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A nod. “That reminds me, when is Monty coming?”
“In a little while. He’s talking to Lenny about the gun. Plus, I asked him to stay away for a while. You and I need a chance to talk—alone.”
Morgan didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You’re right. We do.”
“I’m not just referring to the case.”
“I know.” She forced a smile, striving for some levity. “Maybe I should give you a Winshore client profile to fill out. We can find out if we’re compatible.”
“I don’t need to compare profiles for that.”
“That’s the problem. You probably don’t—not for the kind of relationship you’re used to—”
“What makes you so sure that’s the same kind of relationship I want now?”
“I’m not sure of anything—except that it takes a lot more than passion and some inexplicable pull, however powerful, to build something solid and real.”
“I agree.”
Morgan gave a hard swallow. “It’s been less than two weeks.”
“Some things happen fast. And hard. That doesn’t make them any less real. Not even your boutique social agency can account for human emotion.”
“You’re not making this easy.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Lane…” Morgan struggled to address the very tangible, very real obstacles in their path. “There’s so much I don’t know about you.”
“Fair enough. My favorite color used to be blue. Now it’s green. I’ve never seen anything as amazing as the color of your eyes. My favorite food is a fat, juicy burger, medium rare—which I think you guessed. My favorite city is New York; I appreciate it more every time I’m away. My favorite holiday is Christmas—I get to hang out with my family, and my brother-in-law’s horse farm is a sprawling piece of heaven. My sisters are my soft spot; I’d kill for them. My favorite—”
“Stop.” Morgan interrupted him quietly. “Those aren’t the things I was talking about. I meant you—the total human being beneath the sexy exterior.”
“Sexy’s good.” He gave her a crooked grin, but the look in his eyes was serious. “You have questions? Ask.”
“Ask. Where do I begin? With your independence, your craving for excitement and adventure, your wanderlust?”
“Those are personality traits, not secrets.”
“Personality traits that affect your outlook on life, and the way you live it.”
“You’re right. But there are many different outlets for excitement and adventure.”
“What about independence and wanderlust?”
“Those thrive when there are reasons to leave. They fade when there are reasons to stay.”
Morgan was fighting to see this through, not to cave before she did. “Fine. Let’s get back to those different outlets for excitement and adventure. Bad enough you jump out of planes, relish doing photo essays that put you in warring countries or at the heart of natural disasters, and that you probably plan on climbing Mount Everest at warp speed to earn you a place in The Guinness Book of Records. I haven’t forgotten what you said earlier. Top secret clients, strategic phone calls, photo assignments that you’re clearly not at liberty to discuss. Who else do you work for besides Time? The FBI? CIA? Homeland Security?”
Lane was silent for a moment.
“My God, you do work for them.” Morgan stared.
“Did,” Lane corrected. “It was starting to lose its appeal long before you came into my life. All of it—the vagabond existence, the twenty-four/seven fieldwork, and yeah, the realization that life is short and that I’m not going to be here forever. As for the nature of the assignments, suffice it to say they’re classified. That’s the best answer I can provide. And not because I’m hiding anything from you. But because, like you, I respect my clients’ confidentiality.”
“Wow.” Morgan exhaled sharply. “I keep discovering new facets to the
life of daredevil Lane Montgomery. Is there any risk you haven’t taken?”
