Express Male (19 page)

Although he wouldn’t swear to it, Daniel thought Ellie’s bottom lip thrust out the tiniest bit in response. Just enough to make her look like she was pouting, and just enough to make a jolt of something hot and frantic shoot through him when he realized he wanted to lean down and nibble it.

“But I heard someone say there are deviled eggs,” she told him. “I love deviled eggs. I want to get some before they’re all gone.”

Daniel threw her his most disgusted look. “You know, this country’s in big trouble if the best spies they can produce can be tempted from the job by a little cooked albumen fancied up with mayonnaise and paprika.”

This time Ellie frowned. But she did gingerly replace onto the stack the paper plate she’d been embracing like a holy grail. “Lead on,” she muttered. Then, when they were out of earshot of the kitchen, she added quietly, “But
I’ll
be the one checking out the computer. You can keep watch.”

Oh, yeah, right, Daniel thought. Like that was really going to happen.

They milled around at the foot of the steps while another couple descended, then leisurely made their way up, as if they simply wanted to have a look around at the decorating job. Which, okay, Daniel had to admit, was very nice. The home office was the room farthest to the right in a long hallway/gallery on the second floor, an area that was thankfully deserted. With a couple of quick glances around, he saw that they were well and truly alone, so he tugged on Ellie’s hand again to pull her along behind him. When they reached the office, they ducked inside, and as Ellie pushed the door closed a little—though not enough to rouse suspicion from anyone who might see it ajar, Daniel went immediately to the computer and booted it up.

“Hey,” she exclaimed as she had in the kitchen, only more softly this time. “I’m supposed to be doing that. You’re the lookout.”

“Oops,” he said to excuse his actions. And didn’t offer to move or anything else.

Instead, he began plucking on the computer keys and guiding the mouse from one place to another, searching for he couldn’t say what, but he’d know it when he saw it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Ellie asked from behind him. Close enough that he knew she’d left her post by the door.

“You’re supposed to be keeping watch,” he reminded her.

“No, I’m supposed to be hacking into that computer.
You’re
supposed to be keeping watch.”

“Oops,” he said again by way of an explanation and continued to pound the keys. “Okay, here we go,” he continued when his search returned something of interest.

“There are some deep files hidden on this thing under Nicole’s desktop, but they’re locked tight. This could take a couple of minutes.”

“Since when do you know how to hack into hidden and protected files?” she asked. Still close enough that he knew she wasn’t watching the door as she was supposed to be.

Call him crazy, but Daniel was beginning to think Ellie wasn’t even going to qualify for Hall Monitor by the time she finished her training assignment. “Since I discovered pictures of naked women on my old man’s computer when I was nineteen,” he told her. “Now leave me alone while I find my way in.”

“And you plan to do that how? There will be passwords and God knows what else protecting those files.”

“I know enough about Truman to figure out how he’d do it,” Daniel said, knowing that was true. Hell, he worked side by side with the prick every day. “Gimme a couple of minutes. I bet I can even guess his password.”

“Just a shot in the dark here, Daniel, but I’m going to guess it’s
not
‘I’m a prick.’”

It took less than five minutes for Daniel to break into the files. He wasted no time reading them, simply pulled a memory stick from his pocket and stuck it into the proper drive and sucked every last piece of info he wanted out of Truman’s computer and into the slender little device. Gotta love that modern technology, he thought as he removed both the memory stick and any evidence that he’d accessed the files. How the hell did anyone manage to steal secret information before the computer age?

The mind boggled.

When he stood and turned to leave, he discovered Ellie was
still
standing immediately behind him, where she had probably been standing the entire time, when she was supposed to be keeping an eye out at the door. How could she be so convinced she was suited to this spying business? Not that he was going to tell her she sucked, but she certainly didn’t seem to take the proper precautions necessary for maintaining a low profile. Like, for instance, keeping an eye out. Hell, that was something Daniel had learned to do as a preschooler. He’d had to, the kind of home he came from.

But as he stood there in front of her, only scant inches away, he suddenly didn’t mind so much that Ellie wasn’t where she was supposed to be, way on the other side of the room. Now that he’d gotten what he came for—from Truman’s computer, anyway—it was actually kind of nice to find her standing so close. He’d never really noticed how good she smelled, a mix of something sweet and spicy and earthy, just like Ellie herself. And he’d never noticed how her hair was less brown than it was something dark and fiery. But the way the late-afternoon sun was streaming through the window just then, her hair was aflame with red and orange and gold. And her eyes. They were so huge, so dark, so full of everything that made her Ellie—kindness, wit, good humor, laughter. And something else, too. Something he’d never really noticed before, either. Passion. Not just for her job, and not just for her life, but for lots of other things, too. Things Daniel had never thought about in terms of Ellie.

Things he started to think about then.

Without realizing he’d decided to move it, his hand rose to her hair, aiming for one of the more golden highlights, which he wanted to touch to see if it was as warm as it looked. Her eyes went wide in surprise as he cupped his palm over the back of her head and dragged it slowly downward, over the long straight tresses that were silkier than he ever could have imagined. He liked her hair down. She should wear it that way more often. It would look especially nice streaming over the pillow on the opposite side of his bed, where she lay watching him in the aftermath of spectacular sex.

The mental image of just that exploded in Daniel’s brain, and he immediately jerked back his hand. Not because it felt weird to be thinking of Ellie in sexual terms. But because it felt good to be thinking of her that way. Weirder still was the fact that thinking of her in sexual terms had encompassed her lying quietly beside him in the afterglow, and not with her bent naked on all fours with him pummeling her from behind, the way his sexual fantasies about women usually ran.

When she continued to watch him warily, silently, Daniel quickly swiped his hand over the front of his pants and said, “Dust bunny. You had a, um…a big glob of dust in your hair. Truman needs to pay his housekeeper more.”

And then, without awaiting her reply, he took her hand in his again and steered her toward the door. Only this time, it wasn’t because he wanted to guide Ellie in a specific direction. This time, it was just because he wanted to hold Ellie’s hand.

T
HE NEAREST
OPUS training center, Marnie discovered much to her surprise—and also her annoyance—was located in the same underground facility to which Noah had taken her that first night for the Spanish Inquisition. The training center was much deeper underground, however, reachable only by an elevator with no numbered buttons to indicate how far down she was going, though she was able to finish a cup of coffee on the way every morning. And do her nails. And figure her taxes. And read
War and Peace.
It opened onto a meandering warren of hallways and rooms, which, if one wasn’t paying close attention to where one was going, one might never find one’s way out again and stay lost forever. In fact, that was the first lesson Marnie learned about being a spy.

The next lesson she learned was that spy training was a lot more boring than she’d thought it would be. Leave it to the government to take a perfectly good Hollywood hyperbole like James Bond and reduce it to a classroom-and-textbook setting. Marnie had completed her first full week of “intensive training,” and she
still
didn’t know the difference between shaken and stirred. At this rate, she’d never get the Aston Martin with built-in machine guns and cappuccino maker.

On the up side, she was discovering that she had a facility for things she’d never known she had a facility for. Decryption, for example. She didn’t know if it was her musical training, or having to decipher the handwriting of small children, or knowing how to compute a woman’s cup size—perhaps it was a combination of all three—but she was a whiz at quickly identifying patterns in codes and deciphering them. She was also adept at changing her appearance and demeanor quickly and with just a few key items, which her instructor assured her had kept more than one operative alive in a dangerous situation.

Of course, Marnie had already known she was good at that—and she knew firsthand about that dangerous-situation business—because look how effective she’d been last weekend, when she’d slipped out of her usual mousy Marnie shell and into her Lila bombshell.

She still wasn’t sure how she felt about the little, ah…interlude she had shared with Noah that night, even having had a week to think about it. Oh, she understood her own motivation for what had happened well enough—she’d been edgy from her nerves, mellow from the wine…and profoundly attracted to the man sitting so close to her on the sofa. But she wasn’t sure she understood Noah’s motivation. Certainly she’d been flattered by his claim that he found her attractive, too, and she sympathized with the whole it’s-been-too-long thing, since that, too, had factored into her own impulses that night. And she agreed with him completely that what had happened wouldn’t happen again. What was the point, since neither of them was in any position to pursue a romantic liaison?

But she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had looked at her when she’d been dressed as Lila. The way he had responded to her when she was dressed as Lila. With such hunger and longing. With such need and desire. And she wondered again just what kind of relationship he’d had with Lila once upon a time. Had they been sexually involved? Had they been in love? Had
he
been in love? And had he only come on to Marnie the way he had because she looked so much like Lila? Was he still in love with her sister? Was her sister in love with him?

Marnie had only seen Noah a few times last week, but each time, he’d been cordial, unruffled, professional. In short, he had acted as if that night at her house had never happened. She told herself that was how she wanted him to act, and she’d done her best to act as if it had never happened, too.

But every time she saw him, all she could think about was the way he had kissed her and touched her that night. She remembered the heat and passion of his mouth on hers. She recalled the way he’d dragged his fingertips over her cheek and jaw, her throat and collarbone. She remembered the glide of his silky hair as it sifted between her fingers, the coarseness of his day-old beard beneath her palm, the warmth of his breath against her neck. She recalled the way he took possession of her breast, and how the raw coil of need that had erupted inside her had simmered beneath her skin until dawn.

And every time she remembered all that, God help her, she couldn’t stand the thought of it never happening again. She wanted Noah. Badly. She didn’t know if it was because she’d simply gone too long without the physical closeness of a man, or if there was something about him specifically that spoke to her. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. And she wished—oh, how she wished—it would happen again.

Today she would be seeing him again, this time in more than passing. Because she’d now completed the classroom part of her training, and week two heralded the ever popular and interactive hands-on segment. If it was Monday—and it was—Marnie must be going to the firing range.

Ooh, she got goose bumps just thinking about it. She and Noah, all alone in a sterile soundproof room, no chaperones save a target silhouette, wearing those sexy ear and eye protectors and strapping on weapons. Who needed a loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou when you had all that?

She arrived at the range ten minutes early. At least, she hoped this was the range. All it said on the door was C-742, because even the departments in OPUS had code names. But even with decryption training, Marnie had never been sure if she was in the right place until she saw what was on the other side of a door. Which was why she was certain the infamous men’s-washroom incident was going to be told and retold at every OPUS office Christmas party for years. Well, what could she say? She hadn’t had her decryption training at that point. The memory still fresh, however, she warily pushed open the door to what she hoped was the firing range and found…

Yep. Looked like a firing range to her. Or, at least what the firing ranges on TV looked like. Had to give those creative consultants credit. They definitely earned their paychecks. She counted fully two dozen chutes for firing practice, each with a paper target at the far end. Most of the lights were off, save the entry where she stood, because the place was deserted. Noah had wanted to schedule the range before an eight-o’clock meeting, so it wasn’t even seven now. And being a Monday, Marnie wouldn’t be surprised if no one came in until after nine. She didn’t care how much the OPUS drones insisted the facility ran 24/7. Monday morning was Monday morning. Spies had to hate that as much as everyone else did.

“Good morning.”

She spun around at the sound of Noah’s voice. Well, most spies were like everyone else. Noah Tennant wasn’t like anyone.

As always, he was dressed in a dark, unobtrusive suit and white dress shirt, this time rounded out with a subtly patterned tie in red and sapphire. His tawny hair was perfectly combed, and when he drew nearer, she saw it was still damp in the back—she could smell a hint of his shampoo. Sandalwood. The same scent she’d inhaled from him that night at her house as she’d tried to consume him. The same scent she’d tried to recreate with a half-dozen different brands of sandalwood bubble bath since then, never coming close. Noah’s scent was as distinctive as he was.

“Good morning,” she replied.

“Awake enough to operate heavy machinery?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Just how heavy are you planning to get?”

He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Nothing major. Just the usual stuff. AK-47. Bazooka. Flamethrower. Rocket launcher. Things any good agent would have with him or her at all times.”

“Very funny,” she said. Just to be on the safe side, though, she added, “You’re joking, right?”

“Tactical weaponry is no laughing matter, missy.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s all fun and games until someone loses a spy.”

He laughed at that, his eyes widening in surprise. “So the lady can joke this early on a Monday. I’m impressed.”

“Hold that thought,” she said, smiling back. “See if you feel the same way after I’ve handled a rocket launcher or two without taking out the whole facility.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Just as he had been last week, today he was cordial, unruffled, professional. Even when it was just the two of them, he was going to pretend that night at her house had never happened. Even when it was just the two of them, he was going to act like there was nothing between the two of them other than a professional—and temporary—relationship.

But then, that
was
the only thing between the two of them, she reminded herself. For all she knew, Noah had moved past that night completely. If he thought about it at all, he probably only considered it in terms of how badly he’d done his job. Not with the fondness and wistfulness with which Marnie recalled it—too often—herself. She told herself to follow his example. To be a man about it, like he was. To view what had happened as an aberration that wouldn’t happen again.

And then,
she instructed herself,
forget about it.
The same way Noah had.

Thankfully, he really had been kidding about the major firepower, at least where this lesson was concerned. Because the first thing he showed her was something called a MAC-10 pistol, the product, evidently, of some weird mechanical eugenics, in this case splicing the DNA of a tommy gun and a calculator. The result was a cold black chunk of metal Marnie didn’t want to even get near. Noah, however, was perfectly at ease with it. And she couldn’t help thinking how strange it was that a man who had touched her naked flesh with such tenderness could also cradle a weapon like that.

“You know what?” Marnie said when he held it out, presumably for her to actually hold it. “I don’t like guns. I mean, I always suspected I didn’t like guns, since I’d never actually been close to one. But now, being close to one? I realize I
really
don’t like guns. Could I maybe see something in a taser instead? Size six and a half? Preferably blue?”

He made a face at her. “Come on, Marnie. It’s harmless right now. It’s not loaded, and the safety is on. Of course, I’ll be showing you how to rectify both of those situations in this lesson, and then, well, yes, that sucker could potentially go off and take both your hands with it. But that’s still a good ten, fifteen minutes away.”

She gaped at him for a moment. “No, really,” she said. “I think a taser would be much more my speed. Or, better yet, a slingshot. Or a butter knife. Wait, I know. How about a big rock I can throw like a girl while I run screaming like a ninny in the other direction? That would be perfect for me.”

He sighed, a much put-upon sound, but did at least pull the weapon back toward himself. “What happened to the ferocious woman who stood up to Adrian Padgett? On two separate occasions?”

“I have no idea,” Marnie replied, “since I’ve never met a ferocious woman who stood up to Adrian Padgett. I’ve only met a panicky woman who cowered in fear when faced with Adrian Padgett.”

“Marnie, you can do this,” Noah said. “I know you can. And so do you, or you never would have volunteered to take the job.”

She could argue that she hadn’t exactly volunteered, that Padgett’s invasion into her life and then her home had left her with little choice. Instead, she said, “Look, I just don’t think that particular gun is a good fit for me, that’s all.”

“When you’re out there pretending to be Lila, you’re going to need a weapon,” Noah said. “And you’re going to need to know how to use it. Lila loves the MAC-10.”

“You told me I’d never be operating alone,” she reminded him.

“You won’t be,” he assured her. “But there’s going to be some distance between you and your backup. It isn’t a likely scenario, but you need to be prepared for the possibility that there may be a time when you only have a second—or less—to defend yourself. That’s when you’re going to be happy to have a gun and know how to use it.”

“I’ll never be happy to have a gun,” she told him with complete certainty.

“But you’ll be prepared,” he said.

It occurred to Marnie—too late—that maybe she really hadn’t thought this thing through when she agreed to take the job. She’d only been thinking about making sure Adrian Padgett was caught and put away, so he couldn’t terrify her anymore. She’d been thinking she’d dress up like Lila a few times to draw him out, then the real agents would swoop in and throw a net over him, and give her a pat on the back for a job well done. She hadn’t been thinking that Padgett might get close enough again to hurt her. She hadn’t thought about having to arm herself. She hadn’t thought about putting herself in real danger. Not the way Noah was thinking about it.

“Something smaller?” she asked softly. “Something less menacing? That’s just so…ugly.”

He gave the gun a look of regret, then shrugged. “All right. I guess since you’re not really an OPUS agent, you don’t have to carry any of the standard-issue weapons.”

“How do people conceal something like that, anyway?” she asked as he returned it to the locker from which he’d retrieved it. Especially someone like Lila, who seemed to do at least some of her undercover work, um, under the covers.

“You’d be surprised,” he said as he reached for something else. “But we have guns to fit every mood,” he said.

“Not to worry.”

Oh, finding a weapon to fit her mood wasn’t what Marnie was worried about at all. No, what she was worried about was how she was going to pay the therapy bills after her OPUS job was over.