in Portland, you do the same.”
“Right.”
She stared at him, at his face, his eyes. She was making the right decision. They both were.
“You’re not the one who got away,” she said firmly.
“Neither are you.”
As she closed the car door, she knew they were both lying.
Two
Nearly five years later
D avid Logan generally avoided recreational social events at the embassy. His work required more than enough cocktail parties at which he either had to keep his eye on someone dangerous or extract information without the person in question knowing. He no longer found the endless chatter relaxing or fun. Give him a good covert kidnapping or prisoner extraction any day.
But tonight was different. Even though it was his day off, he found himself nodding politely to people he’d seen at events like this a dozen times before and making inane conversation with spouses of staff members. Even as he explained a point of baseball to a security operative from the British embassy, he kept his eye on the circulating crowd. Nearly thirty American tourists had been invited to the evening’s festivities, including one Elizabeth Duncan from Portland, Oregon.
Liz had finally made it to Russia.
He knew her visit had nothing to do with him—they hadn’t been in contact since they’d parted company the evening he’d flown to Moscow. Still, he’d come to the party with the hope of catching a glimpse of her. Maybe more than a glimpse. He wanted to look at her, talk to her, find out what was different and what was the same.
Funny how after all this time he could remember everything about their time together. While he wasn’t willing to admit she was the one who got away, he would claim a certain interest. He’d never forgotten her. Would she be able to say the same about him?
He concluded his conversation with the British security operative and made his way to the bar. As he crossed the large, crowded room, he glanced toward the entrance and saw a group of Americans standing there.
They wore their nationality as easily as their formal clothing, something that would surprise most of them. His time in Russia had taught David to size up a person in a matter of seconds, and he recognized the well-dressed, well-fed posture of relatively successful Westerners. A few were in Moscow as tourists, some had come to adopt children, and a couple were here for work.
The crowd parted, allowing him a view of a beautiful redhead in a black gown. He wasn’t close enough to see the color of her eyes, but he remembered. A vivid green. He also recalled her curiosity, her humor and her drive.
“Champagne,” he said to the bartender. “Two.”
After collecting the glasses, he made his way through the crowd.
Liz stood talking to a couple in their late thirties. She’d piled her hair on top of her head, which left her neck bare to view. David wanted to move close enough to brush that pale skin with a kiss. Okay, maybe he wanted to do a lot more than that. The slender straps holding up the dress offered possibilities.
“Down, boy,” he murmured to himself as he made his way closer. He was acting as if he hadn’t been with a woman since he and Liz had parted, but that wasn’t true. There had been plenty. Still, none of them had been her.
“Liz?”
He spoke her name quietly. She had her back to him and when she heard the single word she stilled, then slowly turned.
The action gave him a view of her profile first, then her whole face. Humor and surprise and excitement danced in her large green eyes. Her full lips curved up in a smile that both welcomed and beckoned. Heat sizzled, then arced between them.
“David Logan,” she said, her voice exactly as he remembered. “I’d wondered if you were still haunting the halls of the Moscow state department.”
She’d thought of him. The news pleased him more than it should have.
He handed her a glass of champagne. “Here I am,” he told her. “Welcome to Moscow.”
She touched her glass to his and sipped. “Thank you,” she said. “Oh, let me introduce you to—”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw the couple she’d been talking to had discreetly faded into the party. Liz turned back to him.
“I guess I’ll do the introduction thing later.”
“If you’d like.”
He didn’t care if he never talked to anyone else. Liz was the one who interested him.
“It’s been a long time,” he said.
“Nearly five years.” She smiled. “Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t have admitted to knowing the amount of time. Does that sound like I was pining?”
“No. Were you?”
Her smile widened. “Not all the time. And you?”
“When I saw your name on the guest list, I knew I had to come by and see you again.”
“Here I am.”
He glanced at the elegant dress that skimmed her gorgeous curves before settling just above her ankles. Her large, dangling silver earrings had been replaced with gold-and-diamond studs. He recognized the brand of her watch and the air of confidence around her.
“You’ve become successful,” he said.
“Within my little world, yes. Do the paparazzi follow me around? Not exactly.”
“Do you want them to?”
She laughed. “Of course not. I’m simply pointing out that success is relative. I’ve won a few awards, pleased some well-placed clients, moved up the food chain.”
“Good. Still living with the football players?”
“No. It’s just me now, which is really better. When those two fought, they were impossible.”
She wasn’t married. David told himself the information shouldn’t have mattered, but he liked knowing it.
“What about you?” she asked. “How’s the spy business?”
“I’ve been working on improving invisible ink.”
“How’s that going?”
“Great. Only my work keeps disappearing.”
“That could be a problem.”
David sounded the same, Liz thought happily. Still charming, still easy to be with, but he looked different. Harder, leaner, more dangerous. His dark eyes contained secrets. He might joke about invisible ink but she suspected the truth about his job would make her shiver with fear.
He touched her arm and she felt the warm
