Free Nameless by Debra Webb Page A

spent the past eight or so hours with the man, when he looked at her, she was not prepared for the impact of those penetrating blue eyes. Standing here, in this setting, just the two of them, with the key to his room in her hand, was suddenly a big deal. She was tired, not at her best.
    “If you’re giving me the option, I’ll go with the one that includes the drink first.”
    The way he had performed this afternoon, she had almost forgotten about that bad habit. “The Pub it is then.”
    He allowed her to lead, one would surmise because she was familiar with the hotel, but she knew better. He just liked watching her from behind. She would bet her favorite Miles Davis collector’s album that he used those lewd glances and remarks to keep her at a distance. He probably did that with a lot of people. Then again, she could be giving him too much credit, like Worth said.
    Vivian selected a table on the farthest side of the room, in a dark corner. If McBride was half as spent as she, and she felt confident he was, they didn’t need any outside stimulation.
    Not that any other stimulation was required with him around.
    She dropped her purse in a chair. “I need to make a call. If the waiter shows up, order me a club sandwich, which I highly recommend, and a glass of white wine.” She didn’t pause long enough for McBride to ask any questions. Weaving through the tables headed for the restroom, she could feel his gaze on her. Looking back would only make her hesitate. No hesitating.
    In the ladies’ room she stood in front of the sink and stared at her reflection. None of this was right. She had known something was wrong, off, whatever, as soon as she had read the first e-mail from Devoted Fan. Worth had played off her concerns. At the cemetery, she had told him again how she felt about the way this one had played out. It didn’t add up.
    Nothing she said had convinced him to look at this logically—logically from her perspective, at any rate. In her opinion, the kidnapping hadn’t been about Alyssa Byrne or her father. The clues had been elementary. The location practically right around the corner from the field office. No ransom. No physical injuries to the child. When she had brought up all those details, Worth wouldn’t talk about it. He was too smart not to recognize the same inconsistencies she did. Schaffer, Davis, Pratt, they all saw the same things whether they said so or not.
    And all of it pointed in one direction—to McBride. Vivian was certain. Oh, Worth agreed that the elements of the case pointed to McBride, but he leaned toward the theory that McBride had somehow set up the whole thing. He wanted McBride in town for the next twelve to eighteen hours to give him time to explore that avenue more thoroughly. And for Andrew Quinn, now retired, to be advised of the situation.
    Vivian was the one who was supposed to keep McBride entertained. In other words, set him up a second time. Worth was on a witch hunt.
    “God.” She closed her eyes, shook her head at the shortsightedness of the man she generally respected. How could he not see how wrong he was? Was it possible that someone higher up was putting the pressure on for him to investigate McBride? McBride’s connection to Quantico and the ugly ending to his career would logically point in that direction.
    Unquestionably, she was prepared to do whatever necessary to get to the truth. If selling McBride out several times over was necessary to get the bad guy in the end, then so be it. But this was off … way off.
    “Pull it together, Grace.” She took a breath. Stared sternly at her reflection. “Get through this. Don’t overanalyze. Do the job.” She couldn’t screw up her career over a burned-out legend. Like Worth said, her instincts could be wrong. The only thing standing between her and getting the job done was her own inflexibility.
    When she returned to the table, the drinks had arrived.
    “Did you make your call?”
    The question startled