‘Um, yes … I just dropped off my boss. We had an off-site briefing at Bolling Air Force Base.’ A private contractor, she worked for the Defense Department as a subject matter expert, her field of expertise cultural anthropology. She’d recently created an ethnic database that would be used by military personnel stationed abroad. While it didn’t involve interaction with Sergeant McGuire, they did work in the same office suite.
Deciding there was no reason not to give the sergeant a ride, particularly since she lived a mile or so from the French Embassy, Kate pulled the Camry into the narrow lane. With a quick glance in the side-view mirror, she merged into the fast-moving rush-hour traffic.
‘I appreciate the lift. Believe me, you pulled up in the nick of time.’
‘Happy to assist.’ She notched up the air conditioner, hoping to dispel the thick, muggy air. Washington in August was not for the weak-kneed. Even the towering oaks that lined either side of the G W Parkway had a limp noodle look about them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her passenger rubbing a mutilated right hand over his jaw. With his dark-brown hair cut military short, blade of a nose, and thin, well-shaped lips, Sergeant McGuire’s Irish roots were clearly evident. Kate recalled the first time she had laid eyes on Sergeant McGuire. Grim. Intimidating. Scary-looking. Initial impressions that had not diminished in the passing weeks.
However, at the moment, he didn’t appear all that scary. Maybe it was woman’s intuition, but Kate sensed that something was deeply troubling him.
‘Are you all right, Sergeant?’
A glimmer of surprise flashed across his face.
‘I’m fine.’ He attempted, but didn’t quite muster, a light-hearted grin.
‘You just seem … I don’t know –’ she shrugged, regretting that she’d asked the question in the first place – ‘a bit upset.’
‘Nope. Never felt better.’
‘My mistake. I apologize.’ Embarrassed, she made a big to-do of looking over her shoulder as she veered on to the Georgetown ramp.
Again, chalk it up to intuition, but not for one instant did she believe the sergeant’s disclaimer. She knew the face of sorrow. Had stared at it in the bathroom mirror every morning for the last two years. Even now, people still tiptoed around Sammy’s death, afraid of churning up the painful memories.
And it had been painful, as if someone had gutted her with a very sharp fillet knife.
The pain, however, came later. In the days immediately following her infant son’s death, she’d been too numb to feel anything, having gone through the funeral in an almost catatonic state. To this day, she still couldn’t recall a single detail from the ceremony. Only afterwards did she realize that the dazed fog had been a survival mechanism.
All too soon, that numbness gave way to an unbearable heartache.
At the time, she didn’t think she could contain, let alone exorcise, the pain. The best she could do was manage the grief – at least during the daylight hours – by binging on work. Gorging herself on an inhuman schedule. The constant white noise of office computers, printers, beepers and one-sided telephone conversations forced her to concentrate on the job at hand. The intense focus helped to keep the grief at bay.
In recent months, the pain had diminished somewhat. At least enough that she’d begun to think about resuming a ‘normal’ life. Whatever that meant.
Ten minutes into the mostly silent drive, Kate pulled up to the entrance of the French Embassy, tri-coloured flags waving jauntily in the humid breeze. A smartly dressed group walked past, the guard waving them through the open gate. Although Sergeant McGuire hadn’t volunteered any specifics, she assumed he’d been invited to an embassy party.
‘I see a space a little further down the street. How good are you at parallel parking?’
She shot her passenger a questioning glance. ‘Why do I need to park?’
‘I thought you might want to come in and, you know, mingle.’
‘You want me to go with you to the party?’
‘Yeah. You on board?’
Taken aback by the invitation, Kate stared at the uniformed man seated beside her. Under no circumstance would she describe him as handsome. Although she wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was un-handsome. Rugged-looking best summed him up. And it had been nearly two years since the divorce.
Unfortunately …
‘I’m afraid that I have to decline the, um, gracious invitation. As you can plainly see, Sergeant McGuire, I’m really not dressed for an embassy soiree.’ Kate lamely gestured to her navy-blue linen skirt. Paired with a sleeveless cream-coloured blouse, it was the sort of nondescript office fare that rarely garnered a second glance from the opposite sex.
‘Hey, I think you look great. By the way, my first name is Finn.’ The sergeant stared expectantly at her.
‘Oh, right … and I’m Kate.’
‘Kate. I was damned close.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Nothing. Listen, this is just my way of saying “Thank you”. And, I promise, no strings attached. Come on. I bet there’s free booze and a long buffet table. What do you say, Kate? You look like you’ve had a helluva day.’
While that was true, she barely knew Sergeant McGuire. A few weeks ago at an office birthday party, she’d accidentally bumped into him and spilled coffee on his uniform. She’d offered an awkward, bumbling apology. He, in turn, gruffly refused to let her pay for the dry cleaning. In the whole of that sixty-second exchange, there’d been no sparks. Not even a dim flicker.
Which might explain why she was tempted to accept Finn McGuire’s offer. It was a ‘no strings’ opportunity to do something other than eat carryout and watch a DVD. ‘No strings’ was about all she could handle emotionally.
Giving the invitation serious consideration, Kate glanced at Finn’s left hand. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band. More importantly, there was no telltale tan line. Two years ago she swore that she’d never do to another woman what had been done to her.
Finn gave her a coaxing smile, managing to look almost handsome.
Okay, so what if he’s not my type. A glass of wine and a little banter with a living, breathing member of the opposite sex might do her some good.
Mind made up, Kate steered the car towards the vacant parking space.
5
He was a bastard. No doubt about it.
But if the situation turned dicey, Finn figured he’d need the Camry to escape the premises. That’s why he’d cajoled Kate into coming inside. And why he then lifted the key ring out of the leather bag hanging from her shoulder.
Having gone on red alert the moment they stepped inside the joint, he again scanned the well-heeled crowd.
‘The smoked salmon canapé with caviar is to die for. You have to try one,’ Kate said, wiping a crumb from her upper lip.
Not nearly so impressed, Finn glanced at the buffet table; a twenty-foot-long floral and candle-strewn extravaganza with enough food to feed an entire platoon. Although no red-blooded soldier of his acquaintance would willingly eat the crap that the French were serving at their fancy chow line.
‘Thanks, but I’m more of a pigs-in-a-blanket kind of guy.’
Kate gave a good-natured chuckle. ‘I’m afraid to ask.’ As she spoke, a distinguished-looking African man dressed in a flowing yellow and brown agbado strolled between them, causing a brief separation.
‘Jeez, we should have brought our own UN interpreter.’
‘I’ll have you know that I can say “Hello” in twenty different languages,’ Kate informed him, a challenging cant to her chin. ‘Although I’ll spare you the litany.’