So much for that plan.
He donned a confused expression and turned back to face her. “I’m sorry?”
She narrowed her eyes at him and tilted her head to one side. “It’s just . . . You look familiar.”
He flashed his most charming grin. In truth, he’d been the one who’d managed to find Will and Claire at the extraction point in Nigeria and had evacuated them to the hospital where Will had reluctantly left Claire so he could return to his duties. Fortunately for Jack, she’d been delirious with fever the one time she’d seen him, so any remembrance would be hazy at best.
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you before,” he lied, extending his hand. “But I’d certainly welcome the opportunity to remedy that. Jack Smith.”
She glanced down at his hand as if not trusting it was clean but then accepted his handshake. “Claire,” she said, her stiffness easing slightly. “Claire Johnson.”
So she’d taken an alias as well . . .
Well done, Claire. Well done.
His smile widened in appreciation. “Delighted. What brings you to Boston, Ms. Johnson?”
“Research.” Her tone was friendly, easy. But her eyes still bored into his, searching no doubt for a tell, some giveaway that he wasn’t what he seemed. Wary, untrusting . . . Oh, yes, this woman was made for his dear friend Will. “I’m a . . . historian.”
He lifted his brows. “Ah, is that so? Fascinating.”
“What about you?” she prompted.
“I’m attending a Fourth of July celebration hosted by an old friend,” he admitted. He noticed her hand reflexively clutch the note he’d left. When his gaze dropped at the sound of the crumpling paper, she slid the note into the pocket of her jeans.
“Well, I’m sure it’ll be quite a production,” she said, forcing a smile. “We tend to take the Fourth of July pretty seriously in Boston.” She flushed slightly and took a step back. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you.”
He watched as she retreated toward her room, lifting a hand in farewell when she glanced his way. “It was nice to meet you, Claire. I hope we cross paths again.”
The moment she was inside her room, he strode toward the elevators, texting Finn as he walked, letting him know the device was in place. Unfortunately, in his cursory search of Claire’s hotel room, he’d not found the flash drive. He just had to hope that he could persuade her to give it to him at the gala before Hale got his hands on it—or before Claire Davenport wound up dead.
* * *
“How are you holding up?”
Maddie flopped back onto the bed with a groan, covering her eyes with one hand, the other holding her phone to her ear. “I don’t know, Sarah. I honestly don’t.”
She heard her sister’s sympathetic sigh. “Tell Jack you still have feelings for him.”
Maddie pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes against the headache she felt coming on. “But I’m not sure that I do. I mean, I’m still attracted to him—the guy’s sexy as hell. But that doesn’t necessarily mean things would work out for us if we gave it another go. I don’t want to do that to him, Sarah. It wouldn’t be fair. That’s even if he still has feelings for me. I know he cares—but . . .”
“Talk to him, Mads. You have to—for your own peace of mind if nothing else.”
Maddie sighed. “Because that wouldn’t make things awkward at all.”
Sarah laughed. “And it’s easy between you twonow?”
“He kissed me, Sare,” Maddie confessed. “Said it would help us get it out of the way so we could move on.”
There was a beat of silence—then, “And . . . ?”
Maddie took a deep breath and let it out on a frustrated sigh. “Then he bolted. And when we met up later it was like nothing had happened.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Maddie echoed. “He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”
“Maybe he felt more than he’d expected to,” Sarah suggested. “The first time Luke kissed me it was part of our cover when I was hiding out with him. I don’t think he expected it to affect him the way it did.”
