A Lot like Love
Page 21
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Seeing him standing in Huxley’s doorway, her eyes widened in surprise. “Agent McCall.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Nice boots.”
She leveled him with a glare. Apparently the boots were a taboo subject.
“You said that if I saw you today, it meant that something had gone really wrong with the undercover operation,” she said.
He stepped to the side of the doorway. “I think you should probably see for yourself.” He shut the door behind her, and they stood in the small entranceway. “But I warn you—it’s a little disturbing.” He led her down the hallway and into the living room, where the death-warmed-over version of his partner lay on the couch.
“Oh my gosh, what happened?” Jordan asked.
Shivering, Huxley mustered a faint smile. “I guess I look as bad as I feel.”
“It’s mostly the hair,” Nick offered diplomatically. “It’s . . . ridiculous.”
“I can’t deal with a comb right now. Too heavy.” Huxley sighed wearily. “I’m a little under the weather,” he explained to Jordan.
“That seems to be putting it mildly,” she said. “You’re shaking—are you cold?”
“It’s the fever.”
She spoke under her breath to Nick. “Is there a reason he’s wearing only one sock?”
“He puked on his foot.”
“Oh.” She turned back to Huxley. “Can we get you another sock? Maybe a blanket or something?”
Huxley sat up, looking pained by the effort. “That’s okay,” he groaned. “I’m heading upstairs. If you two would excuse me . . .” He clutched his stomach. “I think this is going to be a rough one.”
Jordan watched as Huxley clung to the railing and dragged himself upstairs. When she heard a door shut, she turned back and saw that Nick had moved into the kitchen. She followed him and watched as he began opening cabinets, searching for something.
“I know Huxley. He has to have it somewhere,” he muttered to himself. “Ah—got it.” He shut the cabinet door and held a bottle out to Jordan.
Hand sanitizer.
“Don’t say I never got you anything,” he said.
Despite herself, Jordan smiled. “Thanks,” she said, taking the bottle from him. She poured an extremely generous amount onto her hands and made a mental note to touch as little as possible inside the house.
Upstairs, she could hear the faint sounds of Huxley groaning. “Should we do something?” she asked Nick.
“I think he’d probably prefer to be alone right now.”
She nodded. She said the words first, needing to get it out there. “He’s not going to make it to the party tonight, is he?”
“No, he’s not. And that’s a shame, because I know how badly Huxley wanted this. But he’s shivering, he looks terrible, and he can’t stay out of the bathroom for more than twenty minutes.”
Jordan felt bad for Huxley. Aside from his obvious physical discomfort, she knew how much he’d put into this investigation. But selfishly, she had other issues on her mind at that moment, like the fact that this had been her one chance to get her brother out of prison. “Does this mean we’re scrapping the plan for tonight?”
Nick leaned against the counter opposite her, stretching out his tall, leanly muscular body. He wore a navy crewneck sweater, jeans, and a gun harness that made him appear even more dangerous than he had that first night in her store. She took note of his strong, angular jaw, which was once again dark and stubbled.
It wasn’t the worst look she’d ever seen on a guy. She wouldn’t go as far as to say she liked it or anything, but she supposed some women found this sort of overt . . . manliness attractive.
“We’re not scrapping the plan,” he said. “This may be our only chance to nail Eckhart. But this development with Huxley means we need to make certain adjustments.”
“Such as?”
His green eyes held hers. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a new date this evening.”
Balls.
“I had a feeling you were going to say that, Agent McCall.”
He shook his head. “No more Agent McCall. From this point on, I’m Nick Stanton, a self-employed real estate investor,” he said, referring to the cover story they’d planned to use with Huxley. “I own several multiunit apartment buildings on the north side of the city that I rent out mostly to college students and recent graduates. We met when I came into your store to buy a bottle of wine for my property manager, Ethan, who just got engaged to a girl named Becky, an advertising executive originally from Des Moines who used to live in one of my buildings. You helped me pick out the perfect bottle of wine, and I was so entranced that I didn’t pay any attention to what I bought.” He scratched his jaw, putting on a show of trying to remember. “What kind of wine was it again, sweetie? Something French I’d never heard of.”
Jordan noticed that he was going off the script a little. “A gamay?”
Nick snapped his fingers. “A gamay—that’s it.”
“With Huxley it was a carménère from Chile. And he picked it out.”
“Well, Huxley knows a lot more about wine than I do. Since I don’t have time to learn, my character is going to be more of a novice.” He grinned. “Your character finds this refreshing in contrast to all the stuffy wine snobs you usually meet.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Nice boots.”
She leveled him with a glare. Apparently the boots were a taboo subject.
“You said that if I saw you today, it meant that something had gone really wrong with the undercover operation,” she said.
He stepped to the side of the doorway. “I think you should probably see for yourself.” He shut the door behind her, and they stood in the small entranceway. “But I warn you—it’s a little disturbing.” He led her down the hallway and into the living room, where the death-warmed-over version of his partner lay on the couch.
“Oh my gosh, what happened?” Jordan asked.
Shivering, Huxley mustered a faint smile. “I guess I look as bad as I feel.”
“It’s mostly the hair,” Nick offered diplomatically. “It’s . . . ridiculous.”
“I can’t deal with a comb right now. Too heavy.” Huxley sighed wearily. “I’m a little under the weather,” he explained to Jordan.
“That seems to be putting it mildly,” she said. “You’re shaking—are you cold?”
“It’s the fever.”
She spoke under her breath to Nick. “Is there a reason he’s wearing only one sock?”
“He puked on his foot.”
“Oh.” She turned back to Huxley. “Can we get you another sock? Maybe a blanket or something?”
Huxley sat up, looking pained by the effort. “That’s okay,” he groaned. “I’m heading upstairs. If you two would excuse me . . .” He clutched his stomach. “I think this is going to be a rough one.”
Jordan watched as Huxley clung to the railing and dragged himself upstairs. When she heard a door shut, she turned back and saw that Nick had moved into the kitchen. She followed him and watched as he began opening cabinets, searching for something.
“I know Huxley. He has to have it somewhere,” he muttered to himself. “Ah—got it.” He shut the cabinet door and held a bottle out to Jordan.
Hand sanitizer.
“Don’t say I never got you anything,” he said.
Despite herself, Jordan smiled. “Thanks,” she said, taking the bottle from him. She poured an extremely generous amount onto her hands and made a mental note to touch as little as possible inside the house.
Upstairs, she could hear the faint sounds of Huxley groaning. “Should we do something?” she asked Nick.
“I think he’d probably prefer to be alone right now.”
She nodded. She said the words first, needing to get it out there. “He’s not going to make it to the party tonight, is he?”
“No, he’s not. And that’s a shame, because I know how badly Huxley wanted this. But he’s shivering, he looks terrible, and he can’t stay out of the bathroom for more than twenty minutes.”
Jordan felt bad for Huxley. Aside from his obvious physical discomfort, she knew how much he’d put into this investigation. But selfishly, she had other issues on her mind at that moment, like the fact that this had been her one chance to get her brother out of prison. “Does this mean we’re scrapping the plan for tonight?”
Nick leaned against the counter opposite her, stretching out his tall, leanly muscular body. He wore a navy crewneck sweater, jeans, and a gun harness that made him appear even more dangerous than he had that first night in her store. She took note of his strong, angular jaw, which was once again dark and stubbled.
It wasn’t the worst look she’d ever seen on a guy. She wouldn’t go as far as to say she liked it or anything, but she supposed some women found this sort of overt . . . manliness attractive.
“We’re not scrapping the plan,” he said. “This may be our only chance to nail Eckhart. But this development with Huxley means we need to make certain adjustments.”
“Such as?”
His green eyes held hers. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a new date this evening.”
Balls.
“I had a feeling you were going to say that, Agent McCall.”
He shook his head. “No more Agent McCall. From this point on, I’m Nick Stanton, a self-employed real estate investor,” he said, referring to the cover story they’d planned to use with Huxley. “I own several multiunit apartment buildings on the north side of the city that I rent out mostly to college students and recent graduates. We met when I came into your store to buy a bottle of wine for my property manager, Ethan, who just got engaged to a girl named Becky, an advertising executive originally from Des Moines who used to live in one of my buildings. You helped me pick out the perfect bottle of wine, and I was so entranced that I didn’t pay any attention to what I bought.” He scratched his jaw, putting on a show of trying to remember. “What kind of wine was it again, sweetie? Something French I’d never heard of.”
Jordan noticed that he was going off the script a little. “A gamay?”
Nick snapped his fingers. “A gamay—that’s it.”
“With Huxley it was a carménère from Chile. And he picked it out.”
“Well, Huxley knows a lot more about wine than I do. Since I don’t have time to learn, my character is going to be more of a novice.” He grinned. “Your character finds this refreshing in contrast to all the stuffy wine snobs you usually meet.”
