first vacation from the FBI in almost eight years? He was just telling me he has so much time saved up they made him take three months off."
Almost eight years ago, on the night he'd married Kitty, his bags had been packed for the FBI Academy. Though he'd arrived home that summer with the intention of returning to Berkeley in September for his second year of law school, the tragic events in late June had brought him to the attention of some federal agents. Almost eight years ago, sitting on the banks of Piney Creek on his last night in town, he'd confessed to Kitty, and to Kitty alone, his secret decision to leave law school and attend the Academy instead.
Her heart squeezed, feeling a nostalgic pang for the naive teenage girl who had been so flattered and thrilled he'd chosen to confide in her. "Eight years?" she echoed, as if she didn't know exactly how many days and months had passed. "He's been very busy, I suppose."
"Oh, yeah," Dylan said. "I've been busy catching up with all the bad guys."
His dark good looks were no less brooding and romantic than they'd been that night, and Kitty could almost forgive herself for the foolishness of marrying him.
"The world is full of dishonest people," he continued. Then smiled. At her.
Dishonest people, he'd said. Meaning her.
She bristled, her sentimental recollections evaporating. "Dishonest?!"
He raised his eyebrows. "What would you call it?"
Young. Silly. Starstruck.
She took a calming breath. "I'd call it a conversation we should have some other time." And never in front of Aunt Cat. "But it's getting late now, and I'm sure you're hungry - "
"Oh, forgive me," Aunt Cat interjected. "I should have set something out. It will just take a minute for crackers and cheese..." She was bustling toward the kitchen before Kitty could stop her.
So she glared at Dylan instead. "I don't want Aunt Cat involved in this, I told you. So just go now, Dylan. I'll make your excuses."
He shook his head, and the late-afternoon light flashed on the links of a thin gold chain hanging around his neck. "And never catch up with you again? I don't think so. Not until we set a place and a time to talk this out."
Panic rose in Kitty's chest again, clogging her throat. She never wanted to talk it out. "I'll take care of ... the problem," she said hoarsely. "I promise."
"When?" he asked bluntly. "In another eight years?"
Kitty flushed. He'd backed her neatly into a corner and she didn't like the feeling. "What's the emergency?" she grumbled. "Afraid you'll feel guilty about your swinging bachelorhood?"
"Kitty, you beat me to it." Aunt Cat was back in the room, a platter in her hands. "Pass this to Dylan, won't you, dear?"
"I beat you to what?" Kitty obediently took the platter and walked it over to Dylan.
Aunt Cat smiled mischievously. "Dylan's bachelor status, of course. I've heard rumors about a wedding."
Kitty's hands jerked.
Dylan's reflexes were quick enough to catch the edge of the plate as it dipped. He held it steady and looked beyond Kitty. "Excuse me, Ms. Wilder?"
Kitty's mind whirled. "Redding," she said quickly. "Aunt Cat wants to know if you've ever been to Redding, California. You know, farther north." She had no idea what Aunt Cat was talking about, but with Dylan's cooperation, maybe they could redirect the conversation so it wouldn't go into what sounded like dangerous territory.
Dylan's lip curled. "She asked me about a wedding."
So much for cooperation.
"Kitty, are you all right?" Aunt Cat asked. "I certainly did say 'wedding.'" Her mischievous smile broke out again. "Forgive my nosiness, Dylan, but I read a tabloid at the hairdresser's that said you were marrying Honor Witherspoon."
Kitty's jaw dropped. "Honor Witherspoon?" That was the name of the heiress the FBI - starring Dylan - had rescued from a kidnapping a few months before.
She'd read the newspaper accounts, but apparently there was more to the story than what USA Today and The Sacramento Bee had reported.
Dylan's face went blank. Careful, federal-employee. G-man blank. "Honor and I are just friends."
Kitty stared at him. Just friends? Not "friends," which could actually mean friends, but just friends. Her throat tightened. Still holding the untouched platter of cheese and crackers, she walked stiffly back to her chair and sat down.
"Ah." Aunt Cat nodded. "Of course I don't believe everything I read, but it does sound as if that young woman's father wants you in the family."
Honor Witherspoon. Of course Dylan would want to end his