Agent Camden responded almost immediately.
Jude
Very good. I think we should meet after dark at your house to plan and prepare. What days and times work for you? I’d like to get this started as soon as possible.
Gemma
Monday at six?
That would give her four days to gird herself mentally.
Jude
That works. I'll park at a distance. Please leave all exterior lights off and keep interior light to a minimum until I enter.
ChapterThree
Jude arrived early everywhere he went. Fishing outings with friends. Social gatherings with his FBI buddies. Meals with his family. When he was on the clock at work, he showed up for things even earlier.
Prior to his meeting with Gemma, he parked on the street across from a convenience store twenty-five minutes before he'd told her he'd arrive. He'd picked this location, a ten-minute walk from her address, because he didn't want his car spotted at her home. And was extra-early because Gemma had been on his mind for days and he wasn't about to let anything make him late for tonight's appointment with her.
However, a man couldn't sit in his car on a dark street like this one without making people wonder. So he stocked up on a few items at the convenience store, left his purchases in his car, then set off downhill toward her house.
He arrived one minute ahead of schedule. He'd learned through his research that she lived on the lake. But he hadn't expected her house to be so old or so tiny. Gray wooden shingles framed the white windows and door. None of the walls or eaves looked square. The whole thing was crying for a home inspector to inform Gemma that her house needed major renovation.
He knocked.
Waited.
Gemma had followed his suggestion and turned off outdoor lighting. To anyone watching, he'd look like a dark shadow against a dark house. Even so, he felt like a quail sitting on a fence rail in front of a hunter.
Was it taking her a long time to let him in or was his impatience pulling time long? He'd been telling himself that she could not be as compelling as he'd made her in his memory. Even so, he'd looked at the clock repeatedly during this long, long day.
Gemma swung open her door.
He stepped quickly inside. “Good evening.”
“Good evening.” She closed them in. Her long-sleeved T-shirt readYellowstone National Parkacross the front. It wasn't skintight but it also wasn't loose. Beneath that, she had on bell-bottom yoga pants. Her socks had miniature mountains printed on them. She'd parted her hair in the middle and tucked it behind her ears on both sides. From there it hung slightly wavy to several inches past her shoulders.
“Now that you’re here may I turn the lights back up?” she asked. “If there’s one thing that will make my neighbors suspicious it’s me rattling around in my home in very dim light.”
The only illumination came from one lamp on the kitchen counter and four candles on the kitchen island. He panned the space, confirming that she'd drawn curtains and shades. “Yes. Feel free to turn on as many lights as you'd like.”
“Hallelujah!” She went around switching on overhead fixtures and several lamps. Soon the interior was blazing.
Like when he'd visited her store, scent hung in the air. This time, it came from the candles—these smelled like rosemary and pine—and also from the pesto sauce sitting in an open blender next to a bubbling pot on the stove.
Her decorating style reminded him of the stylish antique stores his mother liked to force him to go into with her. A collection of patterned dishes in shades of white, green, and blue filled a wall of shelves. Every flat space held plants or objects or magazines. He counted four throw blankets scattered around, which made his hands itch to fold them and stack them in a basket.
Gemma came to stand in front of him.
He knew she’d inherited her intensely red hair from her mother's side of the family. But Gemma's Sophia Loren–type build seemed straight from her father's Italian side. She was fit but not scrawny. Both strong and soft.
Impossibly, she was evenmorecompelling than he'd made her in his memory.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
