Storm's Cage by Mary Stone (uplifting novels .TXT) 📕

a neat braid. Zane felt like an unobservant oaf when he noticed the soft waves that fell over her shoulders and down her back.

Though Amelia was a beautiful woman, even on the days her allergies left her with red-rimmed eyes and a stuffy nose, Zane was seeing a completely different side of her today.

When she’d confided in him about Alton Dalessio, he’d realized how much her friendship meant to him. In the months since they’d first debated Chicago versus New York-style pizza, she’d become one of the most important people in his life.

But there was more to the revelation. More to the way he felt about her than a platonic friendship. He reminded himself that she’d already dealt with an unwanted advance from a male colleague she’d considered a friend—Joseph Larson. The last thing Zane wanted was to put her in the same situation all over again.

As enchanting as she was, he’d rather be in her life as a friend than not at all.

When her eyes flicked to him, he wondered how long he’d let his gaze linger.

Well, might as well own up to it.

“Sorry.” He held up his hands. “I was looking at your hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it down before.”

She glanced at the strands that fell over her shoulders and down her white dress shirt. “It was chilly this morning, and the cold was a little jarring since it was almost ninety yesterday. My hair is like my scarf, I guess.”

“Your scarf?” He had a mental image of Rapunzel. “Okay, I can see it. That’s cute. I also didn’t realize that the ends are blonde.” For emphasis, and before he could think better of the action, he reached out to touch the soft strands that framed her face.

Her eyes drifted up to meet his. “According to Jo, it’s a color melt. Like a balayage but a little different. I don’t know how it’s different, though.”

“I don’t know what a balayage is, either.” Though he knew he should have dropped his hand and directed their attention to the images and text on the wall-spanning whiteboard, the combination of curiosity and contentment in Amelia’s expression held him in place.

“Of course, you don’t know.” She shook her head with mock disappointment. “But I appreciate the compliment. I kind of needed it. I had a pretty shitty night last night. This might sound weird, but I’m really glad to see you right now.”

At the hint of reverence in her tone, his pulse rushed in his ears. Each motion was tentative as he traced his thumb along her cheekbone and down the side of her face. “You see me every day. Or almost every day.”

He was fully prepared for her to recoil at the physical contact, but the glimmer in her eyes only brightened. “Two things can be true.”

As he ran his index finger down the warmth of her neck, he took a step forward to close the distance between them.

Or he would have, but he froze in place at the faint beep that sounded out from the closed door. Only one other person in the office had the code to access the former broom closet—the Special Agent in Charge.

Dropping both hands to his sides, he took two small steps away from his partner. The magnetic lock disengaged with a click, and the door swung inward.

Jasmine Keaton’s tired eyes fell on Zane first before shifting to Amelia. If she suspected she’d interrupted a hug, or a kiss, or whatever in the hell had just happened between him and his partner, the expression didn’t register on her unlined face.

“Morning, Agents.”

Zane reached for his thermos. “Morning. What brings you down here so early, SAC Keaton?”

“Looking for the two of you.” She stuck out a foot to keep the door from closing. “There’s someone in my office who’s got some information about the Leóne trafficking ring you two knocked down.”

Zane flashed Amelia a curious glance. When their eyes met, she shook her head, looking just as stumped by this news as he was.

SAC Keaton waved her hand for them to follow as she pulled the door open. “He was close with Vivian Kell.”

As his eyes went wide, Zane stepped around the edge of the table. “Vivian Kell? Is he a reporter too?”

“He can answer that for you himself.” The SAC held the door as Zane and Amelia filed into the empty hallway. “We don’t have a lot of time. He’s here early because he’s trying to avoid being seen.”

Zane bit his tongue to keep any more questions to himself. The trip upstairs was short, and none of them spoke. Zane could only imagine that the same flurry of questions was whipping through Amelia’s head as they approached a familiar office.

Blinds clattered against glass as SAC Keaton shoved open the door.

From where he’d been seated in one of the two cushioned armchairs, a man rose to his feet. He nodded a greeting to SAC Keaton before his blue eyes shifted to Amelia and then to Zane. The man’s navy suit was tailored to fit his lean, muscular frame, and despite the laugh lines on his clean-shaven face, his golden-brown crewcut was absent of any streaks of silver.

Stepping behind the cluttered wooden desk, the SAC gestured to Zane. “Agent Palmer, could you lock that door?”

Wordlessly, Zane complied with the request before he moved to stand beside Amelia.

Straightening his navy suit jacket, the man extended a hand. “Agents, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ben Storey.”

Shifting the thermos to his left hand, Zane eagerly accepted Ben’s handshake. “You’re running against Stan Young in the primary coming up in April of next year, right?”

Ben’s expression tightened. “I am. You wouldn’t think a campaign for an election so far away would be this intense this soon, but…” he took a deep breath, and his shoulders drooped as he exhaled loudly, “here we are. Senator Young has run unopposed for the last three election cycles, and clearly, he doesn’t do well with competition.”

Amelia’s green eyes flicked back