He gestured to her wineglass, starting with a softball question to warm her up. “So is wine something you got into when you lived in San Francisco?”
She nodded. “I knew nothing about it when I first moved there from Champaign. But most of the people I hung around with drank wine, so I slowly began drinking it more often, figuring out what I like. And what I don’t like.”
Now time for a not-so-soft question. “You never did tell me the whole truth about why you left San Francisco.”
She glanced at him sideways. “Why are you so interested in that?”
“You know so much about me, it seems only fair.” Kyle decided to go for broke. “Did it have something to do with a guy?”
For a moment she seemed to debate whether to answer this. “Yes.”
“Is he still in the picture?”
“No.”
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad to hear that. “Not very talkative about this subject, are you?”
“Maybe instead we could talk about your breakup with Daniela.”
Kyle rested his arm on the table, leaning closer to her and speaking in a lower voice. “And maybe, just once, you could restrain yourself from turning one of our conversations into a verbal tennis match.”
Her eyes held his for a moment, as if she were considering this, then she looked away and gave her wineglass another swirl. “My ex-boyfriend and I broke up after he decided he wanted to move to Rome. With or without me.”
“Sounds like your ex-boyfriend is a douchebag.”
Rylann smiled at that. Then, quite deliberately, she shifted away from that topic by checking her watch. “Well, look at that. I think you and I finally managed to break our eight-minute record of getting along.” She took her last sip and then set her glass on the table. “Speaking of time, I really should get going.”
“That’s right, you mentioned earlier that you have plans tonight. Hot date?” Kyle asked.
Real subtle, ass**le.
“I’m just going to the movies with Rae,” she said. “We’re seeing The Hunger Games at eight thirty.”
Kyle checked his watch. “Eight thirty? You still have time.” He looked straight into her eyes, deciding to go for broke. “Stay for a little longer, Rylann.” His voice turned huskier. “We’ll have another glass of wine and catch up. That’s what old friends do, isn’t it?”
She studied him for a long moment.
Too long.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she finally said. “I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea about our situation.”
Kyle looked around the wine store—there was only one other table of customers, and they weren’t paying any attention to them. So by “people,” she obviously meant him.
“The situation?” he asked.
“You know, the whole lawyer-witness thing.” Her tone was casual, but her eyes held his quite directly. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think there was something going on here. Because that couldn’t happen, obviously.”
Right. That situation.
Kyle took a sip of his wine as the meaning of her words hit him.
It didn’t mean a thing, he reminded himself. She was just one girl.
“Of course.” He threw her an easygoing grin. “Actually, I was just trying to avoid having to get back to the whole mess of network connection problems waiting for me in Jordan’s office.”
“Oh. Sorry I couldn’t help you out with that.” Rylann stood up and threw the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder. “So…I’ll be in touch if there’s any development in the Quinn case.”
Sure she would. No clue how long that might be. “You know how to find me, counselor.”
“Right.” She smiled in farewell. “Thanks again for meeting with me. I promise to stay out of your freakishly lustrous, shampoo-commercial hair. At least for a while.”
After she left the wine shop, Kyle sat at the table, playing distractedly with his glass.
“She didn’t want to stay?”
Kyle looked up and saw Jordan standing at the table. For once, shockingly, she didn’t appear ready to harass or needle him.
“She had plans with a friend,” he said with a shrug.
“You’ve never introduced me to a woman before.”
Kyle shook his head. “It’s not like that, Jordo,” he said. “Rylann is just—”
“—an old friend.” With a soft smile, she reached out and ruffled his hair. “Got it.”
Eighteen
AS IT TURNED out, Rylann wasn’t quite as good as she’d thought she was.
Over the last five years she’d prosecuted cases, she’d become quite skilled at reading defendants and their lawyers at the initial court appearance. Given Quinn’s obvious nervousness, she’d originally predicted that his lawyer would be calling her within two weeks to negotiate a plea agreement.
Instead, it took him two weeks and three days to make that call.
“I’ve read the FBI reports,” Michael Channing led in shortly after Rylann answered the phone. There was a touch less bravado in his voice in comparison to the last time they’d spoken at Quinn’s arraignment. “I’d like to talk about a plea bargain. In person. My client has something he wants to say.”
“How about tomorrow?” Rylann asked. “I’m in court in the morning but can make myself available later on. Say, two o’clock?”