his short time with the bureau behind a desk in Cleveland. But that his instincts and his motives were genuine. Yet, there was still something about the tall, lanky agent that rubbed Gwen the wrong way.
What she did know was that his polite, Midwestern manner grated on her. Perhaps he seemed too good to be real. Too honest. Too much of a Boy Scout. The kind of guy who would never drive over the speed limit or have one too many drinks. The kind of guy who went out of his way to open doors for women, but couldn’t remember to keep his dollar bills in a money clip or take time to shine his shoes. Maybe that was why she insisted on ruffling his feathers, pushing his buttons. Maybe she wanted to expose that calm, polite, naive Boy Scout’s facade, rip it just a bit and see what was underneath, discover what he was really made of. Had too many years as a psychologist made her cynical?
“Dr. Patterson?”
Gwen and Tully stopped and looked up at the man leaning over the second-floor railing. When he realized he was right, he bounded down the stairs with an athletic gait. Gwen knew immediately, before any introductions, that this had to be Nick Morrelli, the man who managed to make Maggie O’Dell blush at just a mention of his name. And now Gwen could understand why. He was more handsome than Maggie’s description, the epitome of the cliché tall, dark and handsome, with a strong square jaw, warm blue eyes and dimples when he smiled.
“You must be Nick Morrelli,” she said, offering her hand as he got to the bottom of the steps. “I’m Gwen Patterson.”
“And I’m Agent R.J. Tully.” Tully had to reshuffle the bags to free a hand, nearly dropping her overnight case in the process.
“Here, let me take one of those,” Nick said, helping Tully peel the laptop case’s strap from his shoulder. “District Attorney Richardson is still in court, so you’re stuck with me. I’ll take you upstairs. We can put your bags in a safe place. Why don’t we take the elevator.” He led them farther into the lobby to a bank of elevators and pushed the up button. “How was your flight?”
“It was fine,” Gwen said. She hated small talk, but Nick made it seem as if he was genuinely interested, so she humored him. “Not much of a lunch, so I hope you have some good coffee waiting for us.”
“There’s a Starbucks across the street. I’ll send someone out. What would you like?”
“A café mocha would be lovely.” She smiled at Nick as he held the elevator door open and let her squeeze past him. As she did so, she noticed Tully watching her, and from his frown, she knew exactly what he was thinking. But she didn’t care if he was disgusted by her shameless flirting. The least she could get out of this trip was a good cup of coffee.
“How about you, Agent Tully?”
“Just regular coffee is fine,” he said, in what almost sounded like a grumble. Gwen watched him lean against the far corner of the elevator car with his eyes glued to the numbers above the door. What happened to the polite Boy Scout?
Now Gwen did the same—watched the numbers light up, one floor at a time—suddenly uncomfortable with the tension between the two men and feeling somewhat responsible.
“How’s Maggie?” Morrelli asked without taking his eyes from the numbers above the door.
“She’s good.” She waited for him to ask more, but he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable asking for more information with Agent Tully sulking nearby. She glanced at Tully and wondered if he knew about Nick and Maggie. Although, what was there really to know, since Maggie herself didn’t seem to know what to do with the handsome assistant district attorney?
With Nick being in Boston and Maggie living in Newburgh Heights, Virginia, the two of them had little opportunity to spend any time together. It had been months since they had seen each other. Months since Maggie had even mentioned him. Even knowing that he’d been assigned this case and that Gwen would be seeing him today, Maggie had barely acknowledged the fact. Hadn’t even given Gwen any messages to relay.
Gwen knew Maggie’s divorce from Greg was dragging on, and that Maggie had purposely kept things from progressing with Nick, or as she would say, “getting messy.” But there was something more, something her friend was keeping to herself. Why did