She turned and walked away, leaving behind a faint trace of expensive perfume.
Because he was thorough, he knew Grace had that fragrance specially made in Paris just for her. She and Frank, her husband, spent a couple of weeks there every year. It was where they’d met in the early 1960s, both working for different branches of military intelligence.
According to his intel, they’d married secretly a couple weeks after that first meeting. No one had known and they’d continued to pursue their separate careers, spending months without contact until two years later when they’d told their handlers either they worked together or they were out of the game.
The CIA had practically fallen all over itself to keep them, giving them carte blanche to work whatever cases they wanted.
So much power in the hands of two people. And never, over the course of their government careers, had there been any hint of suspicion, any taint of corruption.
Stifling a curse, Mal tossed the aspirin tablets into his mouth and followed them with the water, wishing it were a stiff shot of anything. Tequila would work right about now, but that was out of the question.
He needed all his faculties intact. To keep in mind Mark Devlin’s lifeless body.
He needed to remember why he was here—to take down Grace and Frank DeMarco for the United States government.
***
Closing the door to her office behind her, Janey dropped into her chair with a sigh.
The stack of new files on her desk taunted her and she groaned. Goddamn Nic. Her oldest brother had been busy the past two weeks, meaning she now had a ton of extra work.
She reached for the legal pad on top of the stack to fan her flaming cheeks, silently curing her pigheaded, arrogant brother who refused to learn to type more than three words a minute.
Letting out a muted screech, she tossed the notepad across the room. It hit the floor and fell to the ground with a completely unsatisfying flutter. No thump, no splat.
Not like the sound her brother’s head would make if she—
“Oh, who are you kidding?” She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, staring at the stack of folders. “You’re not angry with Nic.”
She wished she could be angry with Nic and his indecipherable scribble.
Then maybe she wouldn’t lust after Mal so damn much.
Damn the man, anyway. Why couldn’t he be a true computer geek, with bad skin and no personality, talking about hard drives and networks all day?
How the hell did he manage to look so damn hot in those rumpled chinos and wrinkled dress shirts? She shouldn’t be able to tell that those shirts hid a broad chest and shoulders. That his baggy pants hung low on slim hips and hinted at a great ass.
But she had noticed. She spent too damn much time noticing what those clothes covered.
She eyed the folders on her desk. Maybe she’d feel better if she threw those too. Probably not. She’d just have to pick them up.
“Ooh. I so do not need this now.”
It was the absolute wrong time for her to fall in lust. Not with her dad and the office and her work. And her work…
The problem was, she wanted him. Now. Yesterday. Since the first day she’d met him.
Two months ago, he’d walked through the door for his first interview with her parents. She’s been pushing them for months to get help, to take some of the work load off her dad. It had been an ongoing battle but she’d finally worn them down.
Their first interview had been your typical male computer nerd from MIT. Brilliant but socially inept. Absolutely star-struck by her parents. And really, why wouldn’t he be? Jeez, she was their daughter and she occasionally had moments where she looked at her mom in amazement. But the DeMarcos dealt with world business leaders, Hollywood stars and Washington politicos on a regular basis. No way could the guy have interfaced with clients.
The next day, Mal had walked through the door, a death grip on his battered leather briefcase. She’d smiled from behind her desk, tried to put him at ease.
His eyes had widened for the briefest second, as if he hadn’t expected to see her. Then he’d nodded, shook her hand and stepped back, his gaze trained on the floor while he waited for her to tell her parents he was there.
Shy, she’d decided. Cute but shy.
Not shy enough to botch the interview, though. Her parents had hired him the next week.
His first day of work, as she’d gotten him acquainted with the office layout, she’d caught him looking at her. Lingering looks that made her blood fizz.
It didn’t help that the guy was gorgeous, even with his messy shoulder-length brown hair that curled in odd places and his slightly crooked nose. His beautiful whiskey-tinged hazel eyes brimmed with intelligence but he hid them behind delicate wire-framed glasses. Those glasses couldn’t detract from the strength of his features, though. Particularly in the mouth that had shown up in a few of her dreams.
Dreams that always started with one hell of a kiss from those sexy lips.
It was a damn good thing she’d learned from the masters how to hide her feelings, because if Mal had any idea what she was thinking… Jeez, maybe if he’d known what she was thinking, they might have done something about it.
And that would lead to disaster.
Still… He was the first guy in years to spark her libido and her brain at the same time. They’d had several in-depth conversations about politics, the ethics of government internet control and one debate about the superiority of the Buffalo Sabres over the Philadelphia Flyers that had left them both laughing.
But he was nothing like the man she’d always imagined she’d want.
Before she’d met Mal, her ideal date was a cop or firefighter. An alpha male but not a chauvinist. Tough to find, especially in Philly, but there were some. Okay, maybe one or two. Although she’d never met them. Not that she’d really tried all that hard.
Mal was…safe. He worked hard, didn’t ask for much and was exactly what the business needed. A brilliant IT geek who could dumb it down for the dimmest client. Whose fingers worked a keyboard with a finesse that should have been feminine but wasn’t. Oh, not by a long shot.
“Too perfect,” she muttered.
There was something about him that made her think he had secrets …
“Malcolm certainly is a godsend, isn’t he, sweetheart?”
Janey drew in a sharp breath, her head snapping toward her now open office door where her mother leaned one slim shoulder against the frame.
“Jeez, Mom. Can’t you make a little noise? I swear I’m going to get you a bell to wear around your neck. I know Nic and Jimmy would appreciate it.”
Grace’s lips curved in a smile reserved for her children as she entered, pulling the door shut behind her.
“He’s a very nice man,” Grace volleyed, undeterred.
Her mom settled onto the couch opposite the desk, wearing the perfectly bland expression that made her children run for cover.
Sighing, Janey got comfortable since Grace looked ready for a sustained strike.
“And who would that be, Mom?”
The Cheshire cat had nothing on Grace. “You know he graduated first in his class at MIT. He has a spotless military record.”
Damn, her mom was good.
Janey rolled her eyes, careful not to make it too exaggerated. How had she given herself away? Or was Grace just taking a stab in the dark? Had to be careful not to give her mom any ammunition. “Yes, I know Mal’s a nice guy.” She shifted her gaze to inspect the Monet print on the wall farthest from Mal’s office. “But he’s not my type.”
And that was the God’s honest truth. Still, something about him drew her, something sexy in all that quiet intensity—
“And,” Grace purred, “what would your type be, Janey, my love?”
Uh-oh. She’d gone and gotten her mom’s Irish up.
Danger, Will Robinson…
Carefully, she shrugged, her mind running strategy. “Someone fun and outgoing.
Mal’s way too quiet.” She rose from her chair to look out at the midday hustle on Walnut Street, careful to keep her mom in sight. “I want a man who’s not afraid to speak his mind.”
“So, you dislike his restraint and civility?”
Janey ignored that innocuous-sounding question because Grace asked no innocuous questions. “And he doesn’t seem to have a life outside the office. He’s always here.”
“Dedication is a problem as well?” Grace’s tone was much too calm. “You know, you spend a lot of time here too. You should take him out, show him around.”
Janey turned with a wry look. “Don’t even think about it. Do not try to set us up.”
Grace tsked. “I’m not. I just think you need to get out more and this would be a perfect opportunity.”
“I’m perfectly content with—”
“Content.” Grace’s perfect nose scrunched and her tone made the word sound like a curse. “Honey, now I know there’s something wrong. When have you ever been satisfied with content?”
Yeah, when have you—
Oh, just shut up, she told herself.
Janey crossed the few steps to the couch. “Honestly, Mom, there’s nothing wrong at work.”
Oops. Too much information.
Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Then what is wrong?”
Janey started to backpedal like a duck in too-fast water. “You know, you’re right. I do need to get out more. But I’ll pick the guy.”
“And who would that be, Janey dear?”
At the challenge in Grace’s tone, Janey gave up the fight. “I don’t know, Mom. I want a real romance. Like you and Dad had.”
Grace smiled, slow and tender. “Your father was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. Gave me his seat on the bus. Took me to dinner. Saved me from that car bomb.”
Mother and daughter sighed in unison. They didn’t make men like her dad anymore. Her dating history certainly proved that.
“But honey,” her mom continued, “if you never get out of the office, you’ll never meet a man.”
“Okay, that’s it.” Janey stood, pointing to the door. “Out. No more discussion of my love life.”
“What love life?” Grace’s tone was oh so sweet and she didn’t budge.
Janey just glared until Grace held up her hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay. I just stopped for a second. I’m heading home to go with your dad to the doctor.”
The ever-present fear she tried so hard to keep under control surged at the mention of her dad and doctor in the same sentence. She hadn’t forgotten her dad’s appointment today, but she’d been trying not to think about it. She wanted to go along but knew her dad would nix the idea. “Call me when you get back. I want to know everything the doctor says. Take notes if you have to.”
Grace snapped off a salute. “Will do, honey. Talk to you later.”
Her mom turned to give her a carefree little wave before she left.
Janey saw right through it.
Her mom was worried. And so was she.
Her dad’s heart bypass surgery had been more than two months ago and the doctor had told them the operation went well. But he’d also said Frank needed to reduce his stress level or risk a heart attack. Just thinking those words stole her breath.
Her dad had always been so strong, a force of nature that couldn’t be taken down by anything less than a hurricane or a tornado. It terrified her to think someday he might not be here.
But she also couldn’t help thinking about the call she’d gotten three months ago. An offer she’d seriously considered until her dad had been hospitalized.
The NSA wanted her. Well, they’d wanted her years ago too, but she hadn’t been ready. Then they’d approached her again. After thinking about it for a few weeks, letting it roll around in her head, she’d thought, yeah, maybe it was just what she needed.
She loved working with her family. Most of the time.
When her brothers didn’t act like overprotective imbeciles and her dad wasn’t trying to do too much. And her mom wasn’t trying to set her up with the “nice guy” son of a friend of a friend.
She’d endured more of those blind dates than she wanted to admit and hoped she never had to again. Of course, her mom had been too busy trying to keep her dad occupied and out of the office lately to try to fix her up.
Janey would much rather be out in the field, working cases like the child’s kidnapping her mom had caught this week or the wife-beating husband Nic was tracking. Jimmy had more than enough to do in the lab downstairs and with all the conferences he attended across the world.
Instead, here she was, stuck in the office, providing support.
Support. She snorted. Glorified secretary was more like it.
Her mom had been one of the country’s best intelligence operatives—male or female. Ever.
Her parents never really talked about what they’d been doing when they met. Just that it’d been love at first sight. They’d secretly married ten days later and spent the next thirty years traveling the world, gathering intelligence for their country and raising a family.
These days, Janey barely left the office. She sat in front of a computer most days, dealing with clients or various government agencies.
She longed for more. More excitement, more travel. Just…more.
But there was no way she could take that NSA job now.
If it saved her father stress and her mother worry, she would run this office, take care of her brothers and make damn sure her family never discovered what she did for fun.
And she’d keep an eye on the new guy. Her gaze narrowed on the wall separating her office from Mal’s.
Something about the man made her Spidey sense tingle, and she wasn’t talking sex now. It was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Or maybe her attraction screwed with her intuition. Maybe he was exactly what he said he was.
Then again, maybe they’d all missed something.
Yes, she’d be keeping a close eye on Mal.
Chapter Two
The next morning, Mal pushed away from his desk, needing to get up and move.
Fuck. He was getting nowhere.
He’d spent the past two hours with his fingers on the keyboard, trying to find something—anything in the DeMarcos’ private files that linked them to his case.
His wrists ached, his fingers ached—hell, his brain ached. He felt like he’d been scuba diving in mud.
And he had nothing to show for it.
Their files were as clean as their government records.
Either the DeMarcos had one big magic eraser or they were the saints most everyone in the federal government believed them to be.
But there had to be a damn good reason why his handler had tasked him to find a link between the DeMarcos and Thomas Carabini, CEO of Carabini Family Inc., a legitimate import-export business with a 150-year-old unsoiled reputation.
Until three months ago, when Carabini had been charged with importing stolen Russian weapons along with the olive oil and wine his family brought from Italy. A year ago, one of those guns had killed Mal’s partner, Dev. French national Damon Mays had pulled the trigger.
Mays’s brilliance as a code cracker had brought him to the attention of the NSA after a semester at NYU. Afterward, he’d supposedly gone back to France to start an internet coffee shop. Instead, he’d stayed to play at international espionage by settling in a backwater Pennsylvania town to steal US government secrets to sell to the highest bidder.
Mal and Dev had been undercover, their background cover stories perfectly aligned for Mays’s needs—disgruntled former US servicemen with technology skill sets.
It’d been a low-risk assignment, something to get Dev’s feet wet before possible deployment overseas. But Dev had ended up dead.
Because Mal had screwed up.
For months after Dev’s death, every time Mal closed his eyes, he’d seen his partner’s face as he bled out. Dev had never stoppe
d smiling, not even while he died. Not that he’d known he was dying. Mal kept telling him he wasn’t, that everything would be okay. That the ambulance would be there in minutes and Mal would make sure his wife was at the hospital waiting for him.
His wife had been at the hospital, but it’d been too late. As Vicki had sobbed in his arms, Mal had promised her he’d make everyone who’d had a hand in Dev’s death pay.
He’d nailed Mays in court; then he’d pursued Carabini with a vengeance, gathering enough evidence to send the guy away for life. When Carabini had appeared before the federal grand jury, he sang like a robin on the first day of spring. He gave up his Russian mob contacts and mentioned that he’d had a source in the Philadelphia police department in exchange for protection and leniency.
And somewhere in the investigation that followed, the DeMarco name had popped up. The grand jury testimony had been sealed, but no one in Washington believed the DeMarcos were involved with Carabini. It just wasn’t possible.
Frank was one of the most decorated officers in military intelligence history. Instructors used his career as a guide for budding agents in all branches of the military. And Grace…well, Grace had clearance the president envied. No one Mal knew had clearance to read her files. Just the scraps of missions that had leaked out were enough to make people whisper her name in reverence.
But Mal’s partner had been killed by one of Carabini’s guns. If the DeMarcos were even remotely connected, he’d take them down. If the DeMarcos were dirty, he’d find their weaknesses, their secrets. He’d expose them, make them pay.
He was damn good at his job. He was so damn good at his job, he’d been sent to do this one. Hell, for all intents and purposes, he’d left his government job to work for the DeMarcos. If he was caught, he’d be out two jobs. And probably a few teeth, if Nic ever got hold of him.
Those were the risks. He knew them, embraced them. Hell, he thrived on risk. But he was going to pull his hair out if he didn’t figure out how to get access to Frank and Grace’s files without getting caught.
Maybe—
A knock on his open door had him spinning around.
Sex, Lies and Surveillance Page 2