Chapter 3: Getting to Know You
s
s
Jack was right. It wasn't anyone's fault.
The problem was, as firmly as Myles knew that, it wasn't helping. Three solid weeks. It ate at his gut, as surely as if Bobby were perched on the barstool chanting the words as Myles paced in the kitchen.
Relax. Oh, right, Jack. Just shrug it off and pick up the pieces tomorrow. Defeats and setbacks were part of the job; Myles Leland III knew that, and could usually do just that—shrug them off and rebound with a vengeance. Unless he felt personally responsible. Then it wasn't so easy.
Being "silver spoon-fed," as Bobby liked to put it, wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Few people truly understood the intense pressure that often came with the legacy. Myles' head ached as every grueling lecture his grandfather had delivered, throughout his childhood and adolescence, on the responsibility of upholding the Leland family honor came rushing back to haunt him.
To suffer setback was acceptable—it built character. To look foolish in doing so, regardless of the circumstances, was NOT, however—and Myles had come off looking very foolish today.
How am I supposed to relax after that fiasco? I don't feel like talking to anyone from work, and I certainly don't want to sit here with Grandfather's voice in my head all night.
Uttering a single mild curse—something else his grandfather considered beneath the Leland dignity—he pulled off his suit coat and hurled it across the room. As it tumbled onto the back of the sofa, a slip of white fell out of it and landed face-up on the floor.
Elizabeth Dillingham's business card.
Oh, what the hell.
s
s
"Hello?"
"Dr. Dillingham? It's Myles Leland III." His voice, after some considerable effort, had regained its tenor and the polish was back in place.
"Oh, yes. Myles. And please, call me Elizabeth. What can I do for you?"
"Actually, I was wondering if the offer of dinner was available on short notice. I would, of course, understand if you already have other plans."
Elizabeth smiled. "Not at all. I just got home from work and was deciding between canned soup and macaroni & cheese. What did you have in mind?"
"I know a marvelous little Italian place at the end of the Mall. The linguine pomodoro is simply exquisite."
"That sounds wonderful, Myles. Shall I meet you there in say, half an hour?"
"I'll see you there. The name of the restaurant is Antonio's."
Elizabeth's smile got bigger as she hung up the phone. Life's about to get interesting, I hope.
s
s
She studied him for a moment, sitting at the bar with a scotch, neat, untouched in front of him. It didn't surprise her that, even unobserved by anyone he knew, he had an air of practiced importance about him that distanced him from anyone else in the room, although he was obviously disturbed about something.
What did surprise Elizabeth was that he'd opted for a less formal look than she'd expected. Instead of a suit and tie, Myles wore impeccably pressed khakis, and a button-down shirt under a subtly-patterned blue sweater that looked like it had come from an Aspen pro shop. He must be more tired than I thought. I'm surprised he called.
Accustomed, perhaps, to knowing when he was being watched, Myles looked up and saw her. With a graceful flourish, he stood and walked over to her.
"Elizabeth. How nice to see you again." He glanced admiringly at her. "You look lovely."
She brushed at her dark green pantsuit demurely, just like her grandmother had taught her. "Thank you, Myles."
"Shall we?"
He took her elbow gently, and they followed the hostess to a table. He held her chair for her, then sat down across from her. They each ordered a white wine, and he suggested the special for the evening. Then they chatted over inconsequentials, the basic first-date things, where-did-you-go-to-school and such.
To his credit, Myles did wait until they had been served their salads before asking, "So…you're from Cambridge? As in Dr. David Dillingham?"
"That's right. My esteemed grandfather."
"And yet, you went to Princeton?"
Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, and he didn't even disown me. You should have heard him, though: 'Ten generations of Dillinghams have been Harvard men and women, and you want to go to college in New Jersey?'"
Her imitation could have been of his own grandfather, and Myles found himself chuckling, too. "I can understand the reaction, seeing the Dillingham name on practically everything while I was there. How'd you manage it?"
"Actually, it was simple. Princeton has a better psychology program, that's all. Once Grandfather realized I wasn't rebelling against tradition just for the sake of it, he was fine. And he was so proud that I graduated at the top of my class that he came to graduation. Actually set foot on Princeton grounds."
"And we graduated in the same year? I thought I felt a tremor roll through the Harvard halls as all the predecessors rolled over in their graves."
Her laugh was musical, and contagious. The rest of dinner was spent reliving wild college stories and discussing Milton. Myles found that his headache was completely gone, and his energy level ebbing back toward normal. I'm glad I did this tonight, he thought, I needed this.
s
s
It had been a perfect evening.
As a rule, Myles Leland hated first dates. With a passion. It was always an intricate mind game; how much of himself to reveal (5 percent), what to hold back (95 percent), what to make up, in some cases. It was worse than going undercover.
Tired as he was, he had already decided that tonight would be kept friendly and generalized, so he didn't have to think. Find out a little about the lady, give her the very basics about himself, and then just do the small talk route. It had helped that their backgrounds were obviously similar—the Cambridge Dillinghams were almost as high on the society ladder as the Lelands. He could have an intelligent conversation without having to pretend.
But Elizabeth was like no one he'd ever met. It was almost like she was plugged into his subconscious. Even when they disagreed on something, he didn't feel like he had to win the point, to save face. She was intelligent without being pretentious, warm without being flirty, and she seemed to have a charming unawareness of how stunningly pretty she was.
As they stepped out of the restaurant, to a view of the moonlit Mall, Elizabeth sighed. "I do love this city at night. All the politicians have gone home, or at least behind closed doors; the moving and shaking is done for the day. D.C. can have a chance to be a quietly solemn city, fitting of our nation's capital."
"I'd never thought of it that way, but you're right. Sometimes I wish I got more chance to see it like this. Usually, I'm crouched behind a dumpster waiting for the bad guys to make a move in the dark, and the beauty gets lost." He offered her his arm. "I find I'm not eager to end this evening. What would you say to a stroll along the Mall?"
"I'd say that sounds lovely."
They walked in silence, enjoying each other's company and the sparkling view. Pausing at a small bench next to the reflecting pool, Elizabeth leaned against Myles' shoulder.
"May I ask you a question? I'm curious about something."
"Go ahead."
"What made you decide to go into law enforcement? I'd have figured you for Harvard Business School, headed for Wall Street."
Myles looked at her steadily for a moment, silently debating.
"I'm sorry," said Elizabeth, "It's all right if you don't want to tell me. As I said, I was just curious."
"No, it's all right. I just…" He gazed into her eyes again, and made a decision. "It's not something many people know about me, and not something I share readily. Care to sit down for a minute?" She nodded, and they sat down on the bench.
He stared out at the water, collecting his thoughts. "I'm sure most of my co-workers think that I fancy myself James Bond, and that's what I let them think. In fact, when I've found myself defending what I do, that's what usually comes out…"
"'Einstein with a gun,' huh?" It was said very gently.
He looked at her sharply, then saw the soft smile and couldn't help himself from smiling, a little sheepishly, back at her. "Something like that. Anyway,…"
Suddenly, a very unpleasant thought popped into Myles' head. The smile faded and his tone chilled a little. "Exactly how much does Tara tell you, anyway?"
Elizabeth shrugged. "Case work? Nothing, obviously. Everything else? A fair amount. But you have to remember, I get her particular perspective. I have to filter all that out and draw my own conclusions. Why?"
He turned and looked directly at her, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Did you talk to Tara this evening, before I called?" His voice got harder with every word.
Elizabeth blinked. Oh, no. She hadn't intended to tease him, and had actually forgotten for a moment that they had a very mutual friend. "Yes." She wasn't going to lie to him, although she knew she was in dangerous waters.
He stood, and the tone of his voice was colder than the night air. "I see. Well, Dr. Dillingham, thank you for dinner, but I won't be needing your services. Good night." He turned on his heel and walked away, anger stiffening his shoulders and quickening his pace.
She stared after him for a minute, trying to process what had just happened. How did this happen? We were having a wonderful time. I didn't mean…
Oh, no—I'm not leaving things like this. She got up and started after him, grateful she'd worn sensible shoes instead of heels. She had to almost run to overtake his long stride, and was gasping slightly when she caught his arm and swung him around.
"Whoa there, Special Agent. What exactly do you think is going on?"
He wrenched his arm away from her. "I think," he spat, "that Tara filled you in on today's fiasco and wanted you to come therapize me, or whatever you call it. Poor Myles, he's had a rough day, see if you can straighten him out so we don't have any more episodes like this! Let me tell you something, Dr. Dillingham—I've been with the FBI for ten years, I know perfectly well how to do my job. I don't need yours or anybody else's help!"
Elizabeth didn't let him get a single stride; she stood toe-to-toe with him and eyed him steadily. "If I remember correctly," she said, very evenly, "you called me tonight, Agent Leland. And, for your information, my conversation with Tara had a lot more to do with helping her unwind than it did in discussing you. She did not go into detail about whatever happened today, said very little except that the day had been extremely frustrating and you were all tired. The only time your name came up at all was that she told me she'd given you my number, but doubted if you'd call tonight. She still thinks I'm crazy for wanting to do this, anyway."
She took a breath. "Why did you call me tonight, Myles, if you'd had such a rotten day?"
He blinked. "I…"
"Because you picked having dinner with a near-stranger over staying home with your own thoughts, that's why. And that's fine. But don't you dare go and accuse me of conspiring with Tara to set you up in a therapy session."
He didn't believe her—she could see it in his eyes. He didn't believe anything they'd talked about tonight, nothing. It hurt like nothing she'd experienced before, the thought that such a wonderful evening was in ashes and might never be resurrected.
"You don't believe me," she said evenly. "Fine. Check with Tara. She always saves IM conversations for a couple of weeks—rather like a journal. You do whatever checking on me you feel you need to, get your answers, and then give me a call when you get done. Because even after this, I'd still like to see you again."
"I wouldn't wait by the phone if I were you." It was imperious, like a royal prince sneering at a peasant.
She ignored the tone. "I don't intend to. I have too much work to do. But I'm not going to change the number, either." And she left him standing there.
s
s
INSTANT MESSAGE:
DrDill: Hey, Tara, you still up?
Lola: Hi, Liz. Where've you been?
DrDill: What I thought was going to be a nice dinner. Hey, will you do me a favor?
Lola: Sure, what?
DrDill: When you all finish whatever case you're working on now, will you pull up the FBI's file on me? The background check from the research study proposal?
Lola: Why?
DrDill: I want you to put it on Myles' desk. Along with a printout of the IM conversation you and I had earlier tonight. And you're not to say anything about this to him. Nothing. Not one word. Not until your case is finished.
Lola: Why? What happened, Liz? Did he call? What did he do?
DrDill: No answers tonight, Tara. Give me your word.
Lola:All right, you have my word on it.
DrDill:Thanks, my friend. This is between him and me right now. Good night!