Flashpoint by Brockmann Suzanne

Author:Brockmann, Suzanne [Brockmann, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780345472168
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2004-03-30T07:00:00+00:00

It was lunchtime before the reporter came close enough to talk to her.

Tess sat in the minuscule amount of shade thrown by Khalid’s wagon and cut open the corner of the military-issue meal-in-a-pouch that Jimmy Nash had put in her bag back at Rivka’s.

Spaghetti and meatballs was written in no-frills default computer print on the outside of the plastic, but whatever was inside had the consistency of pudding. Or baby food.

“It helps if you put it inside your shirt for a few minutes,” Will Schroeder said as he approached. He was smiling at the look of horror and disbelief she was sure she was wearing. “That way it’ll heat up—at least to body temperature.”

“I’ve already opened it,” she said. “No way am I putting it in my shirt now.”

Will Schroeder had a nice, friendly smile in a pleasant enough face, although his sunglasses kept her from seeing his eyes. With the fair skin of a redhead, he also wore a hat to help protect himself against the sun. Tess could see traces of sunblock along his hairline and beneath his ear. Even using an SPF 30, he probably had to reapply it frequently to keep from doing a total lobster.

As the official spokeswoman for the Freckle League, she could relate.

“It’s actually kind of nice that this stuff is slightly cool,” she said, shading her eyes to look up at him. “Although I think it’ll help if I stop thinking of it as spaghetti and meatballs. If I gave it a French name, maybe I could pretend it’s gourmet soup, served chilled, from a four-star restaurant.”

He laughed and motioned to the remaining patch of shade. “May I?”

“Of course. It’s Will, right?”

He nodded as he sat down. Held out a hand. “Schroeder. From Boston.”

They shook. Between their two right hands, they were wearing five different Band-Aids. It made Tess think of Jimmy Nash and his dings. Of course, there wasn’t much that didn’t make her think of Nash. She’d done little else all morning long, in between praying that she’d get her period and praying for a freak snowstorm.

“Tess Nash,” she said. “From . . .” She laughed. “I don’t know where I’m from anymore.” Certainly not Iowa, where she’d been born. Or even San Francisco where she’d moved with her mother after her parents’ divorce. “I lived in D.C. for the past few years, but Jimmy, my husband—we were just married—is from Boston, too. He’s with People First.”

“Yeah,” Will said. His smile didn’t fade, not a bit. “I had the pleasure of meeting Jimmy in Bali a few years back.”

Pleasure? “Yes, he told me,” Tess said, just as pleasantly.

“I met Larry there, too.”

It took her a moment to realize that by Larry he meant Decker. Jimmy and Larry. Larry and Jimmy. Just a coupla American guys.

Right.

“Let’s cut the crap,” Will said, still smiling. “Shall we? I know you’re not a relief worker—none of you are.”

Tess calmly ate her lunch. “Soupe glacée de tomate au boeuf,” she said. “It actually does taste better if you think of it that way.

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