“This won't wait," Clint said.
Randall knew the man was probably right. Tate couldn't possibly know where they were staying or what they were driving. Randall had been too careful, checking them in to a different hotel each night under assumed names. He paid with cash, just as he had the rental car.
Turning away from Addison, he spoke quietly into the receiver. "Bring your piece. We'll meet you there in half an hour."
Chapter 22
Half an hour later, Randall pulled the rental car onto Wisconsin Avenue and headed north. He still didn't like the idea of leaving the hotel. Being on the street left them exposed. But there had been an urgency in Clint's voice Randall couldn't ignore.
Beside him, Addison chatted easily, taking in the sights of the city, filling the silence with a first-time visitor's observations, her voice subtly sexy and smooth as silk. He listened to her and watched the rearview mirror, trying in vain to rid himself of the uneasiness that had lodged in the pit of hill stomach like a stone.
Casting her a sidelong glance, he felt the all-too-familiar protectiveness well up inside him. In the semidarkness, he watched covertly as she drank in the sights of Georgetown, the brownstone storefronts, the Christmas decorations and muted yellow lights of lower Wisconsin Avenue. It occurred to him that she'd never experienced D.C., and he suddenly wished he could share it with her. He wanted to wine and dine her at every restaurant he; d ever loved, take her to every museum, browse through every out-of-the-way antique shop he'd ever overspent in.
He found himself wondering if she'd be willing to leave her coffee shop behind for the lights of D.C., but quickly stanched the thought. It would be wrong of him to ask her to give up her career for his. His life was in turmoil. He had the post-traumatic stress disorder to deal with. Not to mention the drinking. The last thing he wanted to do was displace her. Her roots were in Denver. Hell, she'd probably turn him down cold anyway.
Christ, he was going to miss her.
Despite the resilience she'd displayed over the last several days, her bravado was wearing thin, just as his was. She was a woman of contrast, surprising strengths and. carefully concealed weaknesses, all of which formed a unique, intriguing balance. She was strong without being tough, soft without being weak. Each human frailty was overshadowed .by vitality, every flaw matched by sheer perfection.
God help him, because he'd fallen headlong in love with her. The realization shocked him, thrilled him, and scared the holy hell out of him.
She was the only woman he'd ever met who could move him with nothing more than it look or gesture or word. Against his better judgment he'd given up his heart, knowing full well he was going to pay dearly for it when the time came for him to walk away.
He stopped at a light, instinctively touching the butt of the pistol tucked into his shoulder holster. Around them, traffic was light. With a practiced eye, he watched the flow of traffic, singling out cars, looking for vehicles following too closely, trying to spot the same car twice, all to no avail.
He wondered what information Clint had uncovered. Though Randall understood the other man's reluctance to speak on the cellular, he couldn't help but wonder why the Texan hadn't agreed to meet them at the hotel. As Randall pondered the question, it was then that he realized Clint was at the root of his uneasiness.
*
At the entrance to Franco’s, Addison paused, taking in the smells of garlic, basil, and freshly baked bread. Her stomach growled. Colorful Tiffany lamps cast warm, amber light over a dozen or so mosaic-topped bistro tables. A massive wall menu boasted the best linguine in town.
She shook off the cold that had somehow crept through her coat. "Smells great," she murmured. "I'm starved."
Expecting a response, she turned to Randall and watched as he scanned the room, his eyes pausing on the family of four in the corner, the couple huddled together at a table for two, the man nursing a beer at the bar.
"What is it?" she asked, trying to ignore the uneasiness tightening in her chest.
''This doesn't feel right." He cast an uneasy look over his shoulder.
Adrenaline danced through her midsection. She'd spent enough time with him in the last few days to realize he was overprotective, but he wasn't paranoid. "We can go back to the hotel if you prefer," she said.
"We're here. Let's see what he's got, then we'll leave and get dinner later."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clint at a table near the back of the room. "There's Clint."
Randall looked at her with an intensity that stopped her breath. "We won't stay long," he said, giving her a quick, hard kiss.
Addison clearly felt the anxiety pouring off him, and she was reacting to it. Uneasiness pressed down on her like a lead weight. By the time they reached, the table, she was trembling.