Falling Again Page 2

  The passage of the Anderbock bill was the straightforward story she was following. The other one, about a white supremacist organization with the bizarre name of White Power Knights of the West, was murkier. Rumors were flying all over Portland about a group with a racist agenda about to go public and back candidates for local and state office. The rumor brought up uncomfortable reminders of Oregon’s history in the early twentieth century when the state elected an active member of the Ku Klux Klan as governor and passed both sundown laws barring African-Americans from being in public after dark and laws banning religious dress for teachers in an attempt to close Catholic schools.

  At the intersection of the two stories was a list of three businessmen who supported the Anderbock bill and who some in Portland believed might be the money behind the organization about to open offices in town. Their businesses explained their interest in the Anderbock bill. What she wanted was more information on the three men to uncover which, if any of them, was behind the mysterious organization. All she got was what she already knew.

  J. Henson “Hen” Ondsdorph was the head of New Power, Inc., a company with controlling interest in one of the region’s investor-owned utilities with extensive coal holdings. For years he’d worked on a variety of ways to exploit the resource, including plans to develop an Oregon port so he could ship coal to China.

  Wallace Wellington, known as “Duke,” made his fortune buying up farmland and having it rezoned for development just before Oregon’s land use laws went into effect in the early seventies. Since then he had enjoyed using the profits to, as he liked to describe it, “steer the course of Oregon” in directions he favored. The local enterprises he backed included several manufacturers of power plant components.

  The third man, Sherman Bischler, was from an Idaho family whose wealth went back to the silver mining days. His parents had moved to Oregon where his father started a company that manufactured mining equipment, which was exported all over the world from the company’s headquarters in a suburb of Portland.

  All three men had bankrolled the campaign of both Anderbock and the recently defeated incumbent mayor of Portland. And all three were known as conservative in their politics. However, “conservative” in Oregon didn’t usually mean the holder of the opinions was rabid on race issues.

  But something odd had happened today when she mentioned the rumors she’d heard about the white power organization to her contacts.

  Silence. Nothing. No comments. No additional information. Not even acknowledgement they’d heard rumors, in some cases. Even dangling the names of the three business leaders who might be funding the group like treats in front of puppies didn’t get her anything. Her instincts told her at least some of them knew more than they were willing to say about the three men. Were they hiding their employers’ opinions? Were they protecting campaign contributors? Or were they up to their own skinny little necks in the new organization?

  Not only had she gotten nothing, but she had run overtime not getting it. She only had enough time to dump her notebook, freshen her makeup, and decide whether to go strictly business in her choice of clothes or more social. She opted for the latter, replacing her jacket with a poet blouse, which had a portrait collar to frame her face and long, full sleeves with ruffles at the wrists to look flirty and feminine. She already had on silver hoop earrings and bangle bracelets. Wrapping it all up in a soft, woven stole in shades of blue-gray, black and white, she was headed back to the Hill in less than half an hour turnaround.

  The reception was an annual event hosted by the Pacific Northwest Waterways Association, a regional group of ports, utilities, agricultural interests, and shippers. The food and wine served was from the region and the entire delegation from the Northwest, as well as other senators, representatives, and staff members showed up to eat, drink, socialize—and lobby. Fiona had been invited to the event before but had never been in D.C. to attend. Tonight she hoped to have better luck at getting some of the answers she was seeking than she’d had in office visits because it was a social event with free wine involved.

  So busy was she making the rounds of staffers from various offices, she didn’t notice Nick arrive. But when she saw a dozen or more young women looking across the room at something, or someone, she turned and saw him, just inside the entrance, scanning the room. For her.

  He was dressed in gray pants, a white, open-collared shirt that fit his body like a glove, and a black, Ralph Lauren-looking jacket. The just-out-of-bed hair and the sleepy eyes were as impressive from across a crowded room as they were up close.

  When he spotted her, he smiled and made his way through the crowd to her. “You’re not hard to find, are you?” He leaned in and kissed her cheek.

  She certainly hadn’t expected that gesture. It made her fumble for a response. What came out was, “It’s the red hair. There aren’t many of us around. You were pretty easy to pick out yourself. All I had to do was look in the direction all the other women in the room were looking.”

  “You mean, all the people saying ‘who the hell is the stranger who doesn’t belong here’?”

  “Your modesty is admirable.” If unbelievable, she almost added before gesturing to follow her. “Let’s get you a glass of wine and I’ll introduce you to a few people.”

  An hour later, after sampling all the goodies and chatting with a few staffers and another reporter, Fiona noticed signs the reception was winding down. “Ready to leave?” she asked Nick.

  “When you are. If you’re still hungry, there’s a little Mexican restaurant close by where we can have dinner. Or I know a great place where we can get dessert.”

  “I think dessert, and maybe an after dinner drink. I’m wound tight after a day of trying to pry information out of rocks.”

  “I noticed you weren’t drinking wine on duty. The place I have in mind will be just right.”

  A short cab ride took them to the restaurant, where they ordered Irish coffees and desserts. After the server left, they sat in silence for several moments.

  “Why is it,” Fiona asked, “two people can have a great conversation when they just bump into each other, but they’re silent when it’s, you know, a date-like setting.” She waved her hand and felt her face begin to flush. “I didn’t mean to intimate this is a date but…” Jesus, where was the filter on her tongue when she needed it? Two sips of Irish coffee shouldn’t make her that stupid.

  “It’s not? I thought it was. How’d I get it wrong?” He frowned, as if thinking hard. “Let me see—man asks woman out. Man shows up in his best blazer but no tie so he doesn’t look like he is going to a funeral or a job interview. Woman has changed into non-business clothes and looks beautiful. Man has a selection of restaurants in mind to impress woman with his good taste and sophistication.” He shook his head. “No, I got it right. This is a date.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t want to seem presumptuous by assuming because you were nice enough to ask a friend of your sister’s to have dinner that it’s a date.”

  “I didn’t ask you to dinner because you know Amanda. I asked because I wanted to see you again. And now having established we are, in fact, on a date, maybe we can move on. I’m curious about what you said about your day. Or is asking about your day either too date-like or not date-like enough? I don’t want to make a mistake here.”

  “I think it’s more like husband-and-wife-stuck-in-a-boring-rut.”

  “We blew right past date to husband and wife? God, woman, you move fast.”

  “Ignoring the insult…”

  “I didn’t mean it as an insult. I like fast women.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a fake leer.

  “Ignoring both insults and the eyebrow thing, my day was weird. Interesting, but weird. This story I’m trying to get a handle on keeps slipping through my fingers. It’s all blue smoke and mirrors; nothing solid, nothing traceable. It’s frustrating as hell.”

  “And your contacts on the Hill couldn’t help?”

  “Some swore they knew
nothing. A few said they only heard rumors they weren’t willing to repeat. But beyond that no one can—or is willing to—give me anything. They all clam up as soon as I push the subject. I have no hard facts, no source who’ll go on record…”

  “So, no story. You do have a problem.”

  The server returned with their drinks. Nick picked up his glass and touched it to hers. “To clearing away the smoke.”

  “I wish it was that easy. But then, I guess it would seem easy to someone who doesn’t have to get people to open up to him to get their pictures taken.”

  “Interesting description of photojournalism. But you’re right. I don’t have to dig into their lives with my questions; I can get the images to tell the story. It’s not always easy but…”

  “But when you’re as good at it as I hear you are I guess you don’t have to worry.”

  The waiter arrived with their desserts. Nick looked across the table at hers. “I hear chocolate can be good for quelling the crazies caused by unresponsive sources. Let me know, will you?”

  Fiona took a bite of her chocolate mousse cake and moaned. “This may be the answer to every problem I’ve ever had.”

  He grinned and offered her a bite of his bread pudding.

  Dessert finished, Nick announced they should end their evening with a walk around his favorite place in the city. He flagged down a cab and asked the cabbie to take them to the Tidal Basin near the Jefferson Monument. It was one of her favorite places, too, which must be the reason she was letting this evening continue. She’d planned to thank him for the dessert and take a cab back to her hotel where her lovely—and empty—hotel room was waiting. Yet here she was, against her better judgment, hanging out with someone who might be spending the evening with her as a favor for his sister, was young enough to get her arrested for corrupting the morals of a minor, and who was hot as hell.

  Unfortunately.

  He took her hand as he helped her out of the cab and didn’t let it go as they started walking. After a few minutes of sauntering through the unusually warm night in silence, he said, “You should know—I got credit yesterday I don’t deserve.”

  “Oh, why?”

  “I knew you were in town so you weren’t exactly out of context when I saw you.”

  “How did you…?”

  “Amanda. She calls me occasionally to meddle in my life. And always to make sure I get back safely from an overseas assignment. During the latest conversation she happened to mention you were here so I thought I’d use this chance to get to know you better without the interference of my loving but bothersome sister.”

  She stopped in the shadow of one of the cherry trees and looked up at him, her head slanted to one side. He’d been looking for her? Why would he do that? “Now I’m the one who’s flattered. I’m not sure what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me do this…” He put his hand at the nape of her neck and drew her mouth toward his.

  It was better than she’d imagined, having his mouth on hers. It was both sensuous and sweet, seducing her rather than demanding from her, making her want to give him what he was asking for even if she didn’t understand why he was asking. He kissed her top lip, then her bottom lip, then coaxed them apart with his tongue. When he had adjusted his mouth on hers, finding the perfect fit between them, he used his tongue to taste the inside of her lips.

  Her arms went to his shoulders and his arm circled her waist, pulling her close. She was on the verge of deciding she’d do just about anything to keep the kiss going when two teenaged boys on skateboards come whizzing past, cat-calling and making sucky-kissy noises. The mood was broken. They ended the kiss with laughter and continued their stroll in the moonlight.

  At the hotel he asked if she would have dinner with him again the next night, since she’d be gone for the weekend and he couldn’t see her. It must have been the moonlight or maybe the kiss. Probably both. Because she agreed to meet at seven the following night. He kissed her again, sealing the deal. As she went down the escalator into the lobby, she knew it wouldn’t be too hard to get used to kissing Nick St. Claire. The question was, should she?

  Chapter 3

  The next day, Nick texted Fiona a couple times, asking about her day and whether she’d gotten one of her clams to open up, inquiring if there was any kind of food she hated and moving their meeting time to six-thirty. His messages were a pleasant change from what usually clogged her phone—breaking news alerts, which may or may not be news or alert-worthy, and boringly similar press releases boasting of some minor accomplishment someone wanted featured in the paper.

  When she got back to the hotel at six she tried for the second time in a couple of hours to reach her boss but got voicemail again. Odd. Why wasn’t he around? Maybe one of her colleagues would know. She started to make another call until she saw the time. She was running close to being late for meeting Nick, so she texted “where are you?” to her editor and moved to her next problem: what to wear.

  Nick had said the night before was a date, but she was still unsure why, exactly, he was paying attention to her. To be honest, she was unsure why she was paying attention to him, other than the fact he was handsome, charming, and sexy. Which made him right for her attempt to get back on the horse, so to speak. Of course, that image only gave her impure thoughts about saving a horse and riding a cowboy. And that sure wasn’t on the menu.

  So she didn’t want to come across as hot and ready for a tumble with a young stud. Given the clothes she had with her, the sexy look seemed out of her reach anyway. Oh, hell, McCarthy, be honest. Even if you’d packed everything in your closet you couldn’t pull off hot and sexy with someone so young.

  Finally she decided on the pale blue sleeveless silk dress and soft, unstructured jacket in a nubby fabric she’d planned to wear to the wedding. As she carefully reapplied makeup, she concluded she was making too much out of this. It was no big deal, at least not for him. It was merely dinner with a friend. Even though he said it was what he wanted to do, maybe Amanda asked him to be nice to her and he’d agreed because he’d enjoyed talking to her in Portland. Maybe. Although, come to think of it, maybe not. She doubted Amanda had asked him to kiss her. It was confusing.

  After brushing her hair one more time, she took a last look in the mirror before heading for the elevator. She looked okay. If it was a favor for his sister, at least she wouldn’t embarrass him. Riding down to the lobby she had to admit, regardless of his age or why he’d asked her out, she was looking forward to seeing him again.

  He was waiting in the lobby. This time he wore the black leather jacket he’d been carrying the other day, gray pants, and a dark red T-shirt snug enough to show off his amazing pecs.

  “You look nice,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek.

  “Thank you. You look quite nice yourself. Can I buy you a drink so we can class up the bar with our presence before we go to dinner?”

  “I thought I’d give you a rare treat and take you to my place for a glass of wine before dinner, if it’s okay with you. But I have to warn you, my place isn’t much more than where I keep extra clothes between plane trips.”

  She laughed. “You make it sound like you live in a storage unit. Why are we going there if it’s so inhospitable?”

  “Self-protection. Once my sister knows—and she will find out—that we’ve had dinner a couple times she’ll cross-examine you about my life. I want you to tell her you’ve been to my apartment and it’s so well appointed I could be featured in some house and garden magazine. Or at least the style section of a small-town newspaper.”

  “She hasn’t been here to see for herself?”

  “Every time she tries, she gets diverted to Ohio by our mother who wants to see her only grandchild. It’ll be up to you to satisfy her curiosity.”

  “And what makes you think I’ll agree to take your side in a scheme to game my friend?”

  “Because I can see in your eyes you’re kind, and I can rely on you to
feel sorry for me because I have such an intrusive sibling.”

  “Not exactly what I’d say I feel for you, but I guess I can at least reassure her it isn’t rat and roach infested.” She was sucked in again by the bedroom eyes and the sexy smile. “I…I mean, you are varmint-free?”

  “I’m more interested in the first part of the sentence, the part about what you feel for me.”

  “I just meant I don’t feel sorry for you, Nick.”

  “That’s all?”

  Damn. Would she ever figure out what this man was after? “Now I feel like I’m the one being played. Am I?”

  He never answered the question with anything other than his smile, because the doorman opened the door to the cab he had hailed for them and helped her inside.

  • • •

  His apartment didn’t live up to the bad press Nick had given it. On the second floor of a modest but newly renovated building near Dupont Circle, it consisted of a living area with a small kitchen, a bathroom, and one bedroom. The living room reminded Fiona a bit of the apartment she’d lived in right out of college—the couch was a futon, the extensive DIY bookcases overflowed with books. Only the two chairs grouped with the couch around a small table looked like they had come from a real furniture store.

  But if the furniture wasn’t outstanding, the accessories certainly were. The cloth on the small dining table as well as the rugs looked Central American and the fabric covering the pillows on the futon was, she guessed, Thai silk. The walls were hung with beautifully framed photographs of colorful marketplaces, exotic landscapes, and people in ethnic dress—his work, she assumed. And he had electronic gear she would have killed for. On the dining table was the biggest MacBook she’d ever seen. On one bookcase shelf she saw a Bose dock with an iPod Touch, above the top shelf was a flat screen TV and there appeared to be an iPad and a Kindle on the table in front of the couch.