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secret smiles, and the tinkling of glasses raised in toasts to unknown triumphs. Chris forced his gaze away from the sight and sat back in his chair. He took a sip of water and glanced at the door once more. |
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It was 7:23. Where the hell was she? |
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"Well, well, well. If it isn't Christian McCall. How long has it been?" |
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Chris froze at the sound of the deep, sarcastic drawl, then slowly looked up to meet the heated gaze of the man standing next to his table. Old enemies turned up in the strangest places. |
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"Not long enough, Kirk. What brings you to town?" |
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Without invitation, the man slid into the seat across from Chris. "I'm in and out with my job. A lot of traveling. A lot of women in every city. You know how it is." His eyes widened in feigned surprise. "Oh, but that's right; you don't know how it is, do you?" He winked, as though they shared a great joke, then motioned for a waiter. |
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"Jack Daniels, neat," he ordered, then lifted an eyebrow to Chris. |
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"Nothing for me. I'm waiting for someone." |
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"Really? A woman?" He took Chris's silence for assent and laughed. "You, McCall? After all these years I'd started to believe you didn't like them." |
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"I like them fine. I'm just more discriminating than you are." |
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"I doubt that. Well, I'll just have to stick around and see what you've come up with." |
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"I don't think so," Chris said. "Say what you have to say and then get lost, Rousseau." |
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