Page 24 of Hudson
“Hard pass.” He grinned when she laughed again.
The hostess set their drinks down with a curt nod and returned to the podium. Their server appeared moments later, notepad ready, took their orders with a practiced smile and wove his way back through the crowded dining room.
They talked easily after that, voices blending into the surrounding murmur of conversation and clinking silverware.
“Celine says Killian is always working.” Blair swirled her wine slowly before taking a sip.
“We are.” Hud sighed.
“How is the agent who was shot?” Her expression softened.
“Rawley. Still healing, still on part time. He hates every minute of it.” Hud’s fingers drummed lightly on the table. “I’m working his case now.”
“It wasn’t solved?”
He shook his head and lifted his whiskey, the amber catching the dim light. “More people involved than they caught. I’m going to find them.”
“I believe you will.” She leaned forward slightly, her perfume drifting across the table. “You sound certain.”
“I have to be.” His grip tightened around the glass. “They could have killed him. I was there when it happened. Three shots to the chest, each one knocking him back a step, dust puffing from his vest like small explosions. I’ll never forget it.”
“You were there?” Her eyes widened.
“A few of us were.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“It can get dangerous,” he said, turning the glass slowly in his hand. “But I love the work.”
Their dinners arrived, and they kept talking through the meal, easy and unhurried. Hud cut intohis ribeye and thought, not for the first time, that Grant Hunter knew exactly what he was doing. Blair had ordered the seafood platter and from the look on her face it hadn’t disappointed either.
When they finished the server came back, offered dessert, cleared the plates when they declined and wished them a good evening.
Hud helped her from the booth, took her hand and led her out to the truck. It was still early but he had no interest in going anywhere else. He just wanted more time with her.
He helped her into the truck, climbed behind the wheel and drove to her townhouse. In the driveway he came around, pulled the door open and offered his hand. She hesitated a heartbeat before taking it and stepping down onto the asphalt.
He guided her to the front steps, where the porch light spilled a warm glow across the concrete. She reached into her purse for her keys. He lifted them gently from her fingers and fit the one into the lock. The door clicked open and he nudged it inward, then handed the keys back and lingered in the threshold.
“I had a great time,” she said softly.
“Me too.” His eyes dropped briefly to her lips before meeting her gaze. “Are you going to invite me in?”
Blair tilted her head. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”
He grinned. “We could call it that.”
Her sharp intake of breath carried a flash of indignation. “You are one cocky bastard, Hud Anderson. Do all men think that taking a woman to a nice restaurant entitles them to sex?”
“Was that a rhetorical question?”
“Was it?”
“Was that?” he shot back, eyebrow lifting.
“Stop being difficult.”
He tipped his head to hide a smile, but she caught the curve of his mouth anyway.
