course, she missed Ryan. Hell, he did, too. It was bad enough that he’d played a role in her husband’s death. The least he could do was try not to remind her of the fact.
“There is that,” she said, her voice quiet, her expression indecipherable. “But I was going to say that, in college when we were all so close, the only thing we were worried about was finding the cheapest place to buy beer. Now we’re chasing terrorists.”
“Slightly more risk, I suppose.” Simon grinned. “But some of those bars were pretty dicey, if I’m remembering right.”
She smiled, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes, and he felt another wave of guilt.
“You never did say how you got into this game,” he asked. “I mean, the last time I saw you, you were—”
“A grieving widow?” She tilted her head, the movement familiar as her hair draped over her shoulder. “Let’s just say I needed to be my own hero. I’d followed in Ryan’s and your footsteps for too damn long. It was time to stand on my own two feet. Make my own move.”
“Yes, but Homeland Security?” He frowned.
“Maybe I just figured what was good for the gander…” She shrugged. “Why? You don’t think I’m up to it?”
He remembered a clear summer day. The three of them at the lake, perched high up on a cliffside. He and Ryan had been debating the best place to launch into the lake. Arguing about it, actually. J.J. had just laughed at them and jumped. Fearless. As always.
“No.” He shook his head, fighting the urge to reach for her, angry at himself for having the need. “I’ve always thought you could do anything you set your mind to.”
Their gazes met and held for a moment, and Simon almost forgot to breathe.
In front of them, a tall, thin man with a scraggly goatee approached the desk, clearing his throat to announce himself, his face composed but his eyes sparking with curiosity. Bastard clearly saw way too much. “I understand you have questions about one of our guests?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Simon said, still reeling from something he couldn’t even put a name to. Pushing aside his tumbling thoughts, he glanced down at the man’s nametag. “We’re trying to verify that Eric Wilderman is, in fact, a guest at your hotel, Mr. Kent.”
J.J. smiled, extending the wallet with her credentials, her hand trembling slightly. At least he wasn’t alone in his confusion. Kent blinked once as he examined them and then handed them back with a flourish.
“According to our records,” the manager said, glancing down at a computer screen embedded in the desk, “Mr. Wilderman is still registered. He checked in a week ago, for the National Insurance Convention.”
“But the convention ended three days ago, correct?” J.J. asked, glancing down to check her notes.
“Yes,” the man acknowledged, “but the rate is good a week before and after, as long as the days are an add-on to the convention itself. New York is a primary tourist destination, and we find it’s more enticing to people if we allow them to stay beyond their conferences.”
“And were you, by any chance, the one to check Mr. Wilderman in?” Simon asked.
“No.” Kent shook his head. “According to the record, it was Shannon Gates. Shannon?” The manager called over to a red-headed woman at the next terminal. “Can you spare a moment?”
She nodded, clicked something on her computer, and then turned her attention to the three of them.
“These people are with Homeland Security.” For obvious reasons, Simon wasn’t able to use his own credentials. Since A-Tac, for all practical purposes, didn’t actually exist, he was allowing J.J. to take the lead, using her credentials as cover. “And they’re investigating, Mr. Wilderman, one of our guests.”
Fear flittered across the woman’s face. “Should I be concerned?”
“No.” J.J.’s voice was reassuring, and the woman relaxed. “We’re just hoping you can identify a photograph for us.” She laid
“There is that,” she said, her voice quiet, her expression indecipherable. “But I was going to say that, in college when we were all so close, the only thing we were worried about was finding the cheapest place to buy beer. Now we’re chasing terrorists.”
“Slightly more risk, I suppose.” Simon grinned. “But some of those bars were pretty dicey, if I’m remembering right.”
She smiled, the gesture not quite reaching her eyes, and he felt another wave of guilt.
“You never did say how you got into this game,” he asked. “I mean, the last time I saw you, you were—”
“A grieving widow?” She tilted her head, the movement familiar as her hair draped over her shoulder. “Let’s just say I needed to be my own hero. I’d followed in Ryan’s and your footsteps for too damn long. It was time to stand on my own two feet. Make my own move.”
“Yes, but Homeland Security?” He frowned.
“Maybe I just figured what was good for the gander…” She shrugged. “Why? You don’t think I’m up to it?”
He remembered a clear summer day. The three of them at the lake, perched high up on a cliffside. He and Ryan had been debating the best place to launch into the lake. Arguing about it, actually. J.J. had just laughed at them and jumped. Fearless. As always.
“No.” He shook his head, fighting the urge to reach for her, angry at himself for having the need. “I’ve always thought you could do anything you set your mind to.”
Their gazes met and held for a moment, and Simon almost forgot to breathe.
In front of them, a tall, thin man with a scraggly goatee approached the desk, clearing his throat to announce himself, his face composed but his eyes sparking with curiosity. Bastard clearly saw way too much. “I understand you have questions about one of our guests?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Simon said, still reeling from something he couldn’t even put a name to. Pushing aside his tumbling thoughts, he glanced down at the man’s nametag. “We’re trying to verify that Eric Wilderman is, in fact, a guest at your hotel, Mr. Kent.”
J.J. smiled, extending the wallet with her credentials, her hand trembling slightly. At least he wasn’t alone in his confusion. Kent blinked once as he examined them and then handed them back with a flourish.
“According to our records,” the manager said, glancing down at a computer screen embedded in the desk, “Mr. Wilderman is still registered. He checked in a week ago, for the National Insurance Convention.”
“But the convention ended three days ago, correct?” J.J. asked, glancing down to check her notes.
“Yes,” the man acknowledged, “but the rate is good a week before and after, as long as the days are an add-on to the convention itself. New York is a primary tourist destination, and we find it’s more enticing to people if we allow them to stay beyond their conferences.”
“And were you, by any chance, the one to check Mr. Wilderman in?” Simon asked.
“No.” Kent shook his head. “According to the record, it was Shannon Gates. Shannon?” The manager called over to a red-headed woman at the next terminal. “Can you spare a moment?”
She nodded, clicked something on her computer, and then turned her attention to the three of them.
“These people are with Homeland Security.” For obvious reasons, Simon wasn’t able to use his own credentials. Since A-Tac, for all practical purposes, didn’t actually exist, he was allowing J.J. to take the lead, using her credentials as cover. “And they’re investigating, Mr. Wilderman, one of our guests.”
Fear flittered across the woman’s face. “Should I be concerned?”
“No.” J.J.’s voice was reassuring, and the woman relaxed. “We’re just hoping you can identify a photograph for us.” She laid
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