Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  Maybe Vivian herself had some Mata Hari in her.

  Brandt was leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest a small black tablet tucked under one arm, starched shirt and classy tie, razor straight crease down his pants, and one leather Oxford crossed over the other—the epitome of suave business, except for that small bump on his nose that hinted at a darker side.

  One side of his mouth crooked up in what some women would consider a flirty hint of a smile.

  “So,” Bonnie said as she took a few steps toward him. “Who thinks I’m all integrity and apple pie? Were those your words or hers?”

  Brandt laughed softly. “Not apple pie. Not you.”

  “What’s wrong with apple pie?” Not that Bonnie was a fan, but the description bothered her. It seemed so…domestic and wholesome.

  “Somehow you don’t strike me as the kind of person that likes to be compared to food. You’re too practical for that nonsense.”

  Ugh. He made her sound so boring. But she probably was, which was why this fishing expedition was not going to work.

  “Yeah, that’s me. Practical Bonnie. I have to go and get my practical purse from my practical office.” Bonnie walked past him to the stairwell. It was three flights down, but she was irritated enough to want to stomp down the stairs instead of having to share an elevator with the ninja.

  He followed her, but she ignored him. When she reached her office and unlocked the door, he accompanied her into the room. She opened her desk drawer and withdrew her purse.

  “Lemon,” he said.

  “What?” She walked past him then held the door so she could lock it after he left the room.

  “If I were to compare you to a dessert, it would be lemon.” He stood just behind her as she tested the knob to be sure it was locked, but it moved under her touch and the door opened.

  “Gee, thanks. Lemon pie, a dessert that is sour and fattening.”

  “No. Not a pie, a tart.”

  Bonnie snorted. “Well, there’s a first. Wait until I tell my daughter I got called a tart today. She thinks I’m a shriveled up old witch.”

  “She’s young and your daughter. She doesn’t see what I do.”

  “And you see a lemon tart. Now there’s a line.”

  “Here’s another one: a crisp outer shell, and on the inside a filling that is tangy and sweet blended together just right on the tongue.” His voice reverberated just above her shoulder, his breath tickled her hair. She jiggled the key, but it wouldn’t release from the lock. She bit her lip, determined not to get distracted by the effects of anything on anyone’s tongue.

  “Do you mind taking a few steps back? The lemon tart is trying to lock her office door against thieves and bandits.”

  ****

  Outside the building, Bonnie walked toward the garage.

  “I’m parked over there,” Brandt said from behind her.

  “I’m driving.” She tossed the words over her shoulder without pausing. Vivian might insist Bonnie eat lunch with Brandt, but she didn’t say Bonnie couldn’t get it to go and eat it in her office at her desk. That way Brandt could show her how he’d gotten into the Commonwealth’s computer system.

  She expected a fight, but in a few seconds he had caught up with her. They walked side by side on the walkway, and when they reached the garage, he reached in front of her and opened the door, then stood aside as she walked through the opening. She walked up one flight, and once again he reached in front of her and opened the door.

  They walked without speaking toward her car. Bonnie paused before she reached it. She studied the man next to her. “Which one is mine?”

  “Blue SUV.” He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Now don’t look at me like that. It was in your carport when I was at your house the other night.”

  “Oh.”

  She pushed the button on her key ring, and the car chirped in response. He opened the driver’s side door, and she hesitated just a moment before sitting down inside the car. She glanced around the interior of the car. There was a French fry, a Lego, and a ponytail holder on the passenger side floorboard. The rest of the car was in a similar state.

  Welcome to my world, Brandt Sherrod.

  “I decide where we go eat,” Bonnie declared once he sat down and put on his seat belt.

  Bonnie waited for him to argue. She knew his type.

  Arrogant. Controlling. God’s gift to women and all that.

  Brandt turned to her. “Great. Do they serve lemon tarts?”

  Bonnie couldn’t help it. She laughed. Starting up the car, she backed it out of the parking space and followed the exit path through the garage.

  I’m taking a man to lunch, and he isn’t picking where.

  Unless he was still going to try to influence her decision. Guy was never so subtle, but Alicia’s husband would pout if he didn’t get his way. Alicia talked about it frequently.

  In ten minutes, Bonnie maneuvered the car into the parking lot of a local doughnut place. The owner was Greek, and a few years ago, he had expanded the kitchen and started serving gyros. Bonnie loved them, though the kids didn’t like the idea of eating lamb so she didn’t eat here often.

  Once again, he held the door for her as she walked through. “Do you like Greek food?” She asked stepping over the threshold.

  “Yes, though I didn’t realize doughnuts qualified as Greek food.”

  Bonnie walked past the display of doughnuts behind the long counter and toward the corner that had a second menu. “Two gyros, please. To go.” She glanced over her shoulder at Brandt. “Water okay with you to drink?”

  “Sure.”

  “And two bottles of water.”

  Brandt pulled his wallet out and opened it.

  “No,” Bonnie said. “My treat.” She handed her debit card to the cashier and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Brandt stepped away from her.

  “Do you mind if I get us a few pastries?”

  “Just so you know, they don’t serve lemon tarts.”

  Brandt grinned widely. “They just did. Just so you know.” He winked and turned to the shelves in front of him encasing doughnuts. “One of each, please. To go.”

  “What are we going to do with that many doughnuts?”

  “Probably share with your coworkers. We are going back to your office, aren’t we?”

  Bonnie sputtered. “Well, yes.” How could he have known? She hadn’t said anything to Vivian. She’d only thought it.

  Soon they were back in the car with the boxes of doughnuts in the backseat next to the bag of gyros. She directed the car toward her office building. “How did you know I’d want to go back to work to eat?”

  “Because you didn’t want to go with me in the first place, and you want to be able to interrogate me on your own turf. It gives you an advantage that way.”

  “Who says I’m going to interrogate you?”

  “I say so, because you want to know if that basketball really belonged to the governor and how I got it in and out of your office. You probably have a few other questions, but I imagine those two are pretty high up on your list.”

  “Why don’t you tell me right now.”

  “Yes, it was the governor’s ball. I carried it in the building in a copier paper box. I picked the lock of your office and put it on the shelf. After you called the police, I figured I needed to get it out quickly, so—”

  “How did you know I called the police?”

  “I have a police scanner.”

  “Where is the ball now?”

  “It’s back at the capitol building where it belongs.”

  “How do you beat security at the capitol building?”

  “It’s my job to sneak in and out of places undetected.”

  “To break the law.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, most of the places where I go without permission by the owner are owned by people who are themselves breaking laws or breaking treaties.”

  “Treaties,” Bon
nie said in disbelief. “As in international espionage?”

  “I don’t work for the government. You know that. You’ve seen my tax return.”

  “Yes, I saw it, and I still don’t believe it. I don’t understand how you are getting away with lying and…and stealing.”

  “I didn’t steal the ball. I borrowed it.”

  “It’s stealing if you didn’t ask permission.”

  “How do you know I didn’t?”

  “Did you?”

  “I asked permission to attempt to break in the capitol. I let them use it as a test of their security. And as you know, they failed, so they have some work to do.”

  Bonnie mulled over his words. Could she believe him? And if so, would he also disclose to her how he had been going in and out of their office building like it was his own house?

  “I want to know how you got by our security.”

  Brandt laughed. “No offense, but your building doesn’t have any security.”

  “We have locked doors and a security system.”

  “None of which have been updated in at least ten years. It’s a joke.”

  “We have security guards.”

  “Yes. They did such a great job of keeping track of me.”

  Bonnie shot him a glance. An expression of annoyance crossed his face.

  “Shouldn’t you be happy about that?” she asked.

  “It was too easy. I felt like I was in a Laurel and Hardy routine. And anyway, even if their presence did deter someone, they aren’t there 24-7. They come in shortly before the building is open and leave half an hour after office hours. Housekeeping works eight to midnight without any security whatsoever, and they’re paid minimum wage with access to every office.”

  “What are you saying? That our housekeeping service people aren’t trustworthy?”

  “I’m saying that type of set-up creates vulnerability.”

  “It’s not like they can get into our computers. Each employee has to have a log-in code. Otherwise you can’t get on.”

  Bonnie didn’t volunteer she accessed files she didn’t have clearance for. It wasn’t her fault people like Marla rarely logged out of their computers when they left their desks.

  “Yeah? Except I didn’t have a log-in code, and I had no trouble getting in at all.”

  “Well, you’re a professional.”

  “You think it’s only amateurs who would try to break into the Commonwealth’s retirement files?”

  Bonnie sighed. “Good point.” She turned the steering wheel to the right, toward the river.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Riverfront Park. I don’t like being predictable.”

  Bonnie slowed the car as it bumped over the railroad tracks and crossed through the gate of the floodwall, built before the locks on the river. She followed the road down to the riverside and parked. Cutting the engine, she released her seatbelt.

  “When was the last time you had a picnic?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Never?”

  “I’ve eaten take-out food in my car plenty of times.”

  She opened the door and exited the car. Opening the trunk, she picked up a plastic-wrapped package. She heard Brandt open the back door. When he rounded the back of the car, he held a box of doughnuts and the bag with their gyros and bottled water.

  “Is that a table cloth?” Brandt asked, his eyebrows high in surprise.

  “There are a lot of picnic tables around, but I don’t trust the cleanliness of the surfaces, so I usually keep a few of these in the trunk. They’re disposable.” She shut the trunk, and together they walked toward a grassy copse where several wooden tables sat.

  “Wow. You believe in being prepared.”

  “That’s the mom in me.”

  “What else do you keep in the trunk?”

  Uh-huh. I’m the one doing the interrogating. “What do you keep in your trunk?”

  He laughed, that low sexy laugh she’d heard a few times now. If he thought he was going to distract her with it, he had another think coming. Bonnie ignored the little shift of her heart in her chest. She was too old to fall for his Casanova routine, even if he did look handsome in his suit and loosened tie with the tiny top button undone.

  Bonnie stopped at a table and tore open the plastic encasing the tablecloth. Brandt placed the boxes and the sack on the bench.

  “So, what is in your trunk?”

  “Nothing.” He took the end of the cloth when she shook it out and helped her spread it across the table. Bonnie ignored the domesticity of the act. He was a rolling stone, obviously, playing a part. What did he want from her anyway?

  “Not even a stray French fry?”

  He smiled. “I rarely eat in there.”

  “No. You keep the fries in the trunk, so you’re not tempted to eat them on the way home.”

  “Why would I take food home to eat it?”

  He lived alone. She had already figured that. Everything about him screamed loner. “Where is home?”

  The cloth was in place. He removed the bottles and set them on the table. “I see why they call you the Bloodhound.”

  Bonnie let that pass. “So do you live in Bellini, Kentucky, the same place where your home office is?”

  Next he removed two of the wrapped gyros and handed one to her. “I thought you said Bellini was made up.”

  “No, I said the zip code was fabricated.” Bonnie took the gyro and settled down on the bench across from him. “I’ve never been to a town with a letter in the zip code. I’d like to go there, although interestingly I can’t seem to find it on my GPS or any social media map site I’ve looked on, or even my atlas.”

  He unwrapped the food and studied the meat and vegetable wrapped pita. “They were generous with the onions, weren’t they?”

  “They’re mild.”

  He bit into it, and Bonnie noted the expression of pleasure on his face.

  “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  He nodded as he chewed. Then he spoke. “Very good.”

  “Do you live in Bellini?”

  “I don’t stay home much. Not a lot of ninja jobs in Appalachia.”

  Bonnie scoffed at his non-answer. “I just want to know where a town is that doesn’t seem to exist anywhere but on your tax form.”

  “I could take you there.”

  “I suppose I’d have to be blindfolded for the trip.” She bit into her own gyro, loving the taste of it. A dollop of tzatziki sauce fell on the open wrapper on the table, and she wiped the gyro through it before taking another bite.

  “Yeah, I can see you agreeing to that.”

  They ate for a few moments in silence. Bonnie drank from the bottle of water. “Could we get there and back in a day?” she asked, picking back up their conversation

  “Yes.”

  “Do I need a passport?”

  “It’s Kentucky. You don’t even cross a state line.”

  “Except Kentucky only uses numbered zip codes. I can’t believe you’ve been able to get away with this, for years, I bet.”

  “Get away with what?”

  “Whatever you’re doing. Breaking and entering. Stealing. Lying. Trespassing. Impersonating people.”

  “I do a really good impersonation of Sean Connery. Want to hear it?”

  “No.” Some of the sauce had dropped on his tie. “You’ve got food on your tie.”

  He looked down. “Well, there goes my suave image,” he said in a convincing Sean Connery voice.

  Bonnie handed him a napkin and watched him wipe at the spot. When the stain remained, he took off the tie, laid it on the table, and released another button on his shirt. Bonnie strayed a glance to the triangle of skin he had uncovered. It was just a small patch—that indentation at the base of his neck, but it felt intimate, as if he were revealing to her a piece of himself that most people hadn’t seen.

  “Would you say you’ve slept with more than fifty women in your lifetime?” It was a bold question to ask,
sure, but Bonnie wasn’t getting anywhere with the other questions.

  Brandt stilled, his dark gaze fell on her drawing open something inside her like the petals of a morning glory in the sunshine. Bonnie resisted the feeling. She couldn’t get distracted by his sex appeal.

  “I wouldn’t say that to you.”

  “Well, James Bond sleeps with a lot of women. It’s part of his appeal, I think.”

  “I was always more intrigued by the cool spy gadgets.”

  “Which ones did you use to break into the retirement system?”

  He turned his head and looked out toward the river. “Just when I think you’re flirting with me, you go back to treating me like a benefits case.”

  “When you can’t sneak into some place in secret, you use your charm to walk right through the front door.”

  He nodded. “That about sums me up.” He took the last bite of the gyro and balled up the wrapper. He drank half of the water in the bottle and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “But it’s not all of you. I’d like to meet the person who Delores Parks knew, the one who made it home by curfew and captured the heart of a retired teacher, so much so that she wanted to make him her beneficiary.”

  Bonnie watched his profile. He wasn’t going to give it up. But he might yet tell her how he had gotten into the computer system. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, which he put on. Was this his way of covering up so she couldn’t see the expression in his eyes?

  “Is the sun bothering you?”

  “A little. My pupils don’t dilate well. It’s a condition I’ve had since a kid. It’s why I can work so well in the dark, but after being outside in the sun for a while, I tend to get headaches.”

  Bonnie digested that piece of personal information, thinking his disclosure was a victory of sorts.

  “Do you have a headache now?”

  “Not yet. I can usually feel one coming on.”

  “Should you take something for it?”

  He smiled. “I’m touched that you’re concerned.”

  The turn of the conversation began to feel too close. Bonnie decided to get back on track. “If you help me with the security at work, then it will protect the benefits of people like your foster mom.”