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Ford tightened his lips as the waiter brought their menus. He ordered a stiff drink, his gaze turning on Bailey once again as the waiter moved off.
“You’re not stalking off,” he said, his voice low. “Or spitting curses at me.” His gaze was calculating. Bailey imagined she could feel the searing presence of pure menace.
Bailey swallowed tightly. “Not yet at least.”
She turned her gaze to the menu, aware of both Raymond and Mary watching them. Mary’s gaze was concerned; Raymond’s, more determined.
“Your father would have enjoyed a nice lunch with you before his death.” Ford struck at the heart with the first parry and cut deep.
“So would I.” She looked up from the menu, remembering the fierce arguments she and her father used to have concerning his friendship with Ford.
The man was a wife beater, a child beater, and yet her father had stood by him at their funeral, clasped him as the fake tears fell from his eyes, and mourned with him.
“You broke his heart,” Ford muttered.
At least she hadn’t taken his life, she wanted to retort. Instead, she held back the accusation and stared across the table at him bleakly.
“We saw each other more than you know, Ford. Father knew I loved him, as I knew he loved me. He couldn’t live my life for me.”
His lips tightened.
“Ford, perhaps it’s time to let the past go,” Mary suggested gently. “Give her a chance to return home. You were her father’s best and dearest friend. He would have wanted you to embrace her return, not guilt her over it.”
Words of wisdom, even if Bailey’s return home was all illusion. This wasn’t her home, and these weren’t her people. There was no one here who knew her, no one here who had ever understood the fight she had tried to undertake when she had left home.
Even her father hadn’t understood. If he had, he would have never told his friends that she was working with the agency once he had learned what she was doing. He would have never interfered with her job and made certain she didn’t receive the assignments that would have allowed her advancement within the agency.
Her director, Milburn Rushmore, had ensured she was never involved in anything too dangerous, just as he had always rushed to pull her out of it when she managed to involve herself.
“Ford and I will always have our differences, Mary,” she told her friend as she glanced back at Ford. “I can live with them civilly, if he can.”
His jaw tightened as he stared back at her with an odd expression of relief, as though he had expected something else, which he should have. But his expression indicated that the small concession she had given mattered to him. Of course it did. It would be hard to conduct illegal business with her otherwise.
“Good then,” Raymond announced with a pleasant smile. “I’m still awaiting another guest if you’d like to take your time ordering. He mentioned he might be late.”
Bailey nodded back at him with regal haughtiness as she maintained her own shield of arrogance. There were certain rules here, unwritten and unspoken, that she had never minded breaking before. It mattered now that she regain the acceptance she had always turned her back on before. It mattered because she finally had the chance to attain the justice she had always sought.
Raymond was no doubt involved in this. One man couldn’t do it alone. Warbucks would be a group, a small one, with one man pulling the strings. She suspected the man pulling the strings would be Ford. But who else were they waiting for?
“Ah, and here he is now.” There was a tone of satisfaction in Raymond’s voice as he looked over Bailey’s shoulder.
Turning, Bailey hid her smile as she watched John make his way to the table. Dressed in black jeans and a white long-sleeved dress shirt beneath a long black leather coat, he looked like the devil he was. Wicked, charming, dangerous. He was breaking the unwritten dress code, and she could tell he really didn’t give a damn. Some rules were just made to be broken and he was damned good at doing so.
As the waiter pulled out his chair beside her, John leaned down to kiss Bailey’s cheek. “I was wondering where you got off to,” he commented just loud enough for the others to hear him.
“I wasn’t too hard to find, now, was I?” she said demurely. “And you never mentioned wanting to do lunch today.”
He took his seat slowly, his wicked lips quirking into a crooked grin. “It should have been understood.”
Her brow lifted. “You should have been clearer.”
“I’ll make certain, in the future, that I’m very clear.”
Bailey pursed her lips and held back a scathing retort. He was establishing possession and dominance and irking her independent streak almost past toleration.
“Bailey often disregards acceptable limits,” Ford informed John tightly. “She’s not quite tamable.”
“Taming isn’t what I’m after, Mr. Grace,” he assured Ford quietly, firmly. “I don’t want a servant, I prefer a partner.” His hand covered hers warmly, possessively. “I think Bailey and I make wonderful partners.”
