“You were a professional hacker?”
Simon coughed and continued shuffling through the pristine newspapers and unopened bills. Apparently Alex hadn’t been home in quite awhile. She must’ve been hot and heavy on this op if she hadn’t kept up with the financial section of the Times at least.
“Right then. How did you two meet?”Günter asked.
“At a guest lecture I gave at Columbia on financial systems security.” Simon recalled Alex’s swishing ponytail when she’d walked up to him after the question-and-answer session. “I thought she was a student. On our third date I figured she might be a foreign operative so I hacked into her computer. Turned out she was FBI.”
“How did you get to be so good with history and all that other stuff you dabble in if you’re a computer whiz?”
“They’re just things that interest me.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?” Günter laughed, clearly self-conscious, though Simon didn’t know why. The man was intelligent and accomplished in his own right.
“Sports…women…life?” He dug up several things he knew for certain he’d never be good at.
“Hate to tell you, mate, but other than the sports? That’s called being a bloke.” Günter chuckled at his own joke. “Now what’s the problem?”
“Gibbons already knows I’m with Alex. I’m not sure if he knows who she is.” Simon fingered the edge of Alex’s electric bill. “If he does? I’m dead.”
Günter sighed, sending a rush of breath over the cell.
“She’s your handler. Go to her with it,” he said finally. “See what she wants you to do.”
Simon ran a hand through his hair to his nape. Massaging the muscles there, he tilted his head back and wished for a professional massage.
“Mate?”
Simon grunted his response.
“You don’t have to do what she says. Just ask her opinion. Keep her informed.”
Sounds of a keyboard tap-tapping in the background showed Günter’s preoccupation with other matters on his already overflowing schedule. The predicament they found themselves in thanks to Simon couldn’t exactly be helping.
“Sorry.”
“No worries,” Gun answered. “There’ve been plenty of times when someone should’ve given me the same advice. I’m not exactly famous for asking for help.”
“You’ve improved.” Simon dropped his hand to his side. “I was going to ask if you and Jenny wanted to meet us for a planning session, but maybe that should wait a bit. Until Alex and I strategize?”
“Let me know when you need us. We’ll be there.”
“Faust, we had a meeting,” David interrupted, apparently annoyed at being kept waiting.
“I’ll let you get back to diva sitting,” Simon said. “Catch you later.”
Günter gave a rueful snort. “Thanks.”
Pressing the end button, Simon set his cell on the counter. He’d shower, then wake Alex. The discomfort of the cuffs probably kept her from sleeping well earlier. Twenty minutes later, still damp, dressed in only his jeans, he stood over Alex. Tracing the line of her cheekbone to her lips, he dared test their softness. Her tongue darted out to lick the place he’d touched. He watched, fascinated, as her lashes fluttered open to reveal pools of dark chocolate brown.
Rather than give in to the impulse to kiss her, he lifted the handcuff key between his fingers. “Ready to get up?”
“Ready to kick your ass into next week, more like.” She raised her wrists along the metal dowel securing the top and bottom of her headboard together.
“Nice thing about keeping you bound for ten hours?” He inserted the key into one tiny lock. “The immobility in your shoulders when I let you go will slow you down.”
Lip curled at him, she rattled the cuffs. “Just do it.”
He released her and she tried to bring her arms to her sides. Eyes squeezing shut, nostrils flaring, she hissed a breath through her teeth and arched upward as pain flared in her muscles. He reached a hand toward her shoulder. “Want me to—”
Jerking away, she rolled to the other side of the bed and curled into a ball. Unwilling to let her suffer alone no matter how much he loathed her and what she’d done to his life, he moved in behind her and tugged her close. Tucking her bottom to his abdomen, he wrapped an arm around her and held her. Little shudders took her as she rode the waves of pain. Minutes later, her breaths deepened.
“Better?”
She nodded and he felt her wince. Removing his hand from around her stomach, he gently pulled the thick mass of her hair up and away from her neck to drape it over her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
She sniffed.
“We need to get some breakfast.” Sitting up, he gained physical and emotional distance. “Shower and dress. I have things to tell you.”
Wordlessly, she left the bed and pulled open dresser drawers to remove jeans and a black tee. He tried not to notice when she snagged lacey black panties and a matching bra. As she showered, he snooped. He opened drawers, hacked her personal laptop and her cell. From a hidden compartment under the seat of her desk chair, he withdrew a photo album. In the front pages a meager number of snapshots showed Alex as a little girl sitting on a woman’s lap. Face vacant and limbs too thin, the woman stared off into the distance. Next, a few snaps of Alex’s graduation from the FBI Academy at Quantico, professionally taken. One picture of him and Alex as a couple, laughing in a Coney Island photo booth. All normal enough.
Engrossed at a peek inside her life he’d never seen, he flipped the next plastic-covered sleeve. And nearly dropped the book. What came next couldn’t have surprised him more than if he’d discovered the launch codes to the United States’ nuclear arsenal tattooed on Alex’s ass. Page after page of surveillance photos, all of him, filled the rest of the album. When Alex exited the bath, he still stared at a long-range shot of himself walking into a restaurant with one of the few dates he’d had after his release from prison.
“Jesus.” She breathed the word.
He met her horrified expression and grappled for words. “Why did you take these?”
Going from pale to beet red in a matter of seconds, she charged him and grabbed for the album.
Simon held the book high above his head. “Answer me!”
Had she loved him? Regretted what she’d done? Couldn’t let go any more easily than he? All these questions and more tore his mind into itty bitty pieces he struggled to paste together again.
“They’re Ryan’s surveillance photos!” She spun away from him and slapped her hand flat against the wall. Back jerking in rhythm to her breathing, she leaned there for some time.
Slowly, Simon brought the album to his side and let it drop to the floor. “Bring some money. I’m hungry.”
He went for the door, scooping up his shirt and shoes on the way past his bag. Outside, he snatched his glasses from his face and dropped his shoes to the stoop. He stomped his feet into them. Shirt pulled over his head, he slipped his glasses into the pocket and took four angry steps down the stairs before he realized a man leaned against the lamp post across the street.
Gibbons…
Simon stilled to mask the adrenaline shot accompanying the recognition. He hadn’t spoken with Alex yet, and had no idea what to say. A black sedan pulled up to the curb. The locks disengaged. Gibbons crossed the street and entered the vehicle from the opposite side. Without glancing over his shoulder to see if Alex observed, Simon opened the car door and climbed in. A driver big enough to put an all-you-can-eat buffet out of business in one visit took up most of the front bench seat by himself.
“I was beginning to get concerned.” Gibbons opened their parley.
Simon pretended boredom. “What was so important you needed to ruin my first piece of ass in a month?”
“I told you I’d be in touch.” Gibbons licked thick lips. Round glasses emphasized his too-round face. “My boss wants that passport.”
“And I want a pony for Christmas. I told you last ni
ght the place was hot. I had to destroy the packet.” Simon made a show of looking behind him as if assessing whether they’d been followed as the vehicle pulled away. “Ever ignore my signal again and we’re through. I don’t relish another stint in the joint with guys like you.”
Gibbons followed Simon’s glance, his sausage-like fingers going automatically to the door to engage the locks. “This isn’t good. I needed that passport.”
The ka-chunk of the mechanism closing Simon in registered at the same time he caught the bulge of a gun under Gibbons’ jacket. “What did you think would happen when you insisted on such a quick turnaround?”
Raking his hand through oily hair, Gibbons breathed deep. “Well, we’re in the thick of it now. Might as well go forward.”
“What are you planning?”
The driver brought the sedan around the opposite block. Simon pretended not to notice Alex rushing down her street searching this way and that.
“There’s a painting at the MoMA. We want you to switch out its frame.” Gibbons’ too-long fingernails, ridged and curling, waved in front of his face. They reminded Simon of an evil troll he’d once seen in an illustrated copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. “For now, focus on casing the museum, do what you have to for prep work, then we’ll be in touch.”
Simon tried not to blanch. If stealing a painting was difficult, taking it off a wall and fucking with it before putting it back had to be worse. “Which painting?”
“It’s a Picasso on loan to the museum. An earlier work. I’ll text you a photo.”
“Kind of risky using me, don’t you think?” At Gibbons’ glare Simon explained. “I’ve done a little B&E, but that’s not really my specialty.”
“I don’t care. You know security systems. That’s enough.” Gibbons waved his hand again. “Frankie, pull over here.”
Simon paused, hand on the door lever. “I assume there’s something special about the new frame?”
“You mind your own business.” Gibbons’ gaze narrowed and Simon noticed he’d finally gotten his brows trimmed. Probably the barber had to use a broom and dustpan to clean up. Poor schmuck.
“You involved me.” Simon pushed on principle though he knew it’d gain him nothing. Give Gibbons an inch and the man would feed him his own balls with a side of tartar sauce. “You made it my business.”
“Don’t make a move without talking to me first. I’ll call about getting you the new frame.” Gibbons’ hand slid inside his jacket to rest on the butt of his gun.
“Anything you say. You’re the boss.” Simon didn’t put an ounce of conviction into the statement. He pushed some more. “Do you have any special plans I need to know about? Like prep work for concealing a listening device?”
Frustration turned Gibbons a nasty shade of puce. Simon bet the guy’d be sucking on an oxygen can before fifty. “No listening device! It’s just a fucking hollow frame.”
Aha…a hollow frame. Well, it was more information than they’d started with.
Simon spotted Alex as she rounded the corner. Hesitating, she noticed the car then backpedaled and turned pointedly in the opposite direction. Good instincts considering she couldn’t have seen through the tinted windows. Still, the make and model of the car smacked of Mafia. Or worse.
“We all set?” Simon asked. Judging by Gibbons’ sight line he hadn’t detected Alex’s presence.
“You have a week to research,” Gibbons said. “And don’t let the girl get in the way.”
Good thing he’d have the entirety of the FBI at his disposal because even he wasn’t that good. “Sure, Max.”
Simon closed the door and set off at a slow jog, trying to move fast and appear casual at the same time. Alex waited around the corner. Without stopping to speak, he grabbed her hand and tugged her into an all-out run.
“Where are we—”
“Just run,” he said.
They reached her apartment.
“Stay.” He planted her on her stoop and tore toward the street where he’d left Gibbons. Reaching the halfway point, he pivoted and ambled back toward Alex. Hands jammed in his pockets, he pretended not to notice when Gibbons’ sedan rolled slowly toward him from the opposite direction.
As he reached her, Alex went down several steps and Simon up. They met in the middle. Judging by the set of her jaw and flat line of her mouth, she planned to say something biting. Not giving her the opportunity, he placed both hands on her hips and jerked her close.
“Shut up,” he said. “And kiss me.”
Chapter Four
“Why—”
Simon’s lips covered hers and her protest scattered like torn pages from the loose-leafed notebook of her mind. His tongue swept into her mouth. The band of his arm tightened around her waist, drawing her up the front of his body until her toes barely touched the ground. No romantic reunion gesture, his kiss demanded she open herself to an erotic strip search of her body, mind and soul.
The taste of fennel toothpaste, the spicy scent of his shampoo, and a day’s worth of razor stubble rasping against her upper lip forged a battering ram to her senses until no one and nothing existed outside Simon Jakes. Teasing and tempting, he toyed with her tongue and lips, alternately nipping, plunging and sucking. Alex mewled into his mouth. Her wordless plea accompanied the winding of her arms around his neck. In answer he cupped her bottom and pulled her upward along his very hard, very ready shaft. He groaned. Breaking their kiss in a bid for air, she barely registered the peal of tires against pavement. Her feet abruptly hit the ground. The hard connection of her ass with the stoop followed. She blinked up at a red-faced Simon staring off into the distance.
“He’s gone.” Simon raked a hand through his already mussed hair. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
She stared at him, dumfounded. What the hell just happened? And why didn’t he still seem nearly as affected by it as she? For heaven sakes, her nipples were trying to bore twin holes through her lace demi and he talked about breakfast? Simon held out his palm and she grasped it. Trills of electricity tingled along her arm as he tugged her to her feet. She stumbled a little, one hand meeting his chest on reflex. She licked her lips. His gaze flicked to her mouth before he stepped away.
She cleared her throat and followed him down the steps. “What was that all about?”
“All what?” Without looking at her, he threaded his fingers with hers as they crossed the street.
“All what?” Though she didn’t intend to holler the parroted question, it came out as a breathy shout nonetheless. She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held on tight. Of all the times for her palm to have a direct link to more intimate nerve endings.
“Let’s wait until we’re eating.”
“Now just a minute!” Who was handling whom in this scenario anyway?
Strides increasing in length, Simon walked toward where their favorite diner had once been, and Alex had no choice but to trot along by his side or risk having her arm pulled out of its socket.
“The Golden Chariot closed last year,” she said.
Simon stopped and dropped her hand. “But they had the best Greek omelets in Manhattan.”
“There’s a place near Thirteenth and Sixth that isn’t bad.” Wow. She actually felt bad about giving him the news. He looked so bereft.
Brow furrowed, he stared down Seventh longingly. “It’s really closed?”
“Yeah.” The Golden Chariot had been their special Sunday place. Sadness tightened her midsection when she remembered him feeding her a bite of strawberries from his waffle. He’d licked his thumb after it touched her lips. They always sat on the same side of the booth together. She’d worn a short skirt that day. Alex closed her eyes against the urge to clench her thighs together at the memory of what came after. Namely her. In the corner of a restaurant booth in the middle of Manhattan.
“Then let’s go to Lenny and Stew’s.” Turning on his heel, Simon headed in the opposite direction on Seventh. “They serve breakfast all day too.”
“What is it with you and breakfast?” She trotted to catch up with him.
He gave a careless shrug. “I just woke up. I want pancakes.”
“I’d forgotten how weird you are.” What she wanted to say was eccentric and wonderful. Like a kid on Christmas morning. Except every day. But she kept those thoughts to herself and deliberately lagged behind. When he either didn’t notice or didn’t care, she used the distance to watch the length of his stride and the movement of his ass beneath denim worn white with age. Unless she was mistaken, those were the same blue jeans she’d insisted he buy over six and a half years ago.
You can’t wear khakis every day of your life she’d said, when secretly she only wanted to see his ass suction cupped in a pair of 501s. And it was a very nice ass indeed. Everything about Simon screamed sex appeal, but before he’d met her he’d hidden all that delicious muscle under turtlenecks and thick cardigans with those soft elbow patches. While tweed jackets still occasionally made an appearance, now he mostly wore striped oxford shirts, henleys and polo-style pullovers.
Today’s choice, a soft green tee, clung in all the right places. And to think, all it took to change his style were a few well-timed dressing room blowjobs. Alex grinned and wondered what it’d take to get him to buy a few new pairs of jeans. She increased her pace. “When’s the last time you went clothes shopping?”
Simon stopped in the middle of the crosswalk and stared at her. A car honked and swerved around them. “Don’t you think that’s taking the handler title a little too far?”
“I—” Crossing the street, she shot ahead of him so he wouldn’t see her lie. “You have a small hole in your back pocket. From your wallet.”
He caught up at the door and let her duck under his arm. “That hole isn’t from my wallet. It is my wallet.”
The statement sent a shot of guilt across the starboard bow of her conscience. “Breakfast is on me.”
“Not going to expense it?” A black sign with white plastic lettering said Seat Yourself and he led her to a high-backed, red vinyl booth. “I’m sure the FBI can afford my appetite.”
Hard Target Page 5