In the shadow of truth s.., p.13
In the Shadow of Truth: (Shadow Series Book 3), page 13
He blushed and tried to urge his manhood back into service with his hand. “I hate those things.”
Kathryn smiled seductively and opened the condom packet with her teeth. “I promise to make it worth your while.” She grinned and ran her hand across his smooth chest and down his abdomen, to his working hand, where she took over.
Bouchaule smiled in approval and put his hands behind his head, as if he had no doubt that she would be true to her word.
* * *
Kathryn came out of the bathroom covering her dripping torso with an oversized towel. Clad in nothing but his cotton briefs, Thierry Bouchaule lingered at the window, his tall, well-built frame silhouetted by the late afternoon sun, as he parted the drape to peer down on the street below.
She crossed the room to stand at his back, where she embraced him from behind and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.
“Something interesting out there?”
“Do you trust him?”
She lifted her cheek and pulled back the drape to see the top of Smitty’s hat as he tried to be inconspicuous while getting a shoeshine from a boy across the street. Kathryn let the drape fall and gave Bouchaule a conciliatory pat on the back.
“I trust him with my life. In fact, right now, he’s the only man I trust.”
Bouchaule turned to face her with disappointment evident in his pursed lips. “I hope that changes very soon.”
Kathryn smiled and looked deeply into his eyes as she caressed his face with her hand. “I’d like that.”
He kissed her hand and turned his back on the window to pluck a cigarette from the gold case on the nightstand. He lit it, exhaling as he spoke. “Your friend does not like me.”
“My friend doesn’t want me to get hurt.”
“I would never hurt you, Kathryn. Your heart is safe with me.”
Kathryn looked at him sideways and took the cigarette from his hand with an amused grin. “I don’t think he’s worried about my heart.”
Bouchaule’s casual mood suddenly turned serious. “Is it so impossible that you would care for me?”
Kathryn exhaled a drag and frowned in confusion at his mood swing. “Why would you say that?”
He hesitated, but then raised his chin. “I could fall in love with you.”
Kathryn chuckled as she pulled a bit of tobacco from her tongue. “I bet you say that to all your women.”
He moved closer. “I have never met a woman like you before.”
“Yes,” Kathryn said with a smirk, doubting his sincerity. “I’m unique. Just like everyone else.”
He cupped her face in his hand. “I am serious.”
His eyes told her it was the truth. “What gives? I come up here for some recreational fun, and, suddenly, you’re all hearts and flowers. You don’t even know me, Thierry.”
“I know that I want to spend the rest of my life learning you.” He kissed the length of her arm, ending with her hand.
Kathryn’s casual mood shifted to impatience as she tried to move away. “I have to go.”
Strong arms held her tight about the waist.
“I said I have to go.”
“I heard you.”
“Then let me go.” She gave him a warning look, and he reluctantly loosened his grasp but held fast to her trailing hand.
“Why must you leave?”
“I’ve got a rehearsal.”
He smiled, brimming with charm and bravado, and pulled her to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist again and kissed her neck. “You have no need for rehearsals … you are magnificent. Stay with me, just a little longer.”
Kathryn pushed away from his grasp and clung to her slipping towel.
“I’ve got to go, Thierry.”
He raised his chin, his mood clouding again.
“It is because of him, is it not?”
“Who?”
“Forrester.”
“Of course not. What’s it got to do with him?”
Bouchaule moved closer and gently took her hand. “You need not be afraid of him. I will not let him hurt you.”
“Who says I’m afraid?”
“My brave darling,” Bouchaule said with a condescending tone reserved for a wilting wallflower. “You do not have to make believe. Fear is nothing to be ashamed of.” He kissed her hand. “I told you … I will not let him harm you.”
“Please,” Kathryn said quietly. “I’ve got to go.”
Bouchaule straightened, as his gentle demeanor fell away. “I do not like that he controls you so.”
Kathryn looked up with anger in her eyes. “No one controls me.” She wrenched her hand from his. “Not Marcus Forrester, and not you!”
“Wait—” He tried in vain to interrupt.
“And when I say I’ve got to go, I’ve got to go. I’m not going to stand here and defend my actions or justify everything I do. If that’s too much for your ego to take, then we may as well call it quits right now.”
Bouchaule ignored her tirade and boldly wrapped himself around her from behind as she tried to walk away. “I have upset you, my darling. Forgive me.”
Kathryn struggled for the appropriate few moments and then relaxed her tense body into his embrace. The tug between make believe and genuine anger gave her pause, and she closed her eyes, cursing the agent in her who still hadn’t shed her useless self-respect. She reached up to hold the cheek resting on her bare shoulder and silently exhaled a slow, centering breath. “I’m sorry, Thierry. It was a beautiful afternoon. I just …”
Bouchaule tightened his embrace and rocked her gently. “The pleasure was mine, and if I want you to stay, it is not because I want to control you. It is because I do not want to be without you.”
“I know.” She patted his cheek and let her head fall back on his chest. She was in control again.
“Do you really have a rehearsal?”
Kathryn exhaled to the ceiling. “No. I’ve got to meet Marc at the office.”
“You do not have to deceive me, Kathryn.”
“Maybe I don’t like going from your arms to his. It makes me feel—”
Bouchaule turned her in his arms and didn’t let her finish. “We will do what we have to do for now.”
“For now?”
“I am not a complicated man, darling. I mean what I say.”
Kathryn tilted her head and smiled. “Are you going to save me, Thierry?”
“Do you need saving?”
Kathryn gazed longingly into his eyes and parted her lips as she leaned closer. “Very much.”
Bouchaule was more than willing to oblige, and he covered her mouth with his in a passionate kiss.
Kathryn entertained his passion but then pulled away, licking her lower lip, as if she may never taste him again.
“What is it?” he asked.
Kathryn turned away. “I know what you’re doing.”
He smiled “Yes. I am going to make love to—”
“No.” She extricated herself from his arms. “You’re just using me to get to Forrester.”
“What?”
Kathryn smiled at his act and casually went to the bar and poured a drink.
“It’s all right, Thierry. It comes with the territory.”
Bouchaule moved to her back and put his hands tenderly on her shoulders. “It is also not entirely true.”
She moved from under his touch and handed him the drink she’d just made. “But part of it is true?”
He took a sip and eyed her warily as she walked away. “If you think I am just using you, then why are you here?”
Kathryn sat in the low-slung chair in the corner and crossed her legs, exposing her flesh to the hip. “Because part of me hopes it’s not true, and the rest of me would be happy to bring Forrester down. If you care, then I trust you will protect me from him when that happens. Do you care that much, Thierry?”
He crossed the room and stood before her. “I do.”
“Will you protect me?”
He knelt at her feet. “Yes.”
“Can I trust you?”
He slid his hand up her shapely leg and under her towel, causing her to uncross her legs at his advances. He leaned into her body and captured her lips with a whispered promise. “Yes.”
Kathryn emerged from the hotel later than expected, and Smitty could tell from the faint whisker burn on her cheek that she had slept with the suave Dr. Bouchaule. He kept his thoughts to himself until they got into the car, where he could no longer hold his tongue.
“You didn’t have to do that, Kat.”
She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out her open window. “He’s an attractive man. Why not?”
Smitty glared at her. “Because punishing yourself for what happened to Jenny will not change anything.”
Kathryn chuckled, as if the notion were absurd. “Sleeping with Thierry Bouchaule is hardly what I consider punishment.”
He glared at her again. He knew Kathryn sensed his jealousy, and she had the grace to apologize. “Sorry.”
Smitty took the apology, thankful at least for some kind of exchange. It was a departure from the wordless treks down the busy halls of headquarters, the silent rides in elevators, and the all too familiar awkward silences in the car as they drove to this place and that. That is how it had been between them since Kathryn’s relationship with Jenny ended a month ago. He knew better than to bring her up, but something had to be said. Kathryn now rarely spoke unless spoken to, saving what little personality she exposed for her award-worthy playacting with Forrester and now, apparently, her role with Bouchaule.
“Was it worth it?”
“I know what I’m doing, Smitty, and for your information, it was worth it.” She looked out the window. “It’s all going to be worth it.”
Smitty wasn’t sure he agreed, no matter what she’d found out. The personal toll the assignment and Jenny’s departure were taking on her was becoming more and more evident, and now she was taking on more. He wasn’t so sure it was merely work related.
“Things can’t go on like this, Kat.”
“It’ll go on for as long as it has to go on.”
“Okay, you can’t go on like this.”
Kathryn turned to him, and he could see anger in her eyes. “And what exactly would you have me do, Smitty?”
She had him there. He was in no position to say how she should handle Jenny’s loss or, more immediately, living with Forrester day in and day out. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend what it was like for her—to have the man’s hands on her, in her, to have to pretend it was pleasing. Just thinking about it sickened him, and he didn’t even want to know about her relationship with the good doctor.
Both Forrester and the OSS wanted information on Thierry Bouchaule, and she was right where she needed to be—between them. But it was slowly killing her, and he wasn’t going to stand by and watch it happen.
“You need to start taking care of yourself, Kathryn. Sleep, for instance. This few hours here, few hours there, is not healthy.”
She exhaled wearily and let her head drop to the back of the seat. “I’m fine.”
“Bull. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”
“Forrester has no complaints, and neither does brass.”
“No, but Dominic does.”
Kathryn snapped her head up. He knew questioning her professionalism at the club would not be dismissed.
“Nicky? Why? What did he say?”
“What do you think he said? You’re sleepwalking through your performances, no pun intended, you’re not taking care of your voice … and don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
She furrowed her brow, as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, but then turned away, and he knew she recognized the hollow feeling that must have shown in her work. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Letting Dominic down was inexcusable. Music had always come naturally to her. It was the one thing that never failed to move her, but her performances now seemed empty and flat. She was talented enough to take her vocal gift for granted and just expected it to carry her through, but he also knew she felt Dominic deserved better. Much better.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“He’s concerned, Kathryn.”
“I know.”
“I’m concerned.”
She put her hand on his knee to reassure him. “I know.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dusk had fallen by the time Jenny pulled up to the industrial park that housed her uncle’s storage unit. She learned of it while snooping through the outgoing mail on his desk at the paper, where she had returned to the staff part time.
The Daily Chronicle had its own storage and archive facilities, but this address was not it. Ever on the lookout for something out of the ordinary, this remote area across town immediately caught her attention. A little steam and a steady hand with a letter opener produced an outgoing cash payment to a storage company for a bill addressed to someone other than her uncle, a name she didn’t recognize. It might be a long shot, but it was the only thing she had found out of the ordinary in her uncle’s business or personal life.
Jenny didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of her superiors by sending them on a wild goose chase over nothing, so she took it upon herself to do a little investigating on her own before reporting her findings. Now, she sat outside the mystery unit in her idling car, bracing herself for what she might find inside.
The industrial park was a ghost town on this rainy Sunday night. The Cord’s headlights illuminated the dingy gray metal slats of the roll-up bay door, and Jenny quickly turned them off to avoid any undue attention. She was sure she was alone but couldn’t tame the paranoia that comes with being someplace one shouldn’t. The bulb above the storage unit’s number was out, just like all the lights above the park’s units. In fact, the entire place looked abandoned, and, for the moment, that suited Jenny just fine. She pulled her car around to the side of the building and stepped out into the fine drizzle, flashlight in hand and lock picks at the ready.
It took her fifteen minutes to get inside the unit, but she chose to blame that on the rusty padlock and the miserable weather, rather than her lack of expertise with a lock pick. Once inside, she lowered the bay door behind her and quieted its clanging pulley chain. It was pitch-black inside. There were no windows, no lights, and it smelled stale and musty. She turned on the flashlight and did a quick scan of the small room.
Haphazardly stacked boxes, and what she assumed was covered furniture, filled the space. The layer of dust blanketing every object in the room made Jenny feel that her overactive imagination had led her astray and she’d done nothing but disturb someone’s long forgotten tomb.
She felt foolish, standing in the dark, holding her flashlight like a rain-soaked Nancy Drew wannabe, but just when she accepted that she had stumbled upon a dead end, she saw them—footprints in the dust-covered floor, leading into the center of the nondescript piles of boxes and dingy sheets.
The discovery sent a chill up her spine, and she suddenly felt like she wasn’t alone. The darkness behind her felt corporeal, like it would reach out and grab her at any moment. She spun the flashlight around to her perceived foe, and finding nothing but the cement block wall behind her, she backed up to it to gather herself. The wall was cold and unwelcoming and did nothing to ease her discomfort. She exhaled a steadying breath and focused her attention and the light on the well-traveled path through the dust on the smooth concrete floor. The footprints were large—a man’s to be sure—and she wondered when they had last left their mark.
She trained her light on the stack of boxes straight ahead and tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the feeling she wasn’t alone. She took a step and swore she heard something other than her movement and the steady rain on the corrugated tin roof. Her heartbeat quickened and her eyes darted to the dark corners beyond her flashlight’s reach. If someone else was in there, she was a sitting duck. There was nowhere she could go. She’d never get away, and after she was caught, no one would hear her scream.
She swallowed hard. When would she learn? An idea that seemed so brilliant in her head once again unraveled under her shortsighted enthusiasm and left her exposed to possible danger. She heard panicked breathing but soon realized it was her own. She held her breath for a few seconds, to listen for signs of company, and hearing none, concluded that her opponent was probably doing the same. It was always like that in the movies—the dead calm before the fatal attack.
Hoping her attacker had never seen such a movie, she slowly put her hand in her pocket, and in the sternest voice she could muster, said, “Come on out of there, nice and slow … I’ve got a gun.”
She supposed it would have been more impressive had the flashlight in her hand not been shaking with dread, but after a few nerve-racking moments, logic took over and she reasoned that anyone with intent to harm her would have attacked before now. Her bravado was rewarded with continued silence, and she let out a relieved chuckle in honor of her vivid imagination.
She shook her head when reality finally set in. “Jenny, there’s only one way in, and the door was locked from the outside. You’re an idiot.”
She chuckled out loud and wiped the rain from her brow as she shone her light into the room with renewed confidence.
“Okay,” she exhaled as she moved in to examine the scene closely. “What have we got here?”
Kathryn exhaled the final drag on her cigarette and smashed the spent butt into the full ashtray under her hand. She listened indifferently as Colonel Forsythe commended her work.
She was fully immersed in Forrester’s world now, and her assignment had become a way of life. It was a coping mechanism—anything to keep her mind off Jenny—and hardly something she thought should be commended.
Her aggressive stance with Forrester had opened new avenues for their investigation, and Kathryn lamented the fact that she had not taken it sooner. She wasn’t prepared to say the time she’d spent with Jenny was not time well spent, but in the big scheme of things, she shuddered to think what her delay may have cost the war effort.
