Under Cover

by Donna Ball

  She knew all this, but resentment and anxiety were background concerns. She stood before her closet for a long time, wrapped in a towel and biting her thumbnail. Mostly she was worried about what to wear.

  The Spindrift was not a place Teale could afford to go on her own, and she consequently had very little in the way of appropriate dress to choose from. Last night David Carey had met a sleek, stylish woman in a designer gown and borrowed jewels. What would he think when he saw the real Teale Saunders—the one with stubby fingernails and limp, flyaway hair?

  And what did it matter? Who, for heaven's sake, was she trying to impress?

  Impatiently she jerked the first thing she saw off the hanger—a white linen suit with a black silk blouse. Good, she thought grimly as she stepped into the skirt. Businesslike, severe and totally unsuitable to a romantic rendezvous.

  But the long-sleeved, high-necked blouse was much too hot for an evening whose forecast low temperature promised to be in the mid-eighties, and with the jacket it was stifling. At the last minute she changed the entire outfit for a square-necked, long-waisted sundress of blue-flowered polished cotton and didn't give a second thought to the fact that it was the most feminine thing she owned.

  She applied a tracing of cover stick to hide the circles under her eyes caused by an angry sleepless night, brushed her lips with gloss and caught her hair back from her neck in a tortoiseshell comb clasp. She was halfway to the door when she remembered she had forgotten to put on the wire.

  The microphone had been tested before she left the office. Sam, parked in a van across the street from the restaurant, would be able to hear everything that went on, and if she got into trouble help was only a few minutes away. In principle, it was the only sensible thing to do. In practice, it made Teale very uncomfortable to think of someone—even Sam—monitoring every word she said. Perhaps that was why she had almost forgotten to wear it.

  By the time she had clipped the microphone to the inside of her bra and dressed again, it was a quarter to eight. "Oh well," she muttered, "it won't hurt him to wait a little." And then, more cheerfully, "Maybe he'll get tired of waiting and go home."

  As she pulled into the parking lot, she saw the van discreetly parked in an alleyway across the street. "All right, Sam," she said, applying the parking brake, "ready for action." It was ten after eight, and the sun was just fading behind the tower of the Bretton Beach Resort.

  Teale glanced in the rearview mirror to check her makeup, quickly blotting the dots of perspiration from her face with a tissue. She was glad she hadn't worn any mascara; it would be down her face by now.

  She got out and locked the car door, and David Carey stepped up from behind her, his hand clasped firmly on her arm. "Good evening, Detective. I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind."

  And, almost before she could react or knew what was happening, he had ushered her into the passenger seat of his car and locked the door.

  ******************

  THREE

  Teale didn't have to get into the car, of course. Once there she didn't have to stay. It would have been an easy matter to disengage his grip on her arm or to unlock the door and slide out as Carey came around to the driver's side, but Teale did neither of those things. She told herself that any dramatic attempt to escape would have been an overreaction to a situation that was, after all, still well in hand. But the truth was that from the moment he touched her arm she simply had not thought about doing anything else but following where he led.

  He had disarmed her, and the fact irritated her. His smooth voice, his light touch, had caught her off guard and made her forget this wasn't just an ordinary date. He had gotten the upper hand, and that was not a very good start.

  “Kidnapping, Mr. Carey?" she commented mildly as he slid behind the wheel. "I thought you tried to stay away from major felonies."

  He tossed her a quick grin as he turned the key and revved the powerful engine of the Porsche. "Don't worry. I don't intend to take you over the state line."

  "How reassuring," she murmured. In the side-view mirror, she saw the gray van ease toward the street, and then she was reassured.

  "Seat belt, please," he reminded her, and Teale lifted a surprised eyebrow.

  "Shall I take that to mean you don't intend to dispose of my body by driving over a cliff?"

  "And waste a half- million-dollar automobile? Get serious."

  He waited until she had secured her seat belt before he reached for a pair of glasses on the dashboard and put them on. They were prescription lenses, and Teale couldn't conceal her totally irrational surprise. "You wear glasses?"

  "Only for driving." He cocked his head toward her innocently. "It's the law. Says so on my driver's license."

  She stared at him. And so where was it written that a criminal couldn't wear glasses for driving? It simply seemed out of place, somehow.

  He was dressed tonight in a shirt that was very near the pale-gold tone of his hair, cuffs folded up, collar undone. The lightweight material molded itself to the lean muscles of his arm when he moved, and the open top buttons revealed just the beginning of a light dusting of hair below the hollow of his throat. His khaki pants were clearly casual. He obviously had no intention of dining at the Spindrift tonight.

  She inquired, for Sam's benefit as well as her own, "Where are we going?"

  He rested his arm on the frame of the open window. The breeze billowed against his shirt and ruffled his hair. "Just some place a little more private."

  She gave him a dry look. "Like an empty warehouse?"

  He laughed. There was something unexpected about his laughter; she had noticed it last night, but today, dressed as he was with the wind in his hair and his eyes crinkling against the last dying rays of the sun, it was even more disarming. He laughed easily and naturally, without a trace of cynicism or bitterness, and it seemed unfair that a man as corrupt as he should find amusement so simple.

  He said after a moment, "I wasn't sure you would come."

  "That was a reasonable assumption." She turned in her seat a little to look at him, studying him frankly. "Why did you ask me?"

  "Because," he answered without hesitation, "I like you."

  She couldn't stifle the small sound of dry disbelief in her throat.

  He glanced briefly at her, then back to the road. "I liked the way you handled yourself last night," he went on easily. "I liked the way your eyes flashed and your neck went pink when I found you out, but you kept your cool—that shows a lot of self-control. And I liked the way you played your hand, bluffing it through like a pro. And when you must have known you were in over your head, you threw caution to the wind and brazened it right out. Now, that's the mark of a true gambler. I like that.”

  “Coming from you, I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

  "You should indeed. I told you we had a lot in common."

  Teale gave a faint, mirthless smile. "And, of course, let's not forget your notorious weakness for beautiful women."

  He glanced at her, and his smile was soft and appreciative and, to her very great surprise, held a hint of something that was almost genuine. "No. Let's not."

  They turned onto the coastal highway, and Teale glanced again in the sideview mirror, looking for Sam. At the moment there was no sign of the gray van, but Sam could be just playing it safe. "Come on, Mr. Carey," she responded absently, her eye on the mirror, "if you expect me to believe a man like you regulates his life according to his hormones—"

  "Of course not. Other factors must occasionally be taken into consideration. Don't worry," he added, following her gaze in the rearview mirror. "He's still there."

  At that moment, the gray van rounded the corner three cars behind, and Teale jerked her eyes away from the mirror. She set her teeth against the flush of annoyance she could feel creeping up her neck. Damn the man, had he outguessed their every move? And what was he up to?

  "Would you like to hear about the other factors?" he inquired politely.
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  "No," she said flatly. She turned again in her seat to face him, her expression determined and unamused. "What I'd like to do is call off the games, Carey. What do you want?”

  He smiled. "What I want is to have a stimulating evening with a lady who interests me. What do you want?"

  Teale drew a deliberate breath. "Right now," she muttered, "I think I want to go home."

  He chuckled again. Teale couldn't help noticing how, as they drove into the dying sun, his eyes took on an almost crystalline character. "All right," he conceded. "You like things straight and up front; so do I. The fact of the matter is, you're an officer of the law and I'm a man you suspect of breaking that law. It stands to reason that you're not going to abandon the chase just because of a little setback like the one last night; by the same token it can't hurt me to keep an eye on you. We may as well make the time we would be forced to spend together as pleasant as possible, don't you think?"

  She stared at him.

  "Now tell the truth," he prompted, with a sly glance at her that seemed at the same time both sincere and flirtatious. "Wouldn't you rather be having a quiet, elegant dinner with me in some suitably atmospheric spot than sitting in a cramped car all night on a stakeout, eating cold pizza and drinking coffee?"

  Teale wasn't certain whether it was incredulity or amusement that was bubbling to the surface, but she felt an almost irresistible urge to laugh. She subdued it with a slow shake of her head. "You are the most audacious man," she murmured.

  He inclined his head modestly. "Thank you. Now, shall we just relax and enjoy the evening?"

  This time Teale couldn't prevent a chuckle, and she settled back against the headrest. The funny thing was, she almost felt as though she could enjoy the evening.

  And why shouldn't she? Everything was out in the open, and she had matters well in hand.

  Besides, how many chances did a woman get to be wined and dined by an internationally known criminal?

  She lifted an eyebrow as they turned off the highway, but made certain to keep her gaze away from the mirror. Sam could take care of himself. "Atmosphere?" she inquired. She knew of no restaurants or clubs this far up the beach.

  "The best money can buy," he assured her, and then glanced at her with a grin. "Or perhaps I should say the best money can't buy. Some of the best things in life are still free, you know."

  As the small side road began to loop in on itself, David pulled off and parked the car. On either side of them in the deepening twilight was a network of moss-draped trees giving way to a patchy trail of sand and sea grass that led toward the ocean. The puzzled amusement Teale had felt was lessened by a trace of alarm.

  David got out and opened her door for her. "It's a short walk," he told her, extending his hand. And as she hesitated, he assured her, "Your partner is parked just around the bend. Nice cover, pleasant view. He'll be fine."

  Teale scowled and refused his assistance as she climbed out of the car.

  The sky had turned a deep, smooth shade of shadowed blue, but there was still enough light for Teale to make her way along the path without stumbling. David walked close to her, his hand so light upon her elbow that it was hardly a pressure at all, yet his presence was a rich and palpable thing. The scent of his cologne, the smooth grace of his stride, the brush of his fingers against her skin... awareness of him tingled down her spine.

  They had gone less than a hundred steps when the trail opened onto a small clearing. To the right was a gradual descent toward the beach; to the left was a flat, perfectly formed bluff overlooking the sea. Teale caught her breath, staring.

  "Well, for goodness' sake!" she exclaimed softly.

  In the center of that small bluff was a linen-covered table set for two. Covered silver dishes and crystal glassware were shadowed by the twilight, and an ornate ice bucket held a cooling bottle of champagne.

  For a moment she was too stunned to do anything but take it all in, then she gathered herself with a small, appreciative nod. "Not bad, Carey," she murmured.

  David smiled. "And I thought you would be hard to impress."

  She walked over to the table, wishing Sam could see her now. Imagining the expression on his face made her smile, and she suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of sheer pleasure for the entire episode. Who said undercover work didn't have its rewards?

  David struck a match to the glass-globed candle in the center of the table. "Atmosphere," he pronounced. "And—" he removed the champagne bottle from the ice bucket and popped the cork with his thumbs "—elegance. Never say I don't keep my promises."

  Teale watched appreciatively as he poured champagne into her glass, then club soda into his. "You sure know how to live, Carey," she commented wryly. "I'll give you that.”

  He handed a glass to her and lifted his own. His eyes were rich with subtle pleasure. "A toast," he suggested. "To a long and fruitful relationship."

  Teale laughed and touched her glass to his. "That I can drink to."

  She sipped the champagne, and the smile in David's eyes deepened as he watched her. For some reason that made Teale nervous, and she quickly averted her gaze.

  "So—" she gestured around to include the bluff, the sea, and the elegant table setting "—do you do this sort of thing often?"

  "As a matter of fact," he answered, "you've uncovered the romantic in me." He set his glass on the table and pulled out her chair. "This is one of my favorite spots. I've often thought how perfect it would be for a midnight picnic, but I've never done it before."

  "Why not?"

  "Because," he answered as she slipped into her chair, "I never found the right woman to bring here."

  He let his hands linger for a moment on the back of her chair, and she found the simplicity of his tone, the softness of his smile, definitely disconcerting. She countered with a shrug and a dry smile of her own, reminding herself sternly that charm was David Carey's stock-in-trade.

  "And naturally," she replied, "now that you've found the woman of your dreams, you've brought her here. I'm flattered."

  He relaxed with a soft chuckle and went around to his own chair. "And what makes you think you're not the woman of my dreams?”

  “Other than a slight conflict of interest—" she lifted her eyebrows "—nothing at all. After all, I'm legendary for my siren-like beauty and devastating sex appeal."

  David looked at her seriously across the flickering glow of the candle. "You don't think you are, do you?"

  "What?"

  "Beautiful."

  Suddenly uncomfortable, Teale uncovered the dish before her to reveal an artfully arranged lobster salad. "Lobster, great. I'm starved."

  "You're also evading the question."

  "It's a stupid question." She picked up her fork and looked at him conversationally. "So. No parties tonight?"

  He chuckled, acknowledging with a slight lift of his glass the change of subject. "Even crooks get a night off once in a while."

  She speared a piece of lobster. "So, you admit you're a crook. Now we're getting somewhere."

  "Would there be any point in denying it?" He lifted the covers on his own dish and took up his fork. "What about cops? I don't suppose you could be persuaded to take the night off?"

  Teale slid the piece of lobster into her mouth and closed her eyes at the delectable flavor. She chewed, swallowed and gave David a sweet smile. "Not a chance."

  The spark in his eyes was amused, and he turned to his own meal.

  Teale had to give him credit, he certainly knew how to set a stage. The sea breeze ruffled the linen tablecloth and cast dancing shadows from the candle; the ocean sighed and surged in the background, cresting in dark peaks and milky foam. Vintage champagne, lobster, etched crystal and heavy silver. The first few stars were appearing in the deep navy sky, the taste of salt was in the air. She felt the peaceful exhilaration of being isolated at the top of the world with only the sky and the sea for company. In Teale's life there was very little room for romance, but she could appreciate it when s
he saw it. And this was romance of the highest caliber.

  It was a pity it was just a game and that David Carey was holding all the cards.

  After a time David put down his fork and reached forward to refill her champagne glass, which was almost empty. "Tell me about Teale Saunders," he invited. "How did you get into the Mata Hari business?"

  She chuckled. "Is that what I am?"

  "To a point. And, as I may have mentioned last night, you're not bad—for someone with so little experience."

  She sipped her champagne. "Is that right? What makes you think I'm inexperienced?''

  He waved a dismissing hand. "I don't mean stalking and apprehending hardened criminals; I'm sure you're quite competent at that. But you must know, Teale, that a good undercover agent has to virtually live his role, and there was something about your performance last night that didn't quite ring true."

  Inwardly, she bristled, but she hid it behind a cool "Indeed?"

  "You allowed me to fluster you," he pointed out. "Oh, not so much that it jeopardized the operation, just enough so that I could tell you weren't entirely what you pretended to be."

  Teale's muscles stiffened. She knew it. She knew it was her fault, she knew she had let something slip. But she had to ask, "Is that how you knew I was a cop?"

  He smiled. "No. That's how I knew you were a woman who hadn't had many lovers."

  She stared at him. She felt a slow flush creep up her neck, and the way his eyes moved toward it made her feel certain he was aware of it, though she told herself he couldn't possibly see anything of the sort in the candlelight. She took another sip of her champagne. "That,” she informed him cooly, “was rude.”

  "I apologize.”

  “And none of your business.”

  “Agreed. But am I right?"

  She thought of Sam, leaning back in the van, flipping through a magazine, munching on an apple, earphones in place. She said firmly, "This conversation is getting entirely too personal."