Countdown

by Ruth Wind

  “Well, these things came with the apartment, but I’ve always prided myself on comfortable. My old couch was really great.”

  “But I bet it was plaid. Brown plaid or orange plaid or red microfiber.” She lifted a finger. “No. Leather. You might be a leather kind of guy.”

  “You’re gonna have to work on your little problem with stereotypes, girl.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It was kinda soft stuff—dark blue, for your information, with white-striped pillows.” Only he said it “pillas,” which cracked her up. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I do,” she said. “You’re right. I do stereotype men. But most of you deserve it.”

  “You’ve just been hanging around those Washington types too much. Too many politicians and law enforcement folks.”

  “And what are you, if you’re not law enforcement?”

  “I’m the bomb squad, man!” He said it with an exaggerated drawl, and popped an olive in his mouth. “I’m bad. I’m cool. I’m all that.”

  Kim laughed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He flipped through channels, pausing for reasons Kim couldn’t discern, racing through when she would have halted. “How’d you end up on the bomb squad, anyway?”

  He wiggled his stocking feet. Clicked the remote. “I was a firebug as a kid. I got in trouble a couple of times, and the sheriff was gonna lock me up, but a judge put me in a probationary program for restless kids.”

  “Ah, so you discovered the good in your evil?”

  “Not exactly.” The cat jumped up on the couch and plopped down between them, purring loudly. “I ran into a kid who built bombs. Better than fire.”

  “Good grief.”

  “Yeah, that’s what my mama thought. She yanked me right out of there, put me in this weird school in the Blue Ridge Mountains where everybody’s parents were hippies, and I’d have done anything to get out of there, so I promised I’d never set another fire or plant a bomb again, and I didn’t.”

  “Thank God.”

  He tapped his forehead. “The bomb stuff stuck, though.”

  “And so did the organic eating. You said it was your mother.”

  “It was. She was a Chicago hippie, went down South to reform it or something, and met my daddy, who was already reformed, and fell madly in love with her right on the spot. Took her a little while to fall back the other way.”

  “Are they both still alive?”

  “Yep. Along with three sisters who spoiled me rotten.”

  “Mmm. Now that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

  He took her hand. “Hey, now. Be nice.”

  Kim gently slid her hand out of his grasp. “I am. But you can’t hold my hand right now. I’m too tired and cranky.”

  He chuckled and leaned back against the couch. “Me, too.” He flipped channels, and abruptly sat up. “Hey, look! There you are!”

  The grainy video showed a man with a rifle standing guard at the UBC station, and Kim dropping suddenly out of the ceiling to his shoulders. She subdued the gunman, then bent over and took his pistol. When she stood up, there was blood on her face, trickling from her eyebrow and lips, but smearing her neck and chest.

  “Eww,” she cried. “That’s gross! Why do they keep showing it over and over again?”

  “Because, sweetheart,” he drawled, “you look very tough and very hot.”

  Kim rolled her eyes. “Please.”

  “It’s true. Not a man out there who isn’t thinkin’, hey, that’s my kind of girl.”

  “Girl?”

  He cut her a mischievous look.

  Kim let it pass.

  “How’d you learn to do so much, anyway?”

  “The Athena Academy,” she said simply.

  “I’ve heard of that. The school for girls in Arizona?”

  Kim raised her eyebrows. “You’ve really heard of it?”

  “It’s been in the news a little bit lately, hasn’t it? A murder.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Very sad stuff.”

  Lex looked at her intently. “How is it different, this school?”

  Kim chuckled. “In every possible way. I had to learn languages, weapons, survival training, as well as maths and sciences.”

  His eyebrow arched in a way that was becoming familiar. “Is that where you learned Arabic?”

  She nodded. “It’s an interesting place, established by a woman who wanted to see other women be placed in high positions through the government—and she found ways to discover the most talented women—” she gestured toward herself with one arched brow “—such as myself, and bring them to the Academy to be educated.”

  “You are very talented,” he said.

  “Thank you.” With a shift of one shoulder, she went on, “In that environment, I was very ordinary. The women who are recruited are extremely intelligent, athletic and always talented in some specific way. They search everywhere for these women.”

  “And besides becoming cryptographers, what do they do?”

  “A lot of things. Tory Patton is an Athena grad.”

  “The reporter?”

  “Yep. One of my friends, Diana, is with army intelligence, and our friend Selena works for the CIA. She’s married now, but I still see her.”

  “Does marriage interfere with friendship?”

  “Sometimes.”

  He leaned his head against the couch and looked at her. The jeweled eyes were shadowed, exhausted, and Kim knew she must look the same way. “You’re pretty cool, Valenti,” he said.

  “You, too, Luthor.” Impulsively, she bent over and kissed his very kissable mouth. “I think I could like you.”

  His smile was slow and liquid. “Oh, honey, you’ll like me. I guarantee it.”

  “Don’t be so arrogant, Tanner.”

  He bent his head and touched his nose to her shoulder, a gesture that caught Kim off guard. It was tender and somehow boyish. “I’m not arrogant. We’re just a good match, that’s all.”

  “How can you possibly know that in one day?”

  He picked up her hand, saying, “Just for purposes of illustration, all right? Don’t get testy on me.”

  His palm was hard and smooth, and she didn’t have any desire to take her hand away. “All right,” she said. “I’m listening.”

  “Look how our hands fit together.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “What about this?” he said, and leaned in closer to her mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “See, our mouths,” he said so close to her lips that she felt the shaping of the words, “are exactly right.” He pressed in, closed the space between their lips. His upper went between her upper and lower; her lower was sandwiched between his. His lips were plump but not squishy, firm but not too hard. He kissed close, then let her go, then kissed again. “See?”

  “Yes,” Kim whispered.

  “And if I,” he said, still kissing her in between words, “put my hand up here on your face, like this—” he cupped her jaw, his long fingers shaping themselves to her cheekbone, the tips resting near her eye “—then it adds something for both of us.”

  “You should stop this,” she whispered.

  “Probably,” he agreed, but didn’t. He just kept kissing her softly, just using his lips, soft and firm. Tender. Little plucking kisses, tight little nibbles of suction on her lower lip, with just a hint of teeth behind, his fingers exploring gently.

  Kim relaxed under the sweetness and lifted her own hand to his face. Lean, chiseled, edges of bone strong beneath her fingertips.

  “Wow,” he said, not pulling away, his eyes closed. “Wow.”

  Kim felt herself drifting into his touch, falling under a spell that would leave her weak and sleeping right next to him all night long in this dangerously seductive apartment on a snowy autumn evening.

  Not good.

  She pulled back, all the way. Stood up, moved away.
“Sorry,” she said, pushing her hair from her face. She was aware that she must look quite aroused, her face flushed, her nipples standing at attention beneath the soft T-shirt. “I don’t want to do this now. Not tonight. We’re too—”

  Lex was on his feet. “Shh. It’s okay, honey. I’m sorry.” His hands were on her shoulders, soothing, easing. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “Let’s sit down and watch movies. I promise I won’t do anything else.”

  “We’re tired. I don’t trust emotions going crazy under these circumstances.”

  “You’re right.” He patted her arms, which was an oddly reassuring gesture, and went back to the couch. “I’ll build a pillow wall, okay?”

  Kim laughed softly.

  “C’mon,” he said, cocking his beautiful head. “You’re safe, Valenti. I promise. Let’s just watch TV.”

  She sat down.

  Chapter 12

  Thursday, October 7

  Kim supposed she should have been prepared for the siege of reporters, but she wasn’t. They were lying in wait when they emerged from his building the next morning, pushing microphones and cameras into their faces.

  “What’s next for Q-group?”

  “Pretty new girlfriend you’ve got there, Lex!”

  “You have any leads on Mansour?”

  “How’d you break the code, Kim?”

  “Is the romance between the two of you heating up?”

  “How does it feel to be a hero?”

  Kim elbowed through, but the last question irked her. She glanced at Lex, and he nodded. She halted. “First of all, I haven’t done anything by myself. There’s been a team of various agents working on this problem for weeks. My partner at NSA, Scott Shepherd, was instrumental in breaking the code, and Alex Tanner—” she gestured to him “—disarmed the bomb at the airport. I’m not the hero,” she said firmly. “That’s all.”

  “Ms. Valenti, I appreciate your modesty,” said a young woman, and Kim paused, simply seeing a hungry young reporter, her own counterpart, “but your courage at the television station is well documented.”

  Kim shook her head. “I’ve been trained. Like a soldier or police officer, I was just doing my job.”

  “Like your brother Jason?” said a male voice, booming into the fray.

  “My brother was far braver than I’ll ever be,” Kim said with frost in her voice. “But this has nothing to do with him.”

  “So you don’t want to get revenge on the terrorists who killed your brother?”

  Lex started to move between her and the reporter, who was obviously pleased at hitting a soft spot. Kim waved Lex back and met the reporter’s gaze. “If you don’t get anything else from this clip, get this,” she said in hard tones. “An eye for an eye doesn’t work. If I want to kill terrorists for killing my brother, then I’m no better than they are. We’re trying to prevent violence, not add to it. And last night, that’s what we did.”

  The reporters roared, but Kim ducked into the car without any further comment.

  “Well done,” Lex said in the car.

  Grimly, Kim looked at him. “Not really. I’ve just invited a thousand reporters to pursue me for quotes.”

  He winked. “You can handle it.” As the car pulled neatly through the parting bodies, he added, “You might want to come up with a few pat statements. This isn’t going to go away for a while.”

  “Good suggestion. Thanks.”

  The car dropped Lex off at the FBI offices first. “Well,” he said, “this is my stop.”

  “Looks like it,” Kim said with a faint smile.

  “I’d really like to kiss you,” he said, quietly, so only she could hear, “but we don’t want to add any fuel to the fire.”

  “I’m kissing you now,” she said, and met his eyes.

  Vividly blue eyes, full of a mercurial glitter and heat. “I will be in touch,” he drawled, “and I do mean in touch.”

  “Go,” she said. “Here come some more reporters.”

  And in fact, she ran into reporters twice more before she made it safely inside the NSA offices—at both the Chicago and the Baltimore airports, she had to wave her way through gnats of them. It was easier at Chicago, where she discovered she was a VIP who was whisked through security, directly to the gate, and settled into first class on the airplane.

  “Nice,” she said to the attendant who brought her a cup of coffee and a newspaper.

  “The airport is very grateful, Ms. Valenti.”

  Settling into the thick, wide seat, Kim smiled to herself. There were worse things than first class. Was this just a one-shot deal? She hoped it would last a little while. Where could she go that she’d always wanted to visit and hadn’t because the flight was too awful? New Zealand! Yes.

  She smiled to herself. If only she could take the time.

  Her cell phone was recharged, and while she waited for the plane to board, she called Scott. “Hey,” she said when he answered his desk phone. “I rethought your offer of meeting me at the airport. Reporters have been crawling all over me.”

  “I’ll be there. When do you land?”

  “One o’clock this afternoon. Have you picked up any other details or information since yesterday?”

  “I’ll fill you in when you arrive.”

  He sounded odd. “Is everything okay, Scott?”

  “Sure.” Which meant no.

  “I guess we’ll talk about that when I land, too.”

  “Nothing to talk about.”

  “Whatever you say. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  She gazed out the window as they flew, watching snow-blanketed fields and forests move into view, then out. It felt as if something had changed in her life during this brief period of hours. Was it the test of her physicality? She’d been well trained, but had never been forced to fight hand-to-hand before. In spite of the battering her body had taken, she was exhilarated at the feeling of power it gave her. She’d faced men several times her size and managed to not only hold her own, but get away and vanquish one of them.

  She thought of her brother Jason. Saw him, in her mind’s eye, giving her a thumbs-up. Reporters be damned, she thought. Her truly private thoughts couldn’t be touched.

  And what thoughts would those be? a voice said in her mind.

  Kim resolutely stared at the wintry landscape and refused to think of Lex Tanner with his beautiful eyes and beautiful body and hot, hot ways.

  She wondered how long it would be before she would see him again.

  Kim counted her blessings that no one without a boarding pass was allowed to enter the gate areas these days. It meant she went unaccosted until she hit the baggage claim area, and there was sturdy, blond Scott, burly enough to be a bodyguard. “Hey, gorgeous,” she said. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  He scowled, touched her forehead. “You really took a beating.”

  She shrugged. “I’m all right.”

  “Whatever you say, sweetheart. I’ve got a car outside—do you want a ride to yours? I can help fend off the crowds.”

  “Perfect.” It would also give her a chance to set the record straight.

  The crowd of reporters was waiting outside the airport, and Kim wondered how they knew to be there. Was it like ants or bees or something, some subvocal method of communication? How did they know where and when to show up?

  “Kim, we hear you acted without orders to go to Chicago. Tell us about that.”

  “Is it true there was a breakdown of communication between agencies?”

  “Kim, can you give us the inside on the breach between the NSA and the FBI on this case?”

  She paused on the sidewalk. “I’ll answer a few questions,” she said, “then you gotta let me get back to work.” She pointed to a woman wearing a slim gray suit with red piping.

  “Ms. Valenti, can you talk about the communication problems between agencies?”

  “There was no breakdown,” she said distinctly. “My partner, Scott Shepherd—” she pulled him by the arm to s
tand next to her “—and I cracked the code and we decided to check out some things in Chicago, just in case. As you know, we worked smoothly with the FBI once I got there.” She looked at the group. “Next? You.”

  A youthful man stepped forward. “Do either of you have any inkling of what the terrorists are planning next?”

  Pleased that Scott had been included, Kim gestured for him to answer. He said simply, “They’re terrorists. That means they do the unpredictable. We have some intelligence, but we’re not at liberty to share that just now.”

  His cell phone went off, as if on cue, and he put his hand on Kim’s back. “Sorry, we gotta go.”

  A little tangle of roared questions followed, but they ducked out and got into Scott’s car. “Nice,” Kim said. And something about the word made her think of Lex. A sensory snapshot of his long, devilish kisses last night wound through her mind. A sudden, narcotic sensuality burned through her chest, pooled at the base of her spine. How did he do that? How had he washed into her mind like that?

  Scott put the car in gear. “You, too.” He glanced at her. “Jeez, what put that look on your face? I don’t think it’s me, though I wouldn’t mind it.”

  She made an effort to clear her features. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” He joined traffic. “The boss wants to see you the minute you get in. I already got yelled at for letting you go alone—not that I had any choice—but you’re going to hear about it, too.”

  “Scott, are you pissed at me?”

  He turned into the long-term parking area. “Where’s your car?”

  She directed him to the right section. “Answer me.”

  “It’s not pissed off, Valenti.” He turned, followed the row to the end, turned again. In front of her car, he paused and looked at her. “It’s just that I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and notice that there’s somebody right in front of you who’d try just about anything to get your attention, and you fly to Chicago and fall in love.”

  “Who?” she said with a scowl, and at the stoniness of his handsome face, she opened her mouth. Closed it. Said, “You?”