Sex, Lies and Surveillance

by Stephanie Julian

Janey watched Mal leave, staring at the door he closed quietly behind him.

  He was hiding something.

  Sitting back in her chair, she leaned her head against the back and stared at the ceiling. All that white helped to block out other distractions. Of course, it didn’t calm the lust that sizzled and popped along her nerve endings. And that sensation made it almost impossible for her to think rationally.

  What, exactly, was he hiding?

  Time to find out.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard, finessing, digging. She was an excellent hacker, the reason the NSA had targeted her before she’d graduated from high school. Her parents, brothers and even Luke relied on her ability to navigate cyberspace. It was the one skill that was completely hers, not a pale reflection of her parents’ or brothers’.

  Mal’s NSA files were carefully protected, but there were other ways, other avenues. She thought she’d been as thorough as she could before they’d hired him. Obviously, she hadn’t dug deep enough.

  Staring at the hacked file on her screen, she couldn’t stop shaking her head. How the hell had she missed this the first time around?

  Maybe because her parents had assured her they’d done their own investigation, which had made sense at the time. And maybe her parents already knew that, although his official records listed him as a code cracker, he’d been a field agent, working jobs that had all been classified. Like the one where his partner had been killed.

  Easy to see how he’d gotten burned out after that.

  Still, why the nerdy exterior here? Was that the real Mal? Or was the hard-ass from this afternoon the real deal?

  She glanced at the clock. It was close to six and she should be on her way to her parents’.

  At least once a month, the family gathered for dinner at her parents’ and, since everyone was in the state, tonight was the night. Including Annie, which would make for some interesting sparks with Nic.

  At least Annie couldn’t hound Janey about Mal anymore. She’d taken the plunge and asked him out on a date.

  And she really hoped she hadn’t made a huge mistake.

  Chapter Seven

  What do you take to dinner with the hosts whose daughter you’re investigating for illegal activities?

  Wine was out. The DeMarco family owned a vineyard in Italy. Anything he bought would pale in comparison, not to mention the fact that he didn’t know good wine from cheap grape juice. He was more of a beer connoisseur. Give him a decent microbrew, and he was happy.

  Flowers for Grace? Yeah, that would work. Grace seemed like the type who liked flowers. Orchids, maybe. Nothing as common as roses or daisies.

  Should he take Frank something?

  That might be pushing it.

  Would Janey be glad to see him?

  Oh, son, you’re finally heading over the waterfall. Without a barrel.

  And that should scare the shit out of him.

  So why the hell couldn’t he wait to get there?

  Shaking his head, he grabbed a pair of khakis from the closet. He had a leg in them before he hesitated. Grace had said to wear jeans. Who was he to argue?

  He was heartily sick and fucking tired of dressing like a damn geek.

  One of the things that made him good at his job was his ability to be a chameleon. From biker bars to boardrooms, survivalist camps to church camps, he fit. He’d dined with heads of state and whacked-out terrorists—and he fit.

  But here he was, worrying over his outfit for dinner with the DeMarcos.

  In his head, he heard his father’s hearty laughter, the same sound that had egged him on to ever-increasing acts of teenage rebellion. He remembered nights spent on the Italian streets, drinking until he couldn’t see straight with some of the other base kids, then stumbling home with a hangover. His father’s laugh had seared his ears as he handed him some vile-tasting liquid that made him throw up and feel better. Dad might not have known the words to say, but he’d had the answer to every question.

  Mal stretched his neck from side to side, trying to ease the tension. God, he missed his dad.

  He tossed the khakis back into the closet and grabbed a pair of jeans and a black sweater, flipping his hair out over the rolled collar after he pulled it on.

  His father would’ve hated his hair, though he’d been damn proud of Mal when the NSA had tapped him for service after college. Senior Chief Laughlin had bragged about that to anyone who would listen.

  Would his dad be proud of him now?

  He thought about that the entire cab ride from his center city apartment to the DeMarcos’ home in Society Hill. Their street was quiet, though he still heard the rush of traffic from other areas of the city. Stately three-story brick homes flanked the cobblestone road on both sides. Most of the front windows had blinds or drapes, shutting out the peeping eyes of tourists. But tonight, several spilled light onto the sidewalk. The DeMarcos’ was one of them.

  The front window opened onto a living room, where Jimmy and Nic sat on the couch, watching TV. Mal couldn’t see what they were watching, but from their intent expressions, it was probably hockey. He’d heard them dissect games at the office.

  Inside, Grace leaned through a doorway and spoke to them. Both grinned over their shoulders and Nic tossed a pillow at her. She caught it, laughing, then threw it back before walking out of the room.

  A chill wind bit him through his father’s battered leather flight jacket as something very like fear caught him broadside.

  He didn’t have a lot of experience with family situations that didn’t include two guys and a TV. His mother had left when he was young, unable to handle the pressures of a sailor’s constant relocation. He hadn’t seen her much before her death from cancer several years ago, and frankly, he hadn’t missed her.

  Son, you’ve never mourned your lack of a mother before. Why the hell are you doing it now in subzero weather?

  Good question.

  He took the few steps to the front door, then reached for the knocker, but paused when a barely noticeable indentation caught his eye. Leaning closer, he saw a small security camera set into the brass.

  A much-needed shot of reality hit him. This was no ordinary family. He had to remember that. It didn’t matter that he’d feel comfortable having Nic watch his back. Or that Jimmy was a certified genius with a heart a mile wide. Or that Grace and Frank had welcomed him into their family like one of their own.

  Or that Janey kissed like she was made for him.

  Yeah, he probably not a good thing to think about now. It’d only make this night more impossible than it already would be.

  Get yourself together, son. You have a job to do.

  Yeah, he did. But for the first time in his professional career, focus wasn’t coming easy.

  He lifted the brass handle and knocked. Only a few seconds passed before he heard footsteps. When the door opened, he came face-to-face with Janey.

  She wore a pair of faded jeans that hugged her curves, a clingy turquoise sweater unbuttoned to reveal a slight hint of cleavage, and a sexy smile that held the promise of heaven.

  His heart stuttered. What would she do if he just stepped up and laid his mouth on hers?

  Her expression seemed to indicate she wouldn’t slap him.

  “Hi, Mal. Come on in.”

  “Thanks. It’s cold tonight.” But he wasn’t. He was burning.

  She stepped back so he could enter and shut the door behind him.

  Switching the flowers he’d brought for her mother from hand to hand, he shrugged out of his coat.

  “We’re so glad you could come tonight,” she continued.

  Mal placed his coat in her extended hand, allowing his fingers to brush hers, to feel the softness of her skin. He resisted the urge to grab her and pull her closer. Instead, he drew back immediately. She didn’t seem to notice his haste as she turned to hang his coat on the wooden tree next to the door.

  Son, you’re pathetic.

  No arguments from me.

&nb
sp; “Well, I’m grateful for the home-cooked meal. I’m not much good in the kitchen beyond opening boxes and turning on the microwave.”

  He had to force the words from his mouth when what he wanted to say was “Please don’t be involved in anything to do with my partner’s death.”

  “Well, then you and Nic should take lessons from my mom.” Janey laughed as she led him into the front room. “He’s hopeless in the kitchen too.”

  With the Flyers getting their asses handed to them by the Washington Capitals, Nic and Jimmy acknowledged his presence with quick greetings and handshakes, then sat down to catch the rest of the game.

  “They’re kind of fanatical about hockey,” Janey said as she led him through a large dining room, dominated by a table that looked like it could hold an army, and into the kitchen. “We have to plan dinner between periods.”

  “I’m not much for sports.” Come to think of it, he’d always been more for solitary endeavors. What did that say about him? He tried to shut off his inner inquisitor. “Never really had the time, though I do like hockey.”

  “And that would be a good thing in this house,” Grace said. “I’m so glad you came, Mal.”

  Turning from the stove where she stirred a pot of something permeating the air with spices, Grace took the flowers from his outstretched hand, then put her arms around his shoulders and gave him a quick hug. She moved away before he could awkwardly return her embrace, as if she’d known he didn’t have a lot of experience with physical displays of affection.

  When she released him, Frank leaned over from his stool by the center island and shook his hand with a firm grip.

  “I know you were a Navy brat, and your dad was stationed in Italy for a while, but Gracie makes the best spaghetti sauce.” Frank flashed Grace a smile. “Even if she is Irish.”

  “Anything’s better than my own cooking,” Mal said. “I appreciate the invitation.”

  Grace turned from the stove, a pasta spoon in her hand. “Sorry it’s just spaghetti, but the boys insisted.”

  When the doorbell rang, Janey excused herself. Since the family was all here, Mal figured they must have invited someone else. He caught the humorous smiles Grace and Frank exchanged.

  “That’ll be Janey’s best friend, Annie,” Grace said. “We warn you now—try not to sit too close to Nic when she’s around. Those two are lethal in each other’s vicinity. But Annie’s like one of our own.”

  Nic made his way into the kitchen at that moment, a dark look on his face. “Damn, Mom. You could have warned me.”

  “Yes, I could have, but that wouldn’t have been as much fun,” Grace shot over her shoulder. “Be nice, Dominic.”

  As Grace and Nic continued their conversation about the new arrival—Mal caught something about a knife-edged tongue—Janey returned with one of the most beautiful women Mal had ever seen. She was tall, blonde and slim, with a face that belonged in an English royal portrait.

  She turned to Frank with outstretched arms. Frank gave her a hug and a kiss before she turned for the same from Grace.

  She nodded at Nic, barely glancing his way, but when she turned to Mal, she stuck out her hand.

  “You must be Mal,” she said. “Annie Reed. Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  He squashed a fizz of pleasure that flared in his stomach. She’d heard about him, had she? From whom? Janey?

  He couldn’t decipher the look in the woman’s eyes—equal parts amusement and dissection. Shaking her hand as he murmured a greeting, he couldn’t help glancing at Janey, whose cheeks were slightly flushed.

  “The party moved on me.” Jimmy entered the kitchen, then bent to enfold the new arrival in a tight hug, which she returned. “Hey, Annie. How’s things? The Flyers are losing already. Dad, if you’re pouring, I’ll take a glass of that.”

  Frank lifted a bottle of wine from the counter and held it out toward Mal.

  “You drink wine, Mal?” Frank asked. “I can vouch for the taste but I’ve got some Stoudt’s Pale Ale if you’re more inclined.”

  “Wine’s great, thanks.”

  “So did you hear anything about the variance yet?” Mal heard Janey ask her friend, as he moved toward Frank.

  “Nic, hand me those glasses there,” Frank said.

  “Don’t touch those.” Grace lifted a wooden spoon toward Jimmy’s hand, which was almost within reach of the plate of brownies sitting on the counter. “You’ll spoil your appetite.”

  Jimmy laughed. “Mom, trust me, I’m hungry enough to eat that entire plate and ten pounds of spaghetti.”

  Mal stood by the center island and took it all in.

  The entire scene was so boringly domestic, the banter between family members who knew each other as well as they knew themselves.

  A void opened inside his chest. It felt like loss, the same feeling that had socked him in the gut when he’d gotten the call about his dad.

  He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. He wanted to get the hell out of here. He wanted to belong so badly he could taste it.

  Suck it up, son.

  Trying to breathe deeply without making it look like he was hyperventilating, Mal took a sip of the wine and caught Frank looking at him with sharp eyes that seemed to see inside of him. He forced himself to take a sip of the wine again, trying not to gulp it down.

  As three conversations swirled around him like a tornado, he tried to keep a running tab on them all.

  Listen up, son. You can never tell what people’ll let slip in the privacy of their own home.

  His mouth twisted wryly, which he covered with another sip. Cynicism aside, it was true. Frank and Nic included him in their discussion of a recent scandal in City Hall. Jimmy and Grace were talking about surveillance for the kidnapping case. He couldn’t tell what Janey and her friend were talking about and, of course, that was the conversation he wanted to hear.

  Every now and then, Janey looked his way, smiling when they made eye contact. He tried to keep it to a minimum because just looking at her made him hard. Not a good idea surrounded by her family.

  When Grace announced dinner, Mal felt like a spare tire on a tank when everyone automatically picked up something—salad, sauce, spaghetti, dressing, wine. They worked like a well-oiled machine, years of practice making the pilgrimage to the table a graceful dance.

  Grace didn’t let him flounder. She set the plate of brownies in his hands, and he managed not to fumble it or his wineglass. He was the last one out of the kitchen and had placed the brownies on the only bare spot on the table before he realized he would be sitting between Janey and her friend.

  “We would have put you with the rest of the males, but we’ve learned that too much testosterone on that side of the table usually erupts after a while.” Janey’s low voice made his blood heat as he slid into the chair beside her. “Don’t worry. Annie and I don’t bite.”

  “Which is more than I can say for Nic when he gets testy.” Annie’s tone practically dripped ice as she glanced across the table.

  “I only bite when asked.” Nic’s deep rumble was deliberately sexy and, for one instant, Mal would have bet the cool blonde blushed. Then Annie turned to Frank and started discussing the latest episode of The Big Bang Theory.

  “They’re worse than kids.” Janey leaned over to whisper in Mal’s ear, soft laughter threading her tone. She was close enough for him to feel her body heat, and he fought an instinctive shudder at her nearness. He forced himself to concentrate on filling his plate and not on the tantalizing scent of her skin.

  “They’ve been doing battle since the day they met,” she continued. “If you ask me, I think they thrive on it. I hate confrontation. Gives me a headache.”

  Mal turned to her, determined to keep his emotions on an even keel. Yeah, right.

  “I had a reputation for being a brawler in high school.” He offered up a piece of himself for inspection, wondering what she’d make of it. “My dad had a tendency to tell the truth like he saw it
. The base commanders all thought he was telling them how to do their jobs. So when he’d get reassigned every few years, it was to the worst stations. We lived in almost every armpit of a base from Europe to South America. I was fifteen when we wound up in Signorella, Italy. It was the worst assignment, but I loved Italy. Fighting’s like baseball over there. Something to keep the kids occupied. There weren’t a lot of us. But we were cocky as hell.”

  Janey had to work hard to keep her mouth from hanging open.

  Mal was actually talking to her. About himself. Not about work, but about himself.

  And she wanted to hear everything he had to say. He fascinated her. She wanted to know what secrets he hid behind those hazel eyes.

  But she sensed if she pushed for more information, he’d clam up. As it was, he was telling her nothing she hadn’t learned from his military record or his father’s. Mal’s had been exemplary.

  “We spent three years in Italy,” he continued. “And loved it. I wanted to enlist early, but Dad was dead set against it. Made me finish high school first, refused to sign the papers until I had a diploma in my hand. Told me I was going to graduate if he had to take leave and sit on my desk every day till graduation.”

  Mal’s lopsided half grin made her heart somersault.

  “Sounds like a great guy,” she said quietly, afraid to interrupt.

  Mal nodded and stared down at his full plate, but she knew he wasn’t seeing her mother’s homemade pasta and sauce.

  “He was the most dedicated soldier I’ve ever known.”

  Janey couldn’t help herself. She reached for his hand resting on his leg, squeezing it once before withdrawing. Just the touch of him could make her melt and her family was all present and accounted for. She didn’t want to give her parents any more ammunition for throwing the two of them together.

  He tensed at her touch but shifted his gaze to her face, the heat in his eyes burning through her, stealing her breath until she swore she was lightheaded.

  Then he looked away, picked up his fork and started to eat. She followed his lead but barely tasted the food. Their kisses kept playing on an endless loop in her mind—the feel of his lips, the urgency, the controlled need.