Claimed by the Secret Agent

by Lyn Stone

  “What if we run into this Onders or whatever his name is? We aren’t that far from the Zuider,” she warned. “He would recognize me.”

  Grant stopped and looked into her eyes, searching for the fear she must feel. She hid it pretty well, actually. He brushed a blond tendril off her brow and tucked it behind her ear. “I’ll be there. He won’t hurt you.”

  She stepped back out of reach and shot him a look of disbelief. “You think I’m scared of him? No, you idiot! If he sees me, he’ll know we’re onto him and run! We’ll never get him or who he’s working for.”

  With a heavy sigh, she retrieved the bag she had brought from her apartment and pulled out the cap she had worn yesterday. “I better wear this.” She twisted her hair, piled it on top of her head and put the cap on over it. Then she gave him another glare. “Maybe that will help you forego any blond jokes that come to mind.”

  A double espresso, maybe two, Grant was thinking. She definitely wasn’t a morning person. But he’d bet blond was her real hair color. She was too sensitive about it for it not to be.

  As if he’d ever find out.

  Grant felt marginally human after they had eaten, and he had forgiven Marie for snapping at him earlier. They now knew where Onders had gone, and Grant knew his reading of the paper clue had been right.

  He was talking on his phone, coordinating with the police as they walked. She was quiet, probably formulating questions for him as soon as he finished.

  “Watch out!” He grabbed her arm and snatched her out of the way as a bike rider missed her by inches. “You have to be careful if you get on the red paths,” he warned. “Those are for bikes, and they’ll run right over you.” He’d pulled her right up against him.

  She pushed out of his grasp and rubbed her biceps.

  “Why do you keep acting so concerned, Tyndal? It’s not necessary. You think that’s part of the rescue job, the protector bit?”

  He nodded. “Well, yeah. But even if it wasn’t, what’s wrong with a little human concern?”

  “A little. That’s the key.” She turned, gesturing with one hand for emphasis. “Say I’d been killed by Onders before you got there. There would have been an initial outcry. People would go, ‘Ah, that’s awful! Poor girl.’ Then they’d go on to the next news story, and you’d go on to your next job without another thought. See, I get that and I understand it, so you don’t have to pretend.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “We all like to think we’re so important, but the truth is I wouldn’t be missed much, if at all, and I know it. I’m just saying you don’t have to act all worried and hover like you care.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I do care. And your family would grieve if anything bad happened to you. They’d feel guilty for the rest of their lives because they hadn’t been able to afford the ransom.”

  She sighed. “Ah, Tyndal, you’re assuming, and we both know what that says about you. I haven’t seen my family in years. The only person left who’s actually related by blood is my mom, and I don’t even know where she lives.”

  “What about friends? I know you have friends.”

  “Sure. My coworkers. And they,” she said with an emphatic pause, “didn’t bother to send anyone to extract me, did they? No, a stranger came, one who didn’t know me from a hole in the ground. On orders from someone who’s only interest is my weird ability to memorize things.”

  What could he say? She was right about that. He’d be pissed, too. And bitter. She didn’t seem all that bitter, though. It was more like something she had reluctantly accepted long ago and gotten used to. “Well, I came after you and now I know you. You need a friend, you’ve got one.”

  Her smile was sweet, dimpled and patently false. “Thanks, but that’s okay. I’d just as soon keep this on a professional basis. I’ll have your back if you need help. That’s the way the game’s played, and I know my part.”

  “Damn!” He blew out a breath of frustration. “Somebody sure gave you a callous way of looking at life. Don’t you trust anyone at all?”

  Her brow furrowed as she thought about the question. Then she shook her head. “Just myself.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “Maybe I do a little, subconsciously anyway. I did sleep last night.”

  “Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” he muttered, taking her arm again and linking it with his when she edged too close to the bike path. “Humor me, would you? I don’t care if you have to act.”

  She laughed and gave his arm a rough little squeeze. “I can’t help but like you, Tyndal. You are so naive it’s downright funny.”

  He put his free hand over hers. “Stop gloating. Just because you sneaked out on me and made me look stupid, don’t think you’ll get away with that again.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she promised. Her smile looked real this time, but he didn’t trust it much.

  He wished they hadn’t had this conversation. Now it wasn’t only her physical well-being he had to worry about. She’d been hurt somehow and in some way he was afraid he couldn’t fix.

  Sometimes the worst scars of all didn’t show.

  Chapter 7

  M arie felt fairly comfortable with Tyndal today. He was holding her hand, and she’d almost gotten used to that. Sort of liked it, too. Maybe that wasn’t wise, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Where are we going?”

  He pocketed the phone he was still holding. “I thought maybe we’d hit a few of the little shops, walk down to the city center. You haven’t been here before, and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t enjoy it while we have some free time. I’m afraid the museums will be too crowded, though, and we should stay ready to respond.”

  “We should be watching his hotel.” She hated to protest because she really did want to tour the city. Who knew when she’d get another chance?

  “The commissioner assured me the police would handle it. We’ll still be close by. I said we’d relieve two of the officers at nine tonight. If anything breaks, they’ll call.” He smiled at her and nodded at one of the quaint little shops. “Any particular kind of souvenir you’d like to buy?”

  “A diamond, of course!” she said, laughing. “Isn’t that what this place is famous for?”

  “Well, they’re pretty good at cutting them up, so I hear. Hope your credit card balance is healthy.”

  “Not that healthy,” she admitted. “Let’s look in there.” She darted into one of the shops and began browsing, thinking a small piece of delftware would be nice.

  They shopped for several hours and spent the rest of the day seeing the sights. After a late dinner, they retrieved Grant’s car from the parking lot and went to work.

  Marie had to remind herself why she was there. Grant had kept her so busy that the events of the past few days had faded. It was as if their little sojourn had turned into a vacation. When she mentioned it to him, he admitted that distraction had been his intent.

  “You needed to regroup and unwind a bit,” he had said.

  Maybe he was right about that, but she hated his presuming that she couldn’t handle it, that she had to be coddled. Nobody coddled her unless she instigated it to further her objectives. Nobody.

  At nine o’clock that evening, Grant and Marie took their turn doing surveillance. They sat in Grant’s vehicle, parked on the sidewalk, half a block from the Zuider with a clear view of the main entrance.

  There were only three exits, and the other two were being manned by another duo of local police. He and Marie were watching the front because that was the most likely one Onders would use if he left. He had no reason to believe anyone was onto him.

  Stakeouts were a necessary evil, usually boring as hell and uncomfortable, too. Gallons of coffee consumed in order to stay awake presented the problem of bathroom breaks. Having a partner helped. Of course, the person you were paired with made a difference.

  He and Marie had already discussed the downside of the duty, lis
ted their pet peeves and laughed about them. She hated humming, smoking and tongue clicking. He steamed over slurping, drumming fingers on the dash and incessant throat clearing.

  Conversation quickly gave out as a general rule and left little other than the annoying munch of whatever snacks were involved and the interminable sighs of discontent. Surprisingly that was not so this time.

  He certainly wouldn’t classify Marie as a chatterbox, and neither was he. They spoke occasionally when a topic occurred, but it didn’t seem forced, and the silences were agreeable, even comfortable. Points for her.

  He liked that she didn’t try too hard to be charming and sound smart. She was both without any effort at all, and he wished he could tell her that without sounding as if he were coming on to her.

  Her soft laugh drew his attention. “What?” he asked, smiling at her delighted expression.

  “Look there.” She pointed to a couple on bicycles across the street. They must be eighty if they’re a day!”

  The two were stealing glances at each other as they pedaled and giggled about something one of them must have said. Grant watched them until they rode out of sight. “Statistics prove older people are happier. Did you know that? You’d think it would be the other way around, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess most of your problems are either solved or accepted by then. You needn’t worry so much about impressing people anymore and can just be yourself.”

  Grant thought about that and what made her say it. “You worry about impressions?” He had been thinking the opposite about her only moments before.

  “Only relating to the job. You know, ditzy blonde so that I’m underestimated. Party girl so I can flit around, eavesdropping.”

  He nodded and slid a glance over her dark jeans, black sweater and the cap that covered her hair. “Androgynous spy.”

  She laughed again. “Androgynous?”

  “Not exactly. The bumps on the front sort of give you away.” And the beautiful features, the graceful hands and that rounded little butt that filled out those Calvin Klein’s to perfection, he didn’t add.

  “Ah, you noticed the bumps?”

  “Nice bumps. Who wouldn’t?”

  “Well, thanks. I think.”

  “You’re welcome. Seriously, do you run into many problems on the job? I mean, you must get a lot of unwanted attention with that butterfly thing you do. Propositions and such. Isn’t your cover sort of an open invitation to hits?”

  “The worst part of the job, but I’m getting pretty good at duck-and-run with a smile over the shoulder. Gets dicey sometimes,” she admitted.

  Grant couldn’t help the stab of anger at men who would take advantage of a young woman who appeared guileless and not too brainy. “That’s dangerous ground, Marie. Maybe you should rethink your approach and tone it down a little.”

  Her smile faded to a stony frown. “And maybe you should do a little review on your own training. Whatever weapon works best at the time, you use it.”

  “Mind my own business, huh?”

  “Got that right.” She pouted for a little while, then blew out a sigh and shifted in her seat. “Is there any more coffee in that Thermos?”

  Grant handed it over and watched her drink from the cup top. She slurped noisily, intentionally, her gaze locked on his, deliberately trying to annoy him, daring him to comment. He knew she wanted a fight, so he merely smiled, clicked his tongue and said. “Lovely manners.”

  She finished the coffee quietly and screwed the cap back on. “Okay, truce?”

  “Truce,” he agreed.

  It was a long shift and he’d rather spend it with her than alone or with anyone else. He liked being with her, period. She was an enigma, that was for sure. Unpredictable, fascinating and beautiful as quicksilver.

  And a bigger distraction than any he had experienced on a mission. Grant locked his fingers behind his head and concentrated on the entrance to the hotel.

  Marie was up early the next morning in spite of their late night on watch. She showered and dressed for another day of exploring the city. There seemed to be little else to do but kill time until they had a break in the case.

  She figured if Onders didn’t make a move soon, however, he’d be arrested and interrogated in hopes of discovering who had hired him.

  When she returned to the bedroom, Grant was already dressed and on the phone. Suddenly, he flipped it shut. “The commissioner. We’ve got a situation.”

  Without further explanation, he started getting his things together. Marie rushed to catch up, and they were soon ready to leave.

  He still hadn’t told her what was going on or where they were going, but she held her questions, giving him time to formulate a plan.

  At the moment he was frowning over a small tourist map.

  “Is Onders on the move?” she asked finally.

  “Another abduction, one of the clerks at the U.S. consulate at Museumplein. Never been there.”

  “Get the car,” Marie told him. “If we cut through from this street on Van Baerlestraat, it’s a straight shot.”

  He frowned a second, then his expression cleared. “Oh, the map’s in your head.”

  “Yep. The consulate’s near the Van Gogh Museum. Know where that is?”

  He nodded and they hurried downstairs. “When did he take her?” Marie asked.

  “Early this morning.”

  “On our watch?”

  “Maybe, but Onders didn’t come out that front door. That much I know. Maybe he didn’t do it.”

  Marie felt a burning in the pit of her stomach. She could almost taste whatever it was that had knocked her out when she had been taken, and she remembered the feeling of outrage when she woke up.

  Valet parking delivered Grant’s car to the entrance and they hopped in. Grant had automatically gone to the driver’s side even though she was the one who knew exactly how to get where they were going. Typical male, Marie thought with a huff, but didn’t waste time arguing.

  “We have to find her, Grant,” she said, then recalled those questions she’d never had a chance to ask. “How’d you locate me?”

  “Your locator chip. She doesn’t have one.”

  “I know it’s there, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t give a thought to depending on it. So, they knew where I was all the time? The Company, I mean? Why didn’t they—”

  “We were detailed to do it. It’s our case now.”

  “Well, can’t you…zone in on her or whatever you claim to do? If you have something she would have touched? You did it with Onders’s little list.”

  “Nope. Doesn’t work that way. She would have to be the one deciding where to go, or at least know where she was going.” He glanced over at her. “A believer now, are you?”

  “Not really, just desperate to try anything and everything. Aren’t you?”

  “Sure I am, and we do have an agent who’s an empath. He might be able to locate her if she knows where she is. That’s a big if, though. I’ll call as soon as we reach the consulate.”

  They were all a bunch of nuts at COMPASS, Marie thought, but she held on to the hope that she was wrong. Surely the government wouldn’t put so much faith and funds into a group of self-defined psychics if they hadn’t proved they could do something out of the ordinary.

  What if it were true? Grant was pretty convincing. Suppose the team did consist of empaths, mind readers and vibe seekers like him? Would she fit in? Her edge wouldn’t seem all that keen stacked against theirs, would it? She shook her head. Man, what a strange decision to have to make, based on criteria that was even stranger.

  Chapter 8

  M arie and Grant reached the consulate in under six minutes. After identifying themselves, they spoke with Acting Chief Brunson to get the details.

  Marie automatically stood aside and took the subordinate role for practical reasons. Grant might obtain more information directly than she could, since they were dealing with a man.

  “Cynthia Ri
vers was abducted from her flat on Ruysdahl between two and three this morning,” he informed them. “Her roommate, who tends bar at one of the nightspots in the Center, found Cynthia missing when she came in from her late shift. She said there were signs of a struggle.”

  “Could we see her file?” Grant asked.

  “Our personnel records are strictly confidential,” Brunson said. His glance fell on a blue folder on the side of his desk.

  “If you have a photo of her, that might be helpful,” Grant told him. “Perhaps you could answer a few questions about her that wouldn’t compromise her privacy?”

  Brunson looked doubtful, but he drew the folder in front of him and opened it. A photo was clipped to the top right-hand corner, and he removed it, handing it to Grant.

  Marie lasered in on the upside-down form as Grant fired off questions to distract Brunson. Then she shifted her gaze to the typed copy opposite the form and recorded that. The fifteen seconds or so that Grant afforded her had to be enough because Brunson closed the folder and set it aside.

  “Thank you, sir. You’ve been a big help.” Then Grant took her arm and turned to leave. “Let’s go.”

  She prayed they could find the young woman before she was harmed. “We’re going to her address, aren’t we?” Marie asked after they’d left Brunson’s office.

  “Yeah. Your head map still working? Where is it?”

  Marie stopped and closed her eyes, visualizing the map of the city she’d committed to memory. “It’s a straight shot going toward the A10 exit.”

  “How efficient you are, little MapQuest,” he said with a short laugh. “What would I do without you?”

  “I doubt Rivers will be ransomed, Grant. She’s a small-town girl, went to a community college, then on scholarship to Mercer University. Her father’s a landscaper and her mom’s a housewife. They live in Shelby, Arkansas.”

  “You got that from her file? Reading it upside down?”

  “Are you impressed?” she asked with a smile.

  “Utterly astounded. Let’s go find this young lady.”