by Lara Lacombe
Now she made it a point to safeguard her heart, never granting anyone the power to hurt her. It was a safe, if sometimes lonely, way to live, but it kept her heart in one piece.
So, as much as she might enjoy his company, Agent Kincannon was not a risk worth taking. She consoled herself with the thought that he probably wasn’t attracted to her anyway. After all, she hadn’t exactly been at her best today. First she’d blurted out any number of awkward statements, making her sound like an escaped mental patient. Then she’d woken up screaming, another strong moment for her. Finally, she’d snotted all over his clean shirt and argued with him, all while looking like a hungover college student with wrinkled clothes and red-rimmed eyes. Oh yeah, she was quite the catch. He probably couldn’t wait to hand her off to someone else and get back to his swimsuit-model girlfriend.
He was standing by the windows when she returned to the living room, his back to her as he peeked through a crack in the blinds. “Is everything okay?” Had he seen something?
“Yeah.” He gave the street another quick scan, then turned to face her. “Everything is fine,” he said with an absent smile. “Just checking to see if anything is out of the ordinary.”
She felt the corner of her mouth lift, amused despite her resolve to keep him at arm’s length. “And how would you know what ‘ordinary’ is for this neighborhood?”
He tapped his temple with his forefinger as he walked over, carrying the papers in his other hand. “My extensive training and lethal instincts allow me to spot danger before it has a chance to appear. Why do you think they chose me to protect you?”
“Because of your modest and humble nature?”
He grinned at her, dimples appearing on his lean cheeks. “That, too.”
He passed her the papers as he walked to the door, checking the peephole before opening it. “Stay close, all right?” he instructed, all traces of teasing gone.
Suppressing a shudder, Claire hugged the papers to her chest and followed him into the hall.
* * *
Where the hell is the package?
Victor rummaged through another drawer, his patience running low as he pushed the contents aside in a desperate search for the papers. The deliveryman had confirmed the package had been dropped off, and since it was no longer on the welcome mat outside the door, she must have brought it inside. Unless he was lying to me...
He quickly dismissed the thought. He had been rather...convincing with his interrogation, and the man’s screams and pathetic begging hadn’t been faked. He wouldn’t have considered lying, wouldn’t have seen a reason to. The package had been delivered, all right, but it was now gone.
He stepped away from the desk, scanning the rest of the apartment as he considered his next move. He could wait here, but who knew when she’d be back? By now, she’d received his email and would know she was a target. Was she running scared, or would she go to ground? Probably the latter, he mused. Her dossier gave no indication she’d know how to evade him, so even if she was running, it wouldn’t be hard to track her down.
He wandered into the kitchen, considering his options. He could hide here, attack her when she came home and grab the package then. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. That would be the easiest thing to do. But then his gaze snagged on the glasses in the sink, incongruous in the otherwise spotless kitchen. Two glasses. One for her, and one for someone else.
Damn. She had protection. He hadn’t expected that so soon. He’d known it was a possibility, of course, had even suggested that to his employer. The icy voice on the other end of the line had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to do as he was told, no questions asked. They’d wanted Novikoff’s image sent to her, so he had done it. Part of him wondered now if they had wanted to make this job more difficult for him, to give them a convenient excuse to dispose of him later.
A cold ball of anger settled in his stomach. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Waiting in the apartment was out. She might come home with someone, and he needed to know what he was up against before making his move. Going back to the desk, he carefully rearranged the drawer, placing all the contents back in order. At first glance, she wouldn’t suspect anything was different. He needed to keep the advantage of surprise for as long as possible. He cast an assessing look around the apartment, making sure he hadn’t left anything out of place, then slipped out the door.
“I’ll be back,” he whispered, the promise hanging in the empty air.
Chapter 4
“I don’t understand—it’s just a list of words.”
Claire stared at the stack of papers with a frown, comparing Ivan’s handwritten notes to the translation. “Are you sure this is correct?”
The man arched an eyebrow at her as he rose from the table. “Quite sure, thank you very much.” His tone was snippy, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the papers. She didn’t have the time or the inclination to worry about hurting the feelings of a stranger right now.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas—Agent Kincannon, she corrected again—give the man an apologetic smile and reach out to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming down on such short notice,” he said, his tone warm and friendly. “We really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” Some of the ice had melted from the translator’s voice. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Claire noticed his slight emphasis on “you” and rolled her eyes. It seemed Agent Kincannon could charm the birds from the trees.
He came back to the table to stand next to her, looking down at the papers. She was uncomfortably aware of his warmth and shifted a bit, putting a little more distance between them. If he noticed the movement, he didn’t react.
“Does this make any sense to you?”
She shook her head. “No. As best I can tell, it’s just a list of nonsense words.”
He made a low humming noise in his throat while he scanned the translation, reaching out to flip over the page before sitting next to her. More words. What did they mean?
They read through the pages in companionable silence, coming to the end quickly. He glanced over at her, his expression revealing his confusion. “What do you think this means?”
Claire let out a sigh, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes followed the gesture, making her feel suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s a code of some kind? A message? Or...” She trailed off, hating the direction of her thoughts.
“Or?” he prodded gently.
She sighed. “Or maybe he’s lost it, and these are the scribblings of a man suffering dementia.”
“Did he seem impaired when you spoke with him?”
“No, that’s just it,” she said, thinking back over their last conversation. He’d been very lucid, very deliberate. Not at all confused or emotional. “He seemed fine. Besides,” she said, and flipped through the pages, pulling the first one to the top of the stack. The handwriting was the same, but the ink had faded over the years, and the page was yellow and crinkled compared to its fellows. “Look at how old this page is compared to the others. He must have been making this list for years.”
“Does anything about this jump out at you?” Thomas asked, studying her carefully.
She shook her head, at a loss to explain what the list meant or why Ivan had sent it to her. Plainly, he thought she could do something with this information, but what?
“I’ll get some people working on this,” he said, standing as he placed the pages and translation in the envelope. “Hopefully we can figure out what these words mean and why Dr. Novikoff spent so much time writing them.” He walked out, leaving Claire alone with her thoughts.
Why on earth would Ivan send her a list of random words? Did he think she would know what they meant? It must be a code of some kind, but where was th
e clue to help her decode it? It was almost as if Ivan had sent her a puzzle, but why bother to hide the information? Was it because it implicated him in some way? Her heart clenched at the thought that he’d been involved in some kind of illegal business, but the seed of doubt Thomas had planted was starting to sprout, and she couldn’t deny the chance he was right.
If Ivan had sold depleted fuel, could she really blame him? She knew he had been in a precarious position, often dealing with disinterested or even hostile people who refused to listen to the warnings about unsecured nuclear plants. But why would he have undermined the very thing he’d spent his life trying to accomplish? To teach people a lesson?
Perhaps he’d sold spent fuel so that when the inevitable dirty bomb attack occurred, he could point to it as an example of why he’d been right all along. It just didn’t ring true, though. Whatever his faults, Ivan had never seemed to be a vindictive man, and she couldn’t imagine him sabotaging his life’s work just to prove a point. That wasn’t his style.
She looked up as Thomas poked his head back in the room. “I’ve got to make some calls to arrange for your protective detail tonight. Are you all right sitting here for a few more minutes?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Can I get you anything to drink first?”
“Coffee?” she asked hopefully.
He winced slightly. “Well, I don’t know that I’d call it coffee, but you can’t really expect much from the government.” He returned a moment later with a steaming disposable cup and gently placed it in front of her, along with several packets of sugar and a few creamers.
“Thanks.” She picked it up, took a sip, then set it down and reached for the sugar.
“I did warn you,” he said, his tone simultaneously apologetic and reproving.
A small smile curved her lips. “It’s not really that bad. Just stronger than I’m used to. Go make your phone calls. I’ll be fine here.”
He nodded. “I’ll be just outside the door, so holler if you need anything.”
* * *
Thomas slid into his chair with a nod to James Reynolds, who was on the phone. While he waited for his computer to boot up, the other agent finished his conversation and turned to him. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad. Working a new case. You?”
James sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Chasing down some leads. This organization, or whoever it was behind the Collins thing, is extensive. I think we’ve only scratched the surface.”
“Scary, isn’t it?” Thomas muttered, clicking open the directory listing.
“No kidding. Say, what are you doing this weekend?”
“Working. Why?”
“Kelly and I are going to the hockey game, and we have a couple of extra tickets. Interested?”
Thomas shot him a look over the top of the monitor. “A couple of extra tickets?”
James had the grace to look sheepish. “One of her friends is coming along, too.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. No thanks.”
“C’mon, man. We need to find you a girlfriend. You’re too young to waste your life on work.”
Thomas shook his head. “What is it about you newlyweds? Always going around trying to pair people up.”
James grinned. “Being paired up has its perks. Besides, I think you’ll like this one. Blonde, tall and beautiful—a real catch. Too good for you, if you ask me.”
Thomas held up his middle finger as he typed with the other hand, making James laugh. “What’s one date? Just give her a chance.”
The image of Claire Fleming passed through his mind, and he frowned. They weren’t together, so why did he feel slightly guilty at the thought of going out with another woman? “Not interested,” he said, pushing aside thoughts of the delicate woman sitting in the conference room twenty feet away.
James was silent for a moment, making Thomas think he had dropped it. Then he spoke again, his tone apologetic. “Oh, I get it. Look, man, I had no idea—you’ve always been so good with women, I just assumed...I really didn’t mean to offend you. My cousin is gay, too, so I should have considered the possibility. I’m sorry.”
Thomas looked down and closed his eyes, digging deep for patience. He considered lying for a split second to get James off his back, but the earnest look on the other man’s face made him reconsider. “I’m not gay. I’m just not interested in a relationship right now.”
James held his hands up, palms out. “No problem. If you change your mind, let me know. Kelly has a lot of nice friends. Of course, they’re not as great as she is....” As if on cue, the mention of his wife’s name put a goofy grin on James’s face.
Thomas snorted, shaking his head. It was almost comical how the serious, impeccable agent softened at the mention of his wife. Kelly had been good for him, and a small part of Thomas was jealous of his friend. I want that, too.
Shaking off the errant thought, he made several calls to arrange for Claire’s protection. A D.C. cop would stay in the apartment tonight, starting at eight, and he would relieve them tomorrow morning after dropping Emily off at school. Satisfied with the arrangements, he returned to the conference room to find Claire staring into the coffee, lost in thought.
“Ready to go?” he asked quietly, trying not to startle her.
She jumped at the sound of his voice and sent him an embarrassed smile. “I’m not sure why I’m so twitchy,” she said, twin spots of color appearing on her pale cheeks as she walked over to him.
“You’ve had a rough day,” he responded, placing a hand lightly on the small of her back to guide her through the room. The silk of her blouse was soft under his palm, making him wonder what the skin underneath felt like.
“Agent Kincannon, a word, please.” Harper stood in the doorway to his office, frowning. Great. What did he want now?
Thomas nodded to Harper, then steered Claire over to his desk. “I’ll be right back,” he said, shooting a quick glance at James before he left. Talk to her, will you?
James gave him a subtle nod and hung up the phone. On it.
Thomas walked back to Harper’s office, working to paste a neutral expression on his face. The older man shut the door behind him, walked around his desk and sat, gesturing for Thomas to do the same.
“What did the pages say?”
“It was a list of random words.”
Harper narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?” He sounded suspicious, as if he thought Thomas was keeping something from him. Refusing to acknowledge the implicit challenge, Thomas kept his gaze level and his tone even.
“That’s it. Just words.”
Harper steepled his fingers together, pressing them to his lips. “What do you think it means?”
Thomas shrugged. “I have no idea. It could be anything—a coded message, a list of favorite things, his grocery list. Who knows?”
“But why would he send it to Dr. Fleming?”
“Insurance? Maybe he knew he was in deep and sent it to her for protection.”
Harper made a small grunt as he considered Thomas’s words. “Perhaps. Though it doesn’t seem to have protected him, does it?”
Thomas inclined his head but didn’t respond.
“What do you think Dr. Fleming knows?”
“I don’t think she knows anything. She seemed just as puzzled by the package and its contents as we are.”
“She could be lying.”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said thoughtfully. “She’s too much of a straight arrow. She likes rules, she likes order, and she was very offended by my suggestion that Ivan had been selling spent fuel on the side. If there was something shady going on, I don’t think she was a part of it or knew about it—she’s too black-and-white to go along with something like that.”
Harper stared at him, his gray eyes flat and almost reptilian. “She’s quite pretty,” he observed, almost offhandedly.
His stomach twisted at the thought of Harper noticing Claire as a woman, but he knew the other man was only trying to provoke him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction, Thomas tried to sound bored. “Is she? I hadn’t noticed.”
The corners of Harper’s mouth twitched. “I’m sure you haven’t,” he said drily. “Still, no matter how innocent she may seem, I’d advise you to keep a wary eye on Dr. Fleming. She may not be as lily-white as you think.”
Thomas gritted his teeth, resenting the implication he let his dick do the thinking for him. “Noted.”
Harper nodded. “Good. Her protection for the night has been arranged?”
“Yes. The D.C. police will take over for tonight, and I’ll relieve them in the morning.”
“Keep me posted.”
Thomas rose and left the office, resisting the urge to slam the door shut behind him. Where did Harper get off, suggesting he was attracted to Claire, and that it was clouding his judgment where the case was concerned? He was a professional, damn it. He never let his emotions get in the way of a case—he’d only taken off one day to attend his brother’s funeral. And he hadn’t talked about Roger with the team beyond the general announcement, not wanting the sympathy and awkward condolences. Emotions had no place at work, and he made sure to keep his locked away where they belonged. For Harper to suggest otherwise showed how out of touch the man was.
He wove his way back to his desk, drawing up short when he heard Claire’s laugh. Full throated and rich, the warm sound washed over him, settling low in his belly. She was smiling at James, her eyes bright and cheeks pink. A hot spike of jealousy knifed through his chest. She’d never looked at him like that, never laughed at his jokes. What the hell was so great about James? And why was he flirting with another woman when he was so happily married to Kelly?