took off ahead of him, rounded a concrete hill, swerved up the side, twisted the board into a perfect one-eighty, then landed hard.
“You built it?” he asked, reaching her just as she toed the board and gave him a cocky look.
“I supervised the fund-raising team that scared up the dollars to build it,” she explained. “Charles River Skate Park is the result of the hard work of a major community volunteer organization. One that I happen to be extremely involved with.”
“Really.” He scrutinized her for a moment, like an art dealer who kind of saw something worthwhile—but then he looked away. Like he’d rather pass.
She hated that his disinterest torqued her.
Disinterest is good, Vivi. He’s a client. Client. Cli-ent. How often did she need to remind herself of that?
He slipped her helmet back on her head. “Don’t skate without this.”
She took it back off again. “I’m walking, not skating. What do you want from me today, Lang?”
“I just came to tell you I have to cancel our meeting tomorrow. I had a change in my schedule. I can come over to your offices on Wednesday if you have time.”
Like he couldn’t have called to tell her that. Or sent a text, since they seemed to be exchanging plenty of them on a regular basis. Couldn’t he just leave a message with Chessie? Why did control-freak Lang always need to do business in person?
Was it because he didn’t trust the efficient delivery of an e-mail message, or because he wanted to see her? She squashed the thought, and considered how much to tell him when she replied.
“You’ll have to meet with my brother on Wednesday. I’ll be out of town.”
He gave her an interested look. “Work or fun?”
“Work is fun. Maybe not for hardened FBI agents, but we budding security-business owners have a blast.”
“I’m serious.”
That made her laugh. “You were born serious, Lang.”
He almost smiled. But not quite. “Where are you going?”
“Need-to-know basis. And sorry, but you don’t.” He’d just scoff at the whole idea anyway. “You’re not our only client, you know.”
“I’m the only one here.”
Just the way he said it sent warmth rolling through every female corner of her body.
“You can meet with Zach,” she said. “My brother is up to speed on all our open cases. You’ll never miss me.”
His brow twitched upward, ever so imperceptibly. Like… like maybe he would miss her. “I was hoping you’d give a full report on the Berkower case I handed over to the Guardian Angelinos last month. That case is in your bailiwick.”
“Bailiwick?” She choked a derisive laugh. “Where do you get these words? Everything’s in my bailiwick, but I’m going to be in L.A., so—”
“You’ve got clients in L.A. now?” He sounded surprised, and way too interested. “I didn’t realize your little company was going national.”
Your little company. She should be used to slight put-downs from Lang by now. They were a fact of life, no different from the teasing she took from the cousins she and Zach were raised with. She knew it was just his way of maintaining control. Still, they irked her.
“If you knew why I was going, you wouldn’t be so liberal with your thinly veiled insults.”
“Then tell me.”
Some skaters whizzed by, swerving to miss Lang, who strode down the path like he’d built the place instead of Vivi and her band of volunteers.
“Can’t,” she said simply. “It’s client confidential.” Or it would be. As soon as she got the job.
“So you do have a California client? That’s interesting.”
She almost lied, but her mother’s well-painted image of St. Peter at the pearly gates counting up her lifetime tally stopped her, as it always did. “To be honest, it’s just a pitch for new business, but I think we have a shot.” A very long shot. But that was her favorite kind. “Why is that interesting?”
“Because…” He hesitated, sliding a glance at her. “I may be moving out there.”
Her heart dropped so hard and fast she felt it hit bottom. “Really?”
He shrugged, feigning a casualness that something told her he didn’t feel. “Possibly. There’s an opening for an SAC position out there that I’ve been interviewing for.”
“Whoa, Lang.” She gave him a playful punch in the arm, using the opportunity to let her knuckles enjoy the hard bump of his bicep. “Big promotion to Special Agent in Charge, losing that pesky ‘assistant’ handle.” A promotion that would put him three thousand miles away. “You’d be running the whole office?”
“God, no. Only the Criminal Programs Division, which is