As long as Anja kept her laptop close, Dr. Subrahmanyam would never figure out what she was doing.
By now Anja had reached the harbor. She slowed to peer at the various craft, looking for signs advertising services. The laptop felt like an old friend in her arms. As soon as she was in a laboratory, with the few but necessary pieces of equipment she needed, she could fix everything. Her way.
Anja hugged her laptop and smiled.
~~~
The condo overlooking La Jolla bay was Gideon's favorite safe house, and conveniently available that Sunday evening. He let himself in, bearing a half dozen bottles of Dos Equis and leading Dashwood, who was in clear need of a pep talk. Gideon's star agent had been beating himself up ever since the shooting the night before, though everyone had agreed there'd been no other way to handle the situation.
So, a relaxing view, a good brew...and Gideon could broach a subject that was going to upset Dash even more.
In about five minutes Dash was sprawled in one of the big easy chairs, the neck of his Dos Equis held between two fingers. He gazed broodingly out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the hovering lights of sea craft on the bay. "At least I got the code," he muttered.
Gideon, in another easy chair, coughed into his fist.
Dash whipped his head around. "The recipe was the code, wasn't it?"
"Uh..." Gideon tried to think of a soft way to put it, and gave up. "The guys at the lab say it's probably part of the code, possibly the beginning or the end, but there are, uh, apparently a few thousand paired proteins that need to be attached to one end or the other."
Dash swore, an exhortation that was particularly foul given how uncharacteristic it was.
"But you did learn something valuable," Gideon hastened to add. "Now we know that Anja hid her research, apparently in pieces, with Shana. Maybe with the other two women, too." And Gideon wasn't going to think about how this theory might impact his date the next night with Olivia. There was no conflict of interest going on with him. None.
Chuckling hoarsely, Dash shook his head. "It wasn't even the code."
"It was part of it," Gideon insisted. "We just need to find the rest."
"You mean you need to," Dash corrected. "I'm out."
Gideon bit into the side of his lower lip. Dash turned to him, narrow-eyed.
Gideon released his lip. "You're not out, Dash."
Dash's expression went disbelieving. "But I lost all credibility with Sha — with my target."
"Not entirely." Besides, Gideon had no one else he could spare to go undercover.
Dash scoffed.
With his own Dos Equis held loosely in two hands, Gideon leaned forward. "You saved her life. That's got to count for something."
A roll of Dash's eyes said what he thought of this argument. "Hey," Dash then asked, "Do our guys have any idea why that dog was after us?"
"No, though they're working on it, trying to narrow down an origin for the dog based on its DNA. The collar came from a store in North Carolina."
"North Carolina? That's where a lot of pharmaceutical companies are located."
"Yes. I know."
Dash was frowning now, which was a good thing. That meant he was still involved in the mission, thinking about it.
"I need you to get back into Shana's house, Dash." Gideon decided to strike while the iron was hot. "I want that cookbook."
"The cookbook? Why?"
"It's possible Anja marked letters in the book, just as she did with the handwritten recipe. Two parts of a puzzle."
Squinting one eye, Dash appeared to consider the possibility. "It's unlikely."
"We can't afford to make any assumptions here, leave any stone unturned."
"But we don't even know if Anja gave Shana the cookbook. It might have been no more than a convenient place to put the recipe. God knows, Shana had no other place to store recipes."
"Still. I want it."
Dash heaved a deep sigh. "If you could have seen the look on her face last night. Terrified. No, worse than that. Horrified." He threw his head back on the lounger. "She went from wanting me in the worst way to wanting to get away from me in the worst way."
Gideon pursed his lips. He was seeing an interesting new angle to Dash's depression. One that gave him an angle. "So?" he challenged. "Change her mind back again."
Dash lifted his head. He regarded Gideon as if convinced he'd lost his sanity. "Change her mind back?"
"We know she's attracted to you. She's just...a bit wary at the moment. So reassure her. Woo her. Set her at ease."
Dash's expression said he had not changed his opinion of Gideon's sanity. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
"Uh." Gideon bit the inside of his cheek. "The usual way, I suppose. You know."
"I know." Dash repeated this in a way that clearly said he hadn't the foggiest idea.
"Just...do your best." Gideon hoped like hell he was correct in his gamble that Shana Taylor's baser nature would eventually reassert itself and take care of everything. It should only be a few days before Dash was back in her kitchen.
Dash gripped his beer bottle and brought it to his lips. "Fine," he said, after he'd swallowed a mouthful. "I'll do my very best." And then he laughed, but in a way which didn't do Gideon's determinedly optimistic outlook much good.
~~~
All right, he was officially worried. On Monday morning, Peter dipped his roller in the white undercoat paint and considered the problem being posed by his target. It had been three days since he'd met Brittany. Three days, and he'd gotten exactly nowhere with the woman. Exactly. Nowhere.
As if to emphasize the point, the kitchen door of her house opened, not ten feet from where Peter stood with the roller in his hand. Brittany's face was set in a grimace as she hauled a plastic trash bag out the door. She stumbled the bag down the side yard to the city-issued trash receptacle and muscled the thing in. Brushing her hands, she stalked back to the kitchen door and, halting Peter's heart, actually paused and looked in his general direction. A big smile took over her face.
Peter stopped breathing.
"How ya doin', Cam?" she asked.
Next to Peter's left knee, Cam said, "Go 'way, Mommy," and dipped the paintbrush Peter had given him up and down in the can of white paint. He was clearly afraid his mother was going to object to the activity.
Brittany laughed. "Enjoy it while you can, bud. Sean will be home from school after lunch and he'll be wanting a turn." Having said which, she went into the house, chuckling. The kitchen door banged behind her.
Somehow she'd managed to ignore Peter even while looking straight in his direction. Yup, for all the attention she'd ever given Peter he might as well be a flea.
For his part, Peter had paint dribbling on his Nikes from holding the wet roller while he'd stared. Hissing out a breath, he rolled the rest of the paint onto the house.
It just went to show the perversity of human nature. The very fact that Brittany couldn't care less about him made him positively intrigued by her. Obsessed, even. At odd moments he found himself picturing her spare, energetic figure or the fire he'd glimpsed once or twice shooting from those earthy hazel eyes. And it was hard to forget the occasions she'd made a deep gesture of maternal love toward the boys.
Sighing, Peter dipped the roller in the paint again. Fine lot of good his daydreaming was doing. At the rate he was going he'd finish painting her house before he got himself a decent conversation with the woman, let alone to first base — or find out anything about Anja. Peter sighed again.
Below him, Cam took the paintbrush and, with his tongue poking out of his mouth, applied a thick stroke to the wall.
Watching, Peter couldn't stop his sigh from turning into a grin. He'd make the kid into a painter yet.
~~~
On Monday evening the cliffs above the ocean were a peaceful and romantic spot. Gideon and Olivia strolled along the walkway above the foaming surf side by side. They were, Gideon thought, in warm harmony.
> He slid a glance in her direction. Yes, her expression was relaxed, her full mouth soft. Bartolomeo's had been a good idea, he had to admit. The mellow bar, with easy chairs and lanterns, had always been a particular haunt of theirs.
And they had talked, just the way Olivia had wanted. Only talked.
Seals barked on the rocks below and Gideon chewed the side of his lower lip. He wished he knew: had they talked enough? About the right stuff? It was a fine line he was trying to walk here. He had to make Olivia believe he was confiding in her, when he wasn't actually confiding at all. He couldn't. Not only would it violate security protocol, but it'd be terrible for their marriage. She'd flip if she knew what he really did for a living — and that he'd never told her about it in six years of marriage. So he'd done his best to keep the subject off his work. Had she noticed? Or cared?
"They're noisy tonight, aren't they?" Olivia stopped to look toward the seals below.
Gideon gazed at her enticing profile; her golden California complexion, her large dark eyes, and her fall of glossy hair. But all this was nothing compared to what she had inside, that ineffable something that made him long for her with all his heart. "They obviously didn't have any of that Zinfandel," he said, referring to the seals. "Otherwise they'd be singing opera."
Olivia laughed.
Gideon smiled. God. When could they go to bed together already? It was more than just wanting sex, though there definitely was that. He wanted them together.
And he wanted her safe at home with him.
"Are you cold?" he asked, hoping she'd say yes. It would give him an excuse to put an arm around her.
But she smiled and shook her head. "No. It's lovely out tonight."
Gideon's teeth privately clenched. She was deliberately evading the physical stuff. It wasn't fair. He'd done his part. He'd talked his fool head off, at least about things that were unclassified. Now, why couldn't she do her part and let him get started here? When she'd walked into Bartolomeo's wearing a dress of jungle green he'd immediately thought of heat and sweat and feminine secrets. The urge to make love to her, simmering for six months, had burst into flame.
So he couldn't help touching her now, just a hand on her shoulder.
Expression questioning, she turned to face him.
Gideon felt his hunger stretch. She should be his. He wanted to be hers. It couldn't hurt, he decided, to apply some pressure. "Will you come home now?"
Her look of smiling inquiry faded to a frown. "Gideon."
"Well?"
She released an exasperated breath. "Tonight was a good start, I'll grant you that. But it was only a start. We still have a way to go."
They did? How far? Gideon knew he was crushing his teeth again. She was his wife. He loved her. Besides, she had to be just as physically deprived as himself. "Olivia," he said hoarsely, and tightened his hold on her shoulder. "Don't you want this?"
Her eyes narrowed as he drew her toward him, but her head tilted upward. And then she sighed. Her lips were soft as he met them with his.
Gideon drew in a deep, intoxicated breath. It was like a well-aged cognac, knocking him back, the feel of her mouth under his. And despite her reservations, she swayed against him, lush feminine curves and sweet promise.
Olivia, only Olivia could do this to him, send him spinning, make him reach, like a thirsty man in the desert would reach for water. When she was in his arms, he forgot he was supposed to be more than a mere man. All he knew was the immensity of being a mere man.
He was desperate for more of her when he felt her drawing back, pushing him away. Away!
Gideon let go and stared down at her. "What?"
Her long brown hair swayed as she shook her head. "No, it's wrong. We can't."
"We can't?" Gideon croaked.
"We aren't ready," Olivia claimed. "Physical stuff, sex — at this point it would only interfere."
Gideon breathed in and out as calmly as he could. "Interfere? On the contrary, I think a good session in bed together would clarify matters greatly."
This was way too honest for her, judging by her disgusted expression. "Spoken just like a man," she snapped, as if this were an insult. Then her gaze sharpened. "You know what would actually clarify matters? You telling me what it is."
His brows drew down. "What?"
"What is it you're keeping secret from me?"
His stomach went cold. Damn. Carefully, he said, "I don't know what you're talking about."
She glared. Her soft brown eyes turned hard. "There's something," she claimed. "Something that was going on six months ago." She paused. "And something I think is still going on."
The woman was a complete menace. She sensed the truth. He was so scared he almost got stupid. Almost. Just in time, he turned the tables, shifting the spotlight onto her. "And I think you're withholding in order to punish me."
Her eyes widened. "This isn't about punishment."
"It sure feels like it."
"That may be your interp — "
"Tell me." He stepped toward her. "Tell me you don't want it as much as I do."
"Gideon — "
"Tell me you don't want to be in bed, naked, with my hands all over you."
Her eyes widened some more. Her chest rose and fell. He'd derailed her questions, all right. She was visualizing his words now instead of wondering about six months ago.
But it wouldn't hurt to help her along. He deepened his voice. "Tell me you don't want me to unbutton that dress, put both my palms over your breasts. Tell me you don't want my thigh between your legs and you pressed, oh so close."
She started to look hunted.
Gideon allowed himself a tiny smile. "I could make you happy tonight, Olivia. Very happy. Very...satisfied."
The way she was looking at him made Gideon's lower muscles tighten. He was right. She wanted all that. She looked as hungry as a tiger.
"All you have to do," he urged her, "is...take my hand." With his eyes on her, he held out one hand.
She looked at him, then switched her gaze to his hand. Her tongue, sweet and pink, came out and licked her upper lip.
At the sight of that, Gideon nearly self-combusted. She was his. Oh, she was his. He could practically taste that tongue. Or, better yet, feel it on his —
"No." The word was curt and definite as Olivia took a decisive step back. Her delicious tongue vanished. "You are — I know what you — " Eyes flashing, she backed away some more. "I'm not going to — Forget it." Her jaw tightened. "Nice try, Gideon, but I told you we weren't ready, and I meant it."
"Olivia — "
"No." She made a stop gesture. "Don't talk to me. Don't try anything. You — You're — I can't even say what you are."
"But — "
"I'm going home now. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Alone."
Hell. Gideon clenched his outstretched hand into a fist. "Olivia — "
She whirled. Without giving him a chance to defend himself — assuming he could — she strode away from him.
Hell and damnation. She was off. With his hand slowly lowering, Gideon felt a mixture of frustration and misery. But he stood in the cooling night and watched Olivia until he was sure she was going to make it safely to her car. He watched until he was sure she wasn't going to magically change her mind.
Finally, cursing himself, he turned and stalked toward his own car. Wonderful. One chance — and he'd screwed it up royally.
Now he was going to need as much of a miracle as Dash did.
~~~
Surveillance took the patience of a saint. Or of somebody at the opposite end of the spectrum. Dash supposed he lay at one end or the other of this scale because he could sit for hours waiting for a target without going completely bonkers.
Tuesday he spent from nine in the morning to one in the afternoon sitting by the pulled curtains of the front window of the house he was supposedly living in, watching for Shana.
She zoomed in and out with her Lexus at odd hours, apparently accomplishing the
tasks necessary for her livelihood. As she drove up on Tuesday afternoon, slowing as she reached her driveway and carefully turning in, Dash straightened in his chair. His stomach shrank with a combination of nerves and discouragement.
This wasn't going to work. He knew it wouldn't. But...Gideon said he had to try.
With a deep sigh, Dash grabbed the stamped envelopes he'd prepared for this moment. He rose and waited until he saw Shana emerge from her garage and start toward her mailbox. Then he opened the front door and, doing his best to act spontaneous, strolled down his front walk.
She didn't notice him at first. Perched on a pair of stiletto heels, she twitched provocatively down her driveway in a body-hugging skirt suit. Dash couldn't help smiling. She obviously had such a good time with the teasing routine she did it even when she had no audience.
She got all the way to her mailbox before she turned and finally noticed Dash, now only a few feet away from her. The calm expression on her face froze.
"Hello, Shana." Dash knew it didn't come out right, suave and self-assured. There was too much horror in her frozen expression for him to sound suave. Instead his voice cracked.
"Dash." Her own voice was hoarse.
"Has the mail come already?" Dash held up his decoy envelopes as if he didn't know the mailman had already come by forty-five minutes before. "I was hoping to get these out today."
Shana pulled open her mailbox. "It's come," she announced, and turned her full attention to the pile of advertising circulars she was drawing from her daisy-yellow box.
"Say — " Dash began.
"Gotta run," Shana interrupted. With a smile so sickly she shouldn't have bothered, she took five mincing steps back. "See you around." Then she spun on her heel and hastened up her driveway, away from him. There was no sway visible in her quick steps.
The message could not have been more clear.
Dash slowly lowered the envelopes in his hand.
With teeth grinding, he turned and stalked back toward his house. It was hard to believe she'd been into him once. Only a few days ago she'd been ready to attack him!
Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way Page 8