Tempting trouble, p.9
Tempting Trouble, page 9
“It’s good to see you doing well away from your old trade,” Lance said lazily. “I did wonder whether you would die of boredom.”
“Oh, you can’t be bored for long with a name like mine,” Fat Joe grinned back, cheekily winking at Grace, “eh, Grace?”
“Nope, can’t be bored when you’re busy being prosperous,” Grace agreed. She explained, for Lance’s benefit, “Fatt Choy means Very Prosperous.”
Lance didn’t correct her assumption he didn’t speak Chinese. After all, he’d told her he needed a translator. He ignored Fat Joe’s knowing chuckle. “Well, so now we know why he’s always been able to make money out of nothing,” he jibed.
“Nothing!” Fat Joe looked indignant. “I worked my ass off before you came and destroyed my operations….”
“Schemes,” interjected Lance mildly, “but we can quibble about this another time, old friend. I need the information.”
“They aren’t willing to see you, Big Cat.” Fat Joe opened a roll of paper towels and tore some out of it to wipe his hands and face. “They don’t trust you and your friends any more. They claimed last time was a set up and only someone from your group could have leaked the information out to the ones who captured David Cheng.”
Lance’s expression was unrevealing. “True. Do they know it wasn’t the Chinese government who has him now?”
“Yeah, they figured that out, since their other sources are still alive. If they had him, the Beijing Butcher would have their necks by now too. No, your mole works for the other group, whoever they are,” Fat Joe said. “Be careful, Big Cat, there’s a rat in your midst.”
Grace listened, fascinated. This was the world she could only have imagined a few months ago. These men, easy as their conversation appeared, were dangerous men. They had the keen air of alertness about them, something she’d always noticed about her father, a vibrant current brought about from living at the edge all the time. She had a taste of it only once when she was sixteen and she’d never forgotten that precious, wild and wonderful year she’d spent alone with her father. It was the only year with which she’d any kind of connected relationship with her only parent.
“So, are they abandoning this man now that he’s close to freedom?” Lance was asking, as she listened on. “They shouldn’t give up so easily.”
“The Sisters are always willing to help those in need, Big Cat. They just cannot afford the exposure. It’ll harm too many who depend on the…ah…tender mercies of the Christian God.” Fat Joe took down a few cans from a nearby shelf. “Tell you what. I’ll pass along whatever messages you have for them and see whether they’ll trust me with the answer.”
“Can’t do that, Fat Joe,” Lance shook his head.
“Don’t trust me, my man?”
“I wouldn’t want to put you in the position to run away again,” Lance explained, his gaze steady.
Fat Joe paused for the first time in the little room. “That high a price, huh? Must be some chili-pepper hot info we’re dealing with here. And I thought it was just a couple of high position political names.”
Grace’s ears pricked up. So, here was more cheese in her new little maze.
“You just pass along this message.” Lance stood up, making the room even smaller. He nudged the crate aside with his foot, then took Grace’s hand in his. “Tell them there is only one way to win their little war and that’s through me. They don’t have to deal with any other names any more. Just me. And you can vouch for me, eh?”
Fat Joe grinned, then turned and opened the door. “Yeah, count on it,” he answered, as they stepped back outside. He placed a hand behind Grace’s elbow. “Now, what do you want to eat, Grace? All that talk makes me hungry for something spicy.”
Grace looked up at Lance, unsure about his plans. She was there, after all, to meet with these nuns who were now refusing to see him. In answer, he let go of her hand and placed an arm across her shoulders, smiling almost boyishly. For the first time since they met, she felt him relaxed.
“We’ll insult Fat Joe if we leave without dinner,” he told her. “Nothing like his spicy dishes, trust me.”
Lance discovered Grace always ate like the way he saw her that first time—she attacked and consumed food with the fierce concentration of a child with a favorite toy. In between bites, she cajoled Fat Joe, or Fatt Choy as she now correctly called him, to tell her bits and pieces of his past along with bawdy Chinese jokes at which she laughed with genuine amusement. She seemed so sweet but he knew better. Her mind was busy thinking about the nuns and the missing man.
As he always did with a potential opponent, he had sat back and studied her for hours the night before, going over what he’d seen and heard and comparing it with what she’d said and shown through her actions. He’d been trained to key in on strengths and weaknesses; a tracker needed to know when and where to strike. He made several conclusions last night. One of them was to keep her around him for a while, to see what she would do. Another was more personal and it didn’t have anything to do with the mission. The third was the more serious decision of whether she was indeed a dangerous mole planted to find out about him.
Already, watching her with Fat Joe, he could tell when something was important to her. Grace O’Connor never hid her enthusiasm and her delight was refreshingly straightforward. When captivated with a story, she gave it her undivided attention, charming both the teller and even himself, with her sparkling brown eyes. He wondered whether they would have the same look when he was inside her, if she would stare straight into his eyes when she climaxed. Damn it. He couldn’t seem to stop making love to her in his mind. Surreptitiously, he adjusted his jeans.
Later, on their way back to her apartment, Grace was very quiet. The sports car easily moved through D.C.’s many one-way streets, its purring engine the only sound heard as Lance pulled away from the busy Saturday night traffic into the quieter streets.
“I guess it was a wasted evening for you,” she finally said. “You didn’t get to meet the nuns.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t entirely a waste.” He glanced at her, his lips quirking. “I got to watch you devour that mountain of food. That was a memorable feat.”
“I wasn’t the only one with a remarkable appetite,” Grace grinned back unabashedly. “You almost beat me to that last helping of spicy orange chicken.”
“I was just being a gentleman. I didn’t want you to cause a scene and embarrass Fat Joe.”
“Hah! Like you could eat another bite after that ton of crispy pork you piled on your rice!” Grace retorted, then laughed aloud. “Do you think Fat Joe will ever let us eat there again?”
“He’s seen me eat before,” Lance assured her, then smiled wickedly, “but I don’t know about you. He was either very fascinated or shocked out of his shoes at the empty plates you left behind.”
“He was extremely pleased!” Grace pouted in jest, knowing she was being teased. “And it’s polite and flattering according to Chinese custom when a guest finishes all the food.”
Lance pulled into the parking lot at her complex and turned off the car. It was a pleasant evening, with a slight breeze fluttering in from the outside darkness.
“He was more than flattered,” he remarked, turning towards her. “Tell me Grace, how do you do it? How do you get every man to try to solve your mystery?”
Grace stiffened, glad that the evening shadows hid her surprise. She hadn’t known she was that easy to read. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quietly.
His hand reached out for hers and she watched, mesmerized, as he spread it open, holding it with one hand while drawing imaginary lines in her palm with the forefinger of the other.
“It’s your eyes, sweetheart. They hold a man in endless fascination.”
Grace smiled. If anyone’s eyes fascinated, it would be his own electric blue ones, the color that matched the deepening twilight outside. “Oh yes,” she said, injecting humor into the growing sexual awareness, “they’ve been known to drive men crazy. Why, just last Monday I had a bunch of them falling all over me.”
Lance couldn’t help but smile at her reference to the rally. She was the wittiest as hell and dead-pan funny. He enjoyed women. They were warm and giving or sexy and manipulative, and he hadn’t missed many other combinations in between, but very few had ever made him laugh or enjoy a match of wits. They had all had secrets, including this one, but none had intrigued like she did. Some had the misfortune enough to try to kill him but none had ever been able to double-cross him with their seductive talk. He’d enjoyed them because he was a sensual man, and he’d taken care of business without any emotional entanglements. But Grace O’Connor defied any categories. She was and wasn’t what she seemed. Most of all, she was saying no when her body language was projecting the opposite, immediately affecting the male instinct in him to go on the chase.
He lifted her unresisting hand to his lips, kissing her palm. “So what now?” He murmured.
Grace nearly moaned aloud when his tongue flicked out where his lips had been. The man was definitely still hungry. She sought to bring him back to earth. “Are you convinced now I don’t know where this Chinese man is?” He paused in between kisses. Good, maybe
he’ll let me go now.
Actually, Lance had already made up his mind earlier she wasn’t working for whoever kidnapped David Cheng. He just wasn’t sure exactly where she stood within the whole matrix. It annoyed him, not being able to figure her out. Even more so, it maddened him she kept slipping in and out of his grasp so effortlessly. This evening, he’d revealed more to her than to any woman he’d known, yet he didn’t feel she would be a danger to him. He couldn’t understand how he knew that either and he was trying to prove himself wrong at every opportunity, which further irritated him because he was a man who lived by and trusted his instincts.
He also instinctively understood she was trying to slip out of reach again. Not. So. Fast. He punctuated each silent word by kissing the tip of her fingers, pleased to hear the little quickened breaths she was trying to hide.
“When are you going to let me make love to you?” he asked, his voice deep and sexy, the growing darkness giving it a caressing quality.
Her body’s response to that question shocked Grace more than anything else. She hadn’t expected a direct hit and her mind scrambled as her invisible defensive wall became a pile of dust at the invading army of erotic thoughts tumbling through her mind. Heat churned in her gut, urging her to touch that dark masculine form in the shadows and—Grace squeezed her eyes shut, then tried to free her hand from Lance’s, but he wouldn’t allow it.
“Let me go.” She sounded like she had just run a few miles at top speed.
“You can’t run forever,” Lance told her, his voice still low and seductive, his breath hot against her palm. “When?”
“I have a boyfriend,” she reminded him. Desperately reminded herself. Even if they didn’t get along anymore, she added silently. She used Tim as a shield against this potent man because she knew, with the instinct of the hunted, she would fall prey to him, if she didn’t step away with care.
“You’re involved with a boy,” he corrected her, confidence brimming in his voice. “You’re with him because you can control him, Grace, admit it. Let me show you what it’s like to make love with a man.”
Grace gulped. She would have called him conceited if she weren’t so turned on by his words. With a few kisses, he’d reduced her to a quivering pile of wanton flesh, all but discarding her schooled feminist notion of death to all dominating men. Here was one man who seemed able to dominate her at will, whenever he chose. And Grace was suddenly afraid.
“I have feelings for him,” she protested weakly. She wanted to lie and say ‘I love him,’ but somehow she didn’t think he would believe her. His next words proved that.
“Sweetheart, you didn’t kiss me like you have any deep affection for your¼boyfriend,” Lance drawled, pulling her closer. He sensed her confusion and sought to use it to his advantage.
Grace looked at those tempting male lips and fought with herself. Being an only child who literally brought herself up, she never had to deny herself anything she wanted. However, she didn’t need the kind of complication that Lance Mercy represented and she resented, most of all, a man who could come and go as he pleased. Just like her father.
“I kiss everyone that way,” she told him coolly. He paused in the middle of drawing her closer. In the gathering darkness, she could feel the first hint of temper coming alive. So she added, for good measure, “It’s not just the eyes, you see, that drive all my men wild.”
“Is that a promise?”
Grace tugged at her hand again but still found it imprisoned. Short of another tussle, she was trapped in this car until he decided to let go. All she could do was to keep dousing out his ardor. Temper was definitely a good replacement for passion. At least, she hoped so.
“I never promise,” she said, giving an indifferent shrug. “It was just a kiss, after all. Can’t
you just let it go at that?”
“Just a kiss.” His voice was soft, but it cut like sharp jagged glass through her demeanor. He leaned towards her, his face inches away, and currents of anticipation raced up and down her spine. “When I have you in bed with me—and I will—be sure to remember those words when I kiss you. There.” He softly touched her lips with his. “There.” With his free hand, he ran a light finger over her aching nipple. “And especially there,” he whispered, as his hand moved lower. Much lower.
Grace stopped breathing, her lips parted in mid-gasp. His blue eyes looked into hers, fierce and determined, and she felt like a deer caught in oncoming headlights. “Lance¼” she whispered hoarsely, no longer sure what she wanted.
Helplessly, she watched those lips descend inexorably onto hers. His musky male scent played havoc on her already tizzy senses, and all she wanted was for him to continue. He kissed her gently, like the soft breeze wafting in through the car window. He persuaded without force as he took and tasted with his tongue, possessing her mouth as surely as he possessed her mind at the moment. She responded blindly, for once unable to stop herself. There was something in the way his tongue touched hers that made her go limp inside. When he finally released her lips, she could only stare mutely at him. His hand remained where it was, not moving, and it was arousing to know, at any moment, he might.
Lance studied her, seeing the passion in her eyes. And fear. And why not? She was, after all, barely grown up. He had the unfair advantage of experience to seduce her. He should let her go, if he had any morals. Looking down, he noted the sensual lines of her face, the parted lips that kissed like a woman who knew how to pleasure, the half-closed eyes that beckoned with promises. It was good he had never been a man concerned with morals.
“Will you be home tomorrow?” he asked, his breath warm against her cheek.
“Yes.” She wanted to see him. No, she didn’t. “No.”
“Say yes,” he commanded, knowing an advantage when he saw one. Advantage with this
woman, he suspected, was probably a rare thing. Better take all that he could.
“Yes.”
“I’ll call you.” He kissed her lightly again. “Aren’t you lucky you left all that personal info in your file? Now you can run, little Miss Intern.” He released her.
Aroused, vaguely disappointed, and not a little unsatisfied, Grace stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath—like a prisoner just tasting freedom. She didn’t turn around to look at him as she walked into her apartment complex, but she knew that he was watching. He was just waiting for the right moment to pounce.
***
Across the state line in Reston, Virginia, in a quiet restaurant, Ed and Sandra were finishing their coffee and dessert. The evening had been pleasant, with warm conversation about the D.C. art culture, real estate property prices, and the best restaurant they’d ever eaten in. The last subject brought many memories to the surface—the cheapest, noisiest trattoria in Florence, Italy, so well hidden in the cobble-stoned alleys, only the locals knew how to find it, and so dark was the trail at night, only the brave ones dared to risk their lives for the food.
That little dark place had been their secret, and their younger selves had returned again and again until even the locals didn’t look at them any more. He would order the spaghetti vongole and she always went for the pollo cacciatore. Rizo would come out from the kitchen and hug them, kissing them soundly on the cheeks, whenever they showed up. In his loud voice, he would insist the Chianti was on the house.
Florentine nights and Italian wine. Sandy could think of them without too much yearning now. She sipped her coffee, smiling at her companion across the table.
Florentine beauty and Italian passion. Ed never forgot. Through the years, he’d kept that memory of the restaurant visits close to his heart. His gaze settled on Sandy. He wondered how much his companion chose to remember.
They didn’t discuss business. Recorders, even retired ones, seldom did. Sharing could contaminate information. Recorders who had relationships with each other kept their working lives separate, and seldom asked each other’s opinion. The really good ones became partners as they advanced up the levels and some of these partnerships enjoyed the greatest success in work and love.
But Ed knew only too well the danger and downfall in certain relationships. Recorders were also control freaks by nature, little emotional time bombs waiting to explode. It didn’t take a psychologist to understand a recorder always formed a relationship with someone who kept him or her on the edge. They needed the challenge, the giving and taking of power. He’d never found someone who held that kind of control over him, but he knew that Sandy did, soon after Florence.
That confrontation long ago when she’d admitted to having ghosted for someone still seemed like it happened yesterday. It was all she had said, but that was enough of an explanation. He’d known her well enough to know the implication. It took a very special agent to get a recorder to become his or her ghost. That kind of relationship was remarkable and rare because it took a great deal of trust and dependency between two individuals trained to be uncompromising, independent and secretive.
