Licensed to Spy

by Barbara Davies

  Chapter 14

  AS JEMMA AND Ash followed the unburdened porter past a postcard stand to the lift, other hotel guests gaped at them. Jemma tried not to blush. Was it her fault she looked like something the cat had dragged in? Her hairbrush and luggage were still in São Paulo, or so she presumed, and as they had both spent their day first at Foz do Iguaçu’s hospital then helping the police with their enquiries, neither had had any time to buy clothes. A considerate policewoman had promised to send some over, but that wouldn’t be until tomorrow.

  Ash noticed her expression. “Don’t mind them. Think how we’re brightening up their holiday.”

  “Yeah. I can just imagine the postcards home.” Jemma glanced at her. “How are you feeling?”

  Ash looked tired, and no wonder. The nurse had sucked in her breath at her bruised body and tutted at her reopened shoulder wound, before dressing it and re-bandaging it. Ash also now sported an elasticated support bandage round her ankle.

  “I could sleep for a week,” said Ash. “You?”

  “The same.” Jemma’s midriff was tender and had turned a livid yellowy-green. The nurse had suspected a rib fracture, but an X-ray showed her to be merely badly bruised. They had both been lucky.

  A loud ping signalled the lift’s arrival. Its doors slid open, and they got in. They had been lucky too, reflected Jemma as it ascended, that they weren’t in more trouble with the Brazilians.

  Ash had phoned London and given them a situation report before turning al-Akhdar over to the authorities. It was just as well. The Brazilians had guessed something was up—the trail of chaos from Rio to the Iguaçu Falls had given the game away—and had not been best pleased to learn that two armed agents of a foreign power were operating in Brazil without permission. So while the police interrogated Jemma and Ash, UK diplomats were beavering away behind the scenes, calling in favours, smoothing ruffled feathers, and spreading sweetness and light on their behalf.

  It helped that the scales had come down in their favour. On the debit side: Celio’s death; the theft of the Moghal Emerald (which had made all the newspapers); the clothes Ash had stolen from the clothes shop; the destruction of Pimentel’s warehouses; and the borrowed Cessna. On the credit side: the return of the Moghal Emerald; the death of several unnamed and unmissed thugs; the destruction of an illegal drugs factory; the thwarting of a nerve gas attack on the USA; and the taking into custody of a major Libyan terrorist. Unfortunately, no one knew what had happened to al-Akhdar’s second-in-command, but they couldn’t have everything. Abdusamad had gone to ground, but he had only ever been small fry.

  They had got off lightly. In the end, the Chief of Police had merely given them a severe dressing down, which to Jemma’s surprise Ash had accepted without protest, and ordered them to leave the country at once or face deportation. And when Jemma pointed out—rather heatedly, she remembered now with embarrassment—how exhausted and battered they both were and for good measure fluttered her eyelashes at him, he relented and agreed that tomorrow afternoon would do. So all’s well that ends well. Phew!

  The lift arrived at their floor, and they followed the porter along the corridor to their room. He opened the door and, while Ash tipped him, using some of the money the police had grudgingly advanced them, Jemma entered.

  She paused to take in her surroundings and blinked. A double bed rather than two singles?

  Ash closed the door on the porter. “Alone at last.” She came up behind Jemma. “Problem?”

  “That depends.” Jemma indicated the bed.

  “Ah. Well, I don’t mind sharing.” Ash yawned. “I’m so tired I could sleep standing up. But if you want, I’ll ring reception and ask them to find us another room.”

  Jemma pursed her lips. It was the best room they’d stayed in so far—the Brazilians had made the booking rather than the skinflints in London—and it would be a pain having to change it. So she had to sleep next to the woman she fancied. She could control herself, couldn’t she?

  “No. It’s all right,” she said. “Leave it.”

  “Okay.” Ash headed towards the phone. “I’m calling room service. Fancy anything?”

  Jemma stomach spoke for her. Apart from a roast beef, tomato, and pickled cucumber sandwich, which the police had provided at lunchtime, she’d had nothing to eat for hours.

  Ash grinned. “Care to translate?”

  She had an urge for something uncomplicated. “Do they do a nice juicy steak? With chips?”

  “Can but ask. How do you like yours?”

  “Well done.”

  Ash dialled, rattled off some phrases in Portuguese, and replaced the receiver. She turned to Jemma with a satisfied smile. “Steak and chips—one rare, one well done—coming right up.”

  “Ooh.” Jemma’s mouth watered at the thought.

  “After we’ve eaten, I need a shower.” Ash started to shrug out of her jacket then stopped with a grimace.

  “Here. Let me.” Jemma crossed the room in two strides and eased it off over the thick bandage. “There.”

  “Thanks.” Ash gave the blood-stained jacket a rueful glance. “I think it needs last rites.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure it led a full and happy life.”

  “Yeah, right.” Ash wandered into the bathroom, and a few minutes later Jemma heard the toilet flushing. She sat on the bed and gave it an experimental bounce, then went to the wall mirror, pulled a face at her reflection, and tried to finger-comb her hair.

  Ash returned. “Where’s that steak?”

  “They’re probably out lassoing the cow as we speak.”

  A knock at the door made them both turn. “Room service,” came a muffled voice.

  Jemma chewed her lip. “I’m not sure I should answer it, after what happened last time.”

  “It’s either that or starve to death.” Ash stationed herself beside the door. “You take out the bad guys,” she stage-whispered. “I’ll protect the steaks.”

  “Very funny.” Jemma took a deep breath, grabbed the handle, and whipped the door open, startling the man in hotel livery waiting on the other side. He lost his grip on the heavy silver tray, which tipped.

  “Whoops!” Only Jemma’s quick reflexes saved their meal from an ignominious end on the beige carpet. “Sorry.” She steadied the tray then took it from him.

  “Oh yeah, he’s dangerous all right,” growled Ash. Reaching over Jemma’s shoulder, she tucked a ten-real note into the man’s pocket.

  “Muito obrigada,” he said and walked rather stiffly away.

  Jemma kicked the door closed and carried the tray to the table. Then she remembered the look on the man’s face and started to chuckle. The fact that her ribs hurt when she laughed seemed funny too, for some reason, and the chuckle turned into a laughing fit.

  Ash shook her head at her and sat down. “You’re demob happy,” she diagnosed. Reserving the pinker steak for herself, she slid the other plate towards Jemma. Then she unwrapped a knife and fork from a napkin and began to eat.

  At last Jemma got control of herself and wiped her eyes. “Is that what it is?” Ash grinned at her and kept on chewing.

  Jemma dug into her own food. The first mouthful of steak was heavenly, and her moan of appreciation made Ash’s eyebrows rise. After that, they ate in silence and much too fast.

  “That hit the spot,” said Jemma at last, stacking the empty plates on the tray and placing it out of the way.

  Ash let out a contented sigh. “Mmmm.” She yawned. “I just need that shower then I’m ready for bed.” For a moment longer she sat, then, with another yawn, she dragged herself to her feet and headed for the bathroom.

  Jemma watched her go. “Want any help … with your shoulder?”

  Ash paused and gave Jemma a thoughtful look. Then she smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ll manage. I’m a big girl now.”

  I noticed. “Well, if you should change your mind, just give me a yell.”

  “Okay.”

  While Ash
disappeared inside the bathroom, Jemma switched on the TV. It was showing mostly soaps in Portuguese, though, so she switched it off again. She went to the window and looked out, but it was already dark outside, and there was nothing to see. The sound of water gurgling down a plughole told her Ash must be nearly done. She crouched beside the little fridge and examined its contents. Then the click of the bathroom door made her look up, and her mouth went dry.

  Ash was standing in the doorway, clad in a skimpy, white bath towel that revealed acres of bare, tanned skin. The only jarring note in this otherwise attractive picture was her bandaged shoulder and ankle.

  “Bathroom’s free. There are plenty of towels.” She sauntered towards the bed.

  “Mph,” managed Jemma.

  “Sorry?” Ash gave her an enquiring look.

  “Thanks. I won’t be long.” Jemma fled into the steamy bathroom, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it. God give me strength.

  By the time she had showered and dried herself, Ash was fast asleep, the tension that had been present earlier now absent from her features. As Jemma tiptoed round to the other side of the bed, she noticed the towel draped over the chair back. Lifting the sheet, she took a quick peek, then dropped it as though she had been stung. Ash was stark naked. Oh boy. For a moment she stood, undecided, then taking a deep breath, she removed her own towel—it was wet; she had no option—and slipped under the sheets beside Ash.

  For what seemed like an eternity Jemma held herself rigid, listening to the sound of Ash’s breathing and gazing up at the ceiling. Then she took herself to task. This is ridiculous. You need to get some sleep, and you never will if you keep acting like a silly schoolgirl. Ash isn’t bothered, so why are you? She knew the answer to that one, of course, but she shoved that thought aside.

  There was only one thing for it—a relaxation technique that had worked for her in the past. Eyes closed, and controlling her breathing, Jemma tensed and relaxed each muscle in her body in turn. At long last a welcome drowsiness stole over her, and she drifted into sleep.

  JEMMA AWOKE FEELING relaxed and at peace. She was pressed against a warm surface that seemed to be moving in time with Ash’s breathing. Hazily, she pondered her situation. She’s still asleep. Might as well go back to—Her eyelids shot open.

  Careful not to move a muscle, she took stock of her position. Sometime during the night, she had strayed from her own side of the bed and snuggled up to Ash, who was lying on her right side. The warm surface under Jemma’s cheek was Ash’s naked back. That was bad enough, but her left arm, she discovered, was draped over Ash’s left arm, and her hand was—

  Jemma went hot with embarrassment. Her hand was cupping Ash’s breast, and—her eyes opened wider—Ash’s hand was holding it in place.

  It could just be a reflex. Or does she know what she’s doing? Listening to the steady breathing, she decided Ash was still asleep. Disappointment was followed by relief. If it happens in your sleep, it doesn’t count, right? And what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

  She slid her hand from under Ash’s, and was almost free when Ash’s breathing pattern changed, and Jemma felt her hand gripped. Still holding it in place, Ash rolled over onto her back and regarded her with sleepy eyes.

  “How did this get here?”

  “Er …” Jemma gave her a nervous look. “It seems to have a mind of its own. Sorry.”

  “Alien hand syndrome? I think I’ve heard of it.” Ash released her hold, and Jemma knew that now would be a good moment to remove her hand. Somehow, though, she couldn’t bring herself to do it—Ash’s breast felt too good.

  The corner of Ash’s mouth quirked. “You know,” she said, her tone mild, “there’s only so much flesh and blood can stand. If you keep throwing yourself at me, Jemma, I might have to catch you.”

  Jemma blinked. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? Then she remembered the way Ash had reacted to her while under the truth drug. Maybe the physical attraction Jemma felt was reciprocated. With dawning hope and a feeling of great daring, she fondled the breast under her palm.

  With a laugh, Ash rolled over until she was face down on top of Jemma, her knees and elbows planted to either side. She gave Jemma a long searching look, then dipped her head to kiss her. But at the last moment she drew back, her eyes troubled.

  “What is it?” asked Jemma, frustrated.

  “This situation has never come up before.”

  “What are you saying? That you’ve never slept with a woman? But I’ve seen your file and—”

  Ash pressed a finger to Jemma’s lips. “Of course I’m not saying that. What I mean is … I’ve had partners who’ve been attracted to me, but I’ve never returned the feeling. Until now.”

  “Oh,” said Jemma, still baffled. “Is that bad?”

  Ash didn’t answer.

  I must be missing something, thought Jemma, casting around for a clue. The penny dropped. “Ah, I get it. You think that if we become romantically involved, and things go sour, it could screw up our partnership?”

  Clearly relieved that Jemma understood, Ash nodded. “You’ve read my file. My track record with long-term relationships isn’t exactly good.”

  “True.” Jemma weighed up the pros and cons. She had a hunch that the two of them were made for each other. And while Ash might be willing to let fear stop her from finding that out, Jemma was damned if she would. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that. “If that happens,” she said, trying to sound casual, “we’ll just have to get Thompson to assign us new partners.” She frowned in sudden annoyance. “It’s not just up to you, you know.”

  Ash blinked and looked chastened. “No,” she murmured. “I don’t suppose it is.”

  “Anyway,” said Jemma, wondering how to persuade her to continue what she’d started. “Aren’t you jumping the gun? We haven’t even kissed yet.” She hid a smile and threw down the challenge. “You might not like it.”

  Ash raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ll like it. And so will you.”

  “Modest, too.”

  Nodding—though whether at her boast or at some internal decision, Jemma wasn’t sure—Ash dipped her head once more.

  It started as a clumsy, almost chaste kiss, as they searched for the best way to avoid bumping noses and teeth and got used to the taste and feel of each other’s lips and mouths. Then it intensified, and tongues came into play. Jemma had to admit, when she came up for air several moments later, that Ash had not been kidding. She had indeed liked it.

  “Mmmm.” She traced the outline of Ash’s cheekbone with her fingers. “Loved the free sample. I think I’ll take it.”

  Ash laughed and kissed her again, then clasped her injured shoulder and rolled over onto her back. “Much as I’d love to continue this, we’re going to have to do it another time.” She grimaced. “I don’t think I’m up to it.”

  “Sorry,” said Jemma, contrite. “I didn’t think. Want some of those painkillers the doctor gave you?”

  Ash nodded. Jemma got out of bed and retrieved the pills from the table, amused and flattered to see that, even in pain, Ash found time to ogle her. Then she fetched a glass of water from the bathroom and returned to bed.

  Until the pills kicked in, she tried to take Ash’s mind off her throbbing shoulder. “I think our first time should be in that huge bed of yours in Albert Terrace, anyway. I tested it while I was searching your flat. Comfy. Good springs.”

  “You searched my flat?”

  “Once I got through that front door of yours. Three locks? Isn’t that a bit excessive?” She saw Ash’s puzzlement. “Remington had me vet you for security clearance, remember?”

  “Ah.” Ash’s face cleared. “That’s when you found the bottle of rum al-Akhdar planted?” Jemma nodded, and Ash smiled. “I hope you left the place tidy.”

  Jemma made a so-so gesture with one hand. “That’s also when I found those things you keep in your bedside cabinet.” She tutted, remembering the sex toys. “Mum would die of shock if she
knew.”

  Ash chuckled. “Then don’t tell her.”

  “I won’t, not about those anyway.” She looked at Ash. “But I am going to introduce you to my parents.”

  Ash’s eyebrows crawled towards her hairline. “Isn’t that jumping the gun a bit? We haven’t even had sex yet.”

  “They want to meet my partner, idiot.” Jemma backhanded Ash on the belly. “They already know a lot about you.” She thought for a moment then added, teasing, “My sister Maggie hates you, by the way.”

  “Oh good.”

  Jemma chuckled. She had never seen Ash look so out of her depth.

  Ash gave her a suspicious look. “I can see I’m going to have my work cut out with you.”

  “Ah, but you love a challenge.” Jemma snuggled up to her.

  “There is that.” Ash draped an arm around her shoulders. “Since I’m too knackered to fool around, and we can’t go anywhere until the clothes arrive, what shall we do instead?”

  “Write postcards?”

  “We’ll probably be home before they arrive,” Ash pointed out. “Anyway, what would be suitable? A picture of a TEL and the message ‘From Brazil with Love’?”

  A knock at the door disturbed their witterings. “Parcel from the police station,” came a man’s voice.

  “At last.” Ash threw back the sheets and reached for her towel. “That’ll be our clothes.”

  AIR TRAVEL WAS much easier without heavy luggage, thought Jemma, as she and Ash strolled through the Aeroporto Galeão’s concourse, heading from Arrivals to Departures. They threaded their way between tourists venturing out into the sunshine for their first glimpse of Rio. She smiled at their goggling eyes, turning heads, and excited chatter. Was I like that? A lot had happened since her arrival in Rio de Janeiro. She glanced down at the tanned hand holding hers. It had only been a few days ago, but already it seemed like another age, another world.

  “That must be the replacement for Celio that Thompson mentioned.” Ash released Jemma’s hand and pointed.

  An overweight man in a garish shirt was beckoning to them. At his feet lay some very familiar luggage, Jemma saw with relief. They headed towards him, checked his ID, and introduced themselves, though, as the new man in Rio, he already knew them from their photos. Antonio Pinheiro shook hands, asked polite questions about their health, then handed them temporary passports and plane tickets to London. In their real names, noted Jemma. Makes a change.