Claimed by the Secret Agent

by Lyn Stone

  “So are you, Beauclair,” he said, plucking a leftover sweet roll out of the basket he’d left there last night and offering it to her. “Any ideas how we should approach our subject?”

  She bit into the roll and thought about it for a minute, then nodded. “I think I should call Bahktar when we get his number. Advise him that Shapur’s unavailable and that I have what he wants. I’ll persuade him to meet with me to hand it over. Then I’ll see if I can find out where they stashed Cynthia. If he knows.”

  Marie licked her finger and waited for his response. His jaw tightened. His eyebrows rose as he broke eye contact and shifted in his chair. She’d bet he was about to explode with a protest and was ready for it.

  But he said nothing. Instead, he got up, took his cell phone out of his pocket and made a call.

  Marie listened as he spoke a few words to Mercier. Not a word about her, surprisingly. Mostly he just listened while Mercier did the talking. Grant clicked the phone shut, put it away and looked her dead in the eye. “Okay, we have Bahktar’s cell number, the one Shapur called from the clinic.”

  She finished her coffee. “I’ll get ready, then make the call.”

  It was too early in the day, but she didn’t want to give Grant a lot of time to think about it or he might change his mind about going along with her plan.

  “Remember, it will have to be somewhere with lots of people around,” he said. His lips firmed and he shook his head. He paced for a minute, then stopped and looked at her. “Are you sure you want to do this, Marie? I have a feeling this guy is not one we want to monkey around with.”

  “Sit for a minute.” She motioned him back to his chair, hoping he’d calm down, stay reasonable and listen. “Look, I’ve thought it out,” she told him. “A stranger calling him, one who knows he’s involved in this, won’t go down well in any case. If it’s a woman, he won’t like it, but he’s not as likely to run.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Well, females probably rate very low in his estimation, hardly worth thinking about unless they have something he wants. Considering this plan of his, he must not like them much in the first place.”

  “Yeah.” Grant huffed with disgust. “And considering the culture that spawned him, he probably thinks you’re all subhuman.”

  “Right,” Marie agreed. “So it will never enter his mind that I’m an agent. If he knows I have the number he needs, he’ll see me. And if I play it right, he might give us a clue where Cynthia is being held.”

  “As you said, if he knows,” Grant qualified. “It’s possible he left all those details up to Shapur and the goons the doctor hired. Why would Shapur have told him where she was?”

  Marie shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t, but we have to try to find out, don’t we? That’s the whole justification for the meeting instead of going at him like a SWAT team.”

  Grant shrugged. “It is a long shot, but yes, we do have to try. Your plan makes sense.”

  And that final admission had cost him dearly, she could tell. She slowly released a breath of relief. Grant wasn’t going to contradict her plan. He actually trusted her to handle Bahktar.

  “Did Mercier find out anything about him that I should know going in?”

  Grant reached across the table and took her hand as he began to speak. “He has an import/export business here in Paris. He presents himself as an expatriate but has made regular and frequent trips back to Iran over the last fifteen years. He has no family that could be identified, either here or there. The wealth he has amassed is tied up in his business assets. Not liquid, apparently.”

  Marie nodded. “That explains his motive for seeking ransoms. Why involve Shapur?”

  “An easy mark for extortion. Shapur was loosely affiliated with the shah. We suspect Bahktar might originally have been positioned here to keep tabs on the royal family in exile. Intelligence reports now connect him to several arms dealers, probably his main source of income. No surprise there. He’s gathering capital for the next buy.”

  “No wife or lady friend? Is he gay?”

  “He’s had female companions, all temporary. No males. Of course, that carries a death sentence in his country, so he wouldn’t be open about it.” Grant held her gaze. “But if you’re planning to entice information out of him with your feminine wiles, I really wouldn’t advise it.”

  Marie smiled and squeezed his fingers. “And I wouldn’t try it. One dangerous man in my life at a time, a hard-and-fast rule.”

  “Am I, Marie? In your life?”

  “You’re my partner, aren’t you? Right now, that has to be enough. Is it?”

  His expression revealed nothing. “I told you. Whatever you want.”

  Marie disengaged her hand and got up from the table. She couldn’t look at him as she replied. “What I want is trust, Grant. You are trusting me with the lead on this and that’s a start.”

  “If you require trust, then you ought to give it. Do you trust me, Marie?”

  She did look at him then, searching those serious blue-gray eyes. “I trust you with my life.”

  He got up and started toward her. She raised a hand before he got within reach, and he stopped, waiting, watching her, saying more with those expressive eyes than words could have done.

  Marie meant what she had said; she did trust him. However, she could see what looked very much like love in those mesmerizing eyes, and it wasn’t something she was ready to acknowledge. She could too easily return it, and then where would she be?

  But what if she never saw him again after today? One way or another, this meeting with Bahktar would end this mission. It would be over. They would be over.

  Unless she accepted a place within COMPASS, she doubted that she and Grant would ever meet again. She would have to refuse the job offer or get caught up in an affair that could only end with one of them losing his or her position.

  But if she had no intention of ever seeing him again, why deny herself? Or him, for that matter? Why not have one more splendid memory of perfect lovemaking? He was the best, no doubt about that. She would never find another man like him.

  Maybe, just maybe, that satisfaction would make it easier for both of them to let go. Sort of like a private, final goodbye…kiss.

  “Grant?” she asked tentatively.

  “Yes?” His gaze held hers.

  “It’s early yet.” She held out her arms.

  He gave her a smile that would melt the coldest heart and came to her. There were no questions, no avowals, no words at all. His kiss drowned all her doubts; he obviously had none in the first place.

  Marie clung to him as he carried her back to the bed where he’d slept. She imagined it still warm from his body as he lay down with her.

  His hands explored every inch of her as they peeled away the loose shirt and shorts slowly. He moved as if they had all the time in the world and nothing else to do.

  She trailed kisses along his neck, loving the taste of his skin, inhaling the subtle scent of his aftershave and feeling the smoothness of muscle against her lips. He overwhelmed her senses and filled them with pleasure, swept her up in a wave of need that kept rising without breaking.

  He uttered wordless sounds of encouragement as he stroked and touched and enticed. Memories of their last time spurred her to hurry him on, but he would not give in.

  For what seemed hours, he drew her closer and closer to that moment when he would take her, claim her and join her in the surrender of power that left both of them breathless.

  Could she let go again, knowing how it had left her so vulnerable before? But she wanted so desperately, so keenly, there was no going back, no saying no. She wanted it, and she wanted him more than anything else in her world. This one last time, she would know how it felt to belong.

  “Be with me,” he whispered against her ear as he entered her finally, fully, and began to move.

  For once in her life, Marie gave herself, openly, honestly and without reservation. It was like dy
ing. Like being reborn. Like loving. She cried out and held him with all her strength, wishing to the depths of her soul that she never had to let go.

  For the longest time, neither of them said anything, but eventually breath and reason returned.

  “Are you all right?” Grant asked.

  “No,” she admitted, sniffing, not even caring how she sounded. Her world was upside down. “But, please…”

  “I know. Be quiet,” he crooned, smoothing her tangled hair and laying a kiss on top of her head. “Sleep a little now. There’s plenty of time and I’ll watch the clock.”

  His voice soothed her, took away the need to think, and she slept.

  Mamud Bahktar closed his phone and frowned in thought. Shapur had hired a woman? Small wonder he had not shared the names of the kidnappers he contracted. This one had been in charge of luring the young women out of their safety zones so they could be taken, or so she said. Brazen female. Demanding to meet in a public place signaled she was no idiot. Perhaps she guessed he would want to kill her.

  She had said Shapur and his men were dead, killed in a gas explosion at the clinic where the doctor lived. Perhaps it was just as well, since he had planned to get rid of Shapur after one more abduction anyway.

  The numbered account would contain enough to begin the arms transaction when added to what he’d be able to borrow against his assets. In any event, he would have to meet with the woman to get that number.

  He didn’t like women involved in business, especially his business, but he might be able to use her for one last abduction, provided she had male associates who would do the actual deed.

  Mamud took out the photo he carried of his betrothed and looked at it for inspiration. A worthy one she was, too. Young, dark-eyed innocence.

  He glanced at the other picture that he had tucked away behind hers. So different yet with the same aura of youth and vulnerability. This one was smiling openly, unaware she was being captured on film, a delicate little blonde about to drive away in her very expensive, bright red convertible. A rich mark. The one who got away.

  He really had to do something about finding her.

  Chapter 17

  M arie couldn’t believe Grant had left the bed without a word. He’d been gone when she woke up, and now she heard him on the phone in the other room.

  She pulled on her shorts and shirt, almost afraid to face him because she wasn’t sure how she would react. They had a job to do, however, and no time to waste. When she joined him, he ended his conversation and held out the phone to her. “Whenever you’re ready. Mercier will have our backup available within the hour, but they’ll hold off until we give the word. I was just about to wake you.”

  Marie had made the call and arranged the meeting, though Bahktar had insisted on choosing the locale. What he suggested had sounded perfect and should be teeming with people, so she didn’t object.

  Then she quickly excused herself to grab a shower and dress for the meeting with Bahktar.

  Grant was pacing when she returned to the room. She wore all black—her wrinkle-proof pants, a long-sleeved, body-hugging jersey and a crocheted beret covering most of her hair. The shoes were black flats. “Well?” she asked as she joined him.

  His gaze traveled over her slowly. “You look like a baby terrorist. All you need is an AK-47.”

  “Bring one along if you can get it,” she replied with a twist of her lips. “He ordered me to come unarmed and to dress so he would know I wasn’t carrying without having to frisk me.”

  “I don’t see any place you could hide one.”

  She gave a little tilt of her head, lifted one foot and pulled up her pant leg to show her little Glock 27 taped above her ankle. The weapon was used for backup by some agents but was perfect for her primarily since her hands were small. Grant nodded his approval.

  In spite of that, she could see that he was itching to call the whole thing off. It showed in every shift of his body, in the tick of his jaw, the worry crinkle between his eyebrows.

  Marie hated to see him so worried, but at least she knew that it wasn’t because he thought she was incapable. He just cared about her. Maybe loved her. Did love her, she admitted.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said, faking a smile. She could admit to herself that she was apprehensive, but she’d never let him see that. This was her chance to do what she had been trained to do.

  Grant nodded again. “You know I’ll be close by. One wrong move on his part, and I’m taking him out.”

  Marie couldn’t and didn’t argue with the wisdom of that. There might not be time to reach for her own weapon if Bahktar decided she was expendable. Somehow, she didn’t think he would risk violence in the crowd of tourists that would be hanging around. “Why’d he choose Place de la Concorde, I wonder?”

  Grant checked his weapon as he answered. “The obelisk. That’s where the guillotine was located. A place of execution. Ready to back out now?”

  “No. I don’t think he’ll make a move there. He might try to follow me to a more opportune spot, though. You’ll watch for that.”

  “Like a hawk.”

  Marie watched as he struggled with the need to dissuade her from doing this. She saw the moment he lost the fight.

  “Look, let me do it, Marie. I’ll tell him you hired me to meet with him in your place. You can watch my back.”

  “Not gonna happen, Grant. We go in as planned. I’ll chat him up a little, see what I can get on Rivers’s location in exchange for the number. He’ll believe I don’t know where she is, since Shapur and the others were killed unexpectedly and never told me where they had her. I’ll promise him her ransom if I can deliver her alive.”

  “He won’t trust you to do it. And he won’t care if she’s alive or not. Maybe he won’t care enough about the money if it means letting you go when you can identify him as part of it.”

  “I’m doing this, Grant. If he looks at me cross-eyed, shoot him, but let me get a few questions in first, okay?”

  He blew out a sharp breath and shook his head. “All right, all right. But be extremely careful, you hear?”

  “I hear.” She glanced at the cheap watch she had picked up in Amsterdam. “It’s time we left if I’m going to beat him there.”

  She felt jazzed, up for it, confident things would work out. A positive attitude worked wonders.

  Grant grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her soundly on the mouth. She hardly had time to react before he released her.

  “I love you, Marie. I know you don’t want to hear that or deal with it now, but I need you to know.”

  “I know,” she said, and would have said more, but he shook her gently, interrupting.

  “Don’t you get yourself killed, Marie! Or even hurt. I mean it, don’t do anything risky.” He cradled her head with one hand, her body with the other and held her tight. “Promise me.”

  Ear pressed to his chest, she could hear his heart beating ninety to nothing. Or maybe it was her own pulse racing. For a long time he held her fast, as if he’d never release her. She didn’t even think of pulling away. It felt so good to have someone who cared this much. When had she ever felt anything like this?

  When he did let her go, she touched her fingers to her lips and a smile welled up behind them. He was so damn sincere. He loved her.

  He had seen her at her very worst, bedraggled, grouchy, complaining, bossy, weepy. Never seen her at her best. She hadn’t had a chance yet to show him her good side. Maybe that was mostly manufactured anyway.

  Did she even have a good side? She wasn’t quite sure who she really was when not pressed to play a role, because she had been doing it for so long.

  Still, he loved her.

  Never in her life had she felt any closer to anyone. Not her parents, not her friends and certainly not her coworkers. Maybe she loved him, too, though she didn’t have a very good handle on the love thing. Certainly no comparables. The sex was great, but there was much more to how she felt about Grant than merely the phys
ical.

  He was so open, accepting and truly thoughtful, even if that thoughtfulness was often a little overbearing. She understood why and she understood him.

  What they were about to do went against every grain of instinct he possessed, letting her put herself out front this way. Also, this was probably the only time in his life he had ever taken the backseat on an op. That couldn’t be easy.

  “I promise. No heroics,” she told him. And she meant it at the time. She even kissed him back to seal the deal.

  The sky was gray, heavy with clouds when they left the apartment. Traffic was heavy, too. It was nearly ten o’clock, and the meeting was set for ten thirty.

  Grant drove down the Champs-Elysées to where the Tuileries Gardens began, whipped down a side street and left the car there. They walked side by side in the mist, silent, each getting psyched up for the meeting.

  He stopped her before they turned the corner onto the main thoroughfare. “Remember your promise,” he said with a featherlight touch to her cheek. Concern clouded his eyes and put that deep little dent between his eyebrows.

  She smoothed it out with her fingertip and grinned up at him. “I’ll be fine. Just stay close by. If I need you to jump in, I’ll do this.” She opened her left hand and placed it over her upper chest, her fingers splayed.

  He nodded, placed his hand over hers and gave it a pat.

  Marie strolled along well ahead of him as if she had nothing better to do than kill time. She wandered around the equestrian statue that marked the intersection of the East-West and North-South approaches. The obelisk stood in the midst of a large oval area with fountains at either end. The area was much bigger than it had looked in photos.

  The mist turned to definite sprinkles. Then it began to rain. Thank goodness it wasn’t a downpour, but it was heavy enough to thin out the tourists who were now dashing for cover. They were her protection, and they were disappearing, unaware of how she might need them.