The Spy Who Loves Me (12 page)

“As a matter of fact, I do. Binges,” he said. “Decadent, delicious binges.”

“My kind of man,” she said, her body warming merely from the thought of a decadent binge with Finn.

“Glad you approve,” he said.

They drove in silence as he maneuvered the traffic near the exit for their apartment building. Just a few more blocks left if she wanted to scrounge for any more information before the next act in her evening of debauchery.

“What did you do when the CIA turned you down?” she asked. “There are other agencies.”

He shrugged. “I figured anything intelligence related would give me the same response. I thought about the FBI, but in the end, I couldn't do it.”

She squinted. “Why not?”

A wash of sadness colored his face. “My uncle was an agent,” he said. “Died during a drug bust. It just about killed my mother.”

She nodded, remembering that tidbit from the family history she'd pulled. “I'm sorry,” she said. “What about after your mom died? You could have applied then.”

He shook his head. “I didn't think about it in time. By the time I realized I could give it a shot, I was already thirty-seven. And that's their cutoff.” He shrugged. “So I lost on all counts. Not with the bureau, not a spook. Just a litigator. Not my dream job, but it pays the bills.”

“I guess so,” Amber said, not sure where to go from there. An operative whose cover story was that he wanted to be an operative? That was a new one on her. And she had no idea whether Finn was spinning a cover or telling the truth. Her gut told her he wasn't really in the game, but she still didn't know for certain. And Brandon had said that Diana was on to him. All of which meant that Amber had no choice but to stick close to the man.

Damn, but she loved her job.

T
his is it,” Finn said, turning from the road into the parking lot. “Home sweet home.”

He ran his hand along the edge of the steering wheel, then realized what he was doing and clutched it, willing his hands to steady. He'd brought countless dates to his apartment before, so why the hell was he suddenly having an attack of nerves? It wasn't as if he didn't already know he was going to get lucky.

Or maybe that was it after all. After Amber's story about her family, Finn wanted more than just to sleep with this woman. He wanted to hold her tight, pulling her close and sharing his strength. He wanted to let her know that not everyone was cold and absent like her parents.

He hoped she'd already learned that lesson, but he didn't think she had. When she'd spoken of James and Brandon, there was real admiration and respect in her eyes. Maybe even love. But he'd seen a shadow, too.

Stupid, probably, considering how little he really knew of her, but Finn wanted to be the one to bring light into her eyes.

He killed the engine, and she opened her door, the harsh glare of the overhead light wrenching him back to reality.

As Amber swung her legs out of the car, Finn got out, then circled the Mustang, meeting up with her in front of the trunk. She studied his face, her gaze penetrating.

“What?” he asked, knowing full well what she was about.

Her eyes widened, feigning innocence. “Nothing much,” she said, moving closer to him. Just a step, but enough. She tilted her head back, and the moonlight caught the waves that framed her face. “I was just wondering if you were going to ask me in for coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“Tea?” She let a slow, heated smile touch her lips. “Or me?”

He met her sultry grin with one of his own. Oh, yeah. He liked this woman. Liked the way she talked and teased, and liked even more the way she felt in his arms.

“You,” he said, sliding his hand under her hair along the back of her neck. “I pick you.”

She reached forward, pressing her hand against his neck, a perfect mirror of his own touch. “You'd better.”

He slid his hand down her neck to cup her waist, then urged her closer, pressing her tight against him. She moaned as he feasted on her lips, tugging and teasing.

“Finn,” she murmured as he broke off the kiss, pulling back just long enough to come up for air. “Don't stop.”

He had no intention of stopping, but as he lowered his mouth to her lips one more time, the high-pitched squeal of tires rent the still night air. He pulled back, startled, and looked up just in time to see the glare of headlights bearing down.

“Shit!” No time to think, he could only react. He lurched sideways, twisting at the waist as he pushed off with his legs. The motion was quick, his balance awkward, but it worked, and he landed on top of Amber about two feet away—just far enough to put them safely out of the path of the oncoming limo.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, as the taillights disappeared around the corner.

“No kidding,” Amber said. She shifted, all sweet and soft beneath him, and Finn felt a surge of rage that the driver had been so careless. For Christ's sake, they could have been killed.

Amber rolled slightly to the left, then started to push herself up on her elbow. A flash of pain crossed her face, and she winced.

“Your shoulder?” Finn asked.

She nodded, her teeth digging into her lower lip. She craned her neck as she twisted around to look. “I can't see. How bad is it?”

He pushed himself up, then urged her slightly to the left until her back was illuminated by one of the spotlights the landlord had installed to keep the parking lot relatively safe. Not that the lights had helped tonight. The second he saw the wound, he exhaled.

“That bad, huh?”

“Sorry,” he said. “It's not so bad, actually. I've seen worse.” Not exactly true. The laceration was truly nasty. They'd landed on a rusty metal grating, and a raw edge had apparently caught her just below her left shoulder blade. They'd hit the ground first, then scooted, and the motion had torn her sweater and her flesh, leaving a long, deep wound surrounded by raw skin peppered with small bits of gravel and asphalt.

“Liar,” she said. The blood had drained from her face, and she held her body unnaturally stiff. After a moment, she exhaled, the color returning to her cheeks. She met his eyes, and he saw a strength there that would have surprised him a day ago, but now just seemed like another of Amber's facets. “I'll be fine,” she said. “But I should get it cleaned up.”

“Right.” He got to his feet, then stooped to pick up her purse. He shoved the scattered contents back in and handed the purse to her. Then he reached down and offered her a hand up.

She rose gracefully, as if she'd simply shut the pain away to deal with at some more convenient time. Even so, he slipped his arm around her waist and guided her to the rear of his car. She leaned against it, and twisted around again, still trying to see over her shoulder to assess the damage.

While she was occupied with her injury, Finn scanned the parking lot. Probably stupid, but he had the feeling they were being watched. That the limo hadn't come out of nowhere. That it had been waiting there for them. And that it would be back to finish the job.

Something glinted under the tire of the neighboring car, and he stooped to pick it up. A beat-up Montblanc pen, probably Amber's, and he pocketed it, intending to give it to her when they got back inside.

“Let's go,” she said as he stood up. He nodded, taking her elbow and guiding her toward the front of the building.

The complex consisted of four buildings with eight apartments each, arranged to form a square around a courtyard. Amber and Finn lived in Building One, the furthest away from the parking lot. The easiest way in was to cut across the courtyard and go in through the patio door, but since it didn't have a keyed lock, Finn rarely used that entrance. The added convenience wasn't worth the risk of someone waltzing in and absconding with his DVD player and computer.

Which meant that they had to go around Building Two, meet up with the street, and follow the sidewalk all the way to Finn's apartment before they'd even be close to hydrogen peroxide or something else suitable for cleaning Amber's wound.

“I'm fine,” she said, apparently reading his thoughts. “I've probably got some alcohol in my medicine cabinet.”

“Well, I definitely have bandages and peroxide,” he said. “And since it's my fault you're in the shape you're in, we'll go to my apartment and clean you up.”

She paused, forcing him to slow his step and ultimately stop completely.

“Don't even think that,” she snapped. “You probably saved my life. So I hardly think it's necessary to worry about one little scratch on my shoulder.”

“I don't—”

She pressed her fingers to his mouth, effectively shutting him up. “Say, ‘you're right, Amber.' ”

“You're right, Amber.” And he knew she was. He just wished that his first attempt at heroism could have gone over just a little bit better.

“Good.” She flashed him a broad smile without any hint of pain. “Now that that's settled, we can head on in.” She winked. “And your apartment is just fine.”

Finn shook his head in mock bewilderment. The woman had almost been pulverized by a speeding limousine, and yet it sounded like she wanted to jump right back into their date at exactly the point where they left off. Well, on that score, Finn was more than happy to comply—
after
he got her shoulder fixed up. And then, very, very gently.

“By the way,” she said, “I don't suppose you got the license plate number.”

“Tried,” he said. “Too dark.”

“Damn.”

They'd reached the corner, and now they cut across the grass, making a beeline for Finn's ground floor apartment. The neighborhood was normally quiet, but this evening the air seemed positively stagnant. No bass reverb from the teenager who lived in 3B. No muffled conversations drifting back from the courtyard. Just silence.

Amber squeezed his hand, her step quickening. “Come on,” she said.

Finn wasn't sure if she felt as on edge as he did, or if she was just anxious to get inside, but he didn't argue. Just quickened his step to keep up.

As they reached the walkway that connected each of the apartments, a dark shadow moved across the ground in front of them. Finn turned—and saw a solid black limo backing out of the driveway of the building next door.

Amber saw it at the same moment he did. “Oh, shit,” she said. And then she collapsed in a heap at his feet, a tiny dart protruding from the side of her neck.

Finn didn't even have time to react before the steely bite of a dart caught him, too, and the world turned inside out.

And his last thought before the blackness took him was that this was one hell of a way to end a first date.

 

Bernie closed his eyes as soon as Diana hung up her cell phone. He felt like shit—was certain he looked all puffy and pale—but Diana didn't seem to mind.

That's what he loved about her.

Women didn't tend to go for guys like him, the men who'd never quite figured out how to talk to girls. But Diana spoke his language. She knew stuff about mathematics and physics and computers. They'd toasted Nobel Prize winner Riccardo Giacconi and spent an entire dinner discussing his pioneering work with the Chandra telescope.

But it was when she'd recited a string of prime numbers in the same voice as someone might read Emily Dickinson that Bernie had known that it was love.

And now she was here with him, and she
wanted
him. Despite the fever. Despite the wheezing. Despite all of that, the woman was practically throwing herself on him.

Bernie wasn't about to question his good fortune.

“Bad news, sweetie?” he asked, letting his head fall back into the pillow.

Her voice drifted back to him, soft and sweet. “Nothing you need to worry your head about, precious.” Her hand stroked his forehead, drifting down to cup his cheek. She trailed down his neck, over the stubble he wished he'd shaved, then her fingers played with the button on his pajama top.

Oh, sweet Jesus, this was really happening!

Her soft, warm fingertips traced circular patterns on his chest, and Bernie groaned from the pleasure of it all.

“Are you ready, baby?” she asked, her hand dipping lower, and then even lower still.

All the blood in his body rushed to his groin, and it was everything he could do to nod his head.

“Well, then here we go….”

He took a deep breath, anticipating the pleasure of her touch. But instead of pleasure, a loud bang seared through his head, light flashing even past his closed eyelids. In a split second, he went from feeling warm and liquid to cold as ice, and he realized Diana was no longer straddling him.

His eyes flew open, and he found himself staring into the cold, dark eyes of a burly man with a chunk missing from his ear. The man grinned, then laughed, a raspy, fluid sound. “Getting yourself a little nookie, eh, buddy?”

“I…I…what?” was all Bernie could manage.

The thug just patted him on the face and stepped sideways. Behind him, Bernie saw a blond man with a two-day beard holding Diana around the waist, a gun to her beautiful head. She was silent, but the scream in her eyes broke his heart.

“You're coming with us, Bernie-boy,” the thug said. “Unless you want the little lady to buy it here.”

“No,” Bernie said. “No, please.”

The blond thug with squinty eyes nodded. “I told you he'd be reasonable. Our Mr. Waterman's a smart man. Aren't you, Bernie?”

“I, yes. I…Just don't hurt her.” He had to pee. Was afraid he was going to pee right then, actually. But he didn't have long to worry about it. Because the thug smiled that hideous smile, reached out with his gun, and smacked Bernie across the head.

And the last thing Bernie saw was a tiny smile playing on Diana's fabulous red lips.

 

Diana stepped out of her shoes and curled her toes into the plush carpet. She'd picked it out herself, specifically because the carpet was thick and she hated to fly. Someone had told her to curl her toes during takeoff and landing, and the trick had worked. She'd picked the deep pile in honor of her toes.

Right now, though, the plane was still perched on the tarmac, awaiting take-off. Her toes weren't the problem. Phineus Teague was.

She traced her finger around the rim of her high-ball glass. The glass was filled with straight vodka, and this was her third one.

She'd been so happy when Drake had called, his two-word message letting her know she didn't have to get naked with the little worm. And then she found out the reason.

A spy.
Phineus Teague was a goddamn spy!