Her Spy to Have (Spy Games Book 1)

by Paula Altenburg

  She stared up at him. Her gaze was very direct as she recited her list. “The ugly tourist clothes you were wearing when I met you in Bangkok that are so not your style. You see every little thing happening around you. You got me out of a country currently under military rule on very short notice, no questions asked. You had an RCMP friend meet me in Ottawa and take my passport. I conveniently end up at your sister’s. Now you show up for a month’s vacation, when your sister tells me you rarely take one for more than a few days, and usually during the Christmas holidays.” She presented her final item with a faint air of triumph, the pièce de résistance. “You aren’t annoyed to find me in here.”

  “Are those the only reasons you’ve got?”

  “You need more?”

  He didn’t ask if her suspicions about him had more to do with her father’s activities than his clothes and connections. If he wasn’t admitting to anything, he couldn’t expect honesty from her. He perched on the cushions beside her, his hip against hers, resting his hand on the back of the sofa so she couldn’t escape.

  He leaned forward so that his lips hovered a few inches above hers. “I’m a government program officer. One who kissed you, just this morning. I went running with you, which I hate. I let you coerce me into yoga, which I hate even more. I believe I’ve made my interest in you very clear. So why would I be annoyed to find you in my room tonight?”

  Amusement, not caution or fear, backlit her eyes and spread to her lips. She tried to push him away. “That’s one more reason I think you’re not what you say you are—your excessive interest in me. I’m hardly your type.”

  She had no idea exactly how much she interested him, and in how many different ways. He settled his weight on her so that her hands were trapped between their two bodies. “Tell me what my type is, then.”

  “Someone more like your sister, an independent woman with a high-powered job of her own. One who wouldn’t need you, but rather, want you. And you wouldn’t frighten her.”

  Those were no more than guesses on her part. Good ones, but based on assumptions and not actual observation. His mouth twitched. “Don’t forget she’d have to be beautiful.”

  She slid her gaze away from his, then back. “That, too.”

  “Independence could be better defined as intelligence.” He shrugged. “I like clever conversation. And maybe I like to be needed as well as wanted.” He debated telling her how beautiful he found her, but decided to leave that to actions, not words, and leaned another inch closer so that their lips almost touched. He could feel the slight hitch in the rise and fall of her breasts as she sucked in a sharp breath. His groin stirred again, with more insistence this time. “I’d also like to point out that I don’t frighten you. Not nearly as much as I should. Now. What were you looking for?”

  “My passport.”

  She was lying and he didn’t care. He wanted her to trust him. He had no intention of trusting her in return.

  “I don’t have it.” Not in this room.

  Her eyes sparkled with a more rueful kind of humor. “So I discovered.”

  She looked so tempting, with the smile in her eyes and the flush to her cheeks… The part of him that housed his soul said he was an asshole for thinking up ways he might get her to betray her own father. How far was he willing to go to get what he wanted?

  How far was she?

  He dragged one palm up the length of her arm to her naked shoulder, then trailed his fingertips along her throat, savoring the satin texture of her skin, taking his time, careful to gauge her reaction. To see if she liked what he did. His thumb caught the leap of pulse at the base of her jaw. His own jumped in response. He slid his fingers into the thickness of her hair at the nape of her neck, then pressed his mouth hard against hers. His tongue stroked the plumpness of her bottom lip, teasing it open, so that he could taste her better.

  A soft moan escaped her. She freed her hands to tug at the hem of his T-shirt. Seconds later, she smoothed urgent palms over his abdomen, her fingers clutching at his hips, clinging to him. Heat burst inside him. He cradled her closer, letting her feel his hard, rigid length between them. He dragged his mouth from hers to kiss the line of her jaw, then the side of her throat, the dip of her collarbone. She still wore her bikini. He untied the strings of the top at the back of her neck. The silk of her dress blocked his passage to the swell of her breast. With the tip of his finger, he edged the fabric aside.

  A debate warred inside him. He needed to get close to her to get to her father. But this wasn’t work. It felt far too personal. Somehow, he had to keep the two things separate.

  She was breathing faster now, short little sighs of encouragement, accompanied by a restless writhing of her slender body beneath his that had his groin throbbing with a rising need and sent any second thoughts scurrying from his head.

  “Êtes-vous le SCRS?” she asked again, this time in French, a puff of sound scuttling along his heated skin. Are you CSIS?

  There was an underlying note of uncertainty in her question that drew him up short. The fact that she’d asked him in French reminded him of the preoccupation she’d tried so hard to hide all day. That something was troubling her.

  Trust went two ways. He couldn’t do this. Not when they weren’t being honest with each other. Not when it might lead to her not liking herself very much later.

  And hating him.

  He straightened the front of her dress, sparing a moment of regret for the shiny belly ring he’d hoped to have his tongue on by now. He re-tied the strings of her bikini top, slowly, with an even greater reluctance. He’d found his limit, but he wasn’t as confident she’d found hers. “I’m a government program officer.”

  He was also an asshole. He’d made light of her ethics, when his own were equally questionable. He was the one in the position of power right now. She hadn’t come in here for this. He could feel it.

  She stayed where she was, looking up at him from the sofa’s cushions with an inscrutable expression, whatever she was thinking a mystery. Only the slight unsteadiness to the rise and fall of her breasts indicated she wasn’t as calm as she pretended.

  “What does a program officer do?” she asked.

  “Besides keep reckless women out of trouble?” He brushed a thumb across her bottom lip, unable to resist the temptation. Her self-control fascinated him. “Why do you ask?”

  The obvious battle warring inside her spilled onto her face. He waited, curious to see what she’d decide. If she’d admit what she’d really come to search his room for.

  Then, “My father is missing,” she said. “You must have connections. I’d hoped you might be able to help me find out what might have happened to him.”

  Chapter Six

  He hadn’t denied being CSIS. Neither had he confirmed it. But she’d had too many weeks of worrying over her father to care any longer.

  Besides, she’d found nothing among Garrett’s belongings to indicate he was anything other than what he claimed. Maybe, if she told him as little as possible, and made it sound as if she were the overprotective daughter of an irresponsible man—in other words, the truth—he might be persuaded to do her this one additional favor on top of everything else.

  She hadn’t intended to persuade him in this way, however. Hot embarrassment burned the backs of her eyes. She had no words for what had just happened between them. No good explanation. She blinked away her emotions. Thank God he’d shown some common sense and hadn’t gotten as carried away as she had.

  Garrett continued to sit on the sofa beside her, his hip pressed to hers, one hand braced on her thigh. His thumb played with the skirt of her dress, bunching the fabric. “You told me you aren’t as close as you once were. What makes you think he’s missing?”

  “I’ve never gone this long without hearing anything from him before.” She couldn’t admit that she had gotten a message—of sorts. It had almost been worse than none at all. She kept her eyes on his, afraid he might see too much. “My father sometimes loses t
rack of time, and doesn’t understand why I worry about him when he’s out of touch.”

  “When was the last time you heard from him?”

  “Christmas. We spent the holidays together in Amsterdam. I think he has a girlfriend in the city, but he’s never introduced us.”

  “Why do you think he has a girlfriend?”

  Because it was preferable to her actual suspicions.

  “The usual reasons,” she said. “Late night phone calls he didn’t want me to overhear. Him slipping out for a few hours at a time without telling me, and bringing me back little presents as an excuse. He never wanted to go far from the hotel when usually he likes to attend concerts and parties, and visit with friends.” Love for him pinched her heart as she tried to explain his behavior. Yes, he was irresponsible. But he adored her. She didn’t doubt that. “We spend New Year’s Eve in the Netherlands whenever we can because he enjoys the celebrations. He’s like a little boy during the holidays.” She felt her smile fade. “I thought a girlfriend might be the reason I haven’t heard from him in so long.”

  “Where were you both headed after New Year’s?”

  “I was on my way to London to meet up with the family I was working for, then to Thailand. He was staying in Amsterdam for a few more weeks. After that, I don’t know. He was supposed to meet me in Bangkok.” She made a face. “You know what happened next.”

  Garrett was frowning, as if dissecting everything she’d said. “Did he seem worried to you? Afraid?”

  “Not at all.” And he hadn’t. If anything, he’d seemed too eager. Excited about something. She hadn’t seen him so happy in years. That was why she’d really hoped he had a girlfriend. She wanted him to be happy—but for the right reasons.

  “Where were you staying in Amsterdam? Do you have an address?”

  She gave him the name of the hotel.

  “You said he likes to visit with friends. Have you tried to contact any of them to see if they might know where he is?”

  She shook her head. “I only know their first names.”

  “You travel to the Netherlands for New Year’s whenever you can, so your father can party with friends, and you don’t know their names?” The casual movement of his thumb stopped. “So here’s the thing, Isabelle. I don’t believe you really thought he had a girlfriend. I also don’t believe you haven’t heard from him. In fact, I don’t believe much of what you’ve told me. And if I don’t trust what you’re telling me, I can’t—won’t—help you.”

  Panic swelled inside her. He had to.

  “I have nowhere else to turn,” she said.

  “Then you have no choice but to be honest with me.” He tugged on her skirt for emphasis. “Sometime between our run and breakfast this morning, you must have gotten a message. Tell me what it was, and how it was delivered to you, and then, I’ll see what I can do.”

  She couldn’t tell him. If she did, it would only add an extra layer to her story that went far beyond that of a flighty, irresponsible father. She didn’t know what kind of trouble her father was in and she wanted him found, not jailed. While CSIS didn’t make the actual arrests, they handed any intelligence they gathered over to the proper authorities. The end result was the same.

  “Never mind. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

  She tried to wriggle past him off the sofa, but he caught her around the waist with one arm and drew her back to sit beside him.

  “I understand you’re worried,” he said, “and you want to protect him, but have you ever stopped to consider that whatever he’s doing, or involved in, might hurt other people?”

  The implications of his words—the bald statement of her own fears—left her gasping inside. He already knew—or had strong suspicions—that her father was involved in questionable activities, but he had no more proof of it than she did. “My father would never hurt anyone.”

  “So you have considered the possibility, then.”

  Yes, but she refused to believe it. What worried her far more right now was that he was the one who might get hurt. Or he already was.

  The seconds ticked away in the silence of the room. Garrett waited, apparently unbothered by it. She suspected he could sit here all night. The air conditioning kicked in, the sudden hum startling. She stared at her fingers, lacing and unlacing them in her lap. She was the one who’d asked for his help. At the very least, she’d have to tell him about the message.

  “He had a few friends he didn’t want knowing too much about me, or his movements. Acquaintances, rather,” she amended. “Friends of friends. So when I first went to boarding school, he came up with a secondary way of communicating with me that only the two of us would understand. That way, no one would know where or when we planned to meet.”

  Garrett sighed. “And you didn’t think any of this was…I don’t know…strange?”

  “Of course I did. But we’ve always lived private lives. He wanted to keep his work separate from me as much as he could.” She’d also known not to ask questions she didn’t want answered. “He’s not a bad person. I told you he works for a security management company. It’s highly confidential.”

  “And convenient.” He rubbed his forehead. “Tell me about the message. I want to know how you got it.”

  “Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  They were sitting very close together. His thigh pressed tight against hers. She could feel the bunching of his muscles with every slight movement. The alert tension in him. “Would you believe me if I made such a promise?”

  She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “As a program officer, yes.”

  Humor hooked the corners of his mouth. “Then as a program officer, I promise.”

  Which meant his promise was worth nothing. She’d give him the message, but not the delivery system. “He sent me an email from an IP address routed through Portugal. He said I’d be unable to contact him, and will have to wait for his next message. I’m tired of waiting. It’s already been months.”

  The hint of a smile in his eyes faded. Caution spiked. This wasn’t the man who’d kissed her. Touched her. The one who’d complained about running and made fun of yoga, and took his nieces and nephew to play at the beach. Staring hard at her now was the intimidating man who’d grabbed her wrist on Khao San Road.

  “You’re lying to me about the IP address.”

  She couldn’t breathe. “How do you know I am?”

  “A good guess.”

  Outrage kicked in, hot and defensive, as she figured it out. He was monitoring her email. He really was CSIS. Even though she’d been certain of it already, the confirmation blindsided her. Suspecting and knowing were two very different things.

  Her chest ached from holding her breath. She stood, forcing herself to expel air. Anger wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Whatever CSIS was investigating, her father was nothing more than a starting point for them. They were after bigger fish, like the people her father was hiding from. Having CSIS find him first could only be positive. “I—”

  A knock came at the door, disrupting her thoughts. A new panic surfaced. This was Bangkok all over. She didn’t want to be caught in her employer’s brother’s private suite. If she were dismissed before she’d saved any money, she’d be back where she started.

  Garrett must have had similar reservations about them being discovered together. He jerked his head toward the bedroom. She hurried across the thick beige carpet on bare feet and into the other room, easing the door closed behind her with a silent snick of the latch, then pressed her ear to the white, wooden panel.

  * * *

  Garrett opened the door. Peter stood in the hall.

  “Cheryl wanted to know if you’d like to watch a movie with us,” he said.

  “Love to,” Garrett replied. “Give me ten minutes. I have something I need to finish, first.”

  “Great. I’ll go see if Isabelle would like to join us.” Peter made a move toward her door.

  “I’ll ask her,” Garrett said.

 
; Peter stopped. He gave him a look that Garrett knew well. Too well. “What difference does it make who asks?”

  “She doesn’t like to interfere with your family time. She’s more inclined to say yes to me.”

  “Your logic makes no sense whatsoever. I think I’ll take my chances.” Peter knocked on her door. He waited a few seconds, then knocked again. “Isabelle?” His hand dropped to his side as he turned back to Garrett. He shrugged. “Guess she’s either asleep or busy. If you want to check with her one more time before you come down, go ahead. We’d hate for her to think she isn’t welcome. She spends too much time alone as it is.”

  “I’ll do that,” Garrett said.

  Peter paused in the open doorway. “This weekend, the whole family is hosting a neighborhood barbecue at the farm. You and Isabelle are invited too, and—” His words broke off as he stared at something on the floor behind Garrett.

  Mentally, Garrett ran through the contents of the room after he’d come in and found Isabelle on the sofa pretending to be asleep, trying to recall anything that might catch Peter’s interest. He saw his laptop—and a pale pink pair of flowery flip-flops, lying partially hidden under the edge of the sofa. He also pictured the closed bedroom door.

  The two men looked at each other. Neither spoke, each waiting for the other to go first. Peter finally broke the standoff. Concern filtered into his expression.

  “Maybe I should add one more warning to what I gave you before,” he said, very quietly.

  Garrett kept his response equally soft. For both his family’s sake and Isabelle’s, and the forward momentum of his investigation, it might be best if he let Peter think this was exactly what it looked like—which it well could have been.

  “I’d like to point out that we’re in my room, not hers. She’s a grown woman. I didn’t lure her in here.”

  “Fair enough,” Peter said. “But she’s had a hard go of it the last few months. Using her to get information would be beneath you. Keep that in mind.” He spoke louder. “The movie starts in ten minutes. Don’t forget to ask Isabelle to join us.”