With Malice by Rachel Lee

Author:Rachel Lee [Lee, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9781426883668
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2010-12-03T06:00:00+00:00

15

It was too late to get anywhere with the Herald photo shop, so Terry dropped Karen off at her hotel.

"We'll get started again in the morning," he told her. "Doesn't hurt to take the first day out of the hospital slow, anyway. Pick you up at nine?"

"Sure. Thanks, Terry."

He grinned and drove away. That was when she first suspected he'd been taking it easy all day, including that long lunch break, for her sake. Smiling inwardly, she headed up to her room. There was nothing like the way one cop looked out for another.

A message from Grant Lawrence awaited her, suggesting they meet at a restaurant in Georgetown for dinner at eight. "I'll be there," he said. "If you can make it, great. If you can't, don't worry about it."

She decided she would make it. And as soon as the decision was made, she had to face the fact that she wanted to see Grant Lawrence for reasons other than the case. He probably wouldn't have anything to add—after all, he was the victim, of sorts, not the perp—but she wanted to see him anyway.

For the first time, a very real fear penetrated the detachment she worked so hard to maintain. For the first time in a long time, she wasn't simply a detective doing a job, but a woman. A woman who felt very alone and very vulnerable all of a sudden.

She didn't like that at all.

She gave herself a stern lecture, muttering under her breath as she moved around the room, trying to decide what was appropriate to wear to dinner with a senator, finally ordering herself to wear something businesslike so there wouldn't be any misunderstanding.

And realizing that the only misunderstanding was apt to be on her part. In Grant Lawrence's world, she was merely a cop doing a job. He probably just wanted to pick her brains.

Finally she settled on a navy blue suit, one with a skirt that reached to mid-calf, and black low-heeled pumps. Aside from her red suit, it was the only other piece of power clothing she owned. She wore it mainly for testifying in court.

She suspected it would be apropos.

* * *

Grant was already waiting for her inside the restaurant when she arrived. A pleasant maitre d' escorted her to the table in a quiet corner, a table somewhat shielded by leafy tropical plants. Most of the tables, she noted, were shielded in just such a way.

"Hi," Grant said, rising to greet her. He shook her hand and remained standing until the maitre d' had seated her. They sat facing one another across a snowy tablecloth, with a small bowl of floating candles between them, a little sprig of flowers in a miniature vase beside it.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his gaze reflecting genuine concern.

"Much better." She smiled. "The headache is almost completely gone."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Your knee?"

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "It's been worse. This is only a minor inconvenience."

The sommelier appeared with the wine list.

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