Sex, Lies and Surveillance

by Stephanie Julian

  She wished they weren’t surrounded by her family, who occupied Mal’s attention for the rest of the meal, drawing him out, getting him to talk about his stint in the army, his time at MIT, his only family, an elderly aunt in Reading.

  Her parents made it seem easy, getting answers to questions she never would have thought he’d answer. Of course, her parents both came from huge extended families. Her mom’s parents had emigrated from Ireland in 1939. Their six daughters had been born in the United States and each had at least three children. Her dad’s family was Italian. Frank had only one brother, but Grandpop Raymond had been one of ten. Dad had at least fifty cousins in the greater Philadelphia area and that made for a heck of a lot of family.

  It had been a little disconcerting for Janey when they’d moved to Philadelphia to find herself a part of this huge conglomeration. She understood Mal’s reticence.

  He seemed most susceptible to her mother, who got him to talk about his former job. Nothing earth-shattering, but it was why he’d become NSA that interested Janey, not the dates.

  “The bureaucracy drove me crazy,” he said. “The lagtime between solving a crime and actually apprehending the bad guy, figuring out who had jurisdiction. It all got to be too much.”

  Jeez, the guy had his answers down pat. It was exactly what he’d told them when he came for his first interview. Janey looked at her mother, who seemed completely engrossed. Her mother, the most astute person she knew, didn’t look at all suspicious.

  So why was she? Were those kisses still clouding her brain? She just couldn’t reconcile the man who kissed like that with the one sitting beside her. Sure, her family could be overwhelming, especially with Annie added into the mix to fire up Nic. But Mal had worked with them on a daily basis for weeks now. Surely his initial shyness should have worn off.

  “So, Mal, did you ever hear of Vasili Chernov in your time at the NSA?”

  Janey’s gaze shot to her father, whose question immediately caught the attention of everyone at the table.

  “Yeah, the name sounds familiar.” Mal spoke slowly, as if still considering his answer. “He was the one in Bolivia, right? Soviet.”

  Frank nodded. “He was one of our cases.”

  “The one that got away, actually,” Grace chimed in. “Now, don’t bore him, Frank. Maybe he’s not interested in our fish tale.”

  “Oh, no,” Mal interjected, sharp interest in his eyes. “That era fascinates me.”

  Frank got a huge grin on his face and Janey felt her own lips curve. This story was one of her favorites.

  “Chernov was small potatoes in the early ’70s, low-level Russian operative. No one really knew all that much about him, until he lifted some documents off a courier headed to Bolivia. Chased him across South America for a few years. Grace helped when she could, but we had the boys by that time, so she couldn’t really get out all that much.

  “Which, of course, made me testy,” Grace added in a low growl.

  “Gracie thought she could take on the world with a child on each hip. Not that she couldn’t,” Frank added quickly, “but the chase was all-out by the time we moved to Bolivia. We still hadn’t found a reliable housekeeper, and Grace wasn’t about to leave the boys with just anyone. Nic was a holy terror at the time, and we couldn’t find anyone to stick around for long.”

  “I see things haven’t changed,” Annie murmured, loud enough to be heard by everyone.

  Nic didn’t rise to the bait, though Janey swore he had to bite his tongue.

  “Anyway,” Frank continued with a fond look at Annie, “I finally thought I had him cornered. We’d tracked him to a remote ranch. Intel placed him there the day before. We were all set for a night raid, but he disappeareda”

  “Never to be seen again,” Nic said.

  “With the courier information turning up years later,” Jimmy added.

  “And cryptic messages to my parents every few years after that,” Janey finished the story.

  They all knew it so well. It had become family legend and Janey’s favorite bedtime story for years, either embellished by Nic or Jimmy or romanticized by her mother. But Janey had always liked the way her father told it best. Straightforward, no bull.

  “He contacted you?” Mal’s tone was amazed.

  Her father shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “He liked to taunt us. Oh, we’d send the information along, but nobody in Washington could track him. The closest we got was figuring out how he was sending the information. The Shop’s not all that concerned about him anymore, considering he’s probably about seventy years old. And we haven’t heard from him for at least two years. For all we know, he’s dead and buried.”

  “Haven’t you ever wanted to satisfy your curiosity? Find out for sure? That would drive me nuts.” Mal sounded as if he’d never be able to walk away from a case.

  Frank shot her mother a look. “Yeah, it made me crazy for a while. But you learn to move on. And as far as anyone can tell, the man never posed a threat to national security again.”

  As Mal asked more questions, Janey watched him. He looked more animated now than he’d been all night, which she completely understood. She was just as fascinated by her parents’ flamboyant lives.

  What they’d seen, what they’d done, was so much more interesting than her life would ever be. She wished—

  “Yeah, Janey nearly broke the guy’s arm when he tried to get her to move away from the door.” Her father chuckled, a proud look on his face as he finished his story about a former client. “We all knew she could have, but she took it easy on him. Of course, if I’d known he’d been trying to touch her, I would have broken both his legs.”

  She rolled her eyes, resigned to the fact that since her family had apparently adopted Mal, they’d decided to share all of her secrets as well. Soon they’d be getting out the baby books. Could they be any more obvious?

  “So, Mal.” She turned a sardonic look his way. “Have you realized yet that we don’t have any great secrets here at DeMarcos?”

  For three seconds, something flashed through his eyes. Something that looked like guilt. Then it was gone and Janey wondered if she’d imagined it.

  Mal tried to cover with one of his half grins. “Everyone has skeletons in the closet. Some are just worst than others.”

  She’d learned some of his. She wondered what else there was to find.

  Chapter Eight

  Janey still wasn’t quite sure how her mother had maneuvered it but, around eleven o’clock, she found herself walking the few blocks to her home with Mal and Annie.

  They’d kept up a steady conversation the entire way, talking about music and local politics. Turned out Mal was a news junkie. He faithfully read the Philadelphia Inquirer front to back every day. Same as her. They also shared a taste for country music, though he was a George Jones fan and she loved Blake Shelton.

  When they reached her home, Annie made a beeline for her brownstone across the street, making it obvious that she was trying not to be obvious about leaving them alone. Janey couldn’t help shaking her head as Annie waved and winked before shutting her door.

  “Sorry Mom railroaded you into this.” She stopped in front of her own door, jingling her keys. “Annie and I have been able to take care of ourselves for a long time. We really didn’t need an escort home.”

  He shrugged and finally raised his gaze from the pavement. “I don’t mind. I needed to stretch my legs, work off some of that meal. Your mom’s a great cook.”

  “She certainly is. Me, not so much.” She bit her lip, wondering if she was about to make a horrible mistake. “But…I can offer you a drink. Do you want to come in?”

  She didn’t exactly hold her breath waiting for his answer, but there was a definite hitch in her lungs.

  There was no reason for it. This wasn’t a date. It was a sneaky way to question him, to unravel the puzzle that was Mal.

  Yeah, right. Like that’s the only reason you want him to come in.

  He hesitat
ed for so long she thought he was going to turn her down.

  His expression showed nothing of his thoughts but finally he nodded and said, “Sure. Thanks.”

  And now she really couldn’t breathe. To hide her reaction, she turned to punch in the code to reveal the biometric pad and pressed her thumb to open the door to her home.

  She’d been renovating the building since buying it two years ago. Formerly a thread manufacturing plant, the Bainbridge Street building stood four stories high but had only three floors. That made for high ceilings and wide-open spaces. Having her best friend across the street and her parents only blocks away in Society Hill made it convenient. The fact that the building had been a huge blank slate made it perfect. In her peripheral vision, she saw Mal point to the doorknob that would never open with a key or a lock pick.

  “Jimmy make that?”

  She nodded as she walked through door. “He loves to tinker. And it makes my parents feel better to know it’s there. What would you like to drink? I think I’ve got a few beers in the fridge or sodas, or I’ve got rum or wine.”

  God, she sounded like an alcoholic. And extremely nervous. She shouldn’t be nervous. This was not a date.

  Without waiting for his answer, she walked through the short hallway to the ornate inner wooden door and stepped into her private chaos.

  Hmm, maybe she should have rethought the whole invite-Mal-in idea. Because as much as she loved to organize every little last thing at the office, her home looked like a tribe of Lost Boys lived here. And since only the bathroom was enclosed, he could see a whole lot of mess.

  Coats consumed her grandmother’s oak nursing rocker by the door. Shoes tumbled under the island defining the kitchen area from the dining area. In front of the couch, books and magazines spilled like a waterfall off the two steamer trunks her great-grandfather had brought to America in the early 1900s. Across the room, her oak dining table, picked up at a yard sale years ago because she liked the bear heads carved onto the feet, swam in newspapers and files from the office.

  And her workstation. Oh, God, her workstation along the far wall looked worse than his office.

  She didn’t have a lot of visitors who weren’t family. Or Annie. And she hadn’t had a man in her house for… Well, she couldn’t actually remember when she’d had a man in her house who wasn’t a close relative. Hell, the last man she’d wanted to invite in had been her ex-fiancé and that had been years ago.

  Why this one and why now?

  Mal had followed along behind her, his gaze moving over her home. “I’ll take a beer if you’ve got one.”

  She forced herself to stop obsessing and walk to the refrigerator.

  “I don’t drink the stuff, but I keep some for Nic and Jimmy.” She pulled a bottle from the depths of the fridge and turned to hand it to him. “Yuengling okay? I like wine myself. Did you know my family owns a winery in Italy? It’s been in the family for decades. My dad and his brother were born here, but Uncle Thomas went back to run the winery when my great-granddad died about fifteen years ago.”

  Mal nodded as he stepped closer, reaching for the beer, which she placed in his hand.

  “I love Italy, particularly the south, along the western coast. There’s still something ancient about it, you know what I mean?”

  She nodded as she poured herself a glass of pinot grigio, standing next to him at the island. “The vineyard’s in Tuscany but whenever we get over there, I always make sure I go to Capri, if I have time.”

  Mal leaned one slim hip against the island. “I love the water. How blue it is.”

  He stared straight into her eyes and she caught a glimpse of something, a shadow of the heat they’d held yesterday, just before he’d kissed her. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in anticipation, but after a second, he dropped his gaze and took another sip of beer.

  But she couldn’t stop her gaze from wandering over him. God, he was gorgeous. What a pair of jeans could do for a guy. A pair of form-hugging jeans that looked soft enough for a baby. And that black sweater stretched across his broad shoulders to perfection, pushed to his elbows to show off strong forearms.

  She swallowed heavily and continued to his feet. How could the man make a pair of dingy old Converse high-tops look sexy?

  Her blood began a slow simmer and her heart raced along. “Do you want to have a seat?”

  Without waiting for his answer, she walked toward the couch, hoping he’d follow.

  Slipping off her shoes, she settled into the club chair. Mal sank onto the couch, resting one arm on the back cushion.

  “Janey, about what happened.” He sounded apprehensive and his hand clenched the beer bottle as he raised it for another swig. The hand on the back of the couch was a fist. He was either nervous or angry. She couldn’t tell which. With any other man, she would have been able to tell.

  She couldn’t read Mal.

  “Janey…” He sighed, still not facing her. “I can’t stop thinking about those kisses.”

  Her eyes widened. She would’ve bet the farm he wouldn’t have brought up those kisses again. Served her right. She shouldn’t make assumptions. Especially not about this man.

  And now she didn’t know what to say. He’d caught her off guard. This was not the way she’d wanted this to go. She’d wanted to ease him into a conversation, get him talking, get him to let his guard down. Interrogation was not her strong suit. She didn’t have her mother’s knack for velvet-glove badgering or Nic’s hell-fire intensity, but damn it, she’d weaseled information out of four-star generals and street snitches. This man shouldn’t be a difficult target. Unless he had more to hide than she’d thought.

  He met her eyes and that heat was back, blazing now. Her thighs clenched and it suddenly became almost impossible to breathe.

  He had to be able to see exactly what she was thinking but he didn’t push. Jeez, he didn’t need to push, because his next question made the bottom drop out of her stomach.

  “So, how do we do this? How do we move forward? Without your family going ballistic and wanting to string me up by my, ah, toes?”

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I have dated before, you know. I’ve even been engaged—” her mouth twisted, “—though that was…a mistake.”

  His eyes narrowed, and she wanted so badly to look away. Instead, she forced herself to maintain that connection.

  Her engagement was no secret, but it certainly wasn’t anything she liked to talk about. That bastard Gregor had done a number on her self-confidence and her ability to trust. She’d been so stupid to fall for a playboy who’d seen her as a notch on his belt and, worse, a meal ticket.

  She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen beneath the smooth exterior to the utter shit he really was.

  “Your family is welcome to you,” Gregor had sneered after she’d given back his ring. “Your money just isn’t worth it. Trust me, no one wants a woman who thinks she’s smarter than him. You may be able to talk computers, babe, but no man wants to sleep with a woman who gets wet over hard drives.”

  “Any man who put that look in your eyes doesn’t deserve you.” Mal’s voice sounded like a low growl.

  And healed something deep inside. Setting her glass on the floor, she rose from her chair and moved to sit next to him.

  His gaze glued to hers, she framed his face with her hands, glad they didn’t shake. His chin was smooth. He must have shaved before dinner. This close, the faint hint of lime in his aftershave worked on her senses like an aphrodisiac.

  It clouded her mind to everything else.

  She dropped her gaze to his lips, slightly parted to draw in air.

  And kissed him.

  Mal fought the velvet promise of her lips for all of five seconds. Then he grabbed her, hauled her against his chest and slid his tongue past her lips to tangle with hers.

  Christ, he could kiss her all night. She tasted like the brownies they’d had for dessert and wine. Dark and intoxicating. Enough to make him lose his mind.

/>   And when she slid her hands into his hair, his scalp tingled with the contact.

  He was a goner.

  Pressing her body against his, her breasts crushed against his chest, she tilted her head to make their connection more complete. He groaned, his arms sliding around her waist as the rest of the world slid away until there was only the taste of her.

  The fierce hunger that had ridden him since the day they’d met roared into life. He wanted to devour her whole. Right now. Lay her back on the couch and strip her clothes off, one piece at a time until she was naked before him, staring up into his eyes.

  He didn’t think she’d put up much of a fight as her fingers sifted through his hair and her mouth clung to his. He let her kiss him. Let her lips and tongue show just how badly she craved him. Let his own tell her the same.

  He kissed her until it wasn’t enough.

  Easing away, he let the electrical charge build between them, making the air around them heavy and hot. Without relinquishing her mouth, he lifted her until she straddled his lap, bringing her against the hard ridge in his jeans. Right where he’d dreamed of her being for the past month.

  The position freed his hands, and he sent them exploring. He splayed them across her back, felt the heat of her through her soft sweater. Her hair brushed against his skin, feeling like the softest silk, as he moved his hand down to the flare of her hips.

  The woman had a body that begged to be touched. She only stood about five-four, if that, and all of her was fleshed out—full breasts and hips and a nicely rounded ass that his hands curved around, pulling her closer, pressing the heat between her thighs to his groin.

  She responded with a moan, releasing his lips to draw in a deep breath. The dreamy expression on her face softened even more when she opened her eyes.

  He’d been afraid to see shock or something equally painful in her gaze. But not Janey.

  Goddamn, he wanted to put his mouth on her neck and start kissing his way down.

  “Janey…”

  “Mal?”