Love Another Day

by Gina Robinson

  Despite being an office lackey, Mal was trained in self-defense. But she lacked field experience. Experience aced classroom training any day. And that worried Tate. He had an overwhelming desire to protect her.

  “On second thought, this is a bad idea,” he said. “Leave me your dress and head back to the room to wait for me there.”

  “I love it when you get demanding,” she whispered back. “Nothing doing. I’m not missing all the action and excitement. I haven’t watched your seduction skills in action in years. I’m looking forward to the entertainment. And I’m not parading naked through this crowd, either.”

  “What will you do if you switch and Edvid confronts you?”

  “Gas him with my poisonous tube of lipstick.” She winked at him. “You don’t think I came unprepared, do you?” She looked around the hall as they inched closer to Lord Witham. “Cheer up. We’re assuming Sophia will present herself here and make the switch. She may have other plans. Now, where is she?”

  Witham had worked his way through the crowd and arrived in front of them with Lady Witham on his arm. Tate hadn’t seen Cleva in years. She looked good. He restrained himself from saying so as they approached.

  Witham made introductions all around in a loud, hearty voice. “So good of you math types to attend our little dinner. I enjoy mingling with the brightest minds in the scientific and mathematics communities. And Cleva indulges me.”

  “Listen to him! He makes me sound uneducated and dull. I enjoy the science festival and lectures as much as anyone. Which lectures will you be attending?”

  They made the usual bland small talk—the weather, the festival, have you seen the sights? Mal did a plausible job of acting like a nobility-struck grad student who was out of her element. In fact, she was damn cute acting girlish and young.

  Not wanting to get crosswise in her crosshairs, Tate acted as bumbling as he could stomach, doing his best impression of the cliché absentminded professor. “What about our target?” Tate whispered to Witham.

  “I have it on good authority she’ll be here.” Witham grinned. “Cleva has seated you side by side at dinner.”

  As if on cue, the butler announced her. “Dr. Sophia Ramsgate.”

  Sophia had chosen to dress nearly identically to Mal. She wore a nude-colored dress that was, in reality, a pale shade of pink. It was a one-shoulder affair with one of those skirts whose hem was longer in back and shorter in front, revealing a shapely pair of legs in strappy stiletto heels, also in nude. The skirt was ruffled and a flower made of the sheer material of the dress graced one shoulder. The dress had just a hint of glitter to it, enough to shimmer romantically beneath the candlelight.

  Her blond hair was loose and flowed around her shoulders in soft waves. She wore a pale ribbon around her neck tied in a bow as if she were a present. Her lips were the perfect shade of red for a youthful blue-eyed blonde and the only spot of color on her person. Beautiful, bold, kissable lips. Her eyes sought Tate’s from across the room and held them as her perfect red lips curled up in a smile meant just for him.

  His breath caught. His mouth went dry and his heart raced. In photos, Sophia bore a strong resemblance to Mal. In person, she was Mal’s clone.

  What the hell was Sophia’s game? Did he so obviously have a type?

  Witham went forward to greet her. “Dr. Ramsgate, you must allow me to introduce you to another of the great mathematical minds of our day. Dr. Ramsgate, Dr. Tate Stevens.”

  “Sophia, please call me Sophia.” Her barely perceptible English accent was delightful and a lot like Mal’s when they’d first met—a combination of an American broadcast English laced with a touch of educated London and middle class to upper crust. Resisting picking up the English accent was futile.

  Beneath the bow around her neck, Tate could almost see her pulse leap. It should have been erotic. But he found himself strangely unmoved. Sophia continued holding his gaze, acting as if they were the only two in the room as she extended her hand to Tate.

  When he took it, she pulled him close, so close her perfume wafted to him. She wore a heady, sexual scent, one of Mal’s favorites, a scent she’d worn when they first met, though he’d forgotten the name of it. Scent is a powerful reminder. He wondered again what she was up to. He’d learned enough from Mal to know that scent was part of cover. If Sophia, or RIOT, had picked this one, there was a reason. Could she really think it would seduce him?

  Sophia held his hand a second longer than necessary, enough to show she was interested. And yet she smiled almost shyly. “Pleased to meet you. You’re a legend in my community. A rock star.”

  She was speaking of his spying career. Tate hoped others didn’t overhear. Dr. Tate Stevens was a minor professor of mathematics at a small, unknown university who’d only been invited to Lord Witham’s party on the recommendation of a friend of a friend.

  The way Sophia gushed was both flattering and unnerving. She seemed very young, almost frightened and convincingly like the ingénue she was supposed to be. He assessed her, trying to determine whether he was being set up. “Tate. It’s a pleasure.” He pulled his hand from hers. “This is my grad student Mallie Green.”

  Sophia smiled uncertainly at Mal.

  Almost instinctively, Tate took Mal’s hand and squeezed it. He lied to himself that he was only acting in character. But he knew better.

  * * *

  Mal was pleasantly surprised, stunned really, when Tate took her hand right in front of Sophia and squeezed it reassuringly. She was wary of the girl on sight. Call it womanly instinct, but Mal didn’t trust her.

  Something smelled fishy and it wasn’t just Mal’s college signature perfume that Sophia had taken for her own. The eyes she and Tate had felt during the day had been real and Sophia’s. She must have seen the dress Mal had purchased for the evening and then copied it, making an outfit just different enough not to be totally embarrassing. It was, however, derivative and designed to catch Tate’s eye. What was up with that ribbon around her neck? Mal resisted balling her fist and plastered a fake serene smile on her face, even though it must have been obvious to everyone in the room that Sophia was after poor little Mallie’s man.

  Very good, Sophia. If you’re really onboard with our plan to switch places.

  Otherwise it was simply diabolical to show up in an outfit so similar to Mal’s.

  Mal sized up the competition, literally. Sophia was her height, the same weight, the same dress size, and unless Mal missed her guess, they wore the same shoe size as well. Her shade of blond was identical to Mal’s as was the length and cut of her hair. Her eyes a matching shade to Mal’s rather unique bright blue. Was Sophia wearing contacts? Is that how she matched her eyes to Mal’s? All of this was convenient when they made the switch. A change of makeup, move the ribbon from one neck to the other, and most people would be fooled.

  Mal watched Tate with the trained eye of a woman looking for chemistry and electricity. Was there a spark between Tate and Sophia? If there was, she was missing it. And that confused her. Tate should have fallen for Sophia at first sight.

  Sophia obviously idolized Tate. The expression in her eyes said as much. But Mal read surprise there, too. Pleasant surprise. Had Sophia really been in love with Tate from afar? Was the expression in her eyes merely pleasure that he was as handsome and magnetic in person as on paper or in digital pixels? Or was something else going on?

  Sophia had certainly schooled herself in what Tate liked. Tate, for all his sophistication and the exotic, high-profile beauties he was famous for hanging out with, had a soft spot for untainted beauty and wide-open wonder at the world, for women who still had a hint of a rose-colored view of the world. He’d seen too much evil, death, and mayhem not to be cynical and jaded. Maybe that’s what drew him to touches of innocence. He wanted to believe it still existed. Sophia was exuding innocent seduction.

  There was only one thing to do—switch dresses with her and get her on that plane for the States before she had time to work her
bewitching magic on Tate or spend a minute alone with him.

  If Mal was honest with herself, she resented Sophia for interrupting whatever it was that was going on between her and Tate. Mal could hardly deny that something was. Though maybe it would all evaporate after they left Cheltenham.

  A waiter came by with a tray of wine. Mal gladly took a glass of red, hoping to numb her senses and banish the assault to her heart from being around Tate again. Their day together had reawakened feelings she’d thought she’d locked away forever. And now she was supposed to hand him over to another woman for the sake of her country? Again.

  * * *

  The dining room of Highfield Park was done in Elizabethan Revival. Pendant bosses hung from the richly ornamented ceiling. The fireplace was flanked with Italian marble. A lacquered leather screen dating from the early eighteen hundreds and painted with a pastoral country scene sat in front of the fireplace. A Victorian table was set for twenty-four, each of the chairs done in scarlet Utrecht velvet.

  Lord and Lady Witham took their seats at the ends of the table. The rest of the guests were directed to seats marked with place cards. Sophia sat next to Tate. Mal across from him. A math comedian next to her with Mason on her other side.

  Through five courses Mal had to listen to science small talk and watch Sophia flirt with Tate and whisper secretively in his ear. Sophia was good. She laughed gaily at everything Tate said. She gently touched his sleeve and then his hand as she gestured and talked to him.

  Mal hated touchers, the kind of people who intruded into your personal space. She especially hated Sophia touching Tate.

  It didn’t take any acting skills at all for Mal to fret and pout and vie for Tate’s attention like a jealous coed.

  Marty, the math comedian next to her, took pity on her. “You’re his grad student?” He nodded at Tate who was laughing with Sophia.

  “I am.”

  “Then you must like math. Are you coming to my show?”

  “We have tickets. I’m looking forward to it, but I’d really love a little advance taste of the show.” She got an evil idea. “What would you say to a mathematics duel with Dr. Stevens?”

  That got Tate’s attention. He looked over at them. “What?”

  “Marty is going to astound us with some amazing feats of math humor. Think you can keep up?” Mal took a bite of the heavenly dessert in front of her.

  “I—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re chicken, Dr. Stevens.” Marty was grinning boyishly. “A professor like yourself should be up to the challenge.”

  Mal liked Marty. He had charm and guts. And was on her side.

  “Bring it on,” Tate said.

  Beside him, Sophia tittered delicately. “My money’s on Dr. Stevens.”

  “Anyone have a calculator?” Marty asked the crowd. “Oh, come on, people. Someone has to have a smartphone with a calculator app.”

  Suddenly twenty-three phones appeared on the table.

  “Very good. I knew you were all gaming people.” Marty laughed. “The lovely Mallie has asked me to perform a bit of mathematical prestidigitation and humor.

  “Lady Witham, if you will, would you be my assistant?”

  Lady Witham started to push back from her chair.

  “No need to pull you from your dessert. I need you to operate your phone and do some math for us.”

  Lady Witham smiled. “That I can do.”

  “Excellent. Pick a four-digit number, enter it in and multiply it by nine.”

  The guests watched as Lady Witham did the math. “Got it.”

  “Good.” Marty held up his hand. “Don’t tell me what it is. First I need to know whether your answer is a four- or five-digit number.”

  “Five.”

  Marty nodded, smiling. “Very good. Five-digit numbers are a personal favorite of mine and much more difficult than four.

  “Now, if you will, read me the first four digits one at a time. I’ll say yes after each digit as your cue to read me the next digit. At the end, I’ll give the last digit of your answer.”

  “Lovely.” Lady Witham smiled back at him.

  “Begin,” Marty said.

  “Five.”

  “Yes.”

  “Two. Four.”

  “Wait! Hold on. Did I say yes?”

  “Sorry.” Lady Witham laughed. “I got carried away. Witham always says I’m too exuberant.” She winked naughtily.

  “So,” Marty said. “Where were we? Five, two, four, and?”

  “Six,” Lady Witham said.

  “One.” Marty gave the answer so quickly he practically cut Lady Witham off.

  “Lovely! That’s exactly right. But how—”

  “That’s for Dr. Stevens to explain,” Marty said.

  Mal held her breath. Tate was good with computers and math, but would he know this?

  Tate simply cocked a brow. “Too easy. The digits of any multiple of nine add up to nine, you merely added five, two, four, and six for a total of seventeen and realized the last digit had to be one.”

  “Very good.” Marty tipped an imaginary hat to Tate.

  “My turn,” Tate said. “Give me the volume of a disc with depth a and radius z.”

  Marty whipped out his phone. “This needs a visual.” He typed out the answer. “PI•Z•Z•A” He nodded to the crowd and took a small bow. “Speaking of food—what do you get when you divide the circumference of a jack-o’-lantern by its diameter?”

  “Pumpkin pi.”

  “I think I need to add you to my show,” Marty said.

  “And I think the rest of us should adjourn to the salon for an after-dinner drink.” Lord Witham stood.

  As the guests rose and followed him out, Sophia excused herself to go the restroom. Seizing her chance, Mal followed her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The bathroom was on the first floor behind a massive, intricately carved wooden door. It was obvious the room had started out its life as something else, a sitting room or maybe a coatroom. Sophia dashed in, oblivious to Mal in pursuit of her, revealing her lack of espionage skill.

  Mal plowed into the palatial room right behind her—did anyone really need three hundred square feet for a toilet and a sink—and closed the door behind her, leaning against it and studying the woman she was tasked with exfiltrating.

  Sophia saw her reflected in the mirror and spun around to face her, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Helping you.” Mal subtly palmed her phone, ready to call for help if Sophia turned on her, and activated a CIA jamming app developed by Cox Software.

  Sophia looked around the room nervously. “You’re mistaken. I don’t need any help.”

  Mal studied her. The girl was obviously scared, as she should be with RIOT watching her. “Then why did you ask for ours? I know you know who I am.”

  Mal studied the other woman. “We don’t have much time. Lingering in here too long will arouse suspicions and innuendos we’d both rather avoid.

  “You said you’d contact us. Given how you’re dressed—almost identically to me—I assume you’ve caught on to our plan for getting you safely out of here. With Tate. Which is what you asked for, right?”

  Mal didn’t wait for Sophia’s answer. “We’re going to switch identities, you and me. Here and now. You can act, can’t you?” Mal assessed her. “Of course you can. You’ve been acting all evening.” Mal paused.

  “You followed Tate and me around all day, didn’t you? We gave you ample opportunity to approach us and make the switch earlier today. Why didn’t you act on the chance?”

  “I was being followed.” Sophia glanced at the door. “There was no opportunity.”

  Mal nodded. Sophia was obviously very bright and caught on quickly. What the girl said made sense, but it could still be a lie. “You understand the cover story? Mallie and Dr. Stevens are having an affair. They’re here for a few days to enjoy the science festival.

  “Tate will receive an urgent,
emergency message from home and the two of you will take off to London immediately, cutting your stay unexpectedly short. From there you’ll fly to the States and disappear. After you’ve been debriefed, of course.” Mal paused, giving Sophia a chance to interject. When she didn’t, Mal continued.

  “You’ll take my travel documents and assume my identity. I’ll assume yours, lead your handler back to your room after the party, and tuck myself in for the night. Then I’ll disappear before morning.

  “The main thing is you’ll have a ten- to twelve-hour window before RIOT and Bagge realize you’re missing. You should be safely in the States by then.

  “The only thing left is to switch gowns and shoes right here. Change our hairstyles and our makeup and each walk out of here like we’re the other.

  “When you approach Tate, he’ll ‘receive’ his message and excuse the two of you from the party. As you, I’ll plead a headache and leave shortly after. Any questions?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Mal reached behind her neck to unclasp her necklace and make the switch.

  Sophia shook her head. “I mean it won’t work. Not tonight.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t. Edvid is watching me.”

  Mal frowned. “I haven’t seen him here. What makes you think—”

  “He’s good. He’s here. Trust me. He doesn’t miss anything.” She looked genuinely frightened. “We’ll have to wait for another opportunity.”

  She turned her back to Mal. “You’d better leave now. We’ll make the switch as soon as it’s safe. Not before. Trust me.”

  Mal frowned. Trust her? Not likely. But Sophia left her no choice. “Soon.”

  Frustrated, Mal sneaked out. Mal couldn’t put her finger on it. Even though Sophia seemed genuine, something wasn’t right. She still wondered whether Sophia was trying to pull off a complicated double cross.

  Curious to see what Sophia would do next, Mal waited out of sight for Sophia to come out of the bathroom, telling herself it was her duty to make certain Sophia was safe. A few minutes later, Sophia came out and went directly to Lady Witham. Mal was a pretty darned good eavesdropper. Anyone who worked for the CIA was. She listened in from a distance as Sophia pleaded a headache and left the party.