by Susan Mann
“No. Everything will be relayed through the agency.” He glanced at her and then back at the road. “Why? Are you worried you might miss a call from the guy you met at Red’s the other night?”
She flinched. Oh no. “What?”
“You know, the bar you followed me to when I met with Shawna. You saw her text asking to meet me,” he stated.
There was no use pretending. “Yeah.” Humiliated and unable to look into his face, she stared at the dashboard. “I thought you might have lied to me when you said you weren’t married or didn’t have a girlfriend, so I followed you.”
“Ah.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Nah. I would have done the same thing.”
“Fair enough.” Cocking her head, she said, “Okay. I spilled my guts. Your turn. Who’s Shawna?”
His head wobbled from side to side, deciding what to say. “I know her through the agency,” he said without elaboration. “We went out to dinner once while I was at Langley planning this op. It was no big deal. Right after, I came here. You know when I disappeared for a week after I came into the library the first time? I got called back to Langley for some meetings. While I was there, Shawna was after me to go out again. I told her I wasn’t interested.” He snuck a peek at Quinn. “There was a librarian I’d just met who I wanted to spend more time with.”
She smiled. “Ed, right?”
“Yeah, Ed,” he said with a laugh. Eyes on the road again, he continued. “Anyway, she went kinda stalkery and flew out here to see me.” He scowled and his voice was snapped with pique. “She texted my cover phone. With the crap she was pulling, she could have blown the whole op.”
“That’s why you were so angry with her.”
“Yeah. She was way out of line. I knew she wouldn’t back off until I met with her. When I did, I told her to get the hell away. I was undercover, for God’s sake, and she put everything at risk the minute she contacted me. I informed Meyers before I even met with her. I think he’s more furious with her than I am. She’ll be disciplined for breaking protocol.”
“What about me? You gotta admit, I went a little stalkery, too.”
“Not really. You only followed me when you were faced with conflicting information about my cover.”
More or less, she thought. “And for the record, I don’t have any interest in getting a phone call from the guy from Red’s.”
“Good to know.”
The conversation lulled while his full attention was given over to navigating through traffic as they neared the airport. At the same time, Quinn tried to keep the knot of nerves and excitement from completely overwhelming her.
James drove to the appropriate rental car return area and stopped behind a row of cars waiting to be processed. After shutting off the engine, he took her hand and shifted to face her. “You’re gonna be great,” he said. “You remember what we talked about, right? You’re clear on what’s gonna happen as soon as we get out of the car?”
“I am,” she answered with a surprising amount of confidence. “I stick right next to you and follow your lead.”
He grinned and squeezed her hand once more. “Here we go.”
Ten minutes later, they stood waiting to board the shuttle bus that would transport them to the terminal. In front of them, the father of a set of twin toddler boys—both adorable and sporting mops of hay-colored hair—worked feverishly to load the family’s luggage and kid paraphernalia onto the vehicle. One boy straddled his mother’s hip while she held the hand of the other in a tight grip.
James dropped his bag on the ground next to Quinn’s feet and handed his briefcase to her. “Here, let me help,” he said to the dad and sprang into action. He picked up a car seat in each hand and stepped around the dad and into the shuttle. After stowing them on the luggage rack, he helped the driver stash the bags before making one more trip to the curb. He snagged the double stroller, leapt into the bus, and set it on top of the car seats.
“Your boyfriend is very sweet to help us,” the woman said. Before Quinn could correct her, the other woman lowered her voice and said, “We just finished the first half of our grand Christmas tour at his parents’ and now we’re off to mine.” With a weary laugh, she asked, “Is it January yet?”
Quinn gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry. Only about halfway through December.” She reached out and gently bopped the nose of the little one on the woman’s hip with the tip of her finger. He giggled, turned bashful, and buried his face in his mother’s shoulder. “I’m sure your parents love seeing them. Mine appreciate it when my brothers and their families visit, especially knowing how much work it is. Entire countries have been invaded by armies with less stuff than what they bring along.”
“It’s nice to know we’re not the only ones,” the woman replied.
“You’re not. Not by a long shot,” Quinn said as James stepped down from the shuttle and rejoined her. Both parents thanked him and stepped up into the bus. From over his mother’s shoulder, Quinn received a shy wave from her new little friend. She smiled and waved back.
“Charming the entire male population again?” James asked as he took his briefcase from her and picked up his bag.
She watched a businessman in front of them lift the first of his two suitcases through the shuttle door. “Hardly, although I will cop to being quite the rock star with the three-and-under crowd.”
“And those of us who are a little older,” he said. He swung his briefcase toward the shuttle, indicating she should board before him now that the man’s second bag was loaded and out of the way. As soon as they boarded, the doors closed behind them. There were no empty seats, so they stood as the bus roared off toward the terminals.
Travelers unloaded at each stop—the family with the twins offloaded at Terminal One—until they reached the Tom Bradley International Terminal. It was there that Quinn and James, the businessman with the two suitcases, and a retired couple disembarked. Working together, the shuttle driver handed the bags to James who set them on the sidewalk. Once everyone was sure all of their bags were present and accounted for, the shuttle zoomed off. The retired couple found their suitcases, thanked James for his help, and hurried through the sliding doors into the building.
It surprised Quinn when James left his bag untouched on the sidewalk and instead pulled up the handle on one of the businessman’s rolling suitcases. Then he went to the other suitcase, a black one, extended the handle, and tipped it onto its wheels. His eyes darted to the first suitcase, a red one, and then fell on Quinn. “Shall we?” He still made no move to pick up his duffel bag, so Quinn left hers on the sidewalk next to his.
“Mmm-hmm.” Her concern over leaving her bag with her wallet, checkbook, and phone in the wide-open evaporated when the businessman picked up their bags and strode off down the sidewalk. A few seconds later a black SUV pulled up alongside him. The vehicle’s door swung open and he disappeared into the front passenger seat. The door closed and the SUV sped off.
Quinn wanted to make a quip about how very superspy it all was, but instinctively knew to remain silent. Instead, she took the handle of what was now her suitcase and looked at James expectantly.
They entered the building and were immediately confronted by travelers standing in long queues at airline ticketing counters. She followed James to an open area off to the left. Without a word, he unzipped a side pocket of his suitcase and removed a navy blue passport with the United States seal stamped in gold on the front. He flipped it open, glanced at it, and then shoved it in his back pocket.
Quinn followed his lead and unzipped the same pocket of her suitcase. There, she found a passport. Anticipation shot through her like a kid right before tearing into a Christmas present. She opened it and the first thing she noticed was her photo. It wasn’t her driver’s license picture as she’d expected. In fact, she didn’t know when or where that photo had been taken.
Next, she glanced at her name. She was now Quinn Riordan of Santa Monica. Like James, she slid
the passport into her back pocket.
Then she removed a tan leather wallet from the suitcase pocket and opened it. In it, she found a driver’s license, a couple of credit cards, and a half-dozen business cards with Quinn Riordan’s name on them. They informed her she was a UCLA reference librarian. She approved immensely. Finally, she checked the money slot and pulled out a wad of cash that included both dollar bills and pound notes. She thumbed through them and counted two hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills and five hundred pounds in twenty- and fifty-pound notes. There’d never been so much money in a wallet of hers in her life. Too bad it wasn’t actually hers.
She replaced the cash and when she did so, her finger touched a stiff piece of paper. She slid it out and gaped at a photo of her and James, arms around each other and blissfully grinning at the camera.
“Quinn,” James said just loud enough to catch her attention. Still stunned by the picture gripped between her fingers, she looked up at him and immediately followed his gaze to the glinting gold on his open palm. Unblinking, she stared at three rings and instantly knew what they were: a diamond engagement ring, a thin gold wedding band, and a larger, wider one.
She looked into his face again and whispered, “James Riordan?”
His eyes widened a fraction and the nod was nearly imperceptible. As easy as it would have been to stand there utterly dazed and unmoving, her brain shouted at her that James holding her wedding rings in the middle of the airport was an oddity. The notion compelled her to close her wallet and shove it in her purse. She swallowed hard, took the smaller two rings, and slipped them onto the third finger of her left hand. James did the same with the larger gold band. Only two words came to mind as she stared at the rings flashing on her finger: holy crap.
Chapter Seventeen
It seemed like forever since Quinn had taken a shower. She knew she’d done so at the Lake Arrowhead safe house, but the actual number of hours that had passed since then completely eluded her. Despite the fact that she was in London—a city she’d wanted to visit for as long as she could remember—getting clean was the first thing she wanted to do now that she and James were settled in their hotel room in the well-heeled district of South Kensington. She’d marinated in the grime of two airports, the nasty, recycled air of a crowded airplane, and the oppressive humanity of the Underground long enough.
“There’s a part of me that wants to take a flamethrower to the clothes I’m wearing,” Quinn said as she lifted her suitcase and plunked it on the bed. “But I’m afraid I might need them since this is probably full of librarian clothes.” It was with no small amount of trepidation she unzipped the bag.
“Could be worse,” James said as he punched a series of numbers into the keypad of the hotel room’s safe. “You could be going undercover as a nun.”
“I would rock a habit and you know it.” She decided not to prolong the agony and flipped open the suitcase. “Um, wow,” she said softly when she saw that there was no wool tweed to be found. Instead, the suitcase was neatly packed with several pairs of jeans and slacks, some fun, colorful knit sweaters perfect for the cold English December weather, a number of other tops, and a blazer. Everything appeared to be exactly the right size and in fact, nicer and better quality than her own clothes.
“I’m impressed. Whoever pulled all of this together not only did it fast, but has better taste than I do, which, you know, isn’t saying a whole lot.”
James swung the safe door open, reached in and removed a Sig Sauer P226 secured in a leather holster. He set it on the foot of the bed and raised an eyebrow. “Told you to give them a chance.”
“I stand corrected,” she replied with mock solemnity. “I am curious, though. How did they know exactly what to get for me, even down to the right sizes? I wouldn’t think they would have paid attention to that when they cleaned up my apartment. They didn’t know then that they’d be buying clothes for me.”
“My guess is they went through your credit card records and figured out where you shop. From there they hacked”—he cleared his throat—“I mean, searched those stores’ databases to get the details of exactly what you’ve bought in the past, the sizes you wear, and everything.”
“Well, that’s ingenious and disturbing at the same time. I think I’ll pay with cash from now on.” Her eyes followed him back to the safe where he reached in again and took out a subcompact Glock and ankle holster similar to the ones he’d left in L.A. “And maybe find a nice cabin to hole up in in Idaho.”
“Don’t you think you’d get bored after about three days?”
“Probably.” She rested her hands on her hips. “What’s the plan for the rest of today?”
“We need to go to Ben’s flat as soon as we can.”
When her shoulders slumped, he added with an understanding smile, “After your shower, of course.”
She bounced on the balls of her feet, giddy with the thought of not only getting out of the clothes she was wearing, but putting on the new, cool clothes she’d neither had to shop nor pay for. It was only a few minutes later that she stood under a stream of blissfully warm water.
Hair dried and government-supplied makeup on in near record time, she strode from the bathroom refreshed and ready to go dressed in black skinny jeans and a crimson top.
A pleased smile tugged at her lips when James caught a glimpse of her and his expression morphed from stunned to admiring. That look would never get old, she decided.
“You look great,” he said and made a show of looking down at his clothes. “I guess I’d better shower and change, too, if I don’t want to look like a bum next to you.” Just before he disappeared into the bathroom, he said, “The phone on the bed is yours, by the way.”
While James showered, she took the opportunity to check out Quinn Riordan’s phone. Leaning back against a pile of pillows on the bed, she perused the downloaded apps. The agency had obviously examined the phone she’d left in her bag, since the one in her hand had most of the same apps, including several games. She was disappointed her e-books were missing, but doubted she’d have much time for reading anyway.
Curiosity gnawed at her as she squinted at the icons she didn’t recognize. She wanted to open them to see what they did but held back. What if one was some kind of panic button and once pressed, their door would be busted in and she’d find herself swarmed by a squad of assault weapon-wielding Navy SEALs? With that image firmly planted in her brain, she decided she could definitely wait until James explained what each one did.
She noted her music library was exactly the same, but the pictures in the photo albums were completely different. Gone were the snapshots of Bailey, Wyatt, and Hunter, all goofy-faced and hamming it up for the camera. Instead, there were doctored candid shots of the happy couple—James and Quinn Riordan at the beach, at dinner, and hanging out at home. The pictures looked so genuine, she could almost conjure the reality of the scenes in her mind. She had to hand it to the graphic artists who’d mocked up the pictures. They had done a remarkable job. If the opportunity arose over the next few days, she’d try to take a few of her and James together to lend more authenticity to her photo album. That’s what she told herself anyway.
When she heard the bathroom door open, she clicked off her phone. James came out, looking incredibly attractive in a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved dark gray Henley.
“You look great,” she said, echoing his words to her from earlier. If she had tried to say anything more specific than that, she was sure she’d embarrass herself. She called it a win since she’d managed not to drool onto her shirt.
“Your phone okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Quinn watched him tug up his pant leg and strap the ankle holster on his left calf. “There are a couple of apps I wanted to ask you about.”
James picked up the Sig, reached around, and tucked the holstered firearm inside his waistband just behind his right hip. After clipping the holster to his belt, he pulled the hem of his shirt over it and looked at her.
“Which apps?”
“I thought you spy types didn’t use waistband holsters. Superspy Edward Walker just shoves his gun in his pants.”
“A fictional spy might do that. I prefer not to accidentally put a very real slug in my ass.”
Quinn swung her legs off the side of the bed and stood. “You clearly lack a sense of adventure.”
“Clearly,” he replied. James went to the small closet and hauled out two black overcoats. “As for the apps, I know there’s one that gives you the exact location of my phone. It uses a transmitter that works even if the phone is off.” He tossed one of the coats onto the bed and held out the other to Quinn. “You have one in your phone, too.”
“Why?” She slipped her arms into the sleeves and shrugged into the coat. The hem hit her legs just below her knees. Another fantastic fit and style. She hoped the agency would allow her to keep the clothes when the mission was over and call it compensation for her time. Quinn could just imagine the stupefied look on Nicole’s face if she explained her new wardrobe by saying James had “bought her something pretty.” That was additional incentive to keep them. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be out of each other’s sight.”
“We’re not, but you never know. Were you expecting to be in London on an op for the CIA a few days ago?”
“Good point.” Quinn picked up James’s coat and held it open for him. He turned his back to her and shoved his hands through the sleeves. She ran her hands across his shoulders and down his back to smooth the fabric. At least that’s what she’d claim if he called her on it.
He didn’t. Instead, he secured their laptops in the room’s safe while Quinn put her phone in her pocket and slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Out the door and down the stairs, they strode through the elegantly appointed, marble-floored lobby. The perky desk attendant who’d checked them in earlier chirped, “Enjoy your evening out, Mr. and Mrs. Riordan.”
“Thank you,” Quinn said and smiled, fighting off the surprise at being called “Mrs.”