In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) by Irene Hannon

colleagues had convinced her to go out for
pizza. It had been close to eleven when she'd stepped through
her door.
    Tonight, she wanted to relax. Needed to relax, after the oddly
stressful past month. And she'd planned her Friday evening
with that in mind. First, she was going to savor the full order
of shrimp and broccoli linguini in a light olive oil sauce she'd
picked up from her favorite Italian restaurant on the way home.
That would be followed by the generous slice of chocolate
torte she'd cut from the cake in the teachers' lounge today.
She intended to cap the evening with a soak in a hot bubble
bath, accompanied by a good book. And perhaps she'd allow
herself one final indulgence-a few fanciful thoughts about a
certain sandy-haired FBI agent with cobalt blue eyes.

    Since her visit to the agency's office a week ago today, she
hadn't thought a lot about him. Hadn't let herself think a lot
about him. She was too much of a realist. Growing up in foster
care had that effect, she supposed. You learned to appreciate
kindness, to accept indifference, and to move on without a
backward glance no matter how you were treated. It wasn't as
if anyone had ever been unkind to her. But the succession of
placements had left her yearning for roots. And it had given
her a deep, lasting appreciation for home. Her house might
be small and unpretentious, but it was hers. That meant the
world to her.
    And if she had no one to share it with ... that was just the
way life had worked out. She didn't dwell on it. Except, once
in a while, on special days that were meant to be spent with
someone you loved.
    Like today.
    Valentine's Day.
    Setting the white sack containing her dinner on a small table
near the door, she shrugged off her coat-and tried to do the
same with her sudden melancholy. Instead of feeling sorry for
herself, she'd focus on all the things she should be grateful for.
Including the relaxing evening ahead.
    In a dozen strides she crossed the small living room and
ignited the gas flames in her fireplace. She'd always said if she
ever bought a house, it had to have a fireplace. The homes she
could afford in the areas where she wanted to live didn't offer
such features, however, so she'd added this soon after moving
in. It had been an extravagance-but one she'd never regretted.
On a cold winter night, there was nothing like curling up next
to the flickering logs with a cup of hot chocolate. Not a bad addition to her activity list for tonight, either. She might end her
evening that way. After the bubble bath.
    The first order of business, however, was food. Breakfast had been a long time ago and she was starving. Juggling classes at
two schools had its challenges, and lunch was often a casualty.
On the bright side, however, skipping her noon meal meant she
wouldn't have to feel guilty about tonight's pasta spree.

    She snagged the bag off the table and was halfway to the
kitchen when the doorbell rang.
    Torn, Rachel hesitated. She hated to be rude. But she wasn't
in the mood for company-or a sales pitch. On the other hand,
her caller could be someone who was interested in a mural, or
wanting to inquire about piano lessons ... though most piano
customers phoned and the majority of those interested in a
mural emailed after viewing the samples on her website. But
she'd had a few potential clients show up at her door through
the years.
    Resigned, she deposited the bag on the table again and returned to the door, checking the peephole.
    A young woman stood on the other side, her longish,
dark-blonde hair pulled back at her nape with a barrette. A
gold choker peeked through the neck of her black wool coat,
glinting in the porch light, and a leather shoulder purse was
slung over her shoulder. A newer model, sporty red car was
parked at the curb behind her. Although she was a stranger
to Rachel, her attire and transportation didn't suggest salesperson or survey-taker. That was a good thing.