My Spy

by Marie Ferrarella

  And no one will ever make love to me the way you did, either, she added silently. But you probably already know that.

  “No, you have exclusive rights to that,” she allowed.

  He saw through her. “You’re trying to change the subject.”

  Right now, her head felt as if it was in that fog they’d traveled through last night. She needed to pull herself together. “What subject?”

  “I don’t know, but if I read between the lines, you seem bent on making me out to be someone with no morals or scruples.”

  Was it her imagination, or was the car shaking more? She refrained from reaching for him to hang on to. Can’t let yourself get used to that, she upbraided herself.

  Pru shook her head. “Wrong. I know you have those. They might be a unique set, different from the average man on the street’s scruples or morals, but you have them.” She replayed what she’d just said and dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, God, now I’m babbling.”

  He slipped his arm around her. The journey was getting bumpier. “Perfectly normal, given what you’ve been through.”

  Pru stiffened, moving back. The sooner she separated herself from him, the better. “How much longer do you think it’ll be before we reach London?”

  He looked at her, amusement playing on his lips. “Are you that eager to get rid of me?”

  It was a joke to him, she thought. Maybe even the last twenty-four hours had been a joke. “No,” she said quietly, “I’m not.” And then she lied. “Just eager to get a cold shower and a hot meal.”

  He nodded, accepting her excuse because it was plausible. “Not all that long. About two hours, like you told Montgomery. Except the train is going to Canterbury.”

  When had he decided this? Did he enjoy pulling strings, jerking her around like a puppet?

  “Canterbury?” That was in the southeast. “I thought we were going straight to London.”

  “This train goes straight to Canterbury.” Joshua held up the dead phone. “And since I can’t reach my people, there’s been a change of plans.”

  He didn’t add that he wanted to reach Lazlo to alert him to the fact that at least one person in London knew the prime minister’s daughter had escaped her captors. Until the bases were all covered, he’d have to take his own precautions. They were not home free yet.

  Pru opened her mouth to protest that it didn’t matter if he could reach his people or not as long as she physically reached hers. But then she shut it again. After all, if they weren’t getting off at the London station, that meant she had that much more time to spend with him.

  Before he was gone.

  “Canterbury it is.”

  “You still haven’t found him?”

  The question preceded Corbett’s entrance. He strode into the work area that Lucia had, per force, temporarily taken over as she peeled away the layers of transmission that had reached his computer in the twenty-four-hour period before he had received the jarring communication.

  She looked up from the screen, grateful for any diversion. Her eyes felt as if they were going crossed. “Who? The person who blew up Kiley? Or Joshua?”

  He didn’t expect her to read his mind but he did expect her to anticipate his requirements. “Both.”

  “No.” When he looked at her, she clarified, “Neither one.”

  Corbett’s frown seemed to go straight down to the bone. There were those at the group, when they found themselves on the receiving end, who still cowered inwardly. Lucia, after all these years, had become immune, knowing he rarely bit. “He should have called in by now.”

  “Joshua,” she guessed.

  “Yes, of course Joshua.” His nephew never took advantage of their connection and had become, almost from the beginning, one of his most dependable operatives. If there was a way to have gotten in touch, Joshua would have found it.

  He knew about the storm in the northern sector knocking out lines. But that problem had been attended to, plus Joshua’s cell should be on. Why wasn’t he checking in?

  Lucia leaned back in her chair, turning it around to fully face her employer. That was as close to snapping as she had ever heard him.

  So, the man did have filial feelings, she thought. There were times when she was convinced that he was pure android, devoid of emotions, programmed to simultaneously oversee a multitude of projects, making sure they were all satisfactorily resolved. He was good at that, at juggling with both hands and feet without missing a beat. But most of his operatives thought him removed, lacking any feelings, good or bad.

  They obviously thought wrong.

  Treading lightly on the path that their long association had formed, she dared a personal remark. “He’ll be all right, Lazlo. Joshua’s a good agent.”

  “Of course he’s a good agent. He’s an excellent agent,” he corrected as if it was a given. “I trained him. But there are times when even excellent agents are brought down.”

  Lucia read between the lines. “You’re thinking of Kiley.” Corbett made no reply. But he had to see that there were differences, she thought. “Kiley was finished with a case. She wasn’t on her guard. Joshua’s right in the middle of one right now. He’s got eyes in the back of his head. Just like his mentor.”

  Corbett nodded at the screen in front of her, his meaning clear: Get back to work. “I’m not paying you to flatter me.”

  “Good,” she answered sweetly, “because you couldn’t pay me enough.”

  He began to leave. “Call me if you locate the bastard.”

  “The killer?”

  Exasperated, he paused to turn on his heel. “Yes, the killer.”

  That was an actual flash of temper. He really had to be worried. He wasn’t the only one. They weren’t known for their failures, but there was always a first time and if this was it, the consequences would have international repercussions.

  “Just so we’re clear,” she murmured, already turning back to the monitor. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  She heard the door close behind her.

  Pru savored the meal she had all but finished. Who would have ever thought a hamburger and fries could taste so good?

  After sneaking off the freight train as it pulled into the station in Canterbury, Joshua had gotten them tickets on the next commuter train to London. They’d arrived within an hour.

  She’d been surprised when his first move after getting them to London was taking her to a fast-food restaurant. She’d caught herself thinking that was just not his style. She saw him frequenting five-star restaurants, places that prided themselves on ambience, not speed.

  Crumpling the wrapper that had held her burger, she licked the tips of her fingers. She had a weakness for salt.

  When she saw him watching her, she dropped her hand into her lap. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

  “We are. But the vote’s not for several hours and you said you were hungry.” He’d ordered a hamburger himself, but hunger had only taken him so far and he left the second half on his tray. “What would the prime minister say if I brought you to him, bedraggled and starving?”

  “I believe he’d say ‘thanks.’” She smiled, taking a last sip of her soda. “My father is given to understatement.” Pru wiped her mouth with her napkin, then dropped it on the tray. “Not very big on emotion, either.”

  “It’s not a failing, you know.”

  His comment surprised her. “It’s not exactly a deal clincher, either. Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who gave me that big talk on the train about it being all right to feel?”

  Amused, caught, he countered with his own question. “Do you remember everything?”

  She grinned and nodded. “Annoyingly so.” Her father had called it her annoying habit, especially when she called him on something that contradicted something else he’d told her earlier.

  “So I’d better watch what I say around you.”

  As if that was going to be a problem, she thought. He made it sound as if they were g
oing to continue being a part of each other’s lives instead of the exact opposite. “Won’t have to worry about that for too much longer,” she told him.

  Her words sobered him. He’d almost forgotten for a moment that she was his assignment and that he was bringing her home to her father.

  “No, I don’t suppose I will.” There was one fry left, peeking out from the paper wrapper. “Finished?”

  She popped the last fry into her mouth. “Just.”

  He rose to his feet, one hand holding the tray, one on her arm. “All right, let’s get you some clothes.” He dropped the tray on the collection stack on his way out.

  She preceded him out the door. He appeared casual, but she saw the way he scanned the immediate area. Joshua was always on duty, she thought. “Have a sudden yen to play Henry Higgins, do you?”

  He wasn’t trying to change her. “You’re not a ‘guttersnipe,’” he pointed out, recalling the term that had been used to describe Eliza Dolittle. “But you do look a little too conspicuous like that.” She looked down at her clothes, and then back at him uncertainly. “Every second person who walked by looked you over.”

  Ever since her father had become prime minister and the newspapers ran photographs of his family, she’d had to endure scrutiny like that. In a way, she’d become used to it. “Maybe they’re trying to place me.”

  “Maybe.” But he’d rather not have her recognized until after he brought her back. “In any case, I think you should get something to wear that involves a little more material.”

  He had a point. Her abdomen peeked out from beneath the T-shirt she’d torn to bandage up his leg. Still, there was another way to interpret his words. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you’re jealous.”

  His expression never changed. “Cautious,” he corrected.

  She inclined her head. “Cautious.” She liked her word better.

  Joshua paid in cash, just as he’d paid for her lunch and the room at the inn the night before. He seemed to have an endless supply of money on him. She supposed that was where the term “deep pockets” originated.

  “Don’t you believe in credit cards?” she asked as they walked away from the saleswoman. He’d taken her to a huge department store where large purchases were the norm, but cash was not.

  “I believe in not leaving a paper trail,” he answered. “You use a credit card, you’re instantly on the map.”

  She took a breath. His reasoning made her uneasy even though she pretended otherwise. “You really think someone is still out to get me?”

  “Better safe than sorry, Sam.”

  She began to make a comment about the nickname, then changed her mind. She rather liked it, she decided, in an odd sort of way.

  Leaving the department store in the pale green sheath and white high heels she’d exchanged for the sneakers, shorts and T-shirt she’d had on, Pru hooked her arm through his. “Now can I go see my father?”

  That was why he’d been dispatched in the first place, he thought. “Yes.”

  He had an odd expression on his face just before he began to hail a cab. She moved so that she was in front of him again. “What?”

  “Nothing.” But she gave him a look that said she wasn’t going to be satisfied with that kind of evasion. So he told her. “You clean up nicely, Sam.”

  For an international agent, that certainly wasn’t a line that was guaranteed to turn a woman’s head. But it warmed her nonetheless. “Thanks for noticing.”

  “I’d have to be blind not to,” Joshua murmured, “and even then I’m not sure it wouldn’t have registered somehow.”

  She felt her skin prickling. He made her want to make love with him right here, right now.

  For a moment, she thought longingly of the dirty little room at the inn. Who would have ever thought that a flea-infested rattrap would have provided her with what was probably going to be one of her all-time favorite memories?

  Joshua waved down a taxi, then peered into the interior at the driver and his posted license before deciding to make use of the man’s services.

  He opened the rear door for Pru and waited for her to get in, then slid in himself. “Number 10 Downing Street,” he instructed, shutting the door.

  The driver pulled down the meter flag. “Tourists?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.

  Pru was about to answer, then stopped as she felt the gentle pressure on her arm. He was doing it again, she thought, talking for her. Did he expect her to give the driver her life history? She knew when to keep quiet.

  “Yes,” Joshua answered with just a hint of an Australian accent. She looked at him but his expression was the soul of innocence.

  “Not much to see at Number 10,” the driver commented. “Tower of London, now there’s an interesting place. Crawling with history. Ghosts, too, they say.”

  Joshua nodded, as if considering the suggestion. “Maybe later.”

  The driver shrugged his wide shoulders. “Your money.”

  The ride was short and uneventful. The driver kept his radio on loud. Despite the distracting noise, Joshua remained on his guard throughout. Did he ever relax? she wondered. And then she laughed at her own question, remembering the motel room and the ride on the freight train. He had his own way of relaxing, she supposed.

  “We’ll get out here,” Joshua said suddenly as they approached Whitehall Street.

  The driver turned to look at him, puzzled. “But Number 10’s a block away.”

  “That’s all right, we’ll walk. Stop the cab,” he ordered more forcefully.

  There was such a thing as being too paranoid, Pru thought, getting out.

  There was a fence, constructed in 1989, on the Whitehall end of Downing. Looking down the street, she thought she saw Uncle George. She blinked once, focusing. The man was standing not too far from the side entrance to the gardens. He looked as if he were waiting for someone.

  It was him. It was George Montgomery.

  Suddenly, she just wanted to hug him, to touch someone from her life and make the connection that she was actually home.

  Joshua realized what she was doing half a second after she left his side. Looking up the street, he saw the man she was running toward. The man who had been in the room when he’d talked with the prime minister.

  “Damn it.” Digging into his pocket, Joshua was about to toss a fistful of bills at the driver and take off after her when he heard something on the radio that caught his attention.

  Chapter 15

  The words that he’d just heard on the taxi’s radio still echoed in his head. Joshua tried to move fast, but his wound was giving him trouble again. He couldn’t run the way he was capable of under normal circumstances.

  “Sam, wait up! Stop.”

  But Pru didn’t. Not until she’d almost reached the man she’d been calling “Uncle George” since she was five years old. Even after she’d been told that he was not an actual blood relation, but her father’s college roommate and one of his closest friends, she’d continued referring to Montgomery that way. Because he was like family.

  Tall, distinguished-looking, with gray hair and kind, brown eyes, Montgomery now acted as one of the prime minister’s advisors. His chief advisor, actually. But George was so much more. He’d been the one who had helped her get her present apartment when she had agreed to give up her position with the Red Cross in Africa and move back to London. Moreover, he’d been instrumental in healing the rift that had sprung up between her and her father. She’d been maid of honor at his only daughter’s wedding last year. Not to trust Uncle George was not to trust anyone.

  But there was something about Joshua’s tone, about his voice, that almost compelled her to halt in her tracks. So she finally did, within a few feet of George Montgomery. And just for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something in the man’s eyes, something that looked akin to regret.

  An inexplicable chill surrounded her heart even as she tried to ignore it.

  The older man c
rossed to her, melting the distance to nothing, and embracing her with his large, bearlike arms. “Pru, you’re all right.” There was relief in every syllable. And then he held her at arm’s length, to look her over and assure himself that she truly was all right. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  Pru merely shook her head, too overcome with emotion, with anger and with confusion at the ambivalent feelings that had momentarily sprung up, then vanished, to speak. The turmoil she was feeling was all because of Lazlo, because of the seeds of doubt he’d planted.

  She was angry at him for that, for making her distrust one of the few staples in her life: that George Montgomery was a good and kind man who could be trusted with anything.

  Embracing her one more time, Montgomery looked over Pru’s head at the man who came to join them. “I don’t know how we can thank you for bringing our Pru back to us.”

  Our Pru. How could she distrust him? she thought bitterly.

  Releasing her, Montgomery slipped an arm around Pru’s shoulders. “Let’s go inside, Pru, before we attract one of those damn photographers who always seemed to be hounding you.” But when Joshua fell into step with them, Montgomery slowed and shook his head. “No need for you to come along, Mr. Lazlo,” he informed him kindly, his deep resonant voice sounding forceful. “Your services are no longer needed.”

  “If you don’t mind,” Joshua said pleasantly, although his tone didn’t fool Pru, “I’ll just tag along. The assignment’s not over until I hand the subject over to the client who hired me.”

  Montgomery hesitated, although he continued walking with Pru toward the side entrance that led to 10 Downing Street’s garden.

  “I assure you, you will be well compensated for what you’ve done.” His voice grew in strength as he made his point. “But her father would like to see her alone. You understand, don’t you? He wants a private moment.” Pausing, Montgomery looked down at Pru. “You might think him an unemotional man, Pru, but your father has been through hell over this and I know he wouldn’t want his first moments with you witnessed by a stranger.”