Spy Another Day Box Set: Three full-length novels: I, Spy; Spy for a Spy; and Tomorrow We Spy (Spy Another Day clean romantic suspense trilogy)

by Jordan McCollum

  “You have something in mind?”

  I dig deep to muster my enthusiasm. “It’ll blow you away.”

  As we reach the front gates, Danny’s teasing grin grows into that full smile, one that lights up my heart as much as his eyes. Until it hits me: now today’s polygraph isn’t my only lie.

  To make him this happy? Worth it.

  The embassy is the epitome of efficiency today. Much, much faster than I wanted to be, I’m face to face with Will again. Judging by his glare, he’s not real happy to see me either. He escorts us both through the complex to a blank door. Dead end.

  Appropriately leery, Danny looks at Will. “They said something about paperwork? For the wedding?” His tone, hopeful but cautious, makes it clear Danny wants to believe the lie.

  I pity him. I envy him. Been a long time since I believed the deceptions I deal in every day.

  Will’s glower is back on me. “You said you were going to tell him.”

  “I forgot. Some things popped up at work.” Or someone.

  Danny and Will turn away with matching expressions of disgust, though that’s the truth.

  I only wish I had a better lie.

  “You’re here for a polygraph, Danny,” I finally say. “Company rules.” Even here, with nobody present except CIA employees and Danny, we can’t say more than that.

  “Rules.” Danny presses his lips into a line, staring at the door between him and his doom. Then he turns that intense gaze on me. I try not to shrink back a step. Even if Will’s not happy with me, I’m grateful he’s here, or Danny would definitely be using more than his eyes to argue.

  I clamp down on the groan tearing through my heart. I don’t like putting him through this stuff, from being unavailable three nights a week at least to having to file a form if I want to go home, go abroad, or go to the bathroom. But I signed up for this — and Danny didn’t.

  “Sorry,” I manage.

  “They don’t trust me already?” Danny says.

  “Trust is earned.” I hated hearing that as a teenager from my stepmom, and it sounds worse in this little hallway, with the man I’ve lied to way too many times.

  He slowly draws in a breath, then puffs it out. Nods. Like you’re lucky I love you.

  Believe me: I know. And that anger is still not quite gone from his eyes. “You okay?” I venture.

  I think he hears what I really mean: are we okay? His shoulders fall under the weight of resignation. “If I have to, I have to.” He glances at me. “You’d better be worth this.”

  I hope he’s kidding. “No promises.”

  “And this is the last hoop? No more surprises lurking in the CIA catacombs?”

  I look away, searching my memory. Don’t have to search hard. “Travel form.”

  “Oh. Right. So, that’s it? No words of wisdom for beating the polygraph?”

  “Why would you need to beat it?” Will cuts in.

  I deliver a karate chop to Will’s interrogation and look to Danny. “You’re not lying or under investigation. No need to beat it.” Besides, that isn’t the hard part. “Be prepared for the pretest interview. Imagine the worst, most invasive, personal interview you’ve ever had with a bishop. Times ten.”

  Our church leaders are supposed to ask sensitive questions; polygraph examiners are supposed to ask for more details. And then more. And then more. And then maybe a little more.

  Danny’s eyebrows do a little dance of uncertainty. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re failing.”

  I jerk my chin at the door, my eyes on Will. “Anybody we know?”

  “Lloyd Lindell.”

  I turn up the wattage to my real smile. “Oh, good. He’s nice.” For a polygraph examiner.

  Danny checks the door again. “Are you going to watch me?”

  “No. Is there any reason I shouldn’t trust you?”

  “No.”

  Will clears his throat, and I realize I slipped into a classic polygraph examiner question. But Danny gave the perfect answer, and his body language indicates he’s telling the truth. And still a tiny bit ticked. “Is that your advice?” he asks.

  “Just answer the questions. You don’t have to try to make yourself sound extra good.” Liars notoriously offer unsolicited proof of what good people they are. Good people seldom feel compelled to prove it. “They’re looking for anything you’ve lied about, or something someone could use to blackmail you, or me. You’re a Mormon, an Eagle Scout, and a returned missionary. The biggest risk you run in there is boring the polygraph examiner to death.”

  Can’t blame him when he doesn’t look reassured. “What can you do?” Danny mutters. He takes another breath and marches into the room, ready to confront his fate.

  Once the door shuts behind Danny, Will doesn’t stick around for chitchat. I’m sad to see him go and a little disappointed not to see Elliott around. Spying isn’t the same without my unofficial partner backing me up.

  But Danny’s right. What can you do? The world keeps turning and the CIA keeps churning. Landing me with Brand once again.

  The hallway isn’t designed to accommodate visitors. Left without a chair, I fold my legs under me, kneel on the floor (not a lot of options in a skirt) and wait. And wait. And wait. As long as these polygraphs feel when you have to take them, it feels a lot longer when you’re waiting for someone else. Someone you care about. Danny’s the most upstanding guy I know — and I’ve sworn to that for his work security clearances — but polygraphs freak. People. Out. Even ones that are innocent.

  Speaking of freaking out: footsteps carry down the hall. I know we’re supposed to be in a secured area. We’re also supposed to be alone. I leap to my feet, my breathing accelerating faster than the newest spy drone Danny’s designing at work. And being asked about right now.

  Not many places to hide in the typical office building hall. Clearly they don’t keep the CIA in the cushy penthouse. Probably not receiving too many visitors down here.

  But I’m about to get one. I move toward Danny’s doorway. I don’t dare interrupt, and I can’t hide in the doorframe, though that little symbolic safety lends me a crumb of courage. I brace for the new arrival.

  As soon as I’m “ready” for company, a man rounds the corner. A man I know, who’s got tall, dark and handsome down pat — and he knows it. But Danny has nothing to worry about. It’s just Elliott.

  “Hey, T,” he says.

  I sigh out the breath I was holding and relax. “Way to scare me half to death.”

  “What, afraid of falling for my stunning good looks after all this time apart?” He smirks. Yep. He might work for the embassy under “official” (State Department) cover, but that’s the Elliott I know. “Will wanted to go over some traces, potential cases.”

  I glance at the door behind me.

  “We’ll get you back in time.” He claps a hand on my shoulder and starts back down the hall. Might as well. Elliott leads me through a miniature maze. I think we passed through the same intersection at least three times. I’m so glad to see him, and to not be sitting around waiting anymore, that I decide not to mention it.

  Plus, I’ve got something else on my mind. “Were they hard on Shanna when they ‘boxed’ her?”

  “She lived.” He shrugs, though his gaze takes on a distant cast. Remembering or something else? “Didn’t say much about it afterward. One more hoop.”

  “Aren’t there enough of those already?”

  Elliott laughs as we pass that same potted plant for the fourth time. “Just wait. You’ll turn into bridezilla any day.”

  “I’ve canceled two dress appointments, both our moms think receptions are the best way to manipulate us, and my wedding party is all my brothers. Who am I supposed to go bridezilla on? Danny?”

  I catch the little sidelong scan of suspicion from Elliott. “To be honest, I’m surprised either of you are going through with it.”

  “Shut up.” The sibling-like teasing that used to come so easily for us has an edge. He
shouldn’t have gone there, and I didn’t ask his opinion.

  But is he right? Am I cut out for this? I’ve spent so much of my life in unhappy families that I’ve barely seen a marriage that works. Half my brothers failed at marriage. Why should I think I’ll be any different?

  We end up in Elliott’s office, though I’m too preoccupied to be much help on the traces. We divvy up the potential in the pile. By the time Elliott leads me back to the room where Danny’s being polygraphed, the anxiety has taken root. And grown. Like a bamboo torture device.

  Will and Danny are walking out when we get there. Danny looks a little tired, though not too much worse for the wear. In fact, he shoots a dull smile at Will to go along with the handshake. They generally don’t tell you your results right away — another way to make you sweat — but I’m not too concerned about Danny making the cut.

  I’m concerned about me.

  “So you work at NRC Aerospace?” Will begins. I figured their conversation would be over, and we could go grab a burger and get back to work. Why is Will just getting started?

  “Yep. Engineer.”

  “Sounds like every kid’s dream come true.”

  Danny quirks one corner of his mouth. “No kid dreams about that level of red tape.”

  “Tell me about it.” Will chuckles. “But I bet they treat you pretty good.”

  Danny nods. I can’t help my ever-present worries taking up a new topic: what on earth is Will getting at? Doubt he chats up all potential Agency spouses. I check Elliott’s reaction. He shoots me a wary glance back.

  Elliott clears his throat when we’re still a couple feet away. As the other (former) most important man in my life, Elliott’s formed an uneasy truce with Danny. But there’s no time for tension as I move to Danny’s side and take his hand to tell Will we’re ready to go.

  Will’s not done. “Familiar with Kelly Johnson’s stuff?”

  “Who isn’t? P-38, F-104, U-2 — classics. I think the alumni association makes an annual pilgrimage to his grave.”

  I love that Danny loves his job, but if they’re throwing around this much plane jargon, I don’t have a prayer of following. I squeeze his hand and take a couple steps, a silent we need to be going.

  Will is staying. “That’s right, you went to Michigan, too, didn’t you?”

  I suppose Danny should know Will’s familiar with his profile, and his surprise is almost undetectable. “Yeah, but I opted out of the minor in Johnson worship.”

  “Then did you know the U-2 was originally classified?”

  We all know what he means by “classified,” and it’s hardly a secret the U-2’s development was funded by the CIA. If you get Danny started on planes and designs and aeronautics, he may never stop — but he’s not engaging with Will.

  Good. “We’d better get back to work,” I interject.

  “Oh sure.” Will and Elliott start down the hall. Though I doubt we could find our way out even with a Company-issue GPS, escorting us gives Will more chances to chat Danny up.

  “I don’t have a degree in aerospace engineering,” Will starts in again, “so maybe I can’t vouch for it, but I’ve heard the stuff coming out of the Department of Science and Technology these days is as cutting edge as the U-2 was.”

  “Oh yeah?” Danny keeps his tone friendly in an oh-that’s-interesting-and-I-have-to-keep-making-small-talk-so-I’ll-be-extra-polite way. He’s got his own classified projects in conjunction with Canadian defense, so I’m not sure the bait is that intriguing. Unless, I guess, American drones are that much better than Canadian ones. I’d have to ask Danny if that’s the case.

  “Anyway, I’m sure you’re not interested in rumors.” Will waves away his own topic. “DS&T is hush hush, and we don’t see much of it here in Canada. Hard to keep up with the latest developments, but what I hear from my friends in the Middle East?” He gives a low whistle.

  “That good, huh?”

  “Yep. I’m no expert, but sounds like the kind of thing you’d be interested in.” Will deposits us at the front entrance. “Have you two eaten?”

  “Why?” I ask. “Going to take us to the embassy cafeteria?”

  Will laughs. Elliott doesn’t. “Even the cooks order in.”

  Will spears him with a sarcastic expression. “I was about to suggest you try one of the restaurants at the National Gallery. You guys like good food, right?”

  “Yeah, who doesn’t?” I say quickly. “Bye.” I drag Danny out the doors before Will and Elliott head to their offices. I know what I want to talk about as soon as we’re out of range.

  Once we’re past the embassy, Danny beats me to the conversation starter. “If I fail that polygraph, will they tell us we can’t get married?”

  I nearly trip on my feet. “What do you mean, ‘if I fail’? Why would you fail?”

  “Have you ever been polygraphed?”

  “Yes. More than once.”

  He pins me with a my-point-exactly look. “Then you know how nerve-racking that is. You could’ve given me time to prepare.”

  The accusation stings, but I keep walking like I can leave it behind us. “Sorry,” I try after a minute. “I really did forget.”

  A battle of belief wages behind his brown eyes. “I know,” he says at last.

  “Besides, they know people are nervous about polygraphs. They take that into account.”

  “Can they tell us we couldn’t get married — you couldn’t marry me?”

  I try to remember how much of my life I signed away when I joined the Agency. Four years ago, I wasn’t planning on getting married. Ever. So those details didn’t exactly stick out.

  What’s the worst they could do to me if I don’t play by their matrimonial mandates? Fire me? As we reach the Gallery doors, I settle on, “They could try.”

  The set to Danny’s mouth is once again anything but reassured.

  Once we’re at a table by Café L’Entrée’s massive windows, I pick a new subject. “So apparently Will’s an aerospace hobbyist.”

  “You think so?” The little twist to his voice isn’t sarcasm. It’s doubt.

  Yeah, me too. I push my greens around in their maple dressing, digging for another maple candied walnut. Oblivious to my thoughts, Danny reaches across the table for my free hand. “You sure I’ll pass?”

  “I’m not worried about that.” I have way too much else to occupy the already-overdeveloped Worry Region of my brain.

  Calm settles over his face, as if my judgment will count with the Agency when it comes to his polygraph and background check. (Man, I hope he knows about that.) He starts on his smoked cod mousse, gazing out the windows at Nepean Point, the grassy hill jutting into the river. “Think that’s a good place for engagement photos?”

  Great, yet another to-do. “Yeah, but so did Campbell and, like, four others from church.”

  “Oh, right. Never mind then.”

  “Have they drained the locks yet?” The cascading water where he proposed would make the perfect backdrop.

  “Not sure. Probably will soon.”

  I finish my salad and my ham and pineapple panini, ready for dessert. The butter tart filling with pecans and blueberries is singing my name in an angelic chorus.

  “So,” Danny says, pulling my mind back to our table. “You’ve got your dress figured out? Going to blow me away?”

  “Well, we have something in mind.” A lie? A white lie. (Literally?) “Lace, and the skirt is —” I cut off like I can’t explain it (because it doesn’t exist). I conclude, “You’ll love it.”

  “I’m a guy. I’ll love anything you wear.”

  I shoot him an obviously fake glare of that had better not be your final answer.

  He readjusts his response. “I mean, I can’t wait to see it! I’m sure it’s perfect!”

  Why is his fake enthusiasm funny and mine freaky?

  “You really that excited about it?” he asks. Like he read my mind.

  I grin, but bite my bottom lip, like I’m trying to rein
it in. Danny watches me another minute, and I hold onto that mask like it’s my cover, my life, my salvation.

  I can’t afford to mess this up. Danny is my rock, my anchor, my everything. I will do anything not to lose him. Even lie to him.

  “Better get dessert if you’re going to,” he says at last.

  Best. Fiancé. Ever. I lean across the table for a kiss. As long as we’ve been together, his lips against mine still take my breath away.

  “I love you,” he murmurs as I pull away. “And I am excited to see your dress.”

  “I love you too.” That’s all I can echo before guilt chokes off any other response.

  Bridezilla? Doubtful. At the rate I’m racking up lies, I might be lucky to be a bride at all.

  Once I get back, Brand calls me into his office within ten minutes. The door closes behind me, and my shoulder muscles immediately snap to attention. I scoot my cheap office chair away from the desk to keep a slightly-greater-than-professional distance.

  Either he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t mind. He settles into his cushy throne and pretends to ruffle his curls, relaxed but ready. “Thanks for the ‘tour’ yesterday, Talia.”

  I’m almost ready to accept his gratitude when his gaze subconsciously flicks to my calves. (Why’d I wear a skirt?) My hands practically tie themselves in a square knot. I dig deep in my willpower to keep them still. Brand can sense no weakness. See no weakness. Use no weakness.

  “You know, I could use a real tour. Know any good meeting spots? Restaurants?”

  “No.” I scowl. “I’ve been here three years and I’ve never held a meeting.”

  He frowns, and I rein in my attitude. Right context: he’s my boss, and he isn’t out of line yet. “Sorry. I know a few.”

  “Great. You can show me around. All set for meeting with Farooqi? Tonight, right?”

  I nod. Quick. Decisive.

  “Pitching?”

  One shoulder twitches in as much of a shrug as I’ll allow. Brand knows these things don’t always go according to plan. Not that I’m planning on pitching Samir tonight.