by Carla Cassidy, Evelyn Vaughn, Harper Allen, Ruth Wind, Cindy Dees
“Glad you approve, darlin’.”
“We don’t have time to have sex, you know,” she said, and her heart was pounding as she stroked the silky casing.
“I know.” He bent his head and captured one nipple in his hot mouth. He rolled it, hard, across his tongue, and Kim made a noise.
“Maybe if we did it very fast,” she whispered.
“No, baby,” he said, putting his naked body against hers, yanking her hips to his. In a very low, quiet, gravelly voice he said, “We’re going to have the best, hottest, longest, sexiest sex either one of us has ever had.”
“When?”
He rolled her nipple between his fingers, ran his tongue along her lower lip. “Not today.”
She didn’t want to wait. He filled her head like a fog, and she stroked his cock, reached lower and cupped him in her hand. “After the police come?”
“No.” His tongue moved on her mouth, into her mouth, and his hands were on her breasts, weighing them, thumbs brushing over her nipples. “I think we have to wait at least a week or two.”
Her tailbone was melting, she’d swear it was, and she could feel that he was trembling with desire. “Why?”
“Because anticipation is worth it.”
“Okay,” she said, and backed away. “Remember, though. You’re the one who said it.”
He rested vivid eyes on her face, and Kim saw something flash there. Heat, yes. Desire, absolutely. But something else, too. Richer, deeper, warmer. “I’m not gonna make it easy for you to just walk away from me,” he said.
“Why would I walk away?”
“Because,” he said with a little smile as he climbed back into his sweats, “that’s what you do.”
Kim pulled the shirt over her head. There wasn’t really an answer. “Better call your boys. I’m going to go get dressed.” She paused. “See if somebody has a charger for a Sanyo phone.”
Chapter 11
The streets in the main part of the city were much clearer than they were on the side streets, so it was only an hour before the FBI crew arrived. Lex had already gone across the street to the roof opposite his apartment, and although he found footsteps and a smear of blood, the shooter had disappeared.
“Any clues to who it might be?” Kim asked when he returned. She paused in the act of sweeping up shattered glass from the tiny tiles in the kitchen.
“Obviously, they figured out who I am.” He lifted a shoulder. “I’m guessing it’s the same group. If there’s a DNA match in the national database, we’ll know more.”
He displayed the sample of red snow he’d picked up in a cup.
When the rest of the crew arrived, they brought with them Kim’s things, and she was relieved to be able to put on her own clothes. After the discussion of this morning’s shooter, a short, blocky man asked Kim if she’d talk to him about the events last evening. She gave him as much detail as she was able about everything.
At the end, he said, “What led you to the television station, anyway? We didn’t pick up on that at all.”
“Tip,” Kim said simply, and shrugged. “A good one, obviously, so I’d like to protect my source.”
The man nodded, flipped his notebook closed.
Lex and his compatriots measured and taped and tapped the scene. Kim felt impatient, but the news of the weather was grim: the airport was shut down, which meant there was no point in trying to get out of Chicago today. The city phone lines were jammed, but Kim finally got her cell phone to operate and caught Scott at NSA headquarters. “Shepherd here.”
“Hey, Scott. It’s me.”
“Damn, Valenti, what’d I tell you about playing maverick, huh?”
“It’s not like I had a choice. Once the terrorists overran the television station, I pretty much had to do whatever I could to get out.”
“I know. You looked like hell on the news this morning, though. Pissed off, too, huh? You were pretty rude to those reporters.”
It was one thing that her mother had seen her last night, because the senior Valenti had been trolling for information. “What news did you see?”
“Honey, you were on every national news program in the country. I saw you on CNN, but Mary and Jo saw you on Good Morning America.”
Kim couldn’t think of anything to say. “I’m sorry, Scott. It must seem like I’m grandstanding. You worked just as hard as I did to crack this code.”
“C’mon, you know me better than that. I know you better than that.”
“Ugh.” She rubbed the spot between her eyebrows and realized suddenly that she still really didn’t feel all that great. “I’ll get out of here tomorrow, but in the meantime, we should stay on this. Mansour got away, and he’s obviously the ringleader. Another guy we need to find out about is a creepy dude who slammed me into a table a few dozen times.”
“I’m on it. Mansour is the one who lead the siege at the station last night. He’s been tangled up in arms deals and a few other things over the past decade. I’m bringing up all kinds of interesting links.”
Kim realized there were a half-dozen FBI agents standing around, pretending not to listen. “Whatever you do,” Kim said, with a grin in their direction, “the FBI in Chicago is out of the loop.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” said an agent standing nearby, a burly blonde who’d have given Scott a run for his money in the Adonis department.
Casually, she moved toward the living room and looked out the window. “I don’t think they’re done yet, and we probably need to check Columbus Day connections—parades, celebrations, whatever.”
“Columbus Day?” Scott echoed with skepticism. “Yeah, if the terrorists were Native American, maybe.”
Kim made up a lie to cover her Oracle connection. “I overheard them talking about Columbus Day. And there have been moving vans stolen.”
“All right.”
“And you know, anti-American sentiment might lend itself well to Columbus Day, if you think about it. It commemorates the discovery of America, right? Not quite as patriotic as Fourth of July or anything, but not out of the realm.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll get on a plane in the morning. I’ll call and let you know.”
A short pause on the other end of the line. “Are you still with that guy?” Scott asked.
“What guy?” Kim asked.
“The one with you at the airport last night.”
“Yeah. They hustled me out of the reporters’ spotlights. I’m safe.”
Another noisy pause.
“What?” Kim prompted.
“Can you go in another room or something?”
She raised her brows. “Sure.” She carried the phone into the bedroom she’d slept in last night. “Okay. I’m alone. What’s up?”
“Are you really okay?”
“Well, I had my ass kicked last night, and somebody tried to kill us this morning, but other than that, yeah, everything’s fine.”
“He’s not hustling you, is he?”
“Shepherd, cut the caveman thing, all right? I’m not your girl, and it’s never been like that between us. Don’t even go there.”
“I’m not. I wasn’t.” He cleared his throat. “Just worried about you.”
“That’s sweet, but I can take care of myself.”
“I know.”
“Look, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Yep. If you want a ride, let me know.”
Kim frowned. “I left my car at the airport, but thanks.”
When she hung up, she stared at the phone for a long moment. Had she missed signals from her partner? It would be a shame to have to break up this partnership. It worked very well.
No. He was just being a guy. Lex probably threatened a lot of men.
A whispered memory went through her mind: We’re going to have the best, hottest, longest, sexiest sex either one of us has ever had.
But not today. And that, in her opinion, was a very good thing. She thought she
might have too many aches and pains, for one thing. For another, he was flat-out dangerous to her peace of mind.
She was going to have one hot affair with Lex Tanner, there was no question about that.
But she had to be careful how it progressed, or her carefully guarded heart was going to be snared right along with her body.
Once the mess had been cleaned up, and nearly everyone had gone—except the guard stationed outside, Kim and Lex were left alone in his beautiful apartment. Her things were delivered and it seemed the worst might be over for the moment.
He turned on the television. “You look beat, Valenti,” he said. “Let’s find an old movie to watch and make some sandwiches, what d’you say?”
The idea was unexpectedly welcome. Kim rubbed the spot between her brows that held tension. “That sounds good, but I’m wondering if you’d mind if I got online for a few minutes, just to check a couple of leads.”
“Not at all, especially if you share them.” He glared at the taped-over window, where a cold breeze tried to push inside. “Let’s go to my office. Much warmer.”
Kim padded behind him, bundled in a sweater and socks. “What do you think is going to happen next?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Considering the elections are only a couple of weeks, I’d say it’s safe to predict violence somewhere along this continuum, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah. The trouble is, where? When? With what?”
“Damn terrorists,” Lex drawled. “So unpredictable. Can’t they get a planned agenda, like any decent criminal?”
“Very funny. You have any bright ideas, smart guy?”
“Sit,” he said, pulling out a green leather office chair on rollers. Like the rest of the apartment, there was a thirties bohemian flair to this room. Rolltop desk, made of oak, shelves filled with books, a stained-glass lamp.
“Now this room looks like you,” Kim said.
“And this is a room,” he said with an inclination of his head, “that I indeed furnished myself. It used to be her parlor.”
“You’ve got good taste, Luthor.”
He winked. “You better believe it. Now, I’ll leave you alone. Internet icon to the left there.”
“Thanks. Not everyone likes sharing a computer.”
“I got nothing to hide, sweetheart. And you don’t strike me as a snoopy weird woman, either.”
“You never know.”
He was on his way out. “Oh, yeah, you do. I’ve got excellent instincts.”
Kim signed on to the network, then pulled up her personal files. If Scott found anything between now and the time she got home, he’d send it here. She’d also be able to track some of her work e-mails.
But the important thing was to check the Oracle. It was dicey to sign in through a remote server, but she went to AA.gov and slipped through a back door and electronically “knocked.”
A white box popped up.
DELPHI: Who’s there?
Kim responded with a formalized script:
VISITOR: Ariadne
VISITOR: Password: Hop-A-Long
VISITOR: Weight, 117
VISITOR: Arabic, French, Spanish, Navajo
VISITOR: NSA
Kim waited for a moment. The box closed and a second one opened, and she went through the same dance with no prompts. The box closed, and a third one opened, this one a soft blue.
DELPHI: Good job, Ariadne. We saw you on the news.
VISITOR: I had a lot of help, but thanks. Now what? Any more info?
DELPHI: Mansour escaped the television station along with an arms dealer named Richard Dunst.
VISITOR: Someone tried to kill me this morning. So there is still a plot afoot.
DELPHI: We have no clues at this time.
VISITOR: Was the footage of the CIA dealer selling arms to Keminis a true one?
DELPHI: Unfortunately, yes.
VISITOR: Thanks.
DELPHI: Reporters will be panting like dogs, Ariadne. Be cagey.
VISITOR: Will do.
Signing out of the live communication, Kim went to the Web site for her home service and signed in to check e-mails on her personal account very quickly. There were two from her mother and four from her sisters. Kim wrote short notes to each of them:
I’m safe. Love you lots. See you this weekend for supper and the parade, okay?
She shut down the browser, went to the history functions to erase her steps, and ran a quick check to be sure he had no key-recording software. None that was known, which was the best you could ever do. The passwords and script were changed if she used them even once, so they were safe anyway, but it was always better to be cautious.
When she wandered out of the office, she found Lex in the kitchen, pressing wood putty into one of the bullet holes. “I’ll get the glass replaced tomorrow,” he said. “But some of these holes are going to be tough to fix.”
“I was very worried about your beautiful apartment,” Kim said, talking an olive out of the bowl on the counter.
“Were you?”
She laughed. “Crazy, huh?”
“A bit.”
They loaded a tray with pickles, more cracked olives, cubes of cheese and the not-quite-as-fresh-as-it-could-be half of a French loaf, and some wheat crackers, and carried it all into the living room.
“I’m afraid to eat on that couch,” Kim said, eyeing the shimmery, velvety grain.
“Yeah, it’s fancy-shmancy,” Lex agreed, munching on a pickle, “But I have it outsmarted.” He lifted the top of a table and took out a pink-and-green striped sheet. Shaking it out, he tossed it over the couch. “Voilà!”
“Cool.” Kim collapsed happily, and made a plate to balance on her thighs. The ottomans were big and comfortable, the pillows just right for creating nests. “I’ve never been to a guy’s house that had such comfortable stuff.”
“Well, these things came with the apartment, but I’ve always prided myself on comfortable. My old couch was really great.”
“But I bet it was plaid. Brown plaid or orange plaid or red microfiber.” She lifted a finger. “No. Leather. You might be a leather kind of guy.”
“You’re gonna have to work on your little problem with stereotypes, girl.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It was kinda soft stuff—dark blue, for your information, with white-striped pillows.” Only he said it “pillas,” which cracked her up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I do,” she said. “You’re right. I do stereotype men. But most of you deserve it.”
“You’ve just been hanging around those Washington types too much. Too many politicians and law enforcement folks.”
“And what are you, if you’re not law enforcement?”
“I’m the bomb squad, man!” He said it with an exaggerated drawl, and popped an olive in his mouth. “I’m bad. I’m cool. I’m all that.”
Kim laughed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He flipped through channels, pausing for reasons Kim couldn’t discern, racing through when she would have halted. “How’d you end up on the bomb squad, anyway?”
He wiggled his stocking feet. Clicked the remote. “I was a firebug as a kid. I got in trouble a couple of times, and the sheriff was gonna lock me up, but a judge put me in a probationary program for restless kids.”
“Ah, so you discovered the good in your evil?”
“Not exactly.” The cat jumped up on the couch and plopped down between them, purring loudly. “I ran into a kid who built bombs. Better than fire.”
“Good grief.”
“Yeah, that’s what my mama thought. She yanked me right out of there, put me in this weird school in the Blue Ridge Mountains where everybody’s parents were hippies, and I’d have done anything to get out of there, so I promised I’d never set another fire or plant a bomb again, and I didn’t.”
“Thank God.”
He tapped his forehead. “The bomb stuff stuck, though.”
“An
d so did the organic eating. You said it was your mother.”
“It was. She was a Chicago hippie, went down South to reform it or something, and met my daddy, who was already reformed, and fell madly in love with her right on the spot. Took her a little while to fall back the other way.”
“Are they both still alive?”
“Yep. Along with three sisters who spoiled me rotten.”
“Mmm. Now that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”
He took her hand. “Hey, now. Be nice.”
Kim gently slid her hand out of his grasp. “I am. But you can’t hold my hand right now. I’m too tired and cranky.”
He chuckled and leaned back against the couch. “Me, too.” He flipped channels, and abruptly sat up. “Hey, look! There you are!”
The grainy video showed a man with a rifle standing guard at the UBC station, and Kim dropping suddenly out of the ceiling to his shoulders. She subdued the gunman, then bent over and took his pistol. When she stood up, there was blood on her face, trickling from her eyebrow and lips, but smearing her neck and chest.
“Eww,” she cried. “That’s gross! Why do they keep showing it over and over again?”
“Because, sweetheart,” he drawled, “you look very tough and very hot.”
Kim rolled her eyes. “Please.”
“It’s true. Not a man out there who isn’t thinkin’, hey, that’s my kind of girl.”
“Girl?”
He cut her a mischievous look.
Kim let it pass.
“How’d you learn to do so much, anyway?”
“The Athena Academy,” she said simply.
“I’ve heard of that. The school for girls in Arizona?”