Still, there were tingles at the back of her neck. Why wasn’t he meeting with Trilani?

She watched as Xander walked—without pausing—past the “New and Noteworthy” wine display at the front of the store.

He always stopped and checked out that display. The snob in him couldn’t resist, couldn’t stand the idea that there might be some notable wine out there that he didn’t know about.

Jordan swallowed hard.

With as little movement as possible, she slid her hand underneath the bar and pushed the panic button.

“How am I doing?” Xander asked. “Truthfully, Jordan, not so great. Not so great at all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did something happen?”

As he approached, Jordan could see that his expression was stone cold.

“Actually, something did happen. I found out that someone I thought I could trust lied to me. Betrayed me.” He stopped directly opposite her at the bar.

A long silence stretched between them.

“Just tell me why you did it,” Xander finally said. “But I should warn you, Jordan—if I don’t like your answer, things could go very badly for you.”

He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a gun. “And I have a feeling there’s a really good chance I’m not going to like your answer.”

NICK PACED IN his fake office, waiting for his cell phone to ring.

He’d told Huxley to call as soon as Trilani arrived at Bordeaux for his meeting with Eckhart, but he hadn’t heard a word yet.

While he paced, he tried not to think about Jordan.

As a guy, he knew that he wasn’t supposed to admit these kinds of things, but this whole argument with her had completely freaked him out. Over the course of just a few days, he’d gone ballistic when he’d seen her talking to the douchebag, he’d called in every favor owed him to get her felon of a brother out of prison, they’d spent a whirlwind weekend in wine country of all places, he’d actually considered changing his job for her, and then they’d had a fight and he’d stormed out of her house feeling like he’d been used for sex.

Clearly, he wasn’t himself these days.

And the only way he knew to get back to being himself was to cut off the problem. To push Jordan out of his life completely.

That made him freak out even more.

Somehow, with her sneaky ways, she’d managed to get inside him and screw up all his plans. He’d been perfectly happy with his life until she’d come along with her wine and her sassiness and her sparkling blue eyes and the way she always made him laugh. He would laugh at himself for being such a sucker . . . except he hadn’t so much as cracked a smile since he’d left her house on Sunday.

It all had happened too fast. He’d always assumed that one day he’d get bored with undercover work and that he’d slowly transition out of bachelorhood when that happened. But this—this wild, heart-pounding, nerve-wracking, exhilarating, rollercoaster ride between him and Jordan—was nuts. Plain and simple. And here’s what freaked him out most: if he was one of those sensitive, introspective types, he would say that the feelings he had for Jordan sure seemed a lot like love and he, Nick McCall, didn’t do love.

Or hell, maybe he did.

Still pacing in his office, he added a whole slew of Brooklyn-flavored swears to that, most of which he guessed the average sensitive, introspective type wouldn’t even know the meaning of.

The way he saw it, he had two choices. Plan A: keep avoiding Jordan and see if this heart-pounding, nerve-wracking feeling went away as quickly as it came. He remembered something he’d once overheard at a family party: his cousin Maria had been babbling on about her boyfriend problems and had said she’d read in Cosmo that it took a person one-half the length of a relationship to get over a breakup.

That didn’t sound too bad, Nick thought. If he only counted the times they’d hooked up, he and Jordan had been together for three days. According to Cosmo, he should be over her in thirty-six hours.

He checked his watch. Damn. By his calculations, he was supposed to have moved on three hours and twenty-four minutes ago. Not a good sign.

Which brought him to Plan B: f**k Cosmo and accept the fact that this heart-pounding, nerve-wracking feeling was never going away. And deal with it. Plan B had one good thing going for it—it meant that he got to storm down to Jordan’s store and tell her just how pissed he was that she’d messed up all his plans. He wasn’t sure where the conversation would go from there, but he’d come up with something. Or maybe he’d simply scrap all the talking and kiss her until she remembered how boring her life would be hanging out with a bunch of douchebags wearing scarves.

Now that sounded like a plan.

Nick’s cell phone rang, and he checked. Huxley. About time. But the news was not what he had expected.

“Looks like Eckhart skipped out on another meeting,” Huxley said.

“Is he still sick?”

“No clue. There’s been no communication by Eckhart from inside his office all morning.”

Nick didn’t like the sound of that. Eckhart had been very quiet over the past couple days. Since they’d assumed he had the stomach flu, this hadn’t raised an immediate flag. But people who worked with Roberto Martino did not make a regular habit of blowing off his men. “I don’t like that he’s gone radio silent.”

“You think he’s onto us?” Huxley asked.

Nick swore under his breath. He didn’t know how that could be possible, or what would’ve suddenly tipped Eckhart off, but he’d been involved in enough undercover investigations to know that if an agent had to ask whether his cover had been blown, then, yep—his cover probably had been blown. “We need to wrap this up ASAP.”