Page 37 of Close Match

“We own a farm in Northern Virginia,” Monty answers. “Since Ev is getting old, I left my previous job to help him with the day-to-day operations of it.”

“Thanks for the ‘old’ crack,” Ev grumbles. But he’s grinning, nonetheless. I see the same dimples that grace my face on his. Even though Monty said earlier we shared the same smile, now I can see it. That sends a shaft of shock through me since I always believed I had Mom’s. Pulling myself out of my stupor, I ask more about the farm.

“So, cows, goats, things like that?”

He’s shaking his head. “Horses. Northern Virginia is prime horse country. There are some beautiful places to ride.”

I nod, though I’d never heard that. The only horses I’ve been behind pull a carriage around Central Park. “You must have enjoyed growing up on a farm.”

“I didn’t buy the farm until later in life,” Ev explains. He reaches over and squeezes Char’s hand. “I didn’t meet Char until Monty was twelve.”

Startled, I find Char smiling at me. “It’s true. I was working in a hotel, and Ev dumped the vase of flowers all over me.”

“I was so blinded by how beautiful you were I was clumsy.” He lifts her hand to his lips.

“Where were you when you met? Here in DC?” I ask as I take a small sip of coffee.

“I was working in a hotel in Manhattan at the time.”

I choke a bit. “Seriously? You’re from the city? Where’s your accent?” I demand.

Char laughs. “I’m originally from the Midwest. Since I never talked like a typical New Yorker, I never passed that on to Monty.”

“How does one earn the name Montague anyway?”

Monty groans and buries his head in his hands. “Try a mother who was a theater major in college and obsessed with all things Shakespeare. That’s how,” he grumbles.

A theater major from New York? I can feel the walls closing in on me. To push them back a little while longer, I decide to turn the tables a bit. “So, Montague.” He lifts his head and glares at me. “Before you went to help out with the family farm, what did you do?”

“Ev never told you?” He frowns at his stepfather.

“No. I had just started to talk about my family when we decided to meet in person. And I apologize for springing them on you as a surprise, Linnie. I just figured it might be best to get all the uncomfortableness out of the way.”

I wave off his concern. “I appreciate your line of thinking. Now. When I was at the maître d’ station earlier, not so much.”

“I’m glad you can understand his logic,” Monty mutters. “Even as a trained investigator, I have trouble with it sometimes.”

My head whips around. “A trained investigator? What do you mean? Was I investigated?” Have these lovely people known I’ve been lying to them the entire time?

Monty scowls at Ev. “No, because Ev asked me to not call in the markers I’m still owed. Why? Hiding any skeletons in your closet?”

Oh, only my name, who my mother really was, and what I do for a living. Nothing major. “No more than the average person.” As much as I’m withholding information, I can feel Monty doing the same thing. “Is it a place I’d recognize?”

“You might. When I got out of the Navy, I went to work for the Naval Criminal Investigative Services.”

Faintly, I say, “NCIS? Like the shows on TV?”

He shakes his head. “No. Nothing like the shows. It’s tougher and a lot harder, but we’re just as determined to find out all the answers.”

Suddenly, swallowing seems like an improbability. Here I am stretching the truth—okay, lying—to a former government agent. Can they arrest me for that? I’m just about to open my mouth to admit to who I am when the waiter comes up with our desserts.

“Ma’am, I believe you selected the sweet potato cheesecake?” The young waiter slips a dish in front of me.

“I did. Thank you.” If I’m about to be sent to the pokey because I’ve been lying to my father, stepmother, and her son—the fed—I plan on eating every damn bite of this dessert that’s drowning in caramel sauce and whipped cream.

Who knows? I might find a dance partner in prison who can work it off of me.

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