Nodding, he brushed past and heaven help her she watched his confident long strides since he couldn't see her unrestrained attention as he melded into the crowd. And how weird was it that suddenly she could see through that crowd just fine when it came to watching him?>"She's doing—" Her mother paused, eyes narrowing. "Wait. How did you know it's a girl? Did your father spill the beans in spite of our decision to wait to tell everyone when he gets home?"
Nikki pulled her hand back and hefted her suitcase. "Lucky guess. I figured I had a fifty-fifty shot of getting it right and tripping you up."
"Brat." She swatted her arm with her gardening magazine. "Your father always did spoil you."
"And you need some spoiling today, too. Now how about put your feet up and I'll come down to check on you once I stow my gear over the garage?"
Nikki backed down the steps and over to the outside stairs leading to the garage apartment her father had modified. If her dad was here now, no doubt J. T. Price would worry about everything with Owens. He was concerned enough with what few details he'd been told.
Her father was overprotective, always had been. She'd actually felt sorry for the poor skinny high school boys who made it to her front porch only to be confronted by her six-foot-four-inch weight lifter father. He didn't scowl. But he didn't smile at those fellas, either.
What a sucky welcome home he would have if she didn't get this mess straightened out. While she wasn't some woman in desperate need of daddy's approval, she also wasn't overly thrilled at the prospect of worrying or disappointing him, either.
One day at a time. She would have to trust the OSI and Special Agent Reis to do their job.
Meanwhile, the best thing she could do for her parents— and for herself—was keep life level, help her mother out with some yard work. Not stress about what she couldn't control.
Her cell phone buzzed in her black backpack purse slung over her shoulder, and with an instinctive awareness she didn't want and couldn't escape, she knew it was Carson checking up on her again.
Chapter 5
"Hello, Major, what can I help you with?"
Carson stepped deeper into the OSI agent's office, hoping for a few answers from Reis, who was currently slipping a tie over his head and tightening it to start his day. The guy stored ties in his office? A kindred workaholic, which boded well for solving this case faster.
And please God, clearing Nikki.
She hadn't answered his phone calls in two days, but he couldn't blame her. She'd left a message for him with his secretary, insisting she didn't need to speak to him directly, but that she was fine and staying at her mom's.
At least she was camping out where her college-aged brother could keep his eyes open. Carson refused to feel guilty for checking in with Chris, any more than he would feel guilty about stopping in to fact-check with Reis. "I'm here for an update on the Owens case and anything you may have uncovered about Nikki Price's accident."
His gut still burned from even thinking about Nikki plummeting from that balcony.
Distraction. He needed it. Pronto. So he studied the room for hints about this man who held Nikki's life in his investigative hands.
Framed soccer field posters from around the world splashed the walls with color—one even including a photo of Reis with a soccer trophy and bottle of champagne. He didn't need to avert his eyes from the liquor as he had in the early days on the wagon.
He could even remember now how Cabernet had been his vino of choice with steaks and Pinot Noir had accompanied him on more than a few sailing trips. He didn't crave as he used to, but the thoughts still crowded his mind.
Reis shoved aside an old carryout box marked from a gourmet deli. "How's Ms. Price doing after her tumble from the balcony?"
"Fine, barely rattled other than a cold from the freezing water."
"So you've spoken to her?"
Why was he asking? Reis probably already knew anyway. Carson avoided the question and simply stated, "Seems mighty coincidental to me, her railing giving way."
"Could be an accident."
"Or it could be someone trying to kill her before she remembers what happened."
"Do ya' think?" Reis quirked an eyebrow.
What an ass. But being openly antagonistic in return wouldn't get the answers he needed. "Excuse me for being slow on the uptake, but I fail to see what's so damn funny."
Reis rocked back in his chair underneath an autographed photo of Pele. "What's so damn funny? Watching you, Major. I've seen you work a crisis without flinching, with a calm I'd expect from someone more seasoned. But when it comes to a woman, you're just as human as the rest of us."
Well hell. While it might be true—all right, was true— what did this have to do with anything? He'd be irritated if he didn't admire the guy's no-bull attitude and sharp eye. "Call me Cro-Magnon, but it pisses me off when a woman— any woman—is in danger. It's my job to protect. I can't turn that off just because I'm not in combat."