weakness,” Mercer repeated. “One that we will use.”
Dylan jumped to his feet. “No. There is no way I am putting Rachel at risk!” He was protecting her at all costs. “She just got out of the hospital, and you want to send her right into harm’s way? No. That can’t happen.”
“I want you with her, Agent Foxx.” Mercer’s voice had hardened. “Whether we use her or not, the fact remains that the man known as Jack could be in D.C. right now, and if he is...you can bet he’ll be getting close to Rachel very, very soon.”
“When he does, he’ll find me in his path.” Because that was Dylan’s plan. Not to use Rachel, not to jeopardize her in any way. But to be there for her. Always.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Mercer said, sounding satisfied. He even smiled.
Mercer smiling was a scary sight.
“Go find Agent Mancini. I’ll brief you both when I have more information on the Patterson murder.”
Dismissed. Fine. Dylan figured it was about time he got away from Mercer. He spun for the door.
“Oh, Agent Foxx?”
He glanced over his shoulder.
“Just be careful,” Mercer warned him. The lines near Mercer’s eyes deepened. “You don’t want Jack’s weakness to become your own.”
Dylan didn’t respond because he already knew that message had come too late.
Rachel had gotten beneath his skin, and, in order to keep her safe, he’d do just about anything.
* * *
NORMALLY, RACHEL MANCINI didn’t care much for bar scenes. She didn’t like the smooth lines that men spouted there so easily. She wasn’t comfortable with the flirtatious talk that she was supposed to use in return to their overtures.
As a rule, Rachel had a very hard time trusting men.
Thanks, Adam—or Jack or whoever you really are.
When the guy you loved tried to kill you, well, it could sure make a girl hesitate when it came to men and future relationships.
But this night wasn’t a normal night, and if Rachel hadn’t escaped the too-quiet atmosphere of her apartment, she was pretty sure she would have gone crazy.
So she’d fled her apartment and headed down to the corner bar. Actually, the place was more of a pub. O’Sullivan’s. Patrick O’Sullivan had opened the pub over twenty years ago, and the place was still thriving in D.C.
The pub was certainly packed that night.
Rachel eased up near the bar. The blond man on her right immediately turned toward her, a wide grin on his face. “Hey there, doll.”
Doll? Did she look like a doll?
Tall, tan and with carefully tousled blond hair, the guy beside her could have stepped right off the set of some cologne commercial. His smile broadened as he stared at her. His blue gaze swept over her body, way too slowly, before finally returning to her face. “A girl like you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“But that’s exactly what I want to be,” she murmured back and she semi-tried to keep the annoyed edge out of her voice.
A frown creased the blond’s brow.
But the bartender, obviously having overheard her, laughed.
She glanced his way. The bartender, a dark-haired guy with a well-trimmed beard that covered his jaw, offered her a grin. “What can I get you?” He leaned toward her. “Want to start with Paddy’s Whiskey?”
That sounded like a fine plan to her. Rachel nodded.
He winked. “Be right back.” The faint hint of Ireland rolled beneath his words. He was a good-looking guy. Nice features. Light blue eyes.
So why did she look at the bartender and find herself thinking about a man who didn’t look quite so handsome...a man who always appeared a bit dangerous? A man with dark eyes—eyes that she swore could see straight through her.
Dylan Foxx.
Her gaze shifted away from the bartender.
“You don’t have to be alone,” the blond next to her said. Obviously, her earlier comment had gone right over his head.
She gave him a smile. Polite, but firm, Rachel said, “That’s the way I want to be tonight.”
Unfortunately, that was also the way she was every night.
Three years had passed, but Rachel still tensed at the thought of any man slipping past her defenses. Any man except—
“You heard the lady.” That low, growling voice came from behind her. And she knew only one man with a voice like that—Dylan. “Looks like you’re striking out here, buddy. So go try your luck someplace else.”
The blond glared at him. Rachel turned, shaking her head as she gazed up at Dylan. “What are you doing here?” Sure, Dylan wasn’t like her. He visited plenty of bars. But he lived across town.
And this bar was practically in her backyard.
“I came looking for you.”
His words had her tensing. “Has something happened? Has—”
She broke off, realizing that Dylan wasn’t actually looking at her. He was too busy glaring back at the blond. The guy was just sitting there, staring at them.
“Leave,” Dylan barked, using the voice that sent even seasoned EOD agents fleeing. “Now.”
The blond guy fled, but he muttered, “Should’ve said she had a boyfriend...” as he stormed away.
Dylan immediately took the guy’s seat. He exhaled as he got comfortable. “Better. Much better.”
The bartender appeared with her drink. He slid it across the table toward Rachel. “On the house,” he said with a wink.
Surprised, Rachel found herself smiling back at him. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do for a neighbor.” Again, that Irish whispered in his voice. “You don’t know me, but I’ve heard plenty about you.”
His words surprised her.
“My grandfather, Patrick, told me to keep a look out for you, Rachel Mancini.”
She knew Patrick. When she’d first moved into the city, Patrick had been the first person she’d met.
But he’d passed away a few months ago. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather—”
The bartender held up his hand. “So am I, but he wouldn’t want us grieving. To him, life was for celebrating.”
Yes,
