She walked through the open restaurant doors. This floor of the building had retained much of its original construction. Three walls were of brick, interlaid with tiles of Delfts blauw. Broad, roughhewn beams in the low ceiling had long ago grayed with age. Solid plank floors, worn in places, sagged in others.
The dining room had ten tables, elegantly dressed. Eight were occupied, most by couples. Two of the tables had four occupants, obvious business associates. Nowhere did she see two men alone. Perhaps the politieagenten hadn’t yet arrived. Or they hadn’t been able to secure a table.
Her father stood as she approached. The maître de held out her chair for her to be seated.
“You look beautiful,” her father said to her, taking his seat again.
Garrett had already told her the same thing, but with a far different inflection. The memory of the light in his eyes as he’d offered his approval still warmed her.
They talked of inconsequential things. Her impressions of Bangkok. Nova Scotia. How much running they’d done over the past year, and if their times had improved. It was as if their lives hadn’t changed at all. But they had. Their relationship wasn’t what it had once been. Isabelle knew that, after this evening, it never would be again.
The main course was delivered. They ate it in silence. If her father was worried, she could no longer tell. Preoccupied, yes. But then, so was she. Garrett had arrived partway through the meal. She’d seen him out of the corner of her eye, being seated at an empty table near the front window overlooking the street, and lost what little appetite she’d had to begin with.
She refused dessert. Her father ordered another drink.
“Did you deliver the package?” he asked once their plates had been cleared.
She removed the papers from the black-sequined clutch resting on her lap and laid the packet on the table between them. “No. I was hoping you’d reconsider.”
“Those papers aren’t mine.”
“They’re in your possession.”
Her father met her eyes. “They were in your purse. Anyone watching would have seen it.”
The room spun. She gripped the edge of the table until it righted itself. This man was the stranger she’d been warned of, but had never met.
“Really, Papa?” she asked softly. “This is how you choose to deal with this?”
His eyes shuttered. “I have no other choice. It seems I’ve been abandoned by yet another Anjelais.”
Inside, her heart was breaking. Garrett had tried his best to prepare her for this. He’d said she couldn’t allow her father to make her feel guilty. That this wasn’t a situation of her making. If she retreated now, and someday he ended up dead, then yes, she would be at fault.
“You have choices,” she said.
“So do you. If you walk out of here without those papers, I’ll know what yours is.”
And now she knew his. Unshed tears burned the backs of Isabelle’s eyes. She stood, fighting them off. “I love you, Papa.”
He remained seated, unmoved by her emotion. “The people who love me don’t leave me.”
This, from the man who’d abandoned her in Thailand without a penny to her name. She didn’t recognize him. Her heart cracked a little more.
She skirted the table, stooping, with a hand on his shoulder, to press a kiss to his cheek. “Good-bye.”
She saw nothing as she departed the dining room, the empty clutch in her hand. She had no idea if Garrett followed her, or if the elusive politieagenten watched her exit. She wanted to get back to her room, gather her things, and return to Nova Scotia on the next flight.
She was so lucky that Garrett had found her grandparents for her. That he was with her, right now. At least she wasn’t alone.
The same couldn’t be said for her father.
Chapter Fourteen
Isabelle was leaving the restaurant.
Every male eye in the room had turned to watch her, some discreetly, a few with open appreciation. The outfit she’d chosen, while simplistic, screamed an attitude of elegant indifference. The tall, high-heeled boots, paired with the soft, thigh-grazing tunic, underscored the length of her legs and the athletic slenderness of her body. Subtle makeup brought out the curve of her cheeks and the exotic dark beauty of her eyes. She really was an extraordinary chameleon. Garrett would never forget how badly he’d underestimated her in Thailand, all because she’d chosen to go unnoticed.
Right now, the expression on her face gave nothing away. Not to anyone who didn’t know her. Garrett, however, had learned that the less expressive she was, the more deeply she was troubled. He knew, without being told, that her father had hurt her.
He’d observed Beausejour throughout dinner. He was used to studying people, learning what motivated them. He’d seen no signs of the fear Isabelle had said her father had exhibited so plainly that morning. Instead, Garrett discovered where Isabelle got her talent for hiding her thoughts and emotions. Marc Leon Beausejour was an actor. A very good one, in fact. Garrett suspected Isabelle had been well played.
Beausejour was about to get what he so richly deserved. Isabelle, on the other hand, was not.
Garrett gave her a head start, then tossed some euros on the table and followed her. Once he was out of the dining area and out of sight, he collected his overcoat and ran down the steep flight of stairs, taking them two at a time, unmindful of the risk to his neck.
She was waiting for him on the street outside, staring at the brightly lit houseboats on the canal. Everywhere, the city sparkled with white, pinpoint lights that had been draped from trees, building canopies, and along the canals in preparation for the feast of Sinterklaas on December 6th.
He took Isabelle’s hand, weaving their fingers together.
“This is it?” she asked, lifting her gaze from the water. She searched his eyes. “I don’t have to do anything more?”
“Not a thing,” Garrett assured her. “The police will handle it from here.” He hated seeing the shell-shocked blankness on her face. It worried him. “Let’s get away from here. I know of a wine bar nearby. We could both use a drink.”
They walked in silence, one of many couples out for an evening stroll. The wine bar was full, but the seating arranged so as to be intimate and discreet. There were a few available stools at various bars scattered about, but Garrett slid the hostess twenty euros and asked for a place they could sit in private. They waited almost fifteen minutes, during which time Isabelle stared off into space and Garrett never let go of her hand.
They were eventually shown to two plush leather chairs drawn close together, the kind one could sink into, near a fireplace. A small round table nestled between them. Garrett ordered two pinots noir.
Isabelle took a sip of her wine. She was too calm. Too emotionless. His worry grew.
“I never saw the police,” she said, startling out of her trance. “Are you certain they were there?”
“They were seated at the table nearest the door. You had to walk right past them on your way out. They would have been on your right.”
“The blonde woman and the man in the pink shirt?” He nodded, and a small laugh escaped her. “No wonder I missed them. I was expecting two men.”
“I seem to recall getting in trouble with you and Cheryl for being sexist,” he teased her. “Just for that, you owe me a weightlifting session. Spot me and we’ll call it even.”
A glimmer of humor—and life—returned to her eyes. “You’re rather trusting with your personal safety. Aren’t you afraid I’ll drop the weights on you?”
“Maybe you give me more credit than I deserve. I’m out of practice. I haven’t done any real bench pressing in months.”
“Thank you,” she said suddenly.
“For what?”
“For insisting I make plans for my future. For finding my grandparents so I won’t be alone. You knew this was coming, with or without my involvement.”
“I’m glad you understand that his arrest was inevitable.” Garrett twirled th
e glass in his hand, watching the dark red liquid dance in the firelight. “He knew the risks.”
“At least he’s safe.” She set her untouched glass of wine on the table between them. “Why do you suppose he got involved in such a business?”
It was impossible to understand men like Beausejour. That he believed himself cleverer than most people went without saying. Perhaps he was. What he failed to grasp was that him being clever didn’t mean others were stupid. Garrett suspected that, when investigators began to peel away all the layers of his activities, they’d discover Beausejour was far more involved in foreign interference than anyone had realized.
“It’s always about money. Never forget that. But most people in his line of work thrive on the excitement, as well. They’re risk takers. The bigger the risk, the greater the payoff.”
A puzzled frown formed between her eyebrows, tugging at the graceful arches. “Why would he have given me those papers?”
Truth be told, that bothered Garrett, too. He might have been testing her, to see if she’d follow instructions without question. More likely he’d intended to pull her deeper into his life and keep her close to him.
She turned dark, tragic eyes to his. “Do you suppose he wanted to be arrested?”
It was a possibility Garrett hadn’t considered, and if it gave Isabelle comfort to believe it, then he saw no reason to suggest otherwise. “Anything’s possible.”
He leaned over to touch her cheek with the tip of his finger, unable, as always, to resist the smooth allure of her skin. He loved touching her and had no idea how long it might be before he got another opportunity. She’d be on the next flight to Nova Scotia. He was back to India.
He couldn’t confess how he felt about her now, when she was vulnerable and he’d be so far away. He’d give her a few months. Surely, by then she’d know if she could stand the sight of him. But this time, he’d stay in contact with her. He wouldn’t leave other people to watch over her for him.
Tonight, he didn’t want her to be alone. He also didn’t want her unprotected. Not until they knew the magnitude of her father’s activities. He’d help her gather her things and he’d take her to his hotel for the night. His room had two beds, if that was what she preferred. Tomorrow, he’d drive her to the airport. A flight for Canada was scheduled to leave at midmorning.
The full force of the evening finally sank in. He could tell the moment her numbness wore off and the self-doubt hit her, and the exact instant recriminations began. Her eyes widened, her lashes fluttering a few times. She looked at him in stark panic. “Did I do the right thing?”
“Yes,” Garrett said. “You did.” He lifted her glass and handed it to her, pressing it into her fingers. “Finish your drink. Then, we’re leaving.”
* * *
Isabelle packed her bag under Garrett’s watchful eye. She could feel his concern, and his calm, solid presence reassured her as nothing else would have.
She bundled the things her father had bought for her together and left a note for the concierge, who wasn’t at his desk, asking him to please take everything to a consignment store and donate the money to a charity of his choice. She didn’t wish to deal with returning them herself.
There was no need to check out. Her passcode would change automatically.
The hotel Garrett had registered in was part of an international chain. Its rooms were the same the world over. It was spacious, comfortable, and impersonal. Its true appeal to her right now was that it contained Garrett.
She washed the makeup off her face and brushed her teeth in the bathroom, then donned her nightdress. She drew the pins from her hair, and with automatic motions, brushed it smooth. The aftereffects of adrenaline, and the glass of wine, left her mentally exhausted.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Garrett had already exchanged his suit and tie for a pair of cotton drawstring pajama bottoms. His broad chest was bare, and his hair mussed as if he’d used his fingers to comb it. He’d shut off the lights and now stood at the floor-to-ceiling window with the curtains thrown back so that the glittering city spread out before them.
She wanted to know why he was here. She wanted to hear him say the words out loud.
He turned when she entered the room, placing his back to the window and leaving his face in shadow. “You can take whichever bed you like.”
She stopped at the foot of the one closest to him. “You said you’d come for me. Why?”
The room was silent other than for the muted voices from a television next door.
“This isn’t the right time,” he said finally.
She had to agree. But she didn’t see how there was going to be a better one. The sooner they cleared the air between them, the easier it would be to go their separate ways. She loved him. Over and over, he’d proved himself to be everything her father was not. He had a family who adored him. He was deeply committed to the work he did and the integrity of the organization he worked for. Even though he’d been motivated to find out about her father, the truth was, he simply hadn’t been able to leave a young woman stranded on the streets of Bangkok. She’d never have any reason to question him.
But loving her would be a mistake on his part. He was every bit the risk taker he said men like her father were. He simply chose to take his risks on the right side of the law, and on behalf of his country. He’d been attracted to her from the first because she’d posed a challenge to him. He couldn’t figure her out.
Now he had. She’d lied to him too many times for him to ever truly trust her. He’d never be able to forget who—what—her father was. Neither would CSIS. And sooner or later, when he missed an assignment or promotion because of her, he’d come to resent her. She didn’t want that to happen.
She moved closer to him and placed a palm on his chest. “How can you stand to look at me right now?”
He seized her hand in his so that she couldn’t withdraw it. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Her heart was beating so fast it hurt to speak. “Will I always remind you of the things my father did? Of what he is?”
“Isabelle.” His tone gentled. “When I look at you, I see nothing else at all, only you. Who or what your father is has no bearing on the way I feel about you. Not now, and not in the future. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
She wished she could believe that, but didn’t dare. “You forget that when you first met me, I was trying to sell my passport.”
“I met a woman who was fearless and resourceful, if somewhat misguided. Through no fault of your own, you’d been abandoned in a third-world country. So many things could have gone wrong and yet you survived. I don’t want you to end up in that type of situation ever again. But again, this isn’t the right time for us to be having this discussion. We both have too much going on in our lives.”
She understood what he was trying to say, and knew he was right. He loved her, and she loved him, but they couldn’t be certain it was going to be enough. “What happens next?”
“Tomorrow, you go back to Nova Scotia. I have an assignment to finish.” He made a rueful face. With his thumb he began to massage the palm of her hand, an absent-minded but very erotic motion that melted every bone in her body. For the first time since dinner, she could actually feel. “You have no idea what I had to do to be here.”
“I don’t want you jeopardizing your work for me.” But she was so grateful he had. She didn’t know what she would have done without him. The cold man she’d had dinner with had shaken her. She’d always seen her father as weak. For the first time she’d glimpsed the person her grandparents claimed him to be.
“Nothing’s been jeopardized,” Garret said. “But I can’t delay it any longer, either.”
He released her hand and cupped her face in his palms, sliding his fingers into her hair, then kissed her with increasing hunger. Welcome sensation washed through her. She skimmed the pads of her thumbs over the hard plane of his stomach. She felt the hard length of his erection against the heel o
f one hand. She eased her fingers beneath the drawstring of his pajamas, stroking him with her palm.
He pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing ragged. “It’s been a difficult day for you. This wasn’t how I’d intended to end it.”
Tomorrow was going to be even more difficult. She didn’t want him to leave her.
“I’d prefer not to sleep alone tonight,” she said, “but I’m not going to force myself on you.”
A low chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “How honorable of you. Unfortunately, I don’t have your impressive level of self-control. I’ve spent too many lonely nights thinking about you.”
He nudged her backward until her knees collided with the edge of the bed and she toppled onto the mattress. He landed on top of her, his hands on either side of her head to carry his weight, and kissed her again until she was breathless.
* * *
Afterward, she nestled against him, his arm thrown across her and holding her tight to his chest. She’d thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Instead, she drifted off almost at once.
* * *
The next morning, Garrett navigated his rental car through the heavy traffic in Haarlem as if he’d lived in the city his whole life. He’d done far more international travel than he let on, that much was obvious.
She stared out of the passenger window as they passed through a tunnel under one of the many canals. They’d already talked about what would happen next for her father. The Canadian government would begin an extradition process. The Dutch government might or might not appeal it, since the crime he’d be charged with initially had taken place on their soil. Either way, Garrett had given her a phone number so she could inquire about her father’s welfare, but he’d cautioned her not to use it too frequently. He’d called in a favor to get it for her.
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