Prescription: Makeover (Harlequin Intrigue)

by Jessica Andersen

  Her lips felt stiff and odd when she said, “Why?”

  “Because the woman I’m attracted to doesn’t really exist.”

  WILLIAM’S EXES might’ve been unanimous in calling him honest to a fault — even to the point of coldness — but he’d always figured it was best to get the tough stuff out there and be done with it. However, when hurt flashed in Ike’s eyes for a split second before her expression blanked, he wished he could’ve taken the words back.

  There probably wasn’t a better way to say it, but there might have been a better time.

  Her movements were stiff as she returned to her seat and buckled her belt, pulling it snug across her breasts. “My bad. I guess I just figured we could enjoy each other rather than driving ourselves crazy thinking about what it might be like.” She paused. “And I meant what I said earlier. Thanks for everything you did today, from talking me down in the closet to pulling me out when those flowers came. I appreciate the backup.”

  “No problem. Just doing my job.” He put the SUV into drive, swiped at his window and got them moving again, foot heavy on the accelerator until he consciously eased off, knowing he couldn’t outrun the temptation sitting beside him; he’d have to be strong enough to stay focused on his own hook.

  “Where are we headed?” she asked, faking calm.

  “To the hotel to get our things,” William said. “We’ll have to assume the whole plan is compromised — we’ll ditch the vehicle and find something else to drive, book into a new hotel. I’ll call Max and have him get in touch with Kupfer, maybe through Zach Cage. Odin needs to gain control of the adjunct recipe before he goes public, so we’ll need to get Kupfer and his people protected 24-7 from now until Friday’s press conference.” He cut her a look. “I’d love to send you back to Boston, but we both know you wouldn’t stay put.”

  “Meaning?” she asked, voice tight.

  “Meaning you’re a target, and I don’t trust for an instant that you’ll be able to keep yourself out of the action. That makes you my problem for the next few days.” When anger flared in her eyes alongside something softer and less sure, he glanced away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re a typical female and I’ve hurt your feelings.” Wincing again at how badly he was managing to put things, he said, “We both know this isn’t you, Ike. You’re not into dresses or teamwork and you normally dislike the hell out of me. If there’s some chemistry going on between us right now, it’s just because of the situation.”

  She looked away and muttered. “I don’t dislike you. You’ve sort of grown on me, like mold or something.”

  And for a split second she sounded like the Ike he remembered, which just made things worse. He paused, then sighed heavily before honesty compelled him to say, “Same goes, and that’s an even bigger problem. You see —” He broke off as they reached their hotel. “Come on. We need to keep moving.”

  They climbed out of the SUV and entered the hotel together, with William staying slightly behind and to the right of her, tense and ready to react if Odin had an ambush in place. Soon we’ll be together. That sounded more like a promise than a threat, and the thought of either had him strung tight.

  Hell, he acknowledged inwardly, there was nothing about this situation that didn’t have him wired.

  Once they were headed to their rooms with no sign of an ambush, he said, “I was on a job once that went real bad real fast and a female agent died. I’m not about to let that happen again.”

  She sent him a look that was pure Ike beneath the soft hair and makeup. “Was she the only fellow agent you ever saw die?”

  “Her name was Sharilee and unfortunately, no, she wasn’t the only agent I’ve ever seen die.”

  “Did you love her?”

  Alarm bells went off in William’s head, but he said, “No. I knew her to chat with, nothing more.”

  “Then you’re stuck on her being a woman,” Ike said flatly. “That’s insulting.”

  “It’s life,” he argued. “We live in a society where men are raised to respect women. A man can hit another man, but he’s an abusive jerk if he hits a woman.” He held up a hand. “I’m not saying that’s wrong, it’s the way it should be. But given that, how can you expect us to forget your sex under other circumstances?”

  “That’s your problem, not mine. I didn’t ask you to look out for me.”

  “Max did.”

  “He doesn’t have the right,” she said levelly as the elevator let them out on their floor. “If I want to put my life in danger, that’s my choice. It’s my life, and nobody can tell me what to do with it.”

  For a second he thought he caught an echo of loneliness in the statement, which had him softening his immediate response. “Max is your friend, Ike. He wants to see you come out of this alive. So do I.”

  The last three words came out of nowhere, surprising him with their truth.

  Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, but then her expression hardened. “I don’t intend to commit suicide, but nor do I intend to hide while the men folk take care of Odin. I owe Zed, and Lukas Kupfer is a good man with a noble goal. Odin is going down, and I intend to be there.”

  Because he could relate even if he didn’t agree, William tipped his head as he keyed them into his room. “Then we’re at an impasse.”

  Knowing it was almost a relief, since it gave him another reason to stay away.

  She lifted one shoulder. “That’s nothing new.” But as she opened the connecting door between their rooms and started gathering lightweight computer bags, she said with almost forced casualness, “Guess that means no more kissing, huh?”

  “I think we both know that was a mistake we shouldn’t repeat. Besides, you can ditch the disguise now. Once you’re back to normal, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

  The insult was deliberate, and he knew damn well he deserved it when she slammed the connecting door in his face. He stood there a moment, waiting for the relief, for the knowledge that he’d done what he’d needed to do for her safety, for his own sanity.

  All he found was disappointment and a faint suspicion that he’d done it more for his own good than hers.

  Chapter Eight

  Ike was a professional, so she kept it together while they checked out of one hotel and checked into another equally generic hotel on the other side of Springfield. She allowed nothing but business in her voice when she called Max and then Zach Cage, arranging for HFH to contact Lukas Kupfer, explain the situation and send protection. And she held her cool as she set up Tom, Dick and Harry in her new hotel room and changed out of the dress, replacing it with a pair of jeans and a pale pink sweatshirt, which had been Stephen’s idea of Eleanor-goes-casual.

  But inwardly she was a mess, as the day’s event collapsed onto her in a big, tumultuous blob of unhappiness that included Odin’s flowers, her claustrophobia attack and William’s kiss, and then culminated in the knowledge that he’d been kissing Eleanor. He was attracted to the disguise, not her.

  Rage swirled inside her, the cumulative fury of a lifetime worth of being second best, of being a workout buddy rather than a woman, a quick fling rather than a heartbreaker. But instead of showing the hurt, she held herself aloof, hiding behind the shell she’d perfected long ago, when they’d buried her brother and she’d stood at the gravesite a half dozen paces from her parents, who hadn’t needed or wanted to include her in their grief.

  Feeling that same sharp hurt now and damning whatever of Eleanor’s vulnerability had leaked into her, she raised her voice so William could hear her in his adjoining room. “I’m online. Who should I start with — Grosskill or Johnson and Leon?”

  She might not like William very much at the moment, but that didn’t change the fact that he was a trained agent. It would be stupid for her not to use the resources she had at hand, and people rarely accused her of stupidity. Other faults, perhaps, but not stupidity.

  He appeared in the doorway, crossed the room a
nd leaned over her, close enough that she had to grit her teeth and ignore the flare of heat. Even knowing he’d been kissing Eleanor didn’t dampen the memory of how his body had pressed solidly against hers and how he’d caressed her with lazy, devastating skill.

  She’d been too long without a man, that was all, Ike assured herself. She just needed to blow off some steam. It wasn’t about William.

  And if that rang faintly false, she was the only one to know it.

  “Grosskill’s a bad agent, but he’s not an idiot,” William said grudgingly. “His involvement will be buried seriously deep. Better start with the fourth floor lab and see if you can get any dirt on Johnson or Leon.”

  “Will do.” Ike cracked her knuckles and bent to the task, more relieved than she cared to admit to be back at her keyboards, working programs that knew nothing of lust or emotion.

  She called up basic Internet searches on Tom, then used a couple of her long-established back door entry programs to sneak Dick and Harry into databases at the FDA and National Institute of Health. She remained aware of William still leaning over her and was conscious of the faint tickle of his breath against the back of her neck. Finally she glanced over at him. “Was there something else?”

  His face was very close to hers, almost close enough to kiss, until he straightened away from her and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m sorry about what I said before. You know, about liking Eleanor better.”

  Ike’s banked irritation resurfaced with a snap. “Don’t apologize for telling the truth.”

  He nodded and backed up a few steps but didn’t leave. “What are you doing for dinner?”

  She turned back to the computers so he couldn’t see how uncomfortable she was becoming with the conversation and with his presence in her hotel room. “Room service. Or, if you’re going out, you can grab me something.” She shot him a look. “I’ll stay put tonight. Promise.”

  He nodded as though he’d expected nothing less. “Max will be here in the morning. You’ll have something for us by then?”

  “That I can guarantee.” She didn’t know what, but she’d damn well have something. She was many things, but she was no quitter.

  IN FACT, BY THE TIME the next morning rolled around and the three of them met in William’s room, she had a great deal more than something. She had Dominic Firenzetti.

  “It wasn’t easy,” she said, “but I found him. After Kupfer caught him siphoning their grant money, he changed his name to Daniel Francona, but facial recognition software on a film clip confirmed the match. These days he’s an ‘entrepreneur — ’” she used her fingers to emphasize the quote marks “— with home bases in L.A. and Washington, D.C. It looks like he’s got interests in a bunch of scientific fields, including plastic surgery and gene therapy.” She shot Max a look. “Sound familiar?”

  He nodded. “Sure does.” The Nine had targeted Raine’s sex enhancement drug because it improved the self-esteem of its users, threatening a sharp decline in cosmetic surgery procedures. Add that to Firenzetti/Francona’s apparent escape from prosecution and his rise to power, and they had good evidence for him being a member of The Nine or at least a beneficiary of their largesse.

  She handed each man a brief printout containing stats and photographs. “He wasn’t on the plane that crashed in the Catskills, which suggests he’s probably a one-off supporter of The Nine rather than a member.”

  William glanced at the printout, then back at her. “You don’t think he’s Odin?”

  “No, I don’t, but that’s just my gut check, and I’m working on limited information, so take it for what it’s worth.”

  She expected him to dismiss her instinct. Instead he said, “I’d tend to agree. No offense, but I don’t think we’re going to find our mastermind online.”

  “Exactly. Which is why I think we should have a look around the fourth floor, maybe even tonight. If nothing else, maybe we can find some evidence connecting Grosskill to the Markham Institute. That might be enough to get someone higher up in the Bureau to pay attention.”

  “What have you got on Johnson and Leon?” Max asked, setting aside the printout. “Anything to suggest they’ve got it in for Kupfer? If so, that could be the weak link Odin is planning to exploit tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow, Ike thought, realizing it was already Thursday. They were almost out of time. According to Max, Kupfer had accepted protection but had refused to change the day or location of the press conference. He was too familiar with the urban legend of The Nine to believe that they really existed.

  “I didn’t find anything unusual on either of the scientists on the fourth floor,” she admitted. “They’ve published a bunch of articles on gene therapy in the middle-tier journals, even had Kupfer as a contributing author on a couple of them. They look legit.” She paused, then said, “To be honest, that fourth floor felt seriously understaffed, like everyone had been given the day off. They haven’t left completely, because the freezers and cryo chambers out in the hall are still up and running. But I almost wonder if one or both of the primary investigators are getting ready to jump ship…perhaps to a cushy industrial job?”

  “Certainly sounds possible,” William agreed. “Question is, how are they connected to Firenzetti/Francona, and what the hell was Grosskill doing there?” He rose. “I’m going over to talk to Kupfer.”

  Ike stood, as well. “I’m going with you.” She held up a hand to forestall his automatic denial. “Kupfer and I have a rapport. He’ll talk to me more easily.”

  William snorted. “He’ll be ticked that you lied to him.”

  “I can deal with that.” She held his gaze and said, “I can help.” They both knew she was really saying, I’m part of this. Don’t shut me out just because I’m a woman.

  Finally he nodded, reluctance etched in the tense set of his shoulders. “Fine, have it your way. We leave in ten minutes.”

  WILLIAM HALF HOPED Ike would choose to wear her normal, unrelieved tight black clothes to their meeting, chucking the disguise and returning to her regular self. Instead she appeared wearing flowing slacks in dark navy, along with a clingy white top and a neatly zipped navy jacket. The overall effect should have been businesslike. It failed.

  She tipped her head. “Something wrong?”

  Yes, everything was wrong. They were on an op and they needed to stay focused on that op. She couldn’t know how far his thoughts threatened to wander now that he’d tasted her or how he’d found himself sitting up long into the previous night worrying not just because she was his responsibility but because she was who and what she was, a beautiful, desirable —

  Whoa, he thought desperately. Where did that come from? And how much of it was Ike, how much Eleanor? Either way, he needed to keep it in perspective — this was an op, not a weekend holiday. If he didn’t focus, he was going to make mistakes. If he made mistakes, she could suffer the consequences.

  And that would make him no better than Michael Grosskill.

  So he shook his head and said firmly, “No problem at all. Let’s go.”

  On the short ride to the Markham Institute, silence pervaded their new vehicle, a silver econobox he’d rented under one of the several fake identities he and Max each kept in their emergency kits along with cash and spare weapons.

  There was no sign of pursuit during the drive, and there was no sign of surveillance as they walked across the parking lot to Kupfer’s building, but William kept his vigilance high.

  If Odin wanted Ike for himself, he’d have to get through William first.

  Ike keyed them through to the fifth floor and led him into the lab lobby, stopping at the sight of a cheerful-looking blond woman standing beside a wheelchair-bound boy. William recognized the blonde as Kupfer’s head tech, Sandy. The boy was light-haired and blue-eyed. His bone structure was that of a handsome teen, but his skin was sallow and he was painfully gaunt. His stick-thin legs were strapped in place, their weakness a stark contrast to his muscled arms.

  San
dy’s eyes lit. “Eleanor!” Then her expression darkened to concern and her gaze flicked to William and back. “We were worried when you disappeared yesterday. I take it the flowers weren’t good news?” She grimaced. “I’m sorry we were being so silly about the delivery. We thought…” She trailed off and gestured helplessly.

  “It’s okay,” Ike said, voice strangely husky. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Jeremy Talbott.” The tech moved closer to the wheelchair. “He helps Dr. Kupfer with experiments now and then.”

  “I donate blood every few months,” the young man elaborated. “Doc lets me spin the samples and sometimes I help prep the experiments. I’ve got a rare mutation in the dystrophin gene, and Doc is trying to come up with a new test.”

  “I’m going to have to postpone until next week,” a new voice said, drawing William’s attention to the lab doorway, where Kupfer stood, white-coated and grim-faced. He nodded to Sandy. “His transport is waiting downstairs. Something’s come up that I need to take care of immediately. I’m closing the lab for the rest of the day and tomorrow morning. We’ll reopen after the press conference.”

  “Um…okay.” Sandy frowned and looked from Kupfer to the others and back. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Kupfer smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Enjoy the half day off and I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” Then he turned to William and Ike and gestured them into his office. “This way.”

  Inside the small, cluttered room, William stood near the doorway while Ike took the single visitor’s chair. Only it wasn’t really Ike in the chair, it was Eleanor in a trim navy outfit and careful makeup, with her long hair left free to cascade down her slim back.

  Only that wasn’t right either, William realized with a start. Eleanor didn’t exist, she was a made-up cover story. Oddly, though, it seemed as though the person sitting opposite Kupfer was a mix of the two women. Ike’s wit and edge shone in her eyes, but the hair and makeup softened the effect, making her seem determined rather than intimidating. Resolute rather than aggressive.