by Fiona Quinn
“Yes, ma’am.” This psyops stuff was not his deal. Jumping out of planes and stealing Russian helicopters was how he spent his days. The Casanova shit should be CIA. But he could see the importance of getting a Unit boy over the threshold to see what was going on with security, make a plan, and pass the intel on to his brothers.
“Listen, tomorrow, your assignment is to run from here to the dog park. You passed it yesterday on the way to get ice cream.”
He nodded.
“Jog from here to there. It’s five kilometers. Take a toy to throw for Rory in the park. You need to be there at fifteen-twenty hours exactly. That’s what time Kira gets there every day. I’d like you jogging in from the back of the park, so it looks like complete happenstance that you’re showing up there. I want you to invite her to dinner. I’ve made reservations in your name at The Frog and the Good ol’Boy.”
“That’s a restaurant?”
“Fusion southern cuisine with a French flair.”
“I can’t even imagine what that means. Frog legs and hush puppies?”
“Something like that. Kira loves that restaurant. She goes there when she wants to celebrate something. As far as I know, she’s never been there on a date, so it’s a clean canvas. You’ll wear the outfit with the number four sticky notes—urban chic.”
“Yes, Mom. What about Rory while I’m out on that date?”
White tapped her chin as she looked around his room. Her gaze landed on the crate sitting next to the sofa where she was perched. “Can Rory stay in his crate here at the hotel by himself?”
“If he absolutely has to, but Uncle Sam doesn’t like the K9s of his caliber to go unattended. That’s years of training costs. It’s all about the bottom line. Along with public safety.”
“I can dog sit him. I’ll stay here and keep working. Just text me if you’re bringing Kira back to your hotel room after your dinner, and I’ll skedaddle. This next step shouldn’t be hard. When you saved Princess Beatrice and gave her your ice cream, you created internal pressure for Kira to do something for you in return.”
“I’m not trying to be a braggart, but it’s rare that I get turned down when I invite a lady out.”
“There are low stakes in your normal dating scenarios. There are the highest stakes in this one. And while I can easily see that you wouldn’t have any issues wooing a normal lady on a normal day. Kira is not in a normal American woman’s position, and this is far from a normal day.”
“Are you going to flesh out why she’s not a normal American woman?”
“No.”
“That makes me uncomfortable.”
“So be it. Now getting to the restaurant. Once there, the lighting will help you make the sale.”
“And by sale, you mean me. What has lighting got to do with anything? Forget it – I remember now. Big pupils.”
“The Frog and the Good ol’ Boy is right off Route 85 on Falls Lake with huge picture windows. The boats will be sailing by at sunset. Very romantic. And yes, because of the dim lighting, your eyes will adjust by dilating. Her brain will read you as sexually primed, and if you’re not a total goon—which you haven’t been up until this point—”
“Things can change.”
“Granted. Don’t be a goon. Play the role of a gentleman. She’s old-fashioned. She likes etiquette and chivalry.”
“Huh.” He reached past White to the side table to grab his water bottle.
“You’re fine. I’ve watched video of you eating. Your parents obviously made a point of manners at your house.”
“Go back. You were going to tell me how to be sure she’d accept my invitation. I might as well get some of this science under my belt. It might come in handy on a mission down the line.” He tipped the bottle back.
“Right. So we’re going to lean heavily on two psychological knee-jerk reactions. The first one has to do with reciprocity. Before you ask someone for something, you have a far, far better chance of getting what you want if you give a small gift to the other person, then make sure they know you are giving them a gift.”
“Shoot.” He brought his wrist to his lip to catch a drop of the water, then screwed the cap back on the bottle.
“Why shoot?”
“You did that to me back when you wanted me to take on this assignment.”
“You weren’t really in a place to deny the mission. JSOC agreed to assist the CIA, so we could, in turn, assist you.”
“You gave me the pen in Djibouti. You said, ‘This is a gift.’ And I thought it a bit odd at the time.”
She winked. “And you felt compelled by brain biology to return the perceived debt. It’s almost untenable for someone to receive a gift and then not do something reciprocal. Think how terrible you feel when someone gives you a Christmas gift, and you’ve nothing for them. It haunts you. It’s part of our survival biology. You give your mark something—in general, it can be something small, so your target isn’t overwhelmed and defensive. A cupcake. A single flower. ‘I saw this and thought of you. I wanted you to have this.’ You must be sure that they know it’s a gift, so no matter how small—a pebble off the ground, ‘Here is a gift.’”
“Got it.”
“I’m circling around to that in two seconds. But I don’t want to forget this part. The next step is to make an ask and add the word ‘because.’”
“Because?”
“Exactly.”
“No, sorry. I’m asking why I need to use the word ‘because.’”
“Studies show that if you ask, you will often be turned down. ‘May I go ahead of you in line?’ If you ask and you give a reason— ‘May I go ahead of you in line? I’m meeting someone in the theater.’ Still won’t get you what you want. For some reason, study after study shows if you simply add the word ‘because,’ it’s very hard for the person you’re asking to say ‘no’ to you. So for example, ‘Kira, would you join me for dinner because I found a restaurant that I think you might enjoy.”
“All right, do I tell her the name?”
“Only if she asks at that time. I’d leave it alone. Show up and look surprised when she tells you it’s a favorite. Then you need to add a reason you brought her there. Like, ‘I read about the views, and I thought you might enjoy watching the boats at sunset.”
“Got it. To get a ‘yes’ I simply give someone a small gift and make an ask, including the word ‘because.’”
“To that end, at dinner tomorrow, you’ll bring a single lavender rose and hand it to her. When you pick her up for your date, say, ‘I saw this, and I thought of you.’ Oh, before I forget, we had your Land Rover brought up. It’s in the parking lot, and the keys are in your underwear drawer. Kira will be more comfortable if she’s not riding in the sidecar—long hair and all. Back to the rose.” White walked over to the fridge and opened the door, sweeping her hand so he’d look inside at the single rose, wrapped in floral paper with a delicate white ribbon.
“She likes lavender?”
“Maybe.” White shut the fridge door and picked up her coffee cup to move over to the sofa. “She’s a humanities scholar. She’ll have studied the nuances of literature, especially love symbols.”
“And so a red rose—”
“Would be cheesy and cheap. Kira probably wouldn’t receive it in the way we want her to. On the other hand, lavender is unique, special, and she will know the meaning behind it.”
“Which is?”
“Love at first sight. Also, they’re called Stirling roses, not lavender. Stirling roses are the only thornless roses, or so I’m told. Double meaning.”
“And she’ll think this is the message I want to convey—I fell in love at first sight, and I hand you only beauty with no thorns?”
“It will be in her subconscious if not her conscious. I think she’ll think it then talk herself out of it. Few men know the meanings behind the flowers they offer. But back in the olden days—the times that Kira focused her studies on—all of polite society would have understood the meanings a
nd would read the offered bouquets as secret communications. People who cared for each other, at the time, weren’t allowed to voice their emotions until they were betrothed. Anyway, you know the rose is waiting in your fridge.”
He walked over and opened the fridge and lifted it out to smell it. Heady with perfume, Ty had never seen a flower like that, perfectly shaped, with a color he’d never seen on a rose before. He thought it was a good reflection of his first impressions of Kira, graceful, unique, and tender.
Ty caught himself. Man, you need to get a grip on your inner dialogue. She is not for you. She’s a mission. And then you get anti-depressants to get over her.
Wasn’t that a damned disheartening thought in and of itself?
He carefully replaced the rose.
“Good?”
“I think it’ll work. All right. I meet her at the door with my gift. Once she accepts it, she owes me. Internal pressure. I wait until later and bring up my ask and use the word ‘because.’ But the ask is if I can come along to Tanzania.”
“If it comes up and she invites you by some miracle. ‘Yes, I’d like to join you, because…’ For example, because you enjoy photography and would like to take some pictures. But other than her asking you to join her, just let that debt fester. It will grow in internal psychological pressure.” White smiled.
“Man, that is so manipulative.”
“Yup. Manipulation is the name of the game in my line of work.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kira
“Now, don’t you look nice?” The barista set Kira’s glass of iced chai on the table.
Kira smoothed her hand across her deep-rose-colored sundress. It had a tightly fitted bodice, spaghetti straps, and a full skirt that hit just below the knees. On her feet she had matching ballet slippers.
The barista stooped to give Princess Beatrice a bowl of water. When she stood, she looked up and down the street. “Do you think he’s coming back today?”
Shoot, maybe she was being too obvious. Was her wardrobe choice too much for a stroll to the café and then the park? Probably. “Whom?” Kira asked innocently.
“Oh, you know that 100% grade A prime beefcake that was talking to you yesterday. The fella on the cherry-colored bike.”
“Oh. No. I don’t know. I don’t know him.”
The barista tucked her tray under her arm. “Looked like he wanted to get to know you. We were all watching through the window.” She lifted her hand to shade the sun’s glare as she scanned up the road. “I thought for sure he’d be back today.”
Kira had thought so too. She’d hoped so. Bobbling her head by way of response, Kira lifted her lips into a Mona Lisa smile. What did you say to something like that?
The barista held up crossed fingers. “You still have time.”
Just because he was here yesterday meant little. She’d never seen him before, and she’d most likely never see him again. It made no difference that he had filled her dreams last night with the most erotic fantasies she’d experienced in her whole life. It was just her brain playing games with her now that she had been committed to some stranger. It was her body’s way of having a last hoorah before she was tucked away, leaving a sex life behind.
She was twenty-eight and soon would be a dried-up, lonely raisin.
Maybe she’d like her husband, she thought as she sipped her chai. It could be that they’d get along. Kira simply couldn’t imagine that to be true. Not someone her Uncle Nadir had chosen for her.
This was silly. She was silly. Look at her dressed up like this in case a stranger on a red Harley wanted to buy his dog some ice cream.
Pitiful.
Kira downed her chai as quickly as yesterday, then stuck a five-dollar bill under her empty glass. “Come on, Bea. Let’s go to the park and wear you out, so I can get my work done this afternoon.”
Beatrice toddled happily ahead of Kira as she made her way two blocks up Elm Street, all while Kira was praying under her breath for the sound of a motorcycle.
When they arrived at the park, Kira pulled the latch on the gate up to release the childproof lock, swung the door open, and in they went.
They were alone.
Kira shut the door, then unclasped Beatrice’s lead, sticking it safely in her straw bag. Since no one else was there, she dropped the bag by the edge of the eight-foot fence, retrieved Bea’s ball, and walked away, leaving it there. “Ready, Bea?”
Beatrice was jumping up on her hind legs, trying to get the ball.
Kira threw it out and watched as Bea chased after it. As the ball hit the fence on the far side of the park, Bea stopped and barked. Kira held a hand up to shade her eyes and saw a runner in the distance. “Leave him alone, Bea. Come on and bring me the ball.”
Beatrice grabbed the ball and raced back so Kira would throw it again.
Out went the ball, followed closely with a sprinting Beatrice on her tiny little legs.
Bea grabbed the ball and stalled at the fence, placing the ball down and focusing on the runner. Again she barked high-pitched “come here” barks.
“Bea! The ball!” This time when Kira brought her hand up to look at why Bea was so focused, Kira saw that it was a man running with a dog beside him.
From this distance, she couldn’t see his face, but her whole system lit up with buzzing, tingling, happiness. Was it him? The motorcycle guy? She walked toward Beatrice.
The man was running with an athleticism that Kira didn’t normally see displayed in this park of senior fast-walkers and a few portly souls who were trying their best. He wore a pair of running shorts and a sleeveless sports shirt. The dog was the right size. It might be him.
Kira smoothed her hand over her dress, then her hair.
Beatrice showed up with her ball.
There was a clank at the gate behind them. An elderly man in a Hawaiian shirt and white socks with his sandals was there with his black dog. The dog had a fat collar around his neck attached to his leash.
Kira glanced at her straw bag and decided that she was probably a lot faster than he was if the guy wanted to steal her things. She’d leave it. Her attention was on the runner who was coming up the path toward the dog park.
Was it him?
Bea jumped up and barked.
Kira realized she was holding Bea’s ball over her head for the throw and was just standing there like an idiot. “Sorry, sweetie, here you go.” She tossed out the ball, and Beatrice chased after it.
As soon as Beatrice had the ball in her mouth, a whir of black raced past Kira.
The Hawaiian-shirt man’s dog was off his lead, and the beast was focused on getting to Bea.
Kira shrieked and chased after the dog, trying to outrace the charging dog. The closer she got, the bigger the dog seemed. What was she going to do? She spun around and didn’t immediately see the old man. “Hey!” she yelled. “Hey! Call off your dog!”
“Stop running!” the athlete was hollering at her. “Stop! Stand still!” His gait turned from jog to sprint as he headed toward her.
How could she stand still when the black dog had trapped Beatrice in the corner? Bea had her ball clamped between her teeth and was shivering against the fence.
“Rory, jump!” the athlete yelled.
His dog was already off his lead and was racing ahead of the man toward the fence. It was so tall that Kira couldn’t reach the top of it.
Jump?
What was this man asking his dog to do?
Kira was still running for Beatrice. Beatrice was still whimpering in the corner.
The black dog had spread his legs wide and was crouched low, growling at Beatrice, when Rory leaped into the air, twisted, and flung his body into the dog’s area.
“Rory, hold the fort! Hold the fort!” the athlete called. He was almost to her.
Hold the fort? What in the world? Kira slowed, gasping, trying to understand this scene.
Rory jumped between shivering Beatrice and, “Oh my goodness, he’s a rottweiler!”
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br /> Rory pulled back his lips. His growl was ferocious. White foam bubbled along the corners of his mouth. Hackles up.
Breathless, Kira focused on Princess Beatrice. Bea was London’s first baby. Her friend loved this dog. London called daily to Facetime with her pup. Kira absolutely could not allow anything to happen to her.
Sliding along the fence, she was desperate to protect Bea.
The rottweiler jumped forward, biting at the air.
Kira crouched over Beatrice, wrapping her body around the quivering pup. She tucked her head and clung to the fence bars.
Rory held the black dog at bay, but surely this couldn’t last. One dog or the other was going to lunge, and she’d be in the middle of a dog fight.
“Stay still, ma’am. Don’t move,” the man called out. He was right beside her now, but the gate was way far away on the other side of the dog park. One way in. One way out.
She hugged Beatrice tight to her chest.
Clanging had her peeping from under her arm, and she realized the man was simply crawling up the fence.
“Hold the fort, Rory!”
Was he coming to protect his own dog? That didn’t make sense. He’d commanded his dog to jump over the fence. He must be coming to help her.
The rottweiler circled to the side to get around Rory.
Rory was having none of it.
For every step the rotti took toward Kira, Rory took two aggressive steps to stave him off.
The man jumped. As he came over the fence, he landed in a crouch, then toppled into a roll and up on his feet again like a Ninja. Wow!
Holding Beatrice tight to her chest, Kira stood, thinking if worse came to worse, maybe she could throw Beatrice to the other side of the fence, and the pup would be safe.
It was a ridiculous notion.
Kira wasn’t equipped with the skills to throw fifteen pounds into the air. And Beatrice was not the kind of dog who could figure out what to do to land safely.
The man came up beside Rory, taking almost the same posture of wide-spread legs, crouching low. His arms were held wide on either side of him.