Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way

by Kress, Alyssa

  Proving her theory, he stuck his foot in the door. Yes, he actually stuck his foot in the doorway, preventing her from shutting him out of her life.

  "Okay," he said. "You got me. I'll do the job, complete exterior, for five thou."

  Brittany looked him square in his far-too-interesting eyes. "Take your foot out of my door." Amazingly, she didn't snarl the words.

  He met her gaze, and then proved he wasn't entirely stupid. He took his foot out of the door.

  Brittany felt awash in roiling, turbulent emotions. She was through getting pushed around by men; fathers, husbands, or even house painting Lotharios.

  At the same time, the price he'd just quoted for painting her house was too good to turn down.

  She drew in a deep, steadying breath. "That stunt with the foot will cost you. You can have the job, for four grand."

  For the first time during their interaction, his smile faded. His gaze became strangely considering. She could tell he wasn't pleased, not by her demand he remove his foot, nor by her price. Men, especially good-looking, charming men, didn't like being bested, especially not by harried-looking, not-at-all charming women. But his eyes narrowed and he said, "Okay."

  Brittany drew in a surprised breath. She hadn't expected that, hadn't expected him to suck it up. "Fine," she said, afraid she might start to do something very strange, like admire anything about him. "When are you going to start?"

  "Tomorrow."

  Brittany laughed. "I'll believe that when I see it."

  His smile returned, slow and smoky. "Do that."

  Brittany harrumphed grumpily, as if that smile wasn't doing a damn thing to her insides, because it wasn't. It wasn't! "Bring a contract," she said, and closed the door in his face.

  "Men," she muttered to herself, and heard the baby wake up from his nap with a lusty cry. At the same time there was an ominous crash from the direction of the kitchen.

  Fortunately she had no time, no time whatsoever, to consider any further the subject of men. "I'm co-ming!" she shouted, and as the crash in the kitchen had been followed by the sound of liquid splashing, she opted to investigate that disaster first.

  ~~~

  "Well, the file on Brittany Wells is entirely accurate," Peter reported early on Friday evening. His voice sounded slightly distorted, since it was being filtered through Gideon's anti-bug, auto-encryption telephone, the state-of-the-art device that sat on his old, scarred desktop deep in the underground office of the Agency. "She's tough as nails," Peter said.

  Gideon leaned back in his chair and idly regarded the American flag pinned on the opposite wall of the room. "But you can handle her, right?"

  "Gideon." Even through the filtering telephone, Peter's voice conveyed reproach. "Does the woman exist that I can't handle?"

  "I don't know." Gideon frowned at the flag. "Does she?" His people working the airports and credit card trails were getting absolutely nowhere in their search for Anja. She'd disabled the GPS function on her cell phone. Meanwhile, there was no way of knowing where she'd stashed the notes and samples of her research. More and more, it appeared their only hope of finding Anja would be through her neighbors — the long shot.

  Peter laughed. Typical. A nuclear bomb could be hanging over Grenadine's head and he'd laugh. "Don't worry your ugly head about me gaining Brittany Wells's confidence," he said. "It won't be easy, I'll admit. Nevertheless, that female hiding in wolf's clothing will be eating out of my hand by the end of the weekend. If she knows anything about Anja, I'll find it out."

  Gideon uttered a noncommittal grunt.

  "However," Peter went on, and his tone changed, becoming almost accusatory. "My file indicates that Anja's closest friend was probably Olivia. If there was anyone Anja was going to tell where she was going or what she did with the vector, it's your wife."

  Gideon uttered another grunt, this one not nearly as bland.

  "Have you seen her yet?"

  Gideon turned his eyes from the American flag and scowled in the direction of the door. "I'm on my way now."

  "Good." Peter invested the single word with a wealth of significance.

  Gideon hung up the phone and did his best to unclench his teeth. Peter was right, it was time to stop procrastinating, even if he still had no idea what he was going to say to his estranged wife. How could he possibly justify his presence on her doorstep? That is, how could he manage it unless he surrendered everything he'd been holding dear for the past six months?

  His word was gold. That was — him. Olivia should know that. It was a terrible betrayal that she'd ever doubted him.

  He shouldn't have to explain himself. And, quite truthfully, he couldn't explain himself. Olivia wasn't cleared for the kind of information that would explain why Gideon did the things he did. It was his promotion nine months ago, of course, and the extra time and responsibility it entailed, that had stirred Olivia's inconvenient curiosity. But she wasn't supposed to know the Agency even existed, let alone that her husband was the head of it.

  Gideon was clenching his teeth again by the time he crossed the room for his jacket. How could one human being manage to tie him up in such knots? Part of him was dying to go see her, straining at the leash. The other part of him was still stewing in a fit of anger and resentment.

  And then there was the fact she might actually know something about Anja's whereabouts.

  Frowning, Gideon lifted his jacket off the coat tree. Anja had solemnly promised Gideon she would never tell Olivia about her work. But then, she'd also promised not to take herself or her research out of top security.

  He hated to say it, but all bets were off regarding Anja. She might have told Olivia...something.

  Grimly, Gideon shrugged into his jacket. On the other hand, Anja might not have breathed a word to his wife. He'd have to skirt a narrow path, put out the most delicate of feelers. Bait.

  Dig very carefully for what Olivia might know.

  Gideon shook his head and started for the door. Anja better not have told Olivia anything. Anyone who knew about the vector was at risk.

  And as for Anja having told Olivia anything real about him —? Well. Gideon hissed out a breath as he started up the metal stairway out of headquarters. He didn't want to think about what such an indiscretion on Anja's part would do to the marriage he now admitted he wished to put back on track.

  ~~~

  Reality TV or home improvement? And if neither of those, there was sure to be something about World War II on the History channel. Olivia sat curled on her futon sofa and clicked the buttons on the remote. Bad as the choices were, the TV made her feel less alone. Hence she'd gone out and bought a set a few weeks after moving into the house on Green Ivy Way.

  "Oh, pardon me. It's World War I tonight instead of World War II." Olivia rolled her eyes, appalled she was talking to her TV set. As if agreeing with her on this, her doorbell rang.

  Olivia stilled, then looked over at the clock on the end table. Eight fifteen. What kind of salesman went around to people's doors as late as eight fifteen?

  Answer: no kind of salesman. Frowning, she switched off the TV and uncurled from the sofa. It couldn't be one of her neighbors, they all used the back door. Curious and a bit wary, Olivia walked into the front hall. The hem of her skirt brushed the Mexican tile since she was barefoot. She switched on the outside porch light and peered through the peephole.

  What she saw had her stepping back as if the door had scorched her.

  Gideon stood on her front doorstep. Gideon, in his favorite jacket of distressed brown leather.

  Olivia struggled to breathe. He was here. Good Lord, why was he here? Could it be — ? Oh, God, what was she going to do? As she stood there in a tizzy, he pushed the doorbell again.

  She was going to open her front door, that's what she was going to do. Olivia straightened and smoothed the front of her skirt. Then, taking in a deep breath, she reached out and opened the door.

  'Hello,' or 'Gideon.' She should have said something. Instead she j
ust stood there, drinking him in; the strong breadth, the masculine vitality, the dizzying aura of competence.

  To be fair, he didn't say anything either but merely fixed his cool gray eyes on her. The night air between them thickened and crackled.

  Finally, he inclined his head. "May I come in?"

  She stepped back, allowing him to enter. Not even pausing to consider — as she should have — whether letting him in was a wise move.

  Meanwhile he entered her house, unsmiling. It was then it occurred to Olivia, like the plunge of an arrow, why he might have appeared on her doorstep.

  He was the one taking the necessary next step. He was here to talk about divorce.

  Olivia nearly swallowed her tongue as she turned to follow Gideon. She felt as though someone were scraping her insides out. Meanwhile, Gideon strolled past the Mission-style coffee table and took an obvious look around. Fortunately, Olivia doubted he realized the futon sofa, art deco lamp, and sprawling easy chair were bargain items from the local discount furniture mart. He couldn't know she hadn't furnished with an eye to the long haul.

  Though she should have furnished with an eye to the long haul. She should have! Just as she should be looking forward to a discussion of divorce. She should be looking forward to — to — cleaning her life up, clearing it of...unnecessary items. Items like her failed marriage, and the husband that went with it.

  Instead she stood there with dread like a stone in her stomach.

  He turned to face her. "All right if I sit down?"

  Olivia could only nod.

  His jacket creaked as he took a seat on her lounge chair. It occurred to Olivia that she wasn't being much of a hostess. She hadn't thought to ask him to sit down, and now she wasn't bothering to offer him anything to eat or drink. But she forgave herself. If it was divorce he wanted to talk about, this wouldn't be much of a social call.

  Gideon leaned forward, set his forearms on his knees, and looked up at her. Olivia found herself sinking onto the futon sofa. If it was divorce he wanted to talk about, she'd better sit. They gazed at each other in silence.

  Finally, he sucked in his lips. "I guess you're wondering what I'm doing here."

  Olivia raised her eyebrows. Somehow, her voice didn't crack when she replied, "I suppose."

  Gideon dropped his gaze. Olivia's stomach similarly dropped.

  "How do I put this?" His muttered tone made her stomach drop even further. Then he looked up, his eyes clear and direct. "I came to find out what it will take to get you to come home."

  The blood gushed back through Olivia's veins. Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God. He hadn't brought up a divorce. He didn't want to talk about that. He wanted her to come home! Her heart leapt upward even as her brain warned her to come back down to earth.

  Be intelligent, Olivia. There was a reason she hadn't been living with Gideon — hadn't even spoken to him — in the past six months.

  She cleared her throat and determined to think straight here. "Ahem. That is a...good question." An amazing question. She couldn't believe he'd humbled himself enough to ask it.

  But she needed to think straight, stand up for herself, and not go flying off the deep end. So, he wanted her back. He'd also — maybe — been having an affair. She couldn't just go.

  She clasped her hands over one knee. "What would be necessary before I'd be willing to live with you again? Well..." What would Anja say, Olivia wondered? What would the other women think she ought to ask for? She drew in a steadying breath as she made herself meet Gideon's eyes. "You could start with telling me what was really going on with you last August."

  This apparently struck at the heart of the matter. His face leached of expression. His eyes narrowed.

  Olivia was proud of herself. She met his piercing gaze with equanimity. This was it, exactly why she'd had to leave him. Because he wouldn't say.

  Gideon's gaze narrowed yet another fraction and then he closed his eyes. As if he'd come to the end of a rope, he said, "I was not having an affair."

  Oh. My. God. He'd said it. He'd actually said it! Come right out and finally denied it. Olivia's heart went sailing into the stratosphere.

  Which was silly. Just because he said he hadn't betrayed her didn't make it true.

  He opened his eyes. "You don't believe me."

  Sometimes Gideon had the densest head Olivia had ever encountered. Other times his perceptiveness took her breath away. "Well..." She drew herself up. "You waltz in here to say something that would have saved a lot of grief if you'd said it six months ago, so yes, please pardon me if I have to think about that."

  His eyes blazed. "I didn't say as much six months ago because I didn't see why I should've had to. You were supposed to know I wouldn't cheat on you. That's...not who I am. And it's not what our relationship is."

  It was Olivia's turn to feel anger flash. "I'm not sure what our relationship is — or was. You completely stopped communicating with me."

  Gideon lifted his head. He opened and closed his mouth. For a second he looked, very strangely, as if he wanted to laugh. Then his brows drew down. "I stopped communicating with you."

  "That's right." Olivia clutched her hands together. They actually were communicating right then, for once...finally. The thought encouraged her to continue. "In fact, I think that may be the real problem we have. Lack of communication." Assuming, that was, he was telling the truth about not having had a love affair.

  His head tilted. Looking dubious about this theory.

  "Think about it, Gideon. I asked you questions, and you wouldn't answer."

  She could see his jaw tighten. "You didn't need to ask the questions."

  Olivia nearly screeched in frustration, but managed to hold the sound back. She reminded herself they were talking. "Don't you think it's reasonable to be curious about who's calling my husband at one in the morning?" Who, with a sexy foreign accent, that was? She gave Gideon an inquiring look.

  His gaze averted. Olivia was afraid he was going to end the conversation, but he surprised her. "She wasn't anything to me," he muttered.

  "What?"

  He looked back at Olivia. "She was just somebody from the office, working late and freaking out over...over some new security procedures we'd put in place."

  "Security procedures?" Olivia frowned. "I thought you worked in sales."

  "I do." He blinked. "When it comes to software, an awful lot of security is involved in sales."

  "Oh." Olivia's frown deepened. "Now, take that right there, for example. How come I didn't know your job involved coming up with security procedures?" She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest.

  He got a hunted look. "Okay, okay. I see how, maybe, you have a point." His gaze skipped to the side. "Maybe..." He cleared his throat. "Maybe I could...talk to you more."

  It was a remarkable concession. He was willing to make changes. Gideon was. Olivia could hardly keep her expression neutral. This was so big she began to believe him about the affair. "Yes," she said. "I think talking to me more would be very important."

  His gaze swept back to her. "Okay. Fine. We've ironed that out. I'll talk to you more. Now, how soon can you pack a bag?"

  Olivia's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

  "How soon can you pack a bag?" He stood up. "You've had your say, I've had mine. We know what we have to work on, so...let's go work on it." He loomed over her. "At home."

  "Now, wait just a minute." Olivia, too, rose from her seat.

  "Wait for what?"

  Amazing. He looked absolutely serious. "Gideon, we haven't lived together for six whole months."

  "Tell me about it," he groaned.

  "Gideon." His eagerness was flattering, but still — She was only just starting to believe he'd been faithful. Taking a deep breath, she spoke softly, patiently. "Gideon, whatever problems we've got haven't been solved in this one, short conversation."

  "They haven't?" He looked pained. "But I think you expressed yourself very clearly. So did I. You want me to
talk to you more. I said I'd do it. What else is there?"

  "Gideon." Olivia closed her eyes in exasperation.

  "Olivia."

  She opened her eyes to find him glaring at her in frustrated confusion, his fingers tight on his crossed arms.

  "Tell me," he demanded. "This is why I came here, to find out what it would take to get you home. So give me the list."

  She resisted moaning. Apparently, what was crystal clear to her was a fog to Gideon. Part of the whole communication problem, she supposed. "It wasn't only that one phone call that drove us apart," she explained.

  "I understand that. You want me to talk more. Now, what else?"

  Olivia sighed. "Nothing else. Everything else. It will take time to...rebuild my trust in you."

  The muscles bunched in his shoulders. "But you never needed to stop trusting — " Then, incredibly, Gideon stopped. He drew in and released a deep breath before uncrossing his arms. "Right, right," he murmured, and looked at her sidelong. "That was the whole problem, wasn't it?"

  Olivia's brows knit. Had her distrust of him been the whole problem? "No...I think...you need to build trust in me, too." Strange, how that thought had just popped into her head, but it sure rang a bell.

  Gideon scowled deeply. "I trust you."

  "No." Indeed, the more Olivia thought about it, the less she thought he did. "If you trusted me, you would talk to me more, tell me things." At his dark look she added, "If you trusted me, it wouldn't be so difficult for you."

  He continued to glare, but conceded. "All right, we need to...rebuild our trust in each other. Exactly how do we go about doing that?"

  His obvious annoyance rattled Olivia, particularly since she had no idea. "I — I'll have to think about it." She raised her chin.

  He gave her a hard stare. "How long do you have to think?"

  Olivia only just stopped herself from saying she had to think about that, which even she had to admit wouldn't be fair. She cleared her throat. "I'll call you...tomorrow."