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have slipped quietly back into the house without drawing attention to herself if Peter hadn’t stopped her. “You’re off the clock, Isabelle. Garrett’s cooking the steak and I’ve got the salmon. Cheryl wants to spend time with the kids. Why don’t you go pour yourself a glass of wine and join us?”
    “Just let me get rid of my pantyhose first,” Cheryl said to her. “Then you and I can let the hunters show us gatherers how real men cook meat. We’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder, dragging Isabelle to the house along with her. “Don’t drink my wine.”
    “I wouldn’t dare.” Peter kept a cautious eye on his wife’s back as he took a long swig from her glass, then set it on the table beside the barbecue. “What?” he demanded in response to Garrett’s raised eyebrow. “I’m telling her you drank it.”
    “Thanks a lot. My piece of cheesecake just got cut in half.”
    Thirty minutes later, they sat down to dinner at the table outdoors.
    Throughout the meal, Garrett studied Isabelle. She helped cut Chelsea’s meat for her, and mopped up the trickle of milk Kiefer spilled with one of the paper napkins, but other than comments to the children, she had little to say. It wasn’t that she was shy around Peter and Cheryl. Him either, for that matter. She simply seemed to prefer soaking up the family dynamics without interfering in them. She was an observer. The intelligence officer in Garrett wondered how much of her father’s activities someone like Isabelle might have absorbed, and if he could somehow make use of it.
    “Peter tells me you run in the mornings,” he said to her.
    She paused in the process of lifting a forkful of salad to her mouth, then lowered the untouched food to her plate. She rested the stainless steel shaft of the fork on the table and reached for her wine.
    “I do.” Her eyes assessed him over the rim of the glass as she took a sip, no doubt well aware of where he was headed with this topic of conversation. “Are you a runner?”
    He settled back, prepared for an argument and rather looking forward to one. He couldn’t say why, but he enjoyed getting a rise out of her. “Used to be. I thought I’d get back into it. A desk job has made me soft.”
    “You’re welcome to join me,” she said. “I start at 5:30 a.m. Tomorrow is my six and a half mile run.”
    She’d issued a challenge. He could see it in her eyes. There was no way he could manage that kind of run starting out and she knew it. He’d be damned if he let her win this, however.
    “I’d end up in a coma if I tried that,” he said. “But I hate to turn down an invitation to be your workout buddy. Tell you what. I’ll ride a bike with you on your long-distance days and at least get in some exercise, then run the shorter distance days.”
    She retrieved her fork and ate the mouthful of salad. If her brain were a steam engine smoke would be rolling out of her ears, she was thinking so hard about ways to say no. Garrett prepared for the next obstacle she planned to throw at him. He enjoyed a good challenge.
    Instead, she surprised him.
    “I’d like that.” She smiled. “Afterward, you can join me for yoga. Proper stretching is so important. It’s also good for strengthening the mind. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” She raised her glass to him in a mini salute. Her eyes sparkled. “Being workout buddies will be fun. Thank you for suggesting it.”
    “Great idea,” Peter said to him. “Good luck with your quest for inner peace.”
    “Yes, great idea,” Cheryl echoed. The frown pinching her brow warned Garrett she thought it was anything but. She’d have a few things to say about it when she got him alone. He hated running and she knew it.
    The thought of yoga was worse. Guys didn’t do yoga. If he tried to find an excuse to avoid it, however, he lost an opportunity to spend alone time with Isabelle. If he said yes, his sister was going to think he was pursuing her. She’d