get to work. Listen, I’m set with school. I’ve been planning very well and I looked at all the internet links you sent me and I appreciate it a lot. And your offer is very nice. I might take you up on some help—I hear the cost of books is just deadly. For right now, I’m all set.” She winked at him and flashed him a smile. “And I’m glad you have a cool girlfriend.”

“Thanks,” he said.

She laughed a little more. “You’re so cute.”

“I don’t want to be cute,” he said.

Seven

Eric was restless and troubled through the rest of the afternoon. He needed to talk to Laine, to understand a few things about her, like what it really meant for her to be an FBI agent. It wasn’t like he never watched TV, but he just assumed she didn’t punch the clock and go to work like the NCIS team did. It was one thing for the rest of the town to speculate and he was fine with not knowing all the finer details, but still...they were lovers. And Eric was surprised to realize he was a little old-fashioned. He thought lovers should be straight with each other. He’d been straight with her. She should tell him what her job really meant.

Justin had come in at 4:00 p.m. and at five Eric asked, “Will you be all right here for an hour or so if I step out?”

“Sure,” he said.

“If you have any problems or questions, my cell is on.”

“Relax, man. I’m just pumping gas.”

“Pay attention, Justin. If anyone gives you any trouble...”

Justin straightened, insulted. “I can handle it for an hour, man.”

Even though it was misty and the sun was lowering, dropping the temperature even more, Eric walked to Laine’s house. He hoped the cold, damp air would clear his mind. He was worried about how she’d respond to his questions. After all, she’d implied this business of hers was classified, that she couldn’t talk about it. Did that mean even if the town was speculating? When she answered the door she had a paintbrush in her hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to ask you something. What are you painting?”

“The backsplash behind the stove. I thought you worked tonight.” She stepped back so he could come in.

“I have to go right back. I just want to talk to you about something.”

“Shoot,” she invited, heading for the kitchen to put down her brush.

Eric stood on the other side of the breakfast bar until she came back around. Then he threw it out there. “Are you in the witness protection program?”

“Huh?” she asked with a sharp laugh. “No!”

“Okay, were you in a cult?”

“Eric, what’s going on?” she asked much too calmly.

“People are curious about you. Talking. Trying to guess what you’re about. I didn’t hear FBI agent, but I heard operative. Spy kind of stuff. They’re making connections. Between you, a kidnapping, a rescue, a cult. What the hell, Laine?”

“Eric, I told you. I’m an agent. I’m a field agent. I don’t talk about my cases.”

“No kidding! What does that mean—you’re an agent? Other people know things—apparently some people around here are in on it. And I’ve been having scary pictures in my head all afternoon.”

“What kind of pictures?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“Pictures of you facing off with bad people, vulnerable, in danger. Somehow when you told me you worked for the FBI all that stuff didn’t pop into my head. I thought you filed stuff or looked up stuff. But scary pictures are there now. What are you?”

“Crap,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “All right, this is need-to-know, okay? The case isn’t closed, though our primary suspect is dead. But there are still loose ends to wrap up. So, I was on an assignment, which is how I met Devon. I was undercover. Only the third time I’ve done a deep-cover assignment, which means ‘live the role.’ And it stretched out way longer than we expected. It was a mess.”

“In a cult?”