Cutting Edge

CHAPTER TEN

While Nora changed her clothes, Duke walked around her house, curious. He’d never been here before, and he was pleased to see that it was both what he expected-private, tasteful, neat-and what he didn’t expect: open rooms, lots of windows, large garden, and an extensive collection of knickknacks.

The house itself wasn’t large, but it rested at the end of a short, private street in a hidden community in the middle of Fair Oaks. Each room was oversized, with high, vaulted ceilings and large windows. The windows in the rear looked out into a yard that distinguished itself by being simple: A deck overlooked a wide expanse of mowed grass, with established oak trees along the back hillside, a small, elegant pool to the right, and a rose garden to the left. The lighting was well placed, and the yard was one that would be comfortable year-round-there was even a gazebo in the corner for rainy days.

Duke had expected Nora to be more of a minimalist, but her home had built-in bookshelves in nearly every room, bursting with books and knickknacks and pictures, mostly of her and her sister Quin. Nora seemed to collect … things. One shelf of small clear glass animals, another shelf of seashells, another of ceramic elephants, and yet another of coffee mugs from twenty-one of the fifty states. He counted them.

In the den there were stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes and vintage crowding a loveseat in the corner. It made him wonder why she couldn’t part with any of them, why she clung to mementos. Above the couch was a framed photograph of Nora accepting an award, rifle in hand. He looked closer and was impressed, but not surprised, that she’d made FBI Sharpshooter.

There were two bedrooms on either side of the great room, each with its own bathroom, but Duke avoided those, not wanting to walk in on Nora dressing. Not true. He absolutely wanted to watch her dress-or undress. But not tonight. They were exhausted, and he just wanted to make sure she was okay after the afternoon at the lake. The experience bothered her on many levels, and Duke had finally gotten her to start opening up.

He found her in the kitchen. She’d changed into sweatpants and a faded FBI Academy T-shirt. She still looked gorgeous. She’d washed her face, and though she wore little makeup during the day, now she was fresh-faced and looked younger than her years.

“I boiled some water-I’m having chamomile tea, no caffeine-nothing to interrupt my sleep tonight. I also have caffeinated bags-”

“Chamomile sounds great.” It sounded like drinking weeds, but Duke wanted any excuse to stay.

“Do you live far from here?”

“Rancho Cordova.”

She shot him a look. “You don’t seem the type.”

“Because it’s a working-class city?”

“Maybe.”

He shrugged. “It’s my parents’ house.”

“You live with your parents?”

“They died. A plane crash.”

“I’m sorry. Recently?”

“Thirteen years ago. Now it’s just me and Sean.”

She put the tea in front of him, slid over the honey. He sipped it, then added some honey.

“What happened?” she asked.

He realized she thought his entire family was gone. “I should say, it’s just Sean and me in the house. My older brother Kane is a soldier for hire in Central America. The twins, Liam and Eden, are younger than me and live in Europe.”

“Europe?”

“They run their own personal security company there. For the rich and famous.” He laughed, but it didn’t sound funny. Maybe because he’d never thought it was a good idea.

He changed the subject. He didn’t mind talking about his family, but he wanted to find out more about Nora. “I like your house.”

Even in her exhaustion, she brightened. “Thank you. I’ve been here seven years. Bought it just after I turned thirty. It’s always been my dream …” Her voice trailed off and she grew melancholy.

“To own a house?”

“To have a home.”

There was a distinction, and Duke was curious. “Did you move a lot growing up?”

She didn’t say anything for a long minute. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“What would you say?”

“You don’t really want to know.”

“I do, or I wouldn’t have asked. I’m not making small talk.”

“Then what are you doing?” She looked him in the eye. She was suspicious, wary, and sensitive. But there was something about her tone, something hopeful.

Duke leaned back. “I’m getting to know you. It’s what people do when they work together. When they like each other. When they’ve been interested for, oh, four years. It’s called conversation.”

“I must have missed that lesson.” She glanced down at the mug, but there was a half smile on her lips, a smile she didn’t want him to see. She sighed and said, “I didn’t have a conventional upbringing. I didn’t go to school, for one. Lorraine claimed she was homeschooling me.”

“Lorraine is your mother?”

“Unfortunately. Her idea of education was teaching me about her favorite social causes. I learned how to pick a lock, paint a protest sign, and make bombs.”

That wasn’t the answer Duke had been expecting. He didn’t know what to say. How could he have worked with her on half a dozen cases over the years and not known?

Nora waved her hand as if it didn’t matter, but Duke saw it mattered greatly to her. “Some of Lorraine’s friends were saner than she was. I learned how to read because of Gigi, a wonderful but eccentric woman who followed the Grateful Dead around for fifteen years, earning her way by knitting and selling sweaters. I used to have some. My mother left me with Gigi for a few months when she went off on one of her crusades. The first time was when I was five, but I stayed with Gigi quite a bit. She had a pickup truck with a camper shell. Almost like a home.”

The wistful angst in her voice twisted his heart. No one should grow up like that.

“I assume your father wasn’t in the picture.”

She shook her head. “Not mine, not Quin’s. Different fathers. So we think. Lorraine knew who my father was-at least his name. I tracked him down much later. He died at the age of thirty-two, drunk. He fell off the cliffs near Soquel. Lorraine doesn’t know who Quin’s father is-never cared, either. She named her Quin Teagan because Teagan was the name of some guy she liked-but admitted to me that she’d never slept with him. I don’t know where she got Quin from. I think she took it from a Bob Dylan song, but spelled the name wrong. Probably on purpose. Lorraine never liked conventions.”

She looked out the window into the dark.

“I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories-”

“You didn’t. Today-it was just a hard day.”

“The lake.”

“That, and the arson, and the killer-you said something earlier.”

“About the psychopath.”

He remembered it well, because it had affected her.

“I knew a psychopath once. Cameron Lovitz. My mother met up with him when I was nearly sixteen. She’d always been a criminal, a petty criminal. Nothing more violent than graffiti, trespassing, and petty theft. A few bombs-but they rarely worked. She didn’t know I’d been sabotaging her plans for years.” Nora sighed. Duke didn’t interrupt. She needed the time to tell her story the way she wanted.

“I was just waiting until I was eighteen,” she said a few moments later, “but honestly, I didn’t know if I would leave-I couldn’t leave Quin. I was the one who made sure she went to school, and I taught myself with her schoolbooks. I used to live in libraries …” She cleared her throat, sipped her tea. “But Cameron Lovitz was a terrorist. He boasted of sinking a boat off Santa Barbara that was carrying a high-ranking oil executive and his family. I didn’t know if I could believe him, but at the public library I researched his claim and learned a board member of an offshore oil drilling company had died in what was apparently an accident. Did Lovitz do it? Maybe.

“But I became less skeptical of his claims when he pulled my mother into crazy plans. Setting bombs in new housing developments, planning to derail a train carrying toxic waste to show the dangers of toxic chemicals. Lorraine bought into it. And I was in the middle of it.”

She got up and poured her half-gone tea down the drain, rinsed the cup, and left it in the sink. “Lorraine was so stupid. And blind. And she said she loved Cameron and would do anything he asked her. Including breaking into Diablo Canyon nuclear power plant. Knowing what I know now, there was no way their plan would have worked, but that wasn’t the purpose. I think the purpose was to scare people. And maybe they should have been scared.”

“What happened?”

“I turned FBI informant when I was seventeen. Worked with the Los Angeles office, gave them everything, and they were there to catch them.”

“But they didn’t?”

“Cameron Lovitz is dead. The others are in prison, including my mother.”

“And then you joined the FBI?” It seemed incredible and unexpected, but it fit Nora.

“I didn’t know what I wanted to do after my world fell apart.” She walked over to the counter, leaned against it. “My handler lied to me. About a lot of things, but I didn’t know that until he died during the operation. I hated him, but I didn’t. I understand why, now, but at the time …” Her voice trailed off. “I met another agent out of Los Angeles, Rick Stockton. He’s now a director at the FBI lab. He was everything that Andy Keene was not. And he taught me a lot, helped me gain custody of Quin, helped me get my GED and go to college. Urged me to take psychology because of my aptitude tests.”

“Psychology? Are you a profiler?” It made sense, the way she analyzed where the arsonists took the ducks.

“I have the certification. The BSU offered me a position, but it meant a lot of travel.”

“You don’t like to travel?”

“One week here or there for vacation? Sure. For my job? No. I wanted a home. A place of my own. A place for my stuff.” She laughed at herself, but it was a sad sound, and Duke rose from his chair and crossed over to Nora. He took her hands into his, and squeezed.

“Home is everything,” Duke said. “I didn’t realize how important it was until my parents died, and it was gone. So, yeah, I understand exactly what you’re feeling.”

She swallowed, trying to extract her hands from his, but Duke didn’t let go.

“I also finally figured out what makes you tick.”

“You don’t know me-” she began.

“On the contrary. Do you realize that every decision you make is always about someone else? From turning FBI informant to raising your sister to joining the FBI.”

“That’s not true-”

“Would you have stayed with Lorraine as long as you did if Quin wasn’t in the picture?” he interrupted.

“Probably not, but-”

“And why are you here in Sacramento? Because of your sister?”

“Family. You said it yourself, home is everything. Quin’s my only family, why are you picking on me?” That came out wrong. She sounded immature and stupid, and it wasn’t what she meant, but she didn’t like how Duke Rogan had a way of looking at her as if he knew her better than she knew herself.

“You have a beautiful house, but you’re never here to enjoy it. You work fourteen hour days, seven days a week. I don’t think you’ve ever put yourself first, or factored in your dreams ahead of Quin or your partner or your boss or the damn FBI. It’s never, ‘What does Nora want?’ It’s always, ‘What does someone else need?’ What do you do for fun? Do you like to swim in that incredible pool out back? Do you like skiing? Camping? Going to amusement parks?”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them back, averting her gaze.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that I want you so much, Nora, but even more than that, I want you to be happy.”

“I’ve never been to Disneyland,” she said softly. “I can’t believe I’m upset about it.”

Nora should have anticipated Duke’s kiss, but it surprised her nonetheless when his lips touched hers.

It was light, airy, for only a moment. Then he pressed his solid body against hers, his hands wrapped around her waist to hold her against him, and he took the kiss from warm to scorching in seconds.

The heat radiated from his body, his mouth claimed hers, hard and intense, sending a lightning bolt through her nerves. Her hand went up to his face, touched it, and he shivered against her.

The kiss was all she could think of, her mouth drawing in his tongue, his taste and scent wrapping around her senses so she couldn’t think. She was on fire, a good fire, a yearning and need for Duke that she’d kept simmering on the back burner for far too long. The fear was still there, but she pushed it aside as her hands reached into his hair and a moan escaped her throat.

He pulled his mouth from hers, kissed her jawline, her ear, and whispered, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for years.” He feathered kisses on her face. “I should go.”

She nodded her agreement. It was a lie. And he knew it.

He kissed her, held her chin in his palm. “Next time I’m going to stay.”

Her knees buckled as a hot wave of anticipation jolted her. He smiled, as if he knew what he’d done to her.

“I’m going to go before I find it too hard to leave. Set your alarm, and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning at FBI headquarters.”

Nora was speechless. She followed Duke to the front door. Her voice seemed to have disappeared. She cleared her throat.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered.

He turned and stared at her, a deadly serious half smile on his face. “Sweet dreams, Nora.” But his tone was anything but sweet. It was spicy and held the promise of his words, “Next time I’m going to stay.”

Then he left.

She locked the door behind him, set her alarm, and stood there, calming her racing heart, still feeling his lips on hers, his mouth hot and seeking, his hand on her chin.

There was no going back. She’d tasted the forbidden fruit, and she wanted more.

It wasn’t Duke Rogan who was forbidden; it was anyone who tried to get too close. He was dangerous to her carefully arranged life, her quiet home, her peace. She’d built everything around her with care: her friendships, her relationship with Quin, her career. Someone like Duke could throw it all off balance. Though with someone like Duke, she almost didn’t care if he turned her life upside down.

Still, she was terrified of losing herself, losing everything she’d worked hard to achieve. But mostly she was scared that the wall that kept her from getting too close to anyone or anything would melt under the laser blue gaze of Duke Rogan.

While her sister Quin had made a point to date many men as often as possible-all smart, professional, attractive, eligible bachelors-Nora’s sister’s relationships were fleeting. Quin never put her heart on the line, therefore she couldn’t be hurt. But neither was she happy-though she’d never admit that.

Nora was the opposite. She’d been involved with very few men since Andy Keene. She had always put everything on the line-and each time, the relationship had ended badly. Nora liked her present life. She longed to come home at the end of a busy day. She loved sitting on her deck and reading until the last sunlight disappeared.

If she wanted to have cereal for dinner or cold pizza for breakfast, she could, without commentary or criticism.

She was content.

But contentment was lonely.