“Nothing better than coming home from a mission to a beautiful smile and a warm body,” Walker added before sighing heavily. “Of course, Julie will already be at work by the time I get home. She’ll be itching to find out how everything went. I’ll probably have ten texts by the time I get back.”
“You can’t talk to your wife about a mission,” Clay said, twisting around in his seat to glare at Walker.
“Seriously, man? You gotta give them something. I don’t care how adept they are at being in a relationship with a Keeper.”
Glancing toward Tate, he asked, “What about Nora?”
“Hell, these women know what it’s like. I may have known Nora for a long time, but it wasn’t until I was involved in a rescue mission with her that she really understood what I do.”
Walker barked out a laugh. “Considering I met Julie on a mission, she gets it, also. She knows I don’t go into details about missions, but she just wants to know that I’m safe… and that I caught the bad guy, as she says.”
Clay remained quiet, but his thoughts were swirling. With no one waiting for him at home, he was used to ending a mission on his own with a cold beer or glass of whiskey, sitting alone on his deck. He had to admit he welcomed the idea of being with someone special, but his fellow Keepers had a penchant for falling for women during missions, right in the middle of a fuckin’ nightmare. And that held no appeal to him.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the movement of the vehicle to lull him to sleep as they headed toward the coastline… and the lighthouse.
2
A Week Later
Clay closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the music to swell within him. The first note resounded throughout the concert hall, giving evidence that every instrument in the orchestra was playing. Each section appeared to vie for dominance. Woodwinds against the brass. Reeds against the percussion. And the strings chiming in, each section adding their own layer.
For a moment, he was taken back to his childhood. Mr. Olaf had attempted to lead the middle school orchestra through their paces. His mother had insisted he learn music but vetoed his request to play the trumpet or percussion. That was how he ended up with a violin tucked under his chin and his clumsy fingers attempting the notes when he was in seventh grade. He loved music but knew that creating it himself was not his aptitude. While he no longer played an instrument, his mother’s love for a beautiful symphony had been passed along to him.
He glanced around the interior of the Portland Concert Hall, noting the architecture was perfectly created for the resonating tones. His attention was jerked back to the stage as the music halted except for a single violin holding a long note. The orchestra had moved into Bach’s Air On The G String. His breathing slowed to the song’s measure, the violin solo creating a longing inside with its haunting melody.
Inwardly cursing his choice of seats in the house, he was unable to identify the violinist capturing his attention. Equally cursing that the symphonic director was not having the soloist stand so that they could receive their due, he closed his eyes again for just a moment, the melody pulling him along.
Sitting next to him was an older woman, and while he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, he shifted ever so slightly to peer up toward the stage. With all of the instruments now down, he caught a glance of the solo violinist as she continued to weave magic through her strings and bow.
Dark hair pulled back tightly into a bun. Pale complexion. Glasses perched on her nose. The hint of long fingers as they moved over the instrument. With his imperfect view, he was unable to discern more.
Catching a movement from his side, the older woman pursed her lips, and he shifted back, mumbling an apology. His movement sent the soloist out of his sight once again, and he felt a strange loss.
The other musicians joined in, and once again the music swelled deep inside. This time when he closed his eyes, he was no longer transported back to his childhood’s feeble attempt at playing in an orchestra, but instead had a vision of the woman… serene and calm as she created music that filled his soul, offering the peace that he craved.
He had come to the symphony in Portland alone, but that was fine with him. Not many of his friends cared for driving two hours to listen to an orchestra concert. In fact, none of them had that desire. But Clay used the driving time to think about missions and upcoming cases, then usually on the way home he listened to music from the orchestra that he downloaded. Having heard the violinist, he was anxious to replay the music from Bach.
Too soon, the concert was over. When the applause began, he hoped to catch a glimpse of the violin soloist. Just as the conductor waved his hand toward her and she rose to her feet, the person in front of him stood, crying out, “Brava!” By the time he scrambled up, the others on the stage had stood as well, once again blocking her from view.
Knowing that members of the orchestra would often mingle with patrons after a concert, he hoped to get to the lobby in time to meet her. Unfortunately, his seat was in the middle of an aisle, and it took all his patience not to push past the people blocking his path. Fifteen minutes later, he made it to the lobby and was surprised at the crowd. Glad for his height, he scanned the tops of heads, looking past the hues of gray, red, brown, or blonde, searching for dark hair pulled tightly back. Not exactly unique in this crowd.
With all the women musicians wearing long, black dresses, it only made it that much more difficult for him to ascertain individual differences. Stalking around the perimeter, he gradually worked his way toward the center, his gaze continually sweeping the area, finally landing on the object of his interest.
Once more attempting to push people out of his way in the politest manner possible, he made it to a cluster of musicians surrounded by patrons and well-wishers. Now that he was closer, he understood why it was so difficult to find her. She was so petite her head would easily tuck under his chin. She was chatting with others, but now so near, he allowed his gaze to be filled with her.
With her hair pulled so severely away from her face, it was easy to discern her delicate features, and he blinked at the sight of her eyes. Grey? No, blue-green… more like aqua. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone with such striking eyes. Silver glasses framed the beautiful orbs. Her black dress was fitted through the bodice, showing soft curves before flaring out over her hips and ending at her flat black slippers. He stared at her quietly for a moment as she was accepting the congratulations from others, but eventually, her eyes shifted toward him.
They widened slightly as her gaze moved upward, landing on his face, an action he was not unfamiliar with considering his height. Her head tilted slightly to the side, and he jolted, realizing that he was staring. “My apologies for interrupting,” he said.
A soft blush appeared across her cheeks, highlighting her face as she inclined her head. “Of course.”
Her voice, with only those two words, was as melodious as the tones from her violin had been, and he wanted to push everyone else away so that he could focus her attention solely on him. But just as quickly, someone else moved forward to congratulate her, and she was maneuvered toward another group of patrons.
“Clay.”
At the sound of the name, he turned, recognizing the politician standing next to his wife. The previous year, he’d met the congressman and his wife while working on a security detail for their house. Nodding politely, he greeted, “Congressman and Mrs. Bennett. Nice to see you again.”