Her Spy to Have (Spy Games Book 1)

by Paula Altenburg

  John’s jaw went slack. “You are shitting me.”

  “I wish I was.”

  Garrett filled him in.

  The director slumped back in his chair. “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

  “Because I wanted to tell you in private. If he could track down his daughter and tap a phone line, and hand deliver a message to her, all while hiding his physical location through a VPN, do you still think he’s a little man?”

  “No,” John said. “I don’t.”

  “So here’s what we know. Beausejour’s name has come up a few times in previous investigations dealing with stolen military goods. He grew up in Canada. He’s got some good connections here. We also know that a Dutch player is close friends with our minister of National Defence, and also happens to be a friend of Beausejour’s. The minister has lots of friends we don’t know about. If we connect the dots, who do you suppose one of those friends might be? Who’s our best guess?”

  “It’s going to take a lot more than my best guess to make me start pointing fingers at the minister,” John said.

  “But is it enough to make you withhold a few details in your reports to him?”

  “Yes.” John rubbed the back of his neck, admitting defeat. “It is. Let’s back up and go over what we know about Beausejour’s personal life for a minute. He has a daughter, also born in Canada. His wife died in a car accident. She and the daughter were living in northern Quebec with her parents at the time. Do we know if he has any remaining immediate family other than the daughter?”

  “None that we’ve found. Isabelle doesn’t seem to know anything about her family here. She was too young when she left Canada to remember much. She said her grandparents never liked her father, and they had a fight with him after her mother’s funeral. The next day, he took her away and she never saw them again.”

  John tapped his chin with steepled fingers, thinking over everything Garrett said. Garrett could see the wheels spinning.

  “Find the grandparents,” John finally said. “Ask a few questions. If they didn’t like him, they must have had a good reason.”

  * * *

  Garrett canceled his flight to Halifax and booked one for Quebec City instead. From there he rented a car and drove for seven hours to a small town called Lac Saint-Pierre.

  He checked in at the first motel he found. It was late at night and the young man at the desk spoke very little English. While Garrett’s French was excellent, the sullen teenager claimed to have difficulty understanding him. Since all Garrett wanted from him was a room to sleep in, that point wasn’t too hard to get across.

  GPS got him to Isabelle’s grandparents’ house the next morning.

  Their white clapboard, two-story house sat off the main road at the end of a long, narrow dirt driveway. Trees surrounded the two-acre property. The large lawn had been neatly trimmed. The smell of fresh-cut grass flowed through his open car window. Two enormous flowerbeds fronted the house. A stone walkway led to the main door.

  M. and Mme. Anjelais turned out to be a lovely couple who had no trouble understanding his French. Garrett liked them at once. While Isabelle looked nothing like her slight, white-haired grandmother, the two women shared mannerisms that he found uncanny. A graceful tilt of the head. A quiet, rapt intentness when something caught their attention.

  He’d captured Mme. Anjelais’s with his first words.

  “I’m a friend of Isabelle Beausejour,” he said after introducing himself. “I’m searching for her grandparents.”

  M. Anjelais recovered first. He opened the screen door wide. “Perhaps you should come in.”

  Garrett was ushered into a bright front room flooded with morning sunshine. It held a piano in one corner, an overstuffed pink sofa, and two matching armchairs. He took one of the chairs beside the lace-adorned window. The older couple shared the sofa facing him.

  Mme. Anjelais’s eyes were anxious. “What is Isabelle like?” she asked. “Is she happy? Has Leon been good to her?”

  So, they knew Beausejour as Leon, too.

  Garrett could only imagine their fears. He did what he could to alleviate them. “She’s wonderful,” he assured her. “She works as an au pair. Very quiet, but she can take care of herself. Nothing much seems to bother her.”

  Mme. Anjelais’s eyes misted over. “She’s like her mother, then. Christelle had a quiet personality. Everyone loved her.”

  They talked for some time. Garrett answered what questions he could. He’d come here to get information, not give it, however, and it made him uncomfortable to be raising these peoples’ hopes of a reunion when he wasn’t certain how Isabelle would feel about it. He doubted if Beausejour would have painted what little memory she had of them with a flattering brush.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, “how did your daughter meet Isabelle’s father?”

  “At university,” M. Anjelais replied. “They both went to McGill in Montreal. Christelle planned to become a doctor. All of that ended when she met Leon, though. The next thing we knew she was pregnant and they were getting married.”

  The Defence minister had gone to McGill, too. It would be a simple matter to check dates to see if they were there together. Yearbooks were another good source of information.

  “They must have had mutual friends.”

  “Leon was friends with anyone who mattered. He had a talent for identifying people who were going to be successful. I think that was why Christelle interested him so much. Everyone liked her. People liked Leon, too.”

  “But you didn’t like him.”

  “No,” M. Anjelais admitted. “Because we saw what he did to Christelle. The lies he told her. The promises he made to her, and to Isabelle, that he never kept. He was difficult to say no to. He used everyone he met. He borrowed money that he never repaid. Twice we had people come here to collect.”

  Garrett filed that away as information worth investigating. Even back then, Beausejour had a pattern of narcissistic, entitled behavior. “Did he have any family?”

  “Only his mother. She loved him, but she made no excuses for him. We kept in touch with her, hoping he’d bring Isabelle to visit her at least, but he never did. She passed away a few years ago.”

  Garrett was forming a very clear picture of Isabelle’s father. It came as no great shock, but it didn’t fit the image she had of him at all.

  “When do we get to meet Isabelle?” Mme. Anjelais asked.

  That was the question he’d been dreading to hear. But it wouldn’t matter if Isabelle were angry with him for coming here. These people deserved to know their only grandchild and Isabelle was too kind to disappoint them by refusing.

  “She doesn’t know I came to see you. I wanted to make sure I had the right people before I told her. Why don’t you give me a few days?” he suggested. “I’ll give her your phone number and she can call you when she’s ready.”

  “Does she remember us at all?”

  The wistful longing in Mme. Anjelais’s voice made Garrett feel like the worst kind of exploiter. He wished he’d come here with better, more honorable intentions. The least he could offer her was honesty and hope.

  “She does. She remembers her mother, too,” he said. He rose to leave. He had a long drive ahead of him and an early morning flight to catch. “Don’t worry. She’ll call you.”

  He’d see that she did.

  The seven hour drive back to Quebec City left him with plenty of time to think. He’d gotten far too close to Isabelle. He cared too much that she would be hurt. He’d get nothing more from her, nor did he wish to. Not the way things now stood between them. He had other trails to follow in order to recover the missing DND weapons systems parts, the real focus of his investigation. Beausejour was only one of them.

  The thought of parting from Isabelle tore a raw, jagged hole in his chest—one that would only get bigger as the days passed if he wasn’t careful.

  It was time to let her go.

  He would report to the directo
r first thing in the morning to let him know what little he’d learned from the grandparents, and tell him that he was ready to explore other leads.

  * * *

  Isabelle stood in the center of the Mansfords’ kitchen and tried to process what Garrett was saying to her.

  The children were in the family room, playing a video game with friends. Cheryl and Peter were both in the city, working. Isabelle had been making lunch when Garrett arrived at the door.

  He’d been gone for three days. She’d missed him far more than was wise.

  Until this second.

  “What do you mean—you paid a visit to my grandparents? Why would you do that? Never mind,” she answered herself. “Did you find out anything of use to your investigation from them?”

  He had the decency to look at least a little ashamed. When he spoke, however, he sounded anything but. His voice became very quiet.

  “I’m not going to apologize for doing my job. And if, in doing my job, one decent thing comes out of the mess your father created, I’m going to be glad for it.” She flinched at the rebuke. “They’re decent people, Isabelle. For twenty years, they’ve worried about what might have happened to you. Try to imagine how that must have been for them. The least you can do is let them know you’re okay.”

  She knew she should have contacted them long before now. The truth was, however, she’d thought very little about them over the years. The bits and pieces of memory she’d once had of them had faded a long time ago. It was the slight against her father that couldn’t go unchallenged.

  “My grandparents had no love for my father,” she said, slicing a tomato for sandwiches with meticulous care. “I don’t remember a lot about those days, but I do recall them telling him to get out and never come back. If there is a mess, it was created by everyone, not only him.”

  Garrett didn’t argue the point, which only served to anger her further. She didn’t want him to be right. It would mean that so much about her life was all wrong. She laid the tomato on bread, then added slices of roast beef and cheese. She had no idea whose fault it was that she’d never been allowed to return to visit them. Her grandparents might have told him to get out, but she couldn’t remember if they’d told him to take her, too.

  Garrett placed an envelope on the kitchen island beside the cutting board. “Your grandmother sent you a note. It includes their contact information. At least let them know you’re okay,” he repeated.

  He picked up his overnight bag and left the room. She could hear his footsteps on the stairs.

  She fingered the envelope, tapping it against the granite countertop. She wasn’t so certain she really was okay.

  * * *

  Garrett sat down with Peter that evening in his office. They had a few matters to discuss.

  “My vacation’s been cut short. I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said.

  This was a familiar routine and Peter didn’t ask where he was going. The leather wingback chair creaked as he pushed away from his desk. “What happens with Isabelle at the end of the summer? Did you want me to find other work for her? Or are you no longer keeping an eye on her?”

  “I won’t be,” Garrett said. “I can’t speak for anyone else.” He drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. He couldn’t leave without knowing she was taken care of, or at least that he’d done his best for her. Memories of Bangkok, and her situation there, remained too firmly fixed in his head. “I’m not sure what she wants to do.”

  “Cheryl offered to help her get into a university,” Peter said. “She said she’d think about it.”

  She was being polite. Based on their past conversation, he didn’t believe she had any real interest in it. “She can’t afford it, and she’ll never get a student loan. She hasn’t lived in the country for years.”

  Peter smoothed his fingers along the edge of his desk. “I’m willing to lend her the money.”

  Garrett was uncomfortably reminded that his family knew very little about Isabelle and her circumstances. The minute she heard from her father, she’d be gone. “When I first asked you to find work for her, I never meant for you to take her on as a full-time responsibility,” he said carefully. “Lending her money might not be a good investment.”

  Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Really. And you know this because…?”

  “It’s complicated.” Garrett shifted in his seat, trying to find the right words to say without giving too much away. He gave up. “Look. If she wants to go to university, I’ll give you the money to lend her. That way if she suddenly decides school’s not for her, you aren’t on the hook for it.”

  “I don’t care about the money.”

  Garrett didn’t, either. It was more the principle that bothered him, because he hadn’t been upfront with Peter. For that matter, neither had Isabelle. “You’re too trusting.”

  “And you aren’t trusting enough.” Peter leaned forward. “You think I don’t know that she has to be involved in something significant for you to be watching her so closely? I can figure out some things on my own. From where I’m sitting, I don’t think she’s done anything wrong. She’s more likely a victim of circumstances. Otherwise, she’d have been arrested. Personally, I’d rather give her the benefit of the doubt and be proven right than assume the worst and be proven wrong. You should try it sometime. You’d make more friends that way.”

  Garrett didn’t dare give her the benefit of any doubt because he didn’t want to be disappointed in her. He didn’t want her to be disappointed in him, either. Right now, they understood each other.

  “Fine. I’ll try your approach. Let me front the money for any university fees. But do me a favor. Don’t tell her it’s from me. She can owe the money to you.”

  “You’re such an idiot,” Peter said with a sigh. “I told you to leave her alone but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

  He hadn’t needed any warnings. He’d known better from the very beginning. It simply hadn’t stopped him.

  “You told me not to use her to get information. I didn’t.” He stood. “I’ve got to go pack. I need to say good-bye to the kids, too.”

  He helped Cheryl tuck the children in bed. She stopped him in the hall and beckoned him into her bedroom. She shut the door behind them.

  “Why are you really leaving?” she asked. “You still have another week of vacation. It’s because of Isabelle, isn’t it?”

  “It’s really not,” he replied. “Duty calls. I’ll get to make up the vacation time later.” She looked so worried it made him laugh. “Quit being such a big sister,” he teased her. “I don’t have a broken heart.”

  “Maybe not broken.” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hard hug. “More like bruised. It serves you right, too. It had to happen sooner or later.”

  He hugged her back. “Can you do me one favor? Isabelle doesn’t really have anyone she can count on. Can you keep an eye on her? And let me know if she needs anything?”

  “You mean, be a big sister to her instead of you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Of course I will,” Cheryl said. “I like her.” She kissed his cheek. “But I love you.”

  * * *

  Isabelle stood in the hall outside Garrett’s door. He was leaving. She’d heard him say good-bye to the children.

  It was obvious he had no intention of saying good-bye to her.

  Whatever his reasons had been for visiting her grandparents, she should have thanked him. The phone call to them had been far easier than she’d expected. They’d been so happy to hear from her. But it was difficult for her to reconcile the cold-hearted man they said had taken their grandchild from them with the warm, loving person who’d raised her. It was as if he were two separate people. One of them was a complete stranger to her.

  She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  He was standing by the window, gazing into the night. He still had on the dress shirt and trousers he’d arrived in that morning, altho
ugh he’d removed the tie and his collar was open. He looked…unwelcoming. Not at all like the same man she’d made love with only a few days ago.

  She didn’t enter the room but remained in the security of the open doorway. She hadn’t been especially friendly to him that morning either, so she had no right to judge.

  “I heard that you’re leaving,” she said. “I wanted to thank you before you go. For everything, but especially for giving me my grandparents’ telephone number. I called them this evening. They sound very nice.”

  “They are.” He said nothing more than that.

  Tiny fingers plucked at her heart. She should go. It was obvious he wanted nothing more to do with her. They’d already said everything, anyway. She wavered, half turning to leave, then stopped and turned back.

  “Is there any way at all I can leave you with a better impression of me than the one I’ve made?” she asked quietly.

  His expression thawed. His eyes zeroed in on her face. “You have no idea the kind of impression you’ve made on me. There’s certainly no need for you to worry that it’s bad.”

  “Thank you.” She started to close the door.

  “Isabelle.”

  She stopped. A spark of hope kindled to life. “Yes?”

  “I’m no longer investigating your father. That doesn’t mean he isn’t still under investigation. You should be careful.”

  The spark died. “I understand.”

  “And Isabelle?” He crossed the room to the door in a few long strides. He gave her a quick, fierce kiss. “If you ever need anything—if you’re ever in trouble again, like in Bangkok—Cheryl will know how to reach me. Stay in touch with her.”

  She nodded without speaking, then returned to her own suite of rooms. She closed the door and leaned against it, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Her whole life was a lie. One would think she’d have learned to keep her heart to herself.

  Instead, she’d fallen for a man who lied for a living.

  Chapter Twelve