Undercover husband, p.10
Undercover Husband, page 10
Jon stepped closer and picked up the thick braid that hung over her shoulder. He pulled the rubber band from the end and began to unravel the strands.
“I still don’t like it. I’ll have to keep an extra eye on him.”
His fingers in her hair felt heavenly. No, that wasn’t the right word. They felt delicious, erotic, carnal. Lauren closed her eyes, wanting to savor the experience.
“You’re beautiful,” Jon whispered, his lips brushing the skin below her ear. “Do you know what I want to do, sweetheart?”
“No.”
“I want to make love to you right here in the middle of the living room, right now.”
His declaration snapped her out of her sensuous dream. Her eyes popped open to meet his burning blue gaze. With his eyes the color of Jon’s and his face clean shaven, Lauren was inclined to believe all this man’s tales. But the nagging fear that everything was not as it should be rose up and seized her heart. Would she ever know the truth—the whole truth without any pieces missing?
Stepping out of his embrace, she murmured, “I have to go.” She started for the door.
“Lauren,” he called. She paused. “Did you ever contact your fiancé and tell him you can’t marry him?”
She swung around to face him. “Don’t push me. I’ll do what’s right for everyone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you can’t ride roughshod over my life. If you can’t trust me enough to do the right thing, then maybe you’d better slip back into the shadows. You have your files and laptop. I promise I won’t give you away.”
His hand trailed down her arm. “I’m sorry. I’ve been going crazy here, thinking about Tony, the mole, wondering what happened to my boss.” He laced his fingers through hers. “And you. I’ve been worried about your safety, concerned you were okay. Missing you.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “I’m sorry if I came off like a caveman, but you bring out some primitive feelings in me.”
He grinned and a small dimple appeared in his right cheek. Jon had a dimple there.
“Lauren, what is it?” His eyes were tender with concern.
She shook her head. “I have to go.”
He released her hand. “I’ll be here.”
She reached for the doorknob.
“Lauren, be careful going back to the restaurant. Take a couple of cabs, or take the Underground, then a cab.”
A pleased grin curved her mouth. “Hey, I already did that coming over here. I might make a decent spy after all.”
Lauren bumped into one patron, nearly knocking the man off his feet in her haste to get to the kitchen.
“Jimmy,” she called, pushing open the swinging door.
His head jerked up, and he stopped chopping the onion on the cutting board before him. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him into her office, never giving him time to put down his butcher knife.
“What happened while I was gone? Any more disasters?”
Jimmy ran his finger along the top of the knife blade. “The Fazeo brothers showed up with our order, so now we have twice what we need. And then Donald came by.”
Lauren’s head rolled forward, her loose hair falling around her face. She pushed her hair behind her shoulder, then glanced at Jimmy and saw the question in his eyes as to why her hair was now loose.
“What did Donald say?” Lauren asked, sitting down behind her desk and ignoring Jimmy’s silent question.
“He’ll call later. How did things go for you?”
“You’ll be happy to know our friend answers his door the same way no matter who it is.”
Jimmy’s fingers flexed around the knife. “Everything okay?”
Holding her head in her hands, she said, “How can I tell?”
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’s going to get better. If you need me, you know where to find me.”
She smiled at the slender Englishman. “Thanks, you’ve been a good friend.”
“I mean it.”
When the door closed behind him, Lauren folded her arms on the desk and rested her head on them. She was lost and didn’t have a clue where she was.
Jon pushed away from the table and rubbed his aching temples. Part of the Teltex file stared back at him from the computer screen. He sensed that somehow the mole had accessed the embassy computer and deleted portions of the file. Jon hoped that Diamond’s computer doctor would be able to retrieve it.
He wished he had the hard copy of the files so he could compare them to the information on the diskette. It would be the only way he would know for sure if the mole had tampered with the information in the existing file.
His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since Lauren had fixed that foul stuff for breakfast.
Lauren. His eyes drifted closed, and he saw her as she appeared last night in his shirt, her long, beautiful legs driving the desire he felt for her into overwhelming passion that had almost exploded beyond his control. He had to fight the temptation to press her into a physical commitment. She was not ready to give herself to him. But, once he had her safe, he was going to try everything in his power to persuade her that she belonged to him.
He worried about her getting back to her restaurant. She had had enough sense not to come straight to Jimmy’s flat from her restaurant. She was right—she would’ve made a good spy.
But hadn’t he inadvertently made her into one by coming to her? Hadn’t he plunged her into the netherworld where only the dead and tormented such as himself lived?
His stomach growled again. He was tempted to visit the corner grocer and get some real food, but that would be an unnecessary risk. Sighing, he walked into the kitchen. Sardines and Earl Grey didn’t sound too bad.
The afternoon seemed to go on forever. One of Lauren’s waiters didn’t show, and she filled in when a group of Texans on a tour of London descended on her restaurant. Close to five, Donald called.
“Lauren, where have you been?” he asked, a note of testiness in his voice.
“Things have been crazy around here, Donald.”
“You missed our appointment with the jeweler. That is unlike you.”
“I’m sorry.” She explained about the Ford and added her cover-up story of going to Grasmere.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?”
Oddly enough, the endearment evoked nothing in her. Now, when Jon had called her that…
“I’m fine,”
“We don’t have much time. I’ll pick you up at your flat in thirty minutes. Wear your best. I want to impress the Swedish ambassador. There might be some business opportunities for me.”
The line was disconnected. Lauren stared stupidly at the handset. Donald had hung up on her. It was unlike him. As she replaced the receiver, it occurred to Lauren what Donald had just said. They were scheduled to attend the Swedish-embassy party tonight.
She couldn’t go. Things were crazy enough without this added in. Quickly she redialed Donald’s office number. “Is Donald there?” she asked the secretary.
“No. He just departed.”
“Rats,” she muttered to herself.
“May I take a message, Ms. Michaels?”
“No, thanks. I’ll try him at home.” It seemed her luck was consistent—all bad.
Glancing at her watch, she decided it was too soon for Donald to be at home, so what choice did she have but to rush home and get ready? Grabbing her purse, she hurried out of her office.
“Jimmy, I’ve got to go. The Swedish-embassy party. I’ll call our friend and let him know where I am.”
As she walked home, it occurred to Lauren that going to this party would provide her the perfect opportunity to end things with Donald. And she owed Donald a face-to-face meeting, not a phone call, to break their engagement.
It was obvious to her, after her response to Jon, that her feelings for Donald were more along the line of friendship, not the abiding love or passion that a woman should feel for her mate. It was a startling truth that she had been forced to face over the past few days.
And she had the man calling himself Jonathan Michaels to thank for that.
Thinking of Jon, Lauren knew she had to call him and tell him where she was going. She could let him stew in his own juices, but for what purpose other than vengeance? It wasn’t Jon’s fault she didn’t love Donald enough to marry him. Nor was it Jon’s fault that she was attracted to him.
She stopped at a pay phone a block from her flat and dialed Jimmy’s number. After the tenth ring, she hung up. Jon, obviously being a good spy, wasn’t answering the phone. She needed to work out some code system with him so she could call.
Since she couldn’t leave him twisting in the wind all night, her only option was to call the restaurant and talk to Jimmy.
“Jon won’t answer your phone. When your shift is over, would you stop by your place and tell Jon what has happened?”
“You’re asking a lot, Lauren.”
“I know. He’s a little abrasive, but—”
“But you know I’ll do it.”
“That’s right. And remind me to give you a raise.”
“You can bet on that.”
“I knew I could. Oh, and Jimmy?”
“What?”
“Would you take Jon something to eat? Your apartment isn’t exactly the culinary highlight of London.”
“I’m going to hit you up for a big raise, Lauren.”
His brashness amused her. “You’ll get it. One other thing, Jimmy. Be careful. Make sure you’re not followed.”
“Great,” he grumbled. “Just what I always wanted to be. A mark in a James Bond movie.”
* * *
Parker glanced around the empty warehouse. It made him nervous to come to this place when it was deserted. His footsteps rang out in the quiet as he walked toward the steel stairs tucked in the back corner. If he was trying for an unobtrusive entrance, he failed.
The office door at the head of the steps was open. Parker entered.
“Close the door,” the other man ordered. After Parker complied, he asked, “Did you find out where Lauren was last night, and did she say anything about Greg Williams saving her from the car?”
“She claimed a man came out of nowhere to rescue her then disappeared. She acted as if she’d never met him before.”
“And do you think she didn’t recognize Greg?”
“How could she have not?” Parker shook his head. “I introduced him to Lauren at lunch just the other day. She spent enough time at our table to be able to identify him.”
The man behind the desk rubbed his hand over his chin. “So what does that tell us?”
“That she’s covering for the man?”
“You’re right. But the question is why?”
“How should I know?” Parker snapped.
“Maybe you’d better make it your business to know.”
“And how do you suggest I do that?”
“You’re the CIA expert. Come up with an idea. And make it quick. We need only one more part. I don’t want things fouled up at this stage of the game. Do you understand me?”
Only too clearly, Parker thought. If he didn’t deliver, he’d end up like Anthony Neil—dead.
* * *
Nervously Jimmy knocked loudly on the door to his flat. Today he had nearly choked on his morning tea when he read the newspaper account of Anthony Neil’s murder. He was worried that Lauren trusted this man who was accused of killing his partner. Jimmy didn’t share the same confidence in this bloke that his employer did. Why, he hadn’t even given Lauren his correct name.
“Who is it?” a voice demanded through the door.
“Jimmy Mason.”
The lock sounded, then the door swung open. Jimmy peered into the apartment but didn’t see anyone. He didn’t like the situation. Growing up on the streets of Liverpool, he learned when to stand and fight and when to cut and run. The latter was demanded now.
He turned, ready to run down the hall, when the same voice growled, “Come in.”
He stepped into the room, his back to the wall. The door closed, and he found himself face-to-face with the point of Jon’s knife.
“Your habits stink, Yank.”
“Where’s Lauren? Has something happened to her?”
“She’s out with her fiancé.”
Jon froze, his knife hovering over its sheath. His eyes turned dark and turbulent.
Uncomfortable with the tense silence, Jimmy quickly explained the situation. “She tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up.”
Jon assembled his cane with a quick twist.
“Where did they go?”
“The Swedish embassy was having a reception,” Jimmy answered. “I think she forgot about the doings until Donald called and reminded her.”
“Why didn’t she refuse to go?”
“Aside from the fact that Donald is her fiancé?”
Jon’s sharp, cold gaze could have cut glass.
“Here.” Jimmy shoved the white bag at him. Jon took it, limped to the kitchen table and settled into a chair. Jimmy sat down beside him and watched Jon pull out the aluminum pan filled with chicken flautas, quesadillas, rice and fruit tamales.
“You can thank Lauren for the dinner,” Jimmy said.
Jon glanced up, the plastic fork included with the dinner clutched in his hand. “You’re telling me that you wouldn’t have done this on your own?”
Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On what your intentions are toward Lauren.”
“Why are my intentions any of your business?”
“Because I’m Lauren’s friend. And I care for her and won’t sit by and let someone take advantage of her.” It worried Jimmy that Lauren called this man Jon, when the newspapers identified him as Greg Williams.
The man rested his arm on the back of the kitchen chair. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
“I’m curious. Why, of all the people in London, did you turn to Lauren in your time of need? What’s she to you?”
Jon took a bite of the flauta, thinking of a way to satisfy Jimmy’s concern without telling him too much. “She’s an old friend. Someone I could trust when the chips were down.”
Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest as he studied Jon’s face. “I don’t recall you ever coming to the restaurant.”
“Do you see every customer who eats at Santa Fe Station?”
“No.”
“Why, I’ve even eaten Lauren’s blue cornmeal.” He hoped the reference to that ghastly stuff would satisfy the Englishman’s curiosity. “And lived to tell about it.”
Apparently his reference to the cereal worked. Jimmy grimaced. “You’re either very brave or very stupid.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes with Lauren there isn’t a choice.”
From his expression Jimmy heartily agreed. He stood. “If you hurt her,” he warned the other man, “you’ll answer to me.
Jon’s eyes were like laser beams, hot, intense, probing. “You love her, don’t you?”
Jimmy didn’t bother to hide his feelings for Lauren. “Yeah, I love her, but not in the way you mean. She believed in me when no one else did, not even me. She gave me a chance to make somethin’ of myself. The last time she was hurt, I couldn’t do anything about it. I can now. I don’t want to see her go through that pain again.”
Jon’s spine stiffened. This was his chance to learn firsthand what happened to Lauren three years ago. “What pain?”
“Her husband was killed in a car accident. I’ve never seen a person grieve so hard. Nearly killed her. That’s why I don’t want to see you screw up her chances with Donald. He’s been good for her. The bleakness that was always in her eyes is gone.”
Jon tried to keep his voice neutral. He didn’t succeed. “Does she love him?”
“Naw, she doesn’t love him, not like she did her first husband. That type of love comes only once in a lifetime. But Lauren likes Donald, and they are compatible. Don’t mess things up for her.”
Jon watched Jimmy depart. He sat staring at the closed door, hearing again what Jimmy had said. Lauren still loved her husband. He closed his eyes in relief. It would make his job easier.
Chapter 8
Lauren had finished her shower and was wrapped in a towel when the doorbell rang.
“Rats,” she murmured, hurrying out of the bathroom. “Who is it?” she called through the closed door.
“Donald.” He sounded like a four-year-old who hadn’t had his nap.
She opened the door. “I’m running late. Give me ten minutes.” Without waiting for his reply, she rushed back into the bedroom.
Yanking out her lingerie drawer, she dug through the bras and panties, searching for the strapless bra she needed to wear with her black sheath. When she spotted it in the back corner, she pulled it out. Along with the bra, something else flew out. Lauren looked down at her feet to see what it was. A pressed white rosebud lay on the floor.
With shaking fingers, she picked it up. This was the rose Jon had given her on their wedding day. They had obtained the marriage license and gone to the local magistrate to get married. On the way inside the building, Jon stopped at a florist and bought her a single white rosebud. He told her it symbolized their love, pure and beginning to bud.
How did the rosebud get in the corner of her lingerie drawer when she had pressed it in her diary? A cold finger of fear stroked down her spine. Where was her diary?
She fumbled through the items in the drawer until she came across the red diary near the front: How had it traveled from the back to the front on its own? And how had the rose managed to escape from its pages when the diary had a locking buckle? She had never bothered to lock the book, but she had slid the metal tongue into its groove.
She opened the diary and scanned several pages. The toothbrush incident was recorded, as were her feelings about the first time she and Jon had made love. All things that the man claiming to be her husband had whispered sweetly in her ear.
And hadn’t he been waiting for her in her flat the other night? Waiting in this very room?
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself enough to think. But the magnitude of what she had just discovered rolled over her like a tidal wave, swamping her and drowning her in despair.’
