Flirting with Disaster

No. Not someone like him. Someone like him but in no way associated with law enforcement. “He was fine. Do you think his story was legit?”

“About the judge? Are you kidding me? It’s been in the local paper all week. That man threatened to blow something up. You know the judge lives on the next road down the hill.”

Isabelle shrugged. “I guess I haven’t been reading the news.”

Jill got plates from the cupboard, but Isabelle didn’t get up to help. She knew from experience that Jill would only wave her away. Jill’s work was her art. There were sauces to be smeared and rosemary sprigs to be placed just so.

“You haven’t met the judge?” Jill asked.

“I don’t think so. You know how I am.”

“Hermit-y?” Jill tossed out.

Isabelle nodded. She wasn’t ashamed of being a hermit. And she had damn good reason to avoid a federal judge.

“Well, his daughter is the one who writes that advice column. Do you know her?”

“Dear Veronica? Really? She seems damn cool, but I’ve never met her. Have—?” Her words were cut off by the doorbell.

Jill disappeared into the front room. For a moment, Isabelle had a hopeful thought that maybe Jill’s girlfriend had dropped everything and flown in to try to make things work. But no. The military wasn’t that big on romantic gestures, even for a lieutenant colonel.

Then the door opened, and Isabelle heard a man’s voice. His voice. She jumped up and stared at the kitchen doorway in alarm. If she stayed hidden, she didn’t have anything to worry about. He couldn’t know she was here. Unless he’d followed her tracks through the snow. But what did he want?

She crept closer to the doorway, carefully keeping behind the wall. There was a living room and a short hallway between her and the front door, but his voice was deep, and she heard it rumbling as he spoke to Jill. Just a follow-up visit, hopefully. If this was really all about the judge, then—

The door closed, and Jill’s footsteps started back toward the kitchen. But she wasn’t alone. There were two sets of footsteps, one heavier than the other. Isabelle froze, her brain taking too long to respond to the change in situation, and she’d only just realized she should sneak back toward the couch when Jill stepped in. And he followed.

Jill’s chin jerked back in shock as she caught sight of Isabelle and did a double take. Tom Duncan’s nice dark eyebrows rose at the way she was huddled against the wall.

Isabelle stared up at him as she realized she’d pressed herself into a corner between the kitchen countertop and the doorway. It looked as if she’d been doing exactly what she had been. Hiding and eavesdropping. Damn it. She glared in defense at the man’s questioning look.

Jill cleared her throat. “Look who decided to join us. I told him yesterday that he could stop by for dinner. Tom, you remember Isabelle.”

“Ms. West,” he said.

“I didn’t tell you my name,” she responded. Jill glared at her, but she ignored it.

His surprised eyebrows finally dropped, and he nodded. “It’s my job to find out these sorts of things.”

“Just out of innocent curiosity?” Isabelle countered.

“No, it’s more about protecting the target. What if you were the cousin of the defendant?”

“Hmm.”

“I told him your name,” Jill said. “Regardless, he’s staying for dinner.”

He finally smiled, transforming his face from hard to handsome, but the look was all for Jill. “I really hope your offer was genuine, but I guess I’m here even if it wasn’t.”

“Of course it was genuine! Don’t pay any attention to Isabelle. She’s in the middle of a project. She’d much rather deal with her two-dimensional people.”

Isabelle didn’t deny it. “They’re simple,” she said. “Real people are way more trouble.”

Jill hurried back to her task. “But we’re much more fun, aren’t we?”

“Some of you.”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s no paint here, so you’re not being interrupted. Now,” Jill tossed over her shoulder, “pour Marshal Duncan a glass of wine.”

“I’d better not,” he said. “I’m not on duty right now, but I’m still the supervisor in charge. And it’s just Tom, please. Eating the neighbor’s food isn’t part of my official duties. Speaking of... That Stroganoff was delicious. The whole damn house was jealous. Pardon my language.”

Jill roared with laughter at that. “Please. I expect fouler language than that before this bottle of wine is gone.”

“Okay,” Isabelle volunteered, filling her glass again. “I’ll get to work on that.”

“All right, but bring the wine to the table.”

Isabelle did as she was told, but when she got to the table, she noticed that there were only two settings. She shot a resentful look at Tom, but he’d been invited and Isabelle hadn’t, so she didn’t bare her teeth at him before she grabbed another place setting from the sideboard. She even poured him a glass of water just before Jill brought all the plates to the table, one balanced on her forearm with ease.

“Let’s eat!”

Tom pulled out Jill’s chair, but Isabelle plopped into hers before he could get to her. That was when she noticed the streak of yellow paint down her shirt. Damn it. She didn’t normally care, but she didn’t want to feel at a disadvantage around this man. Plus, her supply of unstained shirts was dwindling. She had to start remembering to wear an apron. Or maybe a smock. Like a kindergartner.

She touched her mouth, hoping she hadn’t accidentally nibbled on a brush earlier when she’d been trying to find the will to paint. She glanced up at Tom and found him watching her fingers. His eyes rose to meet hers before she looked quickly at her plate.

“Wow,” he said a moment later. “This is good. Really good. I can’t say I’ve ever enjoyed cabbage before, but...wow.”

“Wait till you try the pork,” Isabelle said while Jill grinned across the table at him.

He popped a piece of meat into his mouth and closed his eyes, giving Isabelle the chance to study him for a quick moment. Shit. He really did have a nice face. And despite her current hatred of all law enforcement, she’d had her attraction to the men in that field hard-wired into her from an early age.

His firm jaw bunched and flexed as he chewed, and when he opened his eyes, they were dark with pleasure. “You know what? Maybe I will have a glass of wine. If there’s any left? This meal deserves a toast.”

“Tom,” Jill said as she leaped up to open the second bottle, “you’re my new favorite person. Why don’t you just move in here and I’ll feed you every day.”

“Don’t tempt me, because I might.”

Isabelle watched them grin at each other as Jill poured him a glass. All right. So, Jill liked him. But Jill liked almost everyone. She was terrible at being a hermit. In the summertime, she sometimes offered lemonade to hikers when they passed by. If any hikers had the nerve to show up at Isabelle’s door, she told them to use the hose for water.

“To new friends,” Tom said, tapping his glass to Jill’s. Isabelle hesitated a moment, but when he reached forward, she tapped his glass before taking a healthy gulp of wine.

“So where are you from, Isabelle?”

The wine soured in her throat as she swallowed hard. It might raise his suspicions if she spewed it all over the table at such a seemingly innocent question. Instead of choking, she cleared her throat. “Washington State,” she said.

“I thought I heard an accent.”

Her heart beat harder, but she shrugged. “My parents were from Cincinnati. I must’ve picked it up from them.” Okay, a Cincinnati accent wasn’t quite the same as Chicago, but her accent was subtle enough at this point. She waited to see if he’d press harder, but he didn’t.