Page 3 of Mr. Dangerous

2

Rob

As Naomi steeredus along the tree-lined country road that led from the house on the shore back to Newport, I glanced over at her hands. They were petite, like her, with short, unpolished nails. There were small purple scars on the backs of her hands and an angry red cut across onethumb.

I can tell a lot about someone from their hands. Reading people is part of my job, part of what keeps me and my team alive. But Naomi has always been the hardest person in the world for metoread.

“You don’t have a future as a hand model,”Isaid.

“What?” Her eyes flickered to me; those eyes were golden-brown, long-lashed, and irritated, as usual. “A handmodel?”

I reached out and stroked her injured thumb with my thumb. Her eyes flickered my way again, more confused thananythingnow.

“Whathappened?”

She didn’t pull away from my touch, and I felt like I’d won a small victory as I returned my hands to my own lap. Why the hell was she so angry at me? I hadn’t even seen her since we wereseventeen.

“Cats,” she saidshortly.

“Cats?”

“Yes, cats, I’m a crazy cat lady before my time. You want to turn on the radio? Find us sometunes?”

I shook my head. “I want to hear aboutthesecats.”

“I run the Rhode Island Kitten Rescue,” she said reluctantly. “Which makes it sound like more than me and mysister.”

I nodded, encouraging her togoon.

She groaned. “Anyway, kitten season is coming up. Little kittens born to feral cats, all of which need to be spayed and neutered and placed in homes. Like I said. Crazycatlady."

"And they repay you by tearing up yourhands?"

"Well," she said, "It wasn't much of a living, doing dish detergent commercials. So it's allright."

"It sounds like you're a nice person. Caring about cats. Notcrazy."

"You like cats?" There was a surprised note in hervoice.

"I'm more of a dogperson..."

"Ithoughtso."

"...but I can't commit to a dog anyway. I travel all the timeforwork."

She swung the Suburban into a parking space at the edge of the Abby's Clam Shack parking lot. "Right. Of course you can't commit. I want to hear all about what it's like being aNavySEAL."

"It's not thatinteresting."

She shot me a disbelieving look. It mademegrin.

"You're right. It's incrediblyinteresting."

"You," she said, but she smiled slightly too, shaking her head. For a second, I glimpsed the old Naomi. The first few times we talked as teenagers, once things changed between us, she would look anywhere but at my face. She would bite down on her lower lip, holding back a shy smile. And it made me ache like crazy tokissher.

We crunched across the gravel parking lot side-by-side. It was late lunchtime, and Abby's was full. A cool breeze blew in from the ocean a block away, carrying the tang of salt water. All the picnic tables below the flapping blue awning wereoccupied.

"We can always get takeout,"Naomisaid.

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