Split Second (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 1)

“I’m at a level where I can send myself.”

“So this is unofficial on your part? Or are you just here to spy for the Service?”

“I’d characterize it as unofficial. I’d like to hear your side of things.”

King cradled his glass, fighting an urge to throw it at her. “I don’t have a side of things. The man worked for me for a short time. He was killed. Today I found out he was in witness protection. I don’t know who killed him. End of story.”

She didn’t respond but just stared into the fire. She finally rose, padded over to the fireplace and knelt in front of it, running her hand along the stone facade.

“Carpenter and stonemason?”

“I subbed that out. I know my limitations.”

“That’s refreshing. Most men I know won’t admit to having any.”

“Thanks. But I still want to know why you’re here.”

“It has nothing to do with the Service and everything to do with you and me.”

“There is no ‘you and me.’ ”

“Well, there was. We worked together at the Service for years. We slept together. Given different circumstances we might have moved on to a more permanent arrangement. And I would like to think that if you heard that a man who happened to be in witness protection had been murdered at a place where I worked and my past was being dredged up again, you might come and see how I was coping.”

“I think you’d be wrong about that.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m glad my miserable situation afforded you this wonderful opportunity to exhibit your compassionate nature.”

“Sarcasm really doesn’t suit you, Sean.”

“It’s late, and it’s a long drive back to D.C.”

“You’re right. It’s too long a drive actually.” She added, “Looks like you have lots of room.” She rose and sat down next to him, uncomfortably close.

“You look fit enough to qualify for the FBI’s Hostage Rescue,” she said, running an admiring eye over his trim six-foot-one-inch frame.

He shook his head. “I’m an old man for that stuff. Bad knees, bum shoulder and all.”

She sighed and looked away, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear. “I just turned forty.”

“Consider the alternative. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Not for a man. Forty and unmarried for a woman, it’s not so pleasant.”

“You look great. Great for thirty, great for forty. And you’ve got your career.”

“Didn’t think I’d last that long.”

“You lasted longer than me.”

She put her wineglass down and turned to him. “But I shouldn’t have.” There followed an uncomfortable silence.

“It was years ago,” he finally said. “Water under the bridge.”

“Obviously not. I see the way you’re looking at me.”

“What did you expect?”