Free Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) by Jessica Keller

reached for the check, but Nate beat her to it. She slapped at his hand. “You should let me pay, you paid all week. It’s my turn.”
    He leaned forward to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. His floppy hair fell forward. “No worries. I’ve got it.”
    Outside, Nate insisted on driving her home instead of letting her catch the CTA.
    “That’s really not necessary.” Whitney started to walk away, but he called her back.
    “I know that, but you’ll waste forty-five minutes taking the bus when I can have you home in fifteen.” He eased the backpack off her shoulder and slung it over his own.
    Whitney trailed him to an old model Camry sporting three inches of rust around each wheel well. “Chicago’s huge. You don’t even know if I live nearby.”
    He unlocked the passenger side and held it open. “You wouldn’t be here each day after work if you lived that far away.” With a bang, Nate closed the door. He rounded the car with his unrushed stride, popped open the door then tossed her book bag into the backseat. “Besides, I looked at your address when I photocopied your driver’s license the other day.” He held up his hands. “Foundation policy on that, I really did have to copy your card if you were going to go into the back archive room.”
    “Drive, creeper.” She clicked her seatbelt.
    His quiet laugh filled the cabin.
    With minimal traffic at this time of night he pulled out onto the street with ease. Veering the Camry toward Halsted, the street she lived on.
    When he stopped at a red light Whitney tried to turn the radio on.
    “It broke years ago,” he offered. The fast tick of his blinker became their only music.
    Whitney glanced down at the mound of candy bar wrappers on the floor. “I’ll fill the silence then. I have a creeper confession of my own.”
    Nate glanced her way, the right side of his mouth tipping up. “That sounds intriguing.”
    After retying the yellow scarf around her neck, Whitney sighed. “You’re always at the Historical Foundation, so I asked Rita how long you’ve worked there, but she said you’re a volunteer and that you have a fulltime job on top of the work you do there.”
    “Okay. What’s the question?” He straightened in his seat, grabbing the steering wheel at ten and two.
    “What would possess a young, attractive man to spend every night of the week and Saturday afternoons volunteering his time at a place like that?”
    Eyes forward, he shifted. “Rita’s a good friend of my family’s. I know her from the church I used to attend. Besides, I like helping out.”
    “I’d believe that if you gave time once or twice a week, but not all the time. Well, unless you’re a history teacher or something.”
    “Naw, I work as the office gopher for a gardening magazine.” He shrugged. “It pays the bills, but it’s not my dream job, in case you were wondering.” He pulled into her apartment building’s parking lot and chose the spot open nearest to the doors.
    Whitney unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him. “What is?”
    Looking out the front window, he scratched his head. “I used to work at this youth counseling center. I loved it.”
    Shifting, Whiney pulled her legs to sit crossed-legged in the seat. “Then why don’t you work there anymore?”
    He looped his arms over the wheel. “So, you think I’m attractive?”
    “Only in a so-not-my-type kinda way.” Reaching for her backpack she had to lean close to him. A mixture of fabric softener with a citrus undertone rushed over her senses.
    “Ouch.” Nate crossed his arms and hunkered into his green, army style coat. “What’s you’re type then?”
    “For starters, I’m not a fan of male piercings.” She yanked the straps on her shoulders and sat hunched forward like an overprotected turtle.
    A satisfied smirk crossed his expression. “Do you know the original use for piercings?”
    Whitney shook her head.
    “It worked the same way as cattle branding, really. It marked what