At Any Cost Read Free

of her, others were forced to move aside. When Fallon tried to step out of the way of a harried businessman, Tom smoothly grabbed her arm, keeping her next to him and forcing the businessman to step into the grass with an annoyed grunt. Tom’s quick contact felt jarring, even impolite. The pressure where his fingers clasped her bicep was solid and thrilling, and she hated that she liked it so much.
    Fallon chanced a glimpse of his stoic profile. Even with his game face on, the man was startling attractive.
    His dark hair was maybe just a tiny bit longer than the Secret Service officially approved of, carelessly swept off his smooth forehead and emphasizing the cold distrust in his eyes. He was the kind of agent who makes you feel good about paying taxes, all polished angles and cold, hard competence.
    She wasn’t usually attracted to the buttoned up type, considering she was one herself. She liked the artists and the brilliant academics—the ones who made her see more of the world than what was right in front of her. But Tom defied all her conventions and rules.
    She had never seen him working before and despite the questions and miasma of shock, she decided she liked it. He might be an incompetent jerk when it came to relationships, but she had no doubt that if a bullet came whizzing in her direction, he’d jump in front of it. Professional obligation and all that.
    â€œI got a strange phone call,” Fallon said.
    â€œStrange how?”
    â€œSomebody called needing a lawyer but wouldn’t meet at the office. We’re going to see this mysterious caller at the coffee shop. He sounded distraught.”
    â€œDid he say why he was distraught, or why he wouldn’t meet at your office?”
    Fallon paused before answering, judging how much to say. She didn’t want him to think she was naïve for agreeing to meet someone who might very well be a recently released St. Elizabeth’s patient, or worse. “He said he was being followed and wanted to meet in a public place. Plus, he mentioned a rather obscure government official. I want to find out what is up with this guy.”
    Tom reached the door before she could and held it open for her. She slid past him, noticing the slightest whiff of his cologne as she passed. The Daily Grind was warm and overstuffed, infused with the aroma of roasted coffee. Fallon took quick account of the customers, seeking out anyone who might be Antoine Campbell.
    â€œI guess he isn’t here yet,” Fallon murmured, as much to herself as Tom.
    At the counter, the barista recognized her and asked if she was having her usual, a soothing raspberry tea. “No, not the usual. How about a jumbo pumpkin spice latte with double whipped cream, caramel sauce, and can you dump some of those chocolate covered espresso beans on top?”
    â€œBad day or good day?”
    â€œHonestly, I just don’t know,” Fallon replied, still trying to get the mental feng shui right. She spontaneously added a plain cup of coffee to her order. Black coffee, neat scotch: Tom Bishop was a man with simple tastes, luxurious tastes, things distilled to their purest essence. She wished she didn’t remember that.
    After paying for the drinks, she handed the cup of black coffee to Tom. His eyebrows lifted in surprise at Fallon’s casual act of thoughtfulness.
    â€œI thought you might like something warm.” When he still hesitated, she added: “It’s not poisoned. Too much.”
    Tom smiled then. The smile transformed him. It softened his whole face, giving him an aspect of sudden sweetness that she found disarming. White, straight teeth signaled that he had perfect genetics, but the lines around his smile, like little parentheses, reminded her that he loved to laugh. Under that Secret Service poker face was a man who loved life.
    â€œThank you,” he said, taking the cup.
    â€œLet’s sit down.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    She