A Lot Like Love

  "A sauvignon blanc," Jordan guessed. "Likely one from the Loire Valley. Then a Riesling, a pinot gris, and a California chardonnay."

  He looked impressed. "Not bad."

  She shrugged. "I know my way around a tasting."

  "Except you screwed up the chardonnay."

  Surprised, Jordan took a look at the menu. In the past, Xander had always picked a California chardonnay, but this year's selection was from Burgundy, France.

  "Interesting, don't you think?" said a man to her left.

  Jordan turned and saw Rafe Velasquez, co-owner of a lucrative hedge fund based out of Chicago. Like her, he was a regular of the party. She greeted him with a smile. "Hello, Rafe." She looked around the room. "Where's Emily?"

  "She decided to stay home—most reluctantly. Our youngest has been fighting the flu all week, and she didn't feel comfortable leaving him with the nanny. I think something's going around. Everyone I talk to these days is sick."

  Jordan thought back to Huxley, sprawled across the couch with his blond Mohawk. Something was going around all right, and it wasn't pretty. Turning to Nick, she made the introductions. "Rafe Velasquez, Nick Stanton." As the two men shook hands, she breathed a sigh of relief. She'd made it through the first intro without screwing things up.

  "So you must be proud of yourself," Rafe said to her.

  She cocked her head in confusion. "Meaning ... ?"

  Rafe pointed to the wine menu. "The reds?"

  "I haven't gotten that far yet—I'm still stuck on the fact that Xander didn't go with a California chardonnay."

  "Forget the chardonnay—check out the cabs."

  Jordan's eyes skimmed over the menu. She pulled back in surprise when she read the names of the two cabernets Xander had chosen for the evening.

  "What do you make of that?" Rafe asked slyly.

  She didn't answer immediately. She had a feeling she knew what Rafe was suggesting, but it couldn't mean ... well, that.

  "Looks like somebody has a secret admirer," he said.

  Nick frowned, suddenly very interested in their conversation. "I think I'm missing something here."

  Rafe explained. "At last year's party, Xander, Jordan, and I got into a discussion about his red selections. See, Xander always picks Screaming Eagle as his cabernet—which is a fantastic wine, don't get me wrong. But Jordan jokingly said that if he ever wanted to shake things up, she'd be happy to give him some suggestions. So Xander asked what her favorite cabernets are."

  Nick turned to Jordan. "What did you tell him?"

  "I ... may have mentioned the Vineyard 29 estate cab," she said.

  Nick checked out the tasting menu. "That's on this list."

  Yes, it was.

  "And she also said that she was a huge fan of the Quintessa meritage. Which I completely agree with, by the way," Rafe said.

  Nick checked again. "That's also on this list."

  Yes, it was.

  Nick's eyes narrowed. "So to be clear: two of the five red wines on this highly exclusive list are ones that you said are your favorites?"

  Well, when he put it that way ... Now on the defensive, Jordan felt the need to point something out. "I do own a wine store, you know. This is likely a professional compliment, not a personal one."

  "Are you sure about that?" Nick's green eyes probed hers intently.

  Before answering, Jordan thought through her recent interactions with Xander. Nothing jumped out at her as abnormal, no conversations she could immediately recall that signaled any particular interest in her. Sure, Xander came by the store often, but so did a lot of her regular customers. And he flirted with her from time to time, but Xander flirted with everyone. He was a notorious womanizer and constantly dated women he met in his clubs—usually leggy brunettes under the age of twenty-five. Being blond, five-foot-five if she stood really straight, and thirty-three years old, Jordan met none of his criteria.

  But now that she was specifically thinking about it ... there had been that one slightly odd conversation—five months ago, right before Kyle had been arrested, and just after she'd gotten back from a trip to the Napa Valley. Xander had dropped by the store, and she'd filled him in on some of the new wines she'd discovered.

  "Must be a tough life, going to the Napa Valley several times a year on business," Xander had teased her as he perused the store's shelves.

  Jordan had chuckled as she handed him a glass of a new pinot noir she'd just opened, not disagreeing with him. "Oh, and you have it so bad. You go wherever you want, whenever you want." She should know, he bragged about his exotic trips whenever he visited the store.

  Xander took the glass of pinot from her. "Yeah, but Napa's different. That's not the kind of place you want to go alone. You should be with someone who can appreciate the experience." He took a sip of the wine. "It's good."

  "A waiter recommended it to me. I liked it so much I had two cases shipped back here."

  Xander followed her over to the bar. "Where did you stay while you were out there?"

  "Calistoga Ranch. Have you been?"

  "No. But I've heard good things."

  "It's amazing," Jordan said. "I stayed in a private lodge overlooking a canyon. Every morning I had breakfast on the deck as the sun came over the hills, and at night I sat under the stars drinking wine."

  "Now tell me that wouldn't have been better with someone else there." Xander folded his arms across his chest, as if daring her to contradict him on this. He wore a crisp black designer shirt with the top two buttons undone, charcoal gray pants, and a brand new Jaeger LeCoultre watch. He was a good-looking man, but he had a certain air about him that occasionally rubbed Jordan the wrong way. He seemed very eager to show off his money, particularly around her.

  Because he was such a good customer, she smiled, humoring him. "Maybe next time. There'll be plenty more trips to Napa for me. I already have one planned for the beginning of March."

  "Why wait until then?" Xander pulled out his cell phone. "I can have us booked first-class in two minutes."

  She laughed. As if she could drop everything right then and hop on a plane. "I wish it were that easy." She grabbed a couple bottles of the pinot and carried them to a bin near the front of the store.

  "Jordan."

  The serious tone in Xander's voice stopped her. She looked over her shoulder and saw that he had the oddest expression on his face.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked.

  Just then, Martin strolled into the room, having finished checking inventory in the cellar. "I think we should order another case of the Zulu. People have been going crazy for South African wines—oh, Mr. Eckhart, I didn't realize you'd stopped in." He paused and looked between them. "Am I interrupting something?"

  Jordan thought she saw a flash of irritation in Xander's eyes. But then it was gone, and she assumed she'd imagined it. Xander liked talking to Martin; the two of them had very similar tastes in wine. She saw no reason why he would be bothered by her store manager's presence.

  Xander waved off the question. "No interruption. Just enjoying this new pinot." He gestured to his glass. "What's the price point?"

  "Thirty dollars a bottle." Jordan continued to watch for any sign of the tension she'd seen on his face a moment ago. But there was nothing—he appeared as relaxed as always.

  "I might have to start carrying it in my restaurants," he said.

  The three of them discussed the wine's Robert Parker rating, and Martin's belief that it had been unfairly undervalued because of Parker's preference for big, bold reds. Shortly after that, Xander had left and Jordan didn't give a second thought to that one odd moment.

  But now, with the advantage of hindsight, she perhaps had a different take on the conversation.

  Now, she couldn't help but wonder if Xander had been interested in more than a new pinot that day. She'd assumed he'd been joking about the trip to Napa, but maybe not. Shortly after that conversation, Kyle had been arrested, and her life had fallen into complete chaos. She'd drop
ped out of the social scene and had taken a break from dating.

  Perhaps Xander had been lying in wait since then. Holding off for a more appropriate time to reveal his feelings. Like tonight, with his "Homage to Jordan" wine list.

  She locked eyes with Nick.

  "We ... may have a problem."

  Ten

  A PROBLEM.

  Not the words Nick wanted to hear right then. No agent in the middle of an undercover assignment wanted to hear those words.

  He smiled politely at Rafe. "Could you excuse us for a moment? I need to have a word with my date."

  Without further ado, he took Jordan by the hand and pulled her off to the side of the room. He braced one hand on the wall next to her and peered down into her eyes. "Honey, before we came to this party, you might've mentioned that the host had the hots for you."

  She stared back up at him, not looking particularly intimidated. In eleven years of law enforcement, Nick had made many a suspect sweat under the duress of what he knew was an impressive don't-fuck-with-me face, yet she didn't so much as bat an eye. Granted, none of those suspects had been wearing a knockout dress with a slit nearly down to the ass, so perhaps the don't-fuck-with-me face wasn't in top form right then.

  "I didn't know myself, darling," she said. "And we still don't know that for sure. But let's say for argument's sake that Xander has more than a professional interest in me. Will that be a problem for you?"

  Her words were careful and well chosen. To anyone who might be listening, it would seem as though she was merely placating a jealous lover, not an FBI agent who was a little cranky to be first learning of this development in the midst of an undercover op.

  "I can handle it." In some senses, Nick supposed, Eckhart's attraction to Jordan could be a good thing. He doubted she would have much trouble convincing him to step away with her for a drink. Still, he was eager to keep things moving. They needed to mingle. Drink some wine. Plant a few wireless recording devices. The usual social obligations.

  "We should rejoin the others," he said.

  "Wait." Jordan put her hand on his arm, stopping him before he turned away. Her eyes were clouded with concern. "I'm sorry if I put you in an awkward position tonight. I honestly didn't know until I saw the wine list."

  She looked so genuinely troubled right then, Nick couldn't help what he did next. He reached out and touched her chin. "Don't worry, Rhodes. I've got this." He grinned. "I think there's a glass of wine with your name on it at the bar."

  "For five thousand dollars a head, there better be a lot more than one."

  "Now I see why no one drives to this party." He took Jordan by the hand, turned around, and—

  —Nearly ran into Xander Eckhart, host of the party and Nick's target for the evening.

  "I always thought it's because parking is a bitch around here," Xander said in response to Nick's comment. Despite his light tone, his eyes were cold as he stuck out his hand. "Xander Eckhart."

  Nick shook his hand, squeezing a little harder than was necessary. "Nick Stanton."

  "I see you're here with Jordan."

  "I am."

  Jordan moved to his side. "Xander, I wondered when we'd see you. You've outdone yourself tonight, as always."

  Xander broke the stare down with Nick long enough to turn his attention to Jordan. He took in her appearance. "As have you, Jordan. I'm flattered you made it. I know you've been keeping a low profile because of everything that happened with your brother. In fact, I was surprised when my secretary told me that you called this week to add a guest to your RSVP. I didn't realize you were seeing anyone."

  Nick linked his fingers through Jordan's. "The late RSVP was my fault. I had originally made plans to be out of town this weekend. But when I realized it was Valentine's Day, I rescheduled my trip to be with Jordan. Couldn't miss out on the most romantic night of the year, could I?"

  "Yes, that would've been a real shame," Xander said dryly.

  "Nick and I were just discussing the wines on the tasting menu," Jordan interjected. "It looks to be a fantastic night."

  "I suppose you could say that I'd been hoping to make a memorable impression this Valentine's Day. Certain recent developments, however, make me wonder if I've overshot a little." Xander gestured between them. "So I'd love to hear how you two met."

  "At Jordan's store," Nick said.

  "Oh, are you a wine man, Nick?"

  "Can't say I am. I know white and red."

  Jordan winked at him. "And now pink."

  Nick smiled. True. "And now pink."

  Xander looked between them. Whatever he saw, he didn't seem to like it.

  "Will I sound overeager if I say I can't wait to see what you have in the cellar?" Jordan asked Eckhart. "You're always full of surprises, Xander."

  Nick had to admit he was impressed. Not too many civilians could pull off acting this naturally in an undercover job, particularly in front of someone they knew was laundering money for a drug cartel.

  Her suggestion worked like a charm.

  "Who am I to make such a beautiful woman wait?" Xander gestured to an open door on the opposite end of the wine bar. "I'll take you down there myself. Follow me."

  ECKHART LED THEM through the door and down a freestanding glass staircase. "Since this is your first time, Nick, I'll give you the fifty-cent tour."

  Actually, the FBI had already paid five thousand dollars for that privilege. "I appreciate that, Xander."

  "Given the value of my collection, I normally keep that door upstairs locked," Xander told him. "But I trust my guests tonight. Most of them, anyway. And with the others, I trust the six-foot-five, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound security guard I've got stationed downstairs."

  As they descended into the lower level, Nick quickly understood the reasons for Eckhart's security system. He'd studied the blueprints of the building, and had been aware that the wine cellar took up a large portion of the space. But neither the blueprints nor Jordan's descriptions had prepared him for the sheer magnitude of the wine cellar he faced now. Or rather, the wine cellars.

  They stood before three rectangular glass chambers, each approximately twenty-five feet long and ten feet wide. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass panels, Nick saw rows upon rows of what he knew, through Huxley's report, to be over six thousand bottles of wine stacked horizontally on slotted ebony wood shelves. Glass doors, several inches thick and flanked by elaborate security panels, guarded each of the three chambers of the cellar.

  "Reds; whites; champagne and dessert wines," Xander said, pointing out the three chambers of the cellar. "Different storage temperatures for each, obviously."

  Obviously.

  "Over three million dollars in wine," Xander continued, making no attempt to disguise his pride. "Granted, a lot of that is for the restaurant. My own personal collection is worth roughly a million."

  Nick resisted the urge to ask how much of that collection had been bought with Roberto Martino's drug money. "It's certainly a lot of wine."

  A crowd of about ten people mingled near a door to their right, which Nick knew from the blueprints led to a private tasting room. A robust man in his early forties came over and greeted Jordan enthusiastically.

  "Jordan—perfect timing. I need you to settle something. True or false: two years ago at this party, you and I were talking right here when a drunk guy, somebody's date, came out of the bathroom with his fly open and his tweed blazer tucked into his pants like a shirt. And he spoke to us for five minutes without ever noticing."

  "Very true. He slurred something about how he'd never been drunk in his life because he had such a high tolerance for alcohol."

  The man proudly turned back to the group at the door. "See? I told you. Can I steal you away for a few minutes?" he asked Jordan. "I need you to convince these guys that I'm not making this up."

  With a glance in Nick's direction, she smiled politely. "Sure."

  Nick watched her walk away, as did Xander. Then the two men turned and faced each othe
r.

  Xander didn't waste any time before launching the first salvo. "So. You didn't mention what you do for a living, Nick."

  "Real estate."

  "Are you a builder?"

  "An investor. I rent out residential properties, mostly to college students and recent graduates."

  "Real estate has really bottomed out these past few years, hasn't it?"

  "Luckily not rental property, Xander. With everyone staying in school these days because they can't find a job, I'm turning people away."

  Xander laughed haughtily. "Who would've thought the low-income housing market could be so lucrative?"

  "Me."

  A silence followed.

  "Mind if I give you a piece of advice, Nick?"

  About a hundred not-so-polite responses came to Nick's mind, including one he favored about where, exactly, Eckhart could stick his advice, but for the sake of the undercover operation, he held his tongue. Causing a scene or being tossed out by a six-foot-five, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound security guard was not in the FBI's best interests. So he kept his sarcasm in check. Mostly. "I'm all ears."

  Xander sounded smug. "Jordan may find you diverting for now, but how long do you think that's going to last? I see men like you all the time in my clubs and restaurants. You can put on the suit and look the part, but you and I both know that she's way out of your league. It's just a matter of time before she realizes it, too."

  Nick pretended to think about this. "Interesting advice. But from what I can tell, Jordan's been doing a pretty good job by herself of deciding who is and isn't in her league." He grabbed Eckhart's shoulder and squeezed. "Have a drink, Xander—you sound like you need it."

  He walked away, leaving Eckhart standing alone in the corner.

  "Everything okay?" Jordan asked as he approached.

  "Just getting acquainted with our gracious host," he said. "Now, what does a person have to do to get a drink around here?"

  She cocked her head. "Follow me."

  Jordan led Nick into a private tasting room adjacent to Xander's cellar that had a cozier feel than the rest of the lower level. Although guests were free to come and go all night, several had planted themselves in the leather armchairs that faced the lit fireplace, knowing that this was where the truly exceptional stuff was served. A man in his forties and wearing a suit—the sommelier Xander had hired for the evening—stood behind the bar pouring small amounts of wine into crystal glasses. A bulky security guard dressed in all black stood near the back of the room, discreetly out of sight yet there nevertheless.