* *
NIKKI OPENED HER MOUTH, but nothing came out. She was still too shocked. “Are you sure?”
“Well, hell, honey, just ask anyone here. You’ve got a lot of witnesses.”
“Oh, God.” Her hand covered her mouth as she realized where they were. They might as well have been standing in the middle of the street in broad daylight. No, this was worse. Jerry and Eli had turned their chairs away from their table to get a better view. Sadie at least pretended she wasn’t listening. Nikki closed her eyes, wishing everyone but Trace would disappear.
“You gonna leave me hanging out here in the wind?”
Snapping her eyes open, she leaned forward, but she couldn’t reach more than his hand over the bar. “What? No. Oh, no. Me, too. I mean, I’m pretty sure. That I love you.”
He smiled. “I’ll take it. I’m just glad you weren’t halfway to Houston. I would have hated making that long drive to go get you. I shouldn’t have stormed off.”
“Oh, I knew you’d be back.”
“How?”
“Something your mom said. Of all three boys, you’re the most like your dad. You definitely have the McAllister pride, but you also have the McAllister honor.” Nikki walked around the bar until she stood right in front of him. “I didn’t know how it would turn out, but I knew you’d let me explain.”
“My mom said that?” He looked stunned, a little emotional. “I’m like my dad?”
Nikki nodded. “She did.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to hear. Thank you. But I didn’t come back because of honor, sweetheart.” He pulled her close until she was pressed right up against him and he was looking straight into her eyes. “I came back because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
She pressed her lips together, trying hard not to cry. The only man who made a difference thought she was just fine the way she was. He loved her. He’d even said it in front of everybody.
When he kissed her, the whole place burst into applause, but she could still hear Sadie’s gravelly voice saying, “It’s about damn time.”
* * * * *
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1
SPECIAL AGENT RYAN VAIL tossed the brochure on the bed. The amazingly comfortable-looking bed, which was a far cry from most of the rat holes he’d been stuck with on various FBI stings and stakeouts. The Color Canyon Resort and Spa was a decadent oasis in the middle of the Las Vegas desert built for people with cash to spend and a yen for excitement and being pampered.
Ryan settled against the headboard, the puffy comforter billowing around him. Straight ahead was a forty-two-inch flat-screen TV. There was a wing chair, a leather love seat, an extravagantly stocked minibar and, if he turned his head to the right, beyond the private patio was a view of a nice little courtyard with a pool and spa pool all in the shadow of the Spring Mountains. It might be February in the rest of the world, but in the Vegas desert it was a balmy seventy-two degrees with copious sunshine on the docket for the rest of the week.
He grinned, pulled out his cell phone and went right to speed dial text.
You’re gonna die when you see the bathtub.
He hit Send, adjusted the pillow behind him and checked out his work stuff. Another email update on Delilah Bridges, one of the cotherapists in charge of this barbecue. Four people ran the Intimate At Last retreat weekends, all suspects in a major blackmail scheme. Unfortunately for them, they’d unwittingly targeted a friend of James Leonard, the Deputy Director of the FBI.
Ryan’s phone rang, and he knew it was his partner without even looking. “Jeannie Foster. How’s my favorite witness for the State?”
“Shut up, you bastard,” she said, her voice echoey, as if she were speaking in a vast hall. Or a toilet stall.
Of course, he’d taken a picture of the big-enough-for-a-party whirlpool tub, which he promptly sent