“I am,” she said. “But just because I’m a journalist, it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a little chivalry now and then.”
He gave her another smoldering look. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Five minutes in and they were already flirting. At this rate, she was going to have a hard time remembering this was supposed to be a fishing expedition. Because so far, it was feeling a lot more like a date to her. She needed to steer the conversation back into safer territory, and fast. So, she brought up the one subject sure to cool things down—the man his SWAT team had killed at the warehouse.
“I guess by now the department has told you who that thug at the warehouse was, huh?”
If Gage was caught off guard by the sudden shift in subject, he didn’t let on. In fact, his expression didn’t change at all as he took his eyes off the road to check the rearview mirror. “Actually, I didn’t know who he was until I got home and saw it on the news.”
She turned a little in her seat so she could see his face better. “Seriously? Isn’t the fact that a member of your team just killed the son of the most powerful criminal in the northern hemisphere something your boss thought he should mention?”
“The department doesn’t work like that,” he said. “Internal Affairs talked to Xander and me, but their only concern is whether it was a clean shooting or not. They rarely tell us the name of the suspect in a case like that. The shrinks think it makes it too personal for the officer and can make the post-shooting counseling session even harder.”
Huh. Considering their hard-core image, she hadn’t thought an officer in SWAT would even attend counseling like that.
“That’s all fine and good if Xander shot your average guy,” she agreed. “But this was Ryan Hardy, the son of a man most people consider pretty damn scary. Word on the street is that he’s already blaming your SWAT team for assassinating his son.”
He shrugged. “People always stir up crap when things like this happen, but they get over it—or they don’t. What’s Hardy going to do, take out a contract on the entire SWAT team?”
“That’s exactly what I would think he’s going to do.”
Gage didn’t act as if he thought that was very likely, but she noticed he spent a lot of time checking his mirrors. Dallas traffic was bad, but not that bad.
Mac opened her mouth to call him on it, but Gage asked how long she’d lived in Dallas. Guess that was his subtle way of saying he didn’t want to talk about Hardy. Okay, she wouldn’t push. For now.
“Since graduating from college,” she said in answer to his question. “I interned at the Dallas Daily Sun in the summers and loved it so much, I couldn’t turn them down when they offered me a full-time job.”
Gage gave her a sidelong glance. “Being a journalist is in your blood, I guess.”
She laughed. “I guess. I have my parents to thank for that. They’re both English professors at A&M. According to them, I started writing when I was four and haven’t stopped. I think they thought I’d follow in their footsteps, but I always wanted to be a journalist. What about you? Are you originally from Dallas?”
“San Antonio.”
She would have asked more, but they’d already pulled up in front of the restaurant. A valet immediately came around to take Gage’s keys while another opened her door. The rest of the conversation would have to wait until they were seated.
There was a line of people waiting for tables, so Mac was surprised when the hostess seated them right away. But while the chef might have promised Gage a table for two any time he requested it, the Chambre Francaise was packed seven days a week. So their booth ended up being very small and out of the way. It wasn’t exactly in the kitchen, but close. Mac didn’t mind, though. The short, rotund chef, however, was clearly embarrassed he only had the small booth to offer them.
“Don’t worry about it, Emile.” Gage stood and took the shorter man’s hand in one of his, clapping him on the back with the other. “The way I see it, this is the best seat in the house. I couldn’t ask for a better place to have a nice, quiet dinner, which is exactly what we’re looking for. How’s Kyle getting along?”
Emile beamed as only a proud parent could. “He is doing very well. Good grades, and more importantly, he’s passionate about what he’s learning. And once again, I owe that all to you.”
“It was all Kyle,” Gage insisted.
Emile looked as if he would have argued, but Gage introduced Mac before the man could say anything else.