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“Not funny, and for God’s sake, Rosalie, don’t dance. Your scar is visible every time you move.”
“So what?” She never talked about her scar, but since everyone in this room knew how she’d gotten it, she had no problem with it being seen. “I thought you’d be pleased that I’ve dressed like a girl.”
Boy, did she feel like a girl in this little black number.
Spaghetti straps crisscrossed her back and inserted into the sides of her cocktail dress, leaving her nearly bare down to her waist, where the material draped in soft folds. It wasn’t often she traded her FBI garb for something feminine. The silk against her skin separated her from the buttoned-up agent who wanted to hold Cannon hostage until he listened to reason. Not that reasoning would get through to that man.
“Your services aren’t wanted here.”
Oh, but her kiss had been. He wasn’t too thickheaded to admit that, but he still couldn’t admit he needed her help. She understood his motivation, but paying the ransom remained the worst solution.
While snowboarding yesterday, she’d witnessed the respect people in this town had for him. The kid working the chair lift had told Cannon his arm had felt great and had invited him to watch his next football game. A seventy-something man sitting in the snow had shouted, “Watch this,” before he’d sprung up like a man half his age.
She’d figured Cannon was just a local guy who took the time to chat with people, but now she realized he’d likely treated themboth. The strange part? They hadn’t called him Dr. Ford. Just Cannon.
But in the hospital, everyone addressed him with an almost reverent quality, as if they understood how seriously he took his job. Still, being a strong, capable leader wasn’t a good reason to blow off her expertise.
She reached her table, grabbed a glass of champagne, and drank half its contents.
Her mother appeared next to her. “It’s kind of chilly. Aunt Kay said you could borrow her sweater.”
“I’m not wearing that dingy thing that has seen more family functions than the years I’ve been alive.”
“Then borrow Bella’s wrap. We don’t need to see your scar and be reminded about why your father isn’t here, especially this month.”
“Seriously, Mom?”
Her mother’s gaze softened. She cupped Rosalie’s cheek in her palm. “Honey…”
Rosalie jerked away. “Look, all day, I’ve been bulldozed with reminders about why Dad isn’t here. They’re everywhere in my line of work, even when I’m not working.”
“Well, if you?—”
“Don’t say it, Mom. I’m not leaving the FBI, I’m not hiding my scar, and I’m not changing my dress.”
“I didn’t ask you to change.”
“But you were thinking it.” Rosalie placed her glass of champagne on the table. The delicate crystal rattled against a pearly-white dinner plate. Her nerves rattled along with it. “Wouldn’t be the first time you demanded I change to fit your idea of what a proper daughter should act like.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time you ignored my wishes.”
“Hiding my scar won’t erase the past. I’ll admit I wasn’t thrilled when Bella brought home the genius Dad and I helped rescue from terrorists, but the past is family now.”
Two years ago, Rosalie had worked a weak piece of intel for three sleepless days, digging and hacking until she’d pinpointed the location where Malgor had been holding Devon, one of the nation’s leading experts on nuclear infrastructure. Now, two years later, almost to the day, Devon was alive and well and about to be married to her cousin, thanks largely in part to Rosalie and her father. Except, her father wasn’t here to celebrate with his niece or the innocent man he’d helped save.
“I’m sorry.” Her mother reached for her hand. “I can’t imagine how hard tonight must be for you.”
Rosalie sighed and linked their fingers. Sometimes, she forgot she wasn’t the only one who had lost someone. “No, you can’t, just like I can’t imagine how you feel. Every time I see Devon, I think about the day Dad died.”
She fought the memory but couldn’t help traveling back in time.
Snow crusted the grass in her parents’ backyard. Her father hummed as he flipped a steak on the grill, then blew into his chilly hands.
She clinked her beer bottle to his. “To the agent who planned the smoothest recovery in FBI history.”
“To the brightest mind in cybercrime. Hell, the whole bureau.”
“Just wished we would have caught Malgor.”
