Free Striking Distance by Pamela Clare Page B

hung back, watching while the others introduced themselves.
    She probably doesn’t even remember you.
    “Welcome to the Cimarron. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Make yourself at home.” Jack pressed her hand between both of his. “Can I get you something to drink—wine, beer, scotch, soda, some overpriced bubbly water?”
    Laura smiled, a genuine bright smile that put dimples in her cheeks. “Overpriced bubbly water would be lovely. Thank you.”
    Jack turned back to the kitchen.
    Hunter stepped forward, held out his hand. “Marc Hunter. I’m Sophie’s husband. Sophie has said great things about you.”
    “Thank you. She’s said good things about you, too.”
    “All true, I’m sure.” Hunter grinned.
    “I’m Julian Darcangelo. I head up the DPD’s vice squad. My wife, Tessa, is a big fan of yours. She’s an investigative journalist herself and has written a few books. She used to be on the I-Team before she went freelance. I can’t believe she hasn’t found some excuse to visit Sophie at the paper so she can meet you.”
    “Sophie has mentioned her.” Laura’s eyes narrowed. “You say she’s written books? Wait—is her name Tessa
Novak
?”
    Darcangelo nodded. “That was her maiden name. She still uses it for journalism.”
    “I’m a fan of hers. I read the two books she wrote about human sex trafficking. She inspired me to look into the issue in Pakistan and India.”
    “Hearing that is going to make her day—hell, her entire
year
.”
    Rossiter pushed his way forward. “Gabe Rossiter. I’m Kat’s worse half.”
    Laura took Rossiter’s hand and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “I’ve heard about some of your adventures.”
    “He’s the most famous one-legged extreme athlete in the world,” Hunter quipped. “Just ask him.”
    That made her laugh.
    Her gaze shifted to Javier. The color drained from her cheeks, and her eyes went wide, her lips parting as she stared up at him. “It’s . . . It’s
you
!”
    * * *
    LAURA COULD HEAR nothing over the thrum of her own pulse, her gaze fixed on the face of the tall man who stood before her.
    Javier Corbray.
    Somehow, he was standing right here in this room with her.
    “Hello, Laura.”
    A feeling of light-headedness swamped her, the floor tilting.
    Strong hands caught her shoulders, steadied her. “Are you okay? Why don’t you sit down for a sec?”
    He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and led her over to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace, sitting on the coffee table across from her, his gaze fixed on her, his two big hands taking hold of hers.
    She found herself staring back at him, this man from her memories—memories from another life. He seemed out of place here, her past now standing right here in her present. A trill of panic shot through her.
    She drew her hands away, words spilling out of her. “I didn’t think I would ever . . . I never expected . . . I didn’t know you’d be here, and . . .”
    “Small world, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Nate and I are old friends.”
    It was then she noticed that the room had fallen silent, apart from the chatter of children playing down the hall. She looked up to find everyone watching her. Feeling strangely exposed, she shifted her gaze to the fireplace.
    Javier leaned in. “Why don’t we find someplace quiet where we can talk?”
    A chance to talk with him in private. “Yes.”
    “Try the library,” she heard Nate say.
    She got to her feet, following Javier down the hallway and into a spectacular two-story library with its own fireplace. Under normal circumstances the room would have made her smile with delight. Today, it was just a room. She sat in front of the fire in a soft leather wingback chair, her gaze drawn to him. He sat down not in the chair beside her, but across from her, as if to give her room to breathe.
    She needed it. For so long he’d been just a memory, a man with whom she’d spent one precious, luxurious, uninhibited