Accepting a glimmering glass of champagne, I watched as my colleagues and those I didn't know, shook hands and made bold declarations, most of them false, that the war on fraud was under control.
"Cross. Garcia," came the unenthused voice belonging Chief Delacroix.
"Boss," we both responded in unison. He was a balding man who always seemed like his mind was elsewhere and more often than not, in a dark place.
"Cross, you shape up nicely," he said, eyes assessing my appearance almost like he was double checking to see if it was really me.
"See, I told you," Garcia insisted.
"It's like you all think I'm a hobo at work. The only thing different is I'm in a dress and my hair is down," I stated, slightly confused. Their compliments were greatly appreciated, but their shocked expressions were a little extreme.
"I'll pay more attention next time," the boss offered with little sincerity. "Garcia," he turned his attention to Tomas, "find some time, we need to talk."
"Okay," was all the response he gave. I could have been wrong but I was certain there was a hint of defiance in his tone.
With a nod, the Chief went to leave. As usual, he looked distracted, eyes darting around the room, the crease lines on his forehead becoming more pronounced. Swiping another glass of champagne off a passing tray, he downed the whole lot. Without saying a word, he discarded the glass on a nearby table and left in search of his next target.
"Is he okay?"
Garcia shook his head also confused over the boss's behavior. "He seems fidgety more than usual."
"Why does he need to see you?"
He shrugged his shoulders not meeting my eyes. "Don't know. Guess I'll find out tomorrow. Let's find our table."
Accepting his answer, though still finding it odd, I let him steer me to the sectioned dining area. The tables were elaborately decorated and the glimmering of the chandelier above offered an intimate glow. Weaving our way through the maze, we located our names as others also began to take their seats at the round tables. Soft orchestra music played live nearby and I could feel my shoulders beginning to relax as the mood took me. Our line of work was hectic almost every second of the day and rarely did I find the time to unwind.
Just as the waiter placed my entrée in front of me, Tomas's cell rang. Retrieving it from his jacket pocket, I noticed it wasn't the typical agency issued smartphone. Checking the number, his eyes shot to mine then back again as he cut the call off. Clearing his throat he slid it back in his pocket and avoided my stare. Tomas's behavior was off and there was definitely something amiss, but our relationship was built on trust and when he felt comfortable talking to me about it then I'd listen.
As I was enjoying a sliver of roasted duck a feeling came over me. The type of feeling that both piques one's curiosity and screams that something just isn't right. The small hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and my skin goose bumped. Shaking it off as nothing, I continued eating until another ripple coursed through me.
It was stronger this time.
Was it a possible threat in the air demanding my attention or the curious wayward stare of an onlooker raising my hackles?
Sitting back sipping my champagne, I scanned the room of people that was now mostly seated except for some struggling to finish their respective conversations, their bodies lost in the maze of tables.
Coming to a standstill, I froze as another gaze locked on mine. He sat two rows across to my right, dark impenetrable eyes watching my every move.
Slightly narrowed with a sense of brooding, he held my stare, jaw locked in place. He sat with his chair angled from the table, one ankle on top of the other knee, his fingers drumming a slow mesmerizing beat on the table. Like a stormy sea he swallowed me whole and I found myself not even fighting it.
For some reason, the somewhat ridiculous effect he had on me was showing. My chest rose and fell heavily, my own eyes narrowing to meet his intimidating challenge, yet beneath it all the man was throwing me off kilter. My throat suddenly dry and heartbeat accelerated. Not even when others crossed our line of sight did he waiver.
"Who is that?" I asked Tomas being careful not to noticeably move my mouth.
There was a pause before he answered as he casually sussed the stranger out. "I don't know, but he has a thing for you. You sure you don't know him?"
"Positive. That's a face I'd never forget."
He was handsome, rugged almost, and slightly older than me. There was nothing ‘pretty' about him. Even in an expensive looking tailored suit, he looked manlier than any others in the room. To me, he was my perfection. With a trimmed five day growth, he was every bit oozing the life experience I desperately wanted a slice of. His dark hair complemented his tanned possibly Hispanic skin, and a faint smear of dark circles under his eyes added to the brooding stare he had mastered.
Strong, broad shoulders took up space under his deep grey suit. The type of shoulders that could handle anything thrown at him.
No, he wasn't a pretty man. He was gorgeously manly and my traitorous body was having a response to him in a way it had never experienced before.
Beside me, Tomas cleared his throat. "Should I get you two a room?"
That was enough to pull me back to reality albeit a little turned on. "What? No! I'm simply trying to figure out who he is."
"By eye fucking him?"
"Tomas, I was not eye fucking."
"Trust me, I know sex with the eyeballs when I see it."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
Was it that obvious?
During that time, my empty plate had been replaced with the main meal. Eyeing the delicious food, I realized I was no longer hungry, my appetite quickly abandoning me along with my nerve. Cautiously glancing back up, the brooding man was gone, his chair pushed back neatly into place as though he was never there. There was a sense of relief and disappointment at his sudden departure, a mix that didn't sit comfortably either way. Only moments later my attention was quickly drawn to a terse interaction occurring out of earshot.
"Who is the Chief talking to?" I asked, nudging Tomas in the ribs to get his attention.
Again he followed my gaze to where Chief Delacroix and another man seemed engaged in a heated conversation. They were doing their best to reign it in, but their body language clearly revealed the tension between the two. Then unexpectedly, they both turned and looked directly at us.
"Are they talking about us? Have we done something wrong?" Uncomfortable with the stare off, the two men, without saying another word departed in opposite directions.
"Odd," Tomas conceded. "Maybe it has something to do with the new case tomorrow. Shall we?" he asked with his hand extended to take mine.
"We shall," I accepted, pleased for the distraction. Leading me to the dance floor, we weaved between other couples before we found an opening.
"How's the dating going?" I asked with a tease, getting into position.
"It's not," he replied indifferently, looking absently over my shoulder as he moved me around.
"What do you mean? You spent a week away from the job and you didn't think to line up a few dates."
"Nina, I'm too busy for the shenanigans you imagine me getting up to."
"Too busy?"
"Yes," he replied curtly sending me out in an amateur twirl.
"Well, since you don't tell me what you do in your spare time anymore I'm happy to speculate."
Before Tomas could respond, my smile faded and my body slowed.
I couldn't see him, but I could feel him. I tensed, the hairs on my neck again rising to the sensation.
"What is it?" Tomas asked, brows furrowed in question.
"Nothing," I downplayed. Because even as I looked around the room between the mass of socialites and dignitaries', the man from earlier was no longer in sight. Falling back into rhythm we continued dancing, but unlike before the feeling could not be shaken.
He was here.
But where?
And why did he give me the chills?
When the song ended, Garcia squeezed my neck and took my hand. We were almost off the dance floor when he alerted me.
"Your nine o'clock closing in fast," Tomas said, his mouth moving like a ventriloquist.
Braving a look, I inwardly cringed.
"Oh God, do something."
"Like what?"
"Anything!" My hiss went unheard as Garcia, my work partner and best friend released my hand and made a quick step in the opposite direction, leaving me vulnerable to the elements or who in this case was Jarrett Lloyd. A pompous ex-college jock who still carried the frat boy mentality.
"Nina!" he announced, drawing out my name. He was a good looking self-assured man and unbeknownst to him-despite numerous shake offs-I never planned to lay a finger on his athletic body.
"Jarrett," I greeted in turn, my voice lacking enthusiasm. That didn't deter him.
"Nina, I always knew under that pantsuit you wear every day there's a kick-ass body."
"Well, apparently it's been a shock to everyone," I replied, deadpan.
What did they all expect me to wear at work?
"Mind if I?" Without waiting for a response, Jarrett took my hand and pulled me along behind him.
"I've really got to go," I said, trying to reclaim my limb.
"Nonsense. You can afford one dance." Although he turned and smiled, it was one of those that said he wasn't taking no for an answer. I wasn't one to cause a scene, not unless under extreme duress, so he already having the upper-hand was not working to my advantage.