The Librarian and the Spy

by Susan Mann

  “That makes sense, but why ISBNs? How could he be sure you’d figure it out?” As soon as the question passed through her lips, she rolled her eyes at how stupid it sounded. “You would have forwarded it to CIA cryptographers and they’d have figured it out in no time.”

  “Not faster than you did,” he said. He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his cheek. “My guess is Ben assumed you would see it.”

  She turned her face away and looked out the window, hoping he wouldn’t notice that her entire head had gone the color of a ripe tomato.

  At James’s sharp intake of breath, her head snapped around. Eyes round, he looked like he was about to be impaled by a charging rhinoceros. “Oh no! No, Quinn, that’s not what I”—he gulped—“what I meant. Ben knew how much time we’ve been spending together is all. Not that we’d be, um, spending the night together, ah, or anything.”

  When she stared at him mutely, his eyes somehow grew even rounder. “Not that I wouldn’t want to sleep—I mean, you’re certainly—we would be so—” Unable to finish a sentence, he screwed his eyes shut. “I’ll stop talking now,” he said in a low, mortified voice.

  She bit her lower lip, trying to keep the smile at bay. The idea that she made him flustered and tongue-tied both delighted her and made her a little light-headed. “You’re not exactly James Bond with the ladies, are you?” She made sure to keep her voice teasing, not wanting to add insult to injury. “Don’t they teach you how to be all suave and smooth and charming at the Farm?”

  “Hey!” His eyes flew open. “I was totally Mr. Smooth the first time I came into the library and met you.”

  “Yeah, you were.” She deflated a little when she realized she didn’t really know James, the real James, at all.

  As if reading her thoughts, he sobered and said, “James Lockwood might be confident and charming, but it was the sweaty, blithering idiot James Anderson sitting before you that asked you to dinner.” He sighed and returned to the subject at hand. “Anyway, now that we know Ben has gone to ground, I need to contact my boss and tell him in case they don’t already know.” He angled the laptop back toward him and began to type.

  Leaving him to his work, Quinn killed time by cleaning up from their meal. Sitting down at the table again, she asked, “You told your boss what we figured out about Ben?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Wait.”

  “For what?”

  “Whatever he wants me to do next.”

  “What about me? I can’t hide out in this cabin forever. I’ve got a job to get back to.”

  “I know. I’m sure the agency will figure something out.”

  “Okay. In the meantime, I guess I’ll read.” She grabbed her book and sunk into the armchair next to the fire. Despite the fact she was hiding from a nefarious international arms dealer, reading a spy novel by a roaring fire wasn’t a terrible way to spend a Sunday morning.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Quinn read for an hour before a chirp from James’s computer interrupted the quiet.

  She kept her head down, but peeked over at James. He looked at his laptop and said, “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “James,” a man’s voice said from the computer. “Your report indicates Ms. Ellington was instrumental in deciphering Ben Hadley’s e-mail.” Upon hearing a different last name for James’s partner, Quinn realized Baker was Ben’s cover name just as James’s was Lockwood.

  “Yes, sir,” James said. “She recognized that the string of digits broke down into ISBNs and figured out Ben sent it to inform me he was going into hiding.”

  “Excellent work,” the voice said. “Is Ms. Ellington available? I’d like to thank her personally.”

  He twisted around in his chair. “Quinn? My boss wants to talk to you.”

  She put her bookmark between the pages and closed the book. As she cautiously approached, James stood and offered her his seat. She sat and saw a gentleman in his fifties with brown, curly hair graying at the temples looking back at her. Behind him was a row of books on a shelf. She wished she could read the titles, knowing she’d learn a lot about the man from the books he kept. The head of a golden retriever briefly appeared at the lower corner of the screen.

  “Ms. Ellington, I’m Aldous Meyers. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too, sir.” She hoped the forced smile plastered on her face didn’t reveal her serious case of nerves.

  The smile on the man’s face was friendly in return, but his eyes were as sharp as his features. He was evaluating her even through the monitor. “We’re sorry unforeseen circumstances have forced you into your current predicament.”

  “Things don’t always go the way they’re supposed to.” She shrugged.

  “Regardless, we appreciate your ability to roll with the punches, as it were.” After a beat, he added with a trace of amusement in his voice, “And land a few as well.”

  The only response she could come up with was another tiny shrug and a less than eloquent “Um, okay.”

  “James has informed me that you were instrumental in decrypting Ben Hadley’s e-mail. Well done.”

  “Thank you.”

  “From what I understand from James’s reports, you have been quite an asset to him.”

  “Doing research is kind of in my wheelhouse. I enjoyed it.”

  “And from what I can tell, you’re quite good at it.”

  “Thank you. I try.”

  “Which is why I’m asking you to continue to work with James by accompanying him to London.”

  The gasp from behind her was almost as loud as her own. Had she heard him right? “I, uh,” Quinn said, reeling, “I was under the impression from here I would go back to work in L.A., but have protection with me until James’s mission is complete.” Was it her or had the world gone slanted?

  “We need you in London.”

  “Why would we go to London?” James asked from behind.

  “We need you to ascertain why Hadley went off grid.”

  “He hasn’t told you?”

  “He hasn’t made it to any of our safe houses.”

  Quinn peeked over her shoulder. James wore a grim expression. It was obviously a bad thing that Ben wasn’t in a safe house. Where would she be if not for the cabin in which she was securely tucked away?

  “There’s no good reason why he’s not in a safe house, is there?” she asked James.

  James shook his head. “No.” After a pause, he said, “I still don’t see what this has to do with Quinn going to London. She’s not a trained operative.”

  “I want her to look around Ben’s apartment to see if she notices anything that will tell us why he went off grid and where he was going.”

  “Haven’t you already sent people to search his apartment?”

  It was time for Quinn to speak up. “You think there might be bits of information or clues a librarian might see but others would pass over. Is that it, sir?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

  “That sounds like a long shot,” James said.

  “Not at all,” Meyers said. “He’s already sent you a message coded in such a way only another librarian would easily uncover its meaning.”

  “I understand why he did it that one time,” James said. “But to assume he did other things like that is a huge leap.”

  “It is a huge leap,” Meyers responded. Quinn watched the man’s features grow stern. “We will be pursuing every avenue to ascertain why he went into hiding and where he might be. For this one, we need Ms. Ellington’s expertise.”

  James wasn’t backing down. “So send an agency librarian.”

  “Ms. Ellington is already up to speed with this op, she has clearly demonstrated her ability to take care of herself in a scrape and”—his steely expression gave way when a smile twitched on his lips—“none of the librarians are willing to leave the library.”

  Quinn couldn’t help but smile.

  “But—” James trie
d again.

  “This isn’t your decision, Anderson,” Meyers snapped. “It’s Ms. Ellington’s and hers alone.” He folded his hands and leaned closer to the screen. To Quinn, he said, “I know this is a lot to process and you’ll need some time to think it over. If you could get back to me by the end of today, I’d appreciate it. Weather data indicates the snow in your area will end soon. That means you should be clear to leave by tomorrow at the latest. If you choose to stay in L.A., protection must be in place for your arrival. If you choose to go to London with James, preparations for that need to be made as well.”

  “I don’t need to think about it,” she said without hesitation. “I’m ready to help James and your agency in any way I can.”

  Behind her, James groaned.

  Quinn balled her fists and fought the anger flaming in her chest. Why was James being such a jerk about this?

  “Very good, Ms. Ellington. Your country and the agency appreciate your assistance. I’m sure you comprehend you may be putting yourself in danger.”

  “Yes, sir. I do.”

  “And since you are a civilian, your taking part in an active operation puts us in a bit of a predicament when it comes to, ah, liability.”

  “I’ll sign whatever forms you need me to.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “We’ll get those sent to you on James’s tablet as soon as possible.”

  “I don’t have a passport,” Quinn said.

  “Not an issue. We’ll have one prepared for you.”

  While she and Meyers spoke, James paced behind her.

  Meyers raised his voice to get James’s attention. “Anderson.”

  James stopped and stood directly behind her again.

  “It’s clear you have some problems with Ms. Ellington continuing on this op with you. I don’t know what they are, nor do I care.” Meyers’s nostrils flared. “Get them squared away. You two will be spending a lot of time in each other’s company. Make it work.” He gave James a long, pointed stare. “We’ll speak again later today to discuss the specifics regarding your travel to London.” With that, the video feed ended and Meyers disappeared from the screen.

  The room fell silent.

  Quinn leapt up and whirled on James. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I don’t want you going to London,” he stated flatly.

  “Yeah, I got that. Loud and clear,” she snapped. Her head throbbed. “What I want to know is why? I think I’ve been pretty cool dealing with the steady stream of crap you’ve flung my way. And now all of a sudden, when everything finally makes sense and I’m on board, you say no?”

  He turned his head and stared out the window. The way the muscles in his jaw worked, Quinn could tell he was fighting some kind of internal battle. After a long pause, he said, “It’s complicated.”

  She huffed a mirthless laugh and crossed her arms. “Try again.” When he remained silent, she asked, “Is it because I’m not a spy? The agency obviously doesn’t care. Neither should you.”

  “I’m the one who has to protect you.”

  “So I’m an albatross.”

  “You’re not an albatross. If anything, you’re a natural at all this. You’re brilliant and perceptive and intuitive and frustratingly fearless.”

  She blew out a breath, not knowing what to make of that. “So why do you want to leave me behind?” A rock lodged in the pit of her stomach. “You don’t want to be around me that much.”

  His shoulders sagged. “It’s the opposite. I do want to be around you. So much. That’s the problem.” He looked into her face. “The way I feel about you scares the hell out of me. If something happens to you . . . I can’t go through it again.”

  “Go through what again?”

  “I can’t . . .” It felt like a dagger jammed through her heart when she saw the storm of agony raging in his eyes. “I can’t,” he said again. He walked to the door and stepped out into the swirling snow.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Quinn stood at the window and watched the falling flakes. She blew out a deep breath—fogging the glass—and tucked her hands between her arms and rib cage to keep them warm. And despite the cold penetrating the window, she remained rooted to the floor with her eyes pinned on James, or at least the back of him. When he’d first marched outside, he’d prowled back and forth in front of the cabin like an agitated panther. After a few minutes of tromping a path in the snow, he’d stopped and stood completely still facing the woods with his back to the cabin. And that’s exactly how he remained, like a statue with his hands stuffed deep in his front pockets. Maybe he was actually frozen solid, she thought, noting how the snowflakes had accumulated into tiny piles on his shoulders and uncovered head.

  How could he not be freezing? He was only wearing his black Ferrari hoodie, jeans, and street shoes. And yet he stood there, motionless, staring at the tall pines.

  She wasn’t sure what she should do. She wasn’t his mother, wife, or girlfriend. She wasn’t even sure she was his friend. Besides, he was a grown man, and a CIA officer. And she didn’t need a degree in psychology to know he needed some time to clear his head and think through whatever was bugging him.

  Still, it was obvious he was upset and not paying attention to the fact that if he didn’t come inside soon, he was going to end up with hypothermia and lose a digit or four to frostbite. Quinn came to the conclusion that James’s physical well-being was top priority. He’d just have to think or sulk or do whatever he was doing inside. She turned on her heel, hurried to the bedroom, and pulled on her boots.

  Her head popped through the neck of her sweatshirt and she was in the process of shoving her arms through its sleeves when she heard the front door open and close. She ran her hands over her hair, resisting the urge to bolt down the hall. It was best to approach him slowly, so as not to spook him and send him scampering outside again.

  That was the plan, anyway, until she got close enough to see him standing in front of the fire in the throes of a full body shiver. His shoes were soaked, snow clung to his jeans, and he had that I-can’t-move-my-face rigidity to him. She grabbed his hand in both of hers and felt how stiff and cold it was. “Oh my God, James. You’re a human Popsicle.”

  She dropped his hand, tugged down the zipper of his hoodie, and yanked it off. “I should have gone out sooner and dragged you back inside,” she said under her breath. She ran her palms across his shoulders. The wetness had soaked through to his T-shirt. “Standing out in the snow. What are you, nuts?” She grabbed the hem of his shirt and barked, “Arms up.”

  He did as ordered and raised his arms over his head. Quinn peeled his shirt off and dropped it to the floor. When James lowered his arms again, she found herself staring directly at his broad, bare chest. His arms and shoulders were muscled and only a wide, fading scar on his left side marred his hard, flat abdomen. She gulped, which was only slightly less embarrassing than the alternative: drooling.

  Her gaze landed on another scar, a three-inch long, thin red line that stretched across his right bicep. Without thinking, she reached out and delicately traced a fingertip along it. At the coolness of his skin, she jolted from her trance and jerked her hand away.

  She stumbled back a half step and her awkwardness ratcheted up a notch when she said, “You need to get out of those wet jeans.” She cleared her throat and peered into his face. “Do you, um, have another pair?” For the sake of her blood pressure, she really hoped he had another pair.

  For the first time since coming inside, the glazed look in James’s eyes disappeared and he focused on her. “In my bag.”

  She spun around and spied the bag on the floor near the couch. She knelt next to it, pulled out a pair of jeans, and tossed them over her shoulder. The only thing she saw for him to put on his upper body was the sweater he’d worn the night before. The black mascara splotch from when she’d used him like a Kleenex during her meltdown in her bedroom was still there. It might not be clean, but at least it was dry.

  She heard th
e distinctive sound of ripping Velcro. She twisted around and saw James removing a pistol in a black ankle holster from his leg. He set it on the coffee table and repeated the process for the weapon strapped to his other ankle.

  “One’s got bullets and one’s got darts?” she asked as she stood.

  “Yeah.” He set the second holster on the table, and took off his wet shoes. Standing close to the fire had done him good. The color was returning to his face and he’d stopped shivering.

  She thrust the dry clothes against his chest. “Go put these on.”

  Her anxiety about his condition lifted when he gave her a teasing look and said in a husky voice, “I can’t change here by the fire?”

  “Sure you can, if you want,” she said. “I’ve got five brothers.”

  “For both our sakes, I’ll go change in the bathroom.”

  It was a good thing he didn’t call her bluff.

  “It’s just as well,” he called out as he walked down the hall. “Because you never know. I might be going commando.”

  * * *

  James’s wet T-shirt and hoodie hung off the backs of two dining room chairs Quinn had positioned close to the fire. His jeans were laid out flat on the brick hearth and bookended by his soaked shoes.

  Quinn opened the fireplace screen and set another log on the fire. With an iron poker, she jabbed at the already-burning logs and stirred the glowing embers under the grate. She watched for a time, and once the newly introduced log began to snap and pop, she returned the poker to the stand and closed the screen.

  She picked up her steaming mug of tea from the coffee table and curled up in the armchair. She sipped her tea and studied James over the rim of the mug. He sat hunkered on the floor in front of the hearth. A blanket was tucked tightly around his shoulders and he stared into the fire.

  She lowered the mug and wrapped both hands around it to warm them. She breathed deeply, hoping to calm her emotions. He was grappling with something, and from what he’d said before he stalked outside, she had only the barest inkling of what it might be.