by Rachel Lee
“Did he by any chance offer to pick up the tab when he made the suggestion?” Students were usually too tight on money to do more than pick up their own tabs, especially foreign students, who were often living on very restricted stipends. If this fellow had offered to buy lunch, the contact would be even more suspicious.
She looked down, trying to remember exactly how the invitation had been worded. “I’m not sure about that, either. I just wasn’t paying enough attention, Arlen.” She raised eyes that asked for his understanding. “The whole thing seemed more like a slightly uncomfortable nuisance, if you want the truth. I figured he wanted some help getting a job at MTI. And I was vaguely worried that he might be persistent about it.”
“That may be all he wants,” Arlen agreed. “I’ve seen recruitments start out exactly like this, though.” Reaching out, he startled her once again by briefly covering her hand with his. Almost as soon as she registered the dry warmth of his skin, he withdrew his touch.
“Let me tell you a story, Jessica.”
She nodded, pushing her salad aside and giving him her full attention.
“A number of years ago, a university student knocked on his neighbor’s door and complained that the volume of the man’s stereo was disturbing his studying. The neighbor, a Bulgarian student, apologized and promptly turned his stereo down. A few days later, the Bulgarian invited the American over for a drink, and the American accepted to show there were no hard feelings. With me so far?”
Jessica nodded. “Is this true?”
“Absolutely. Anyhow, while he was having a drink with the Bulgarian, the American was introduced to a friend of the Bulgarian’s, a man who was identified as a cultural attaché at the Bulgarian embassy. The attaché talked to the American for a while, ascertained that the student, like most students, could use some extra money, and offered to hire him to do some economic research.”
“I think I can guess the rest,” Jessica said.
Arlen shook his head. “I doubt it. This student happened to see a program about espionage on a local public television station right about that time and, wonder of wonders, he called the local FBI field office. The Bulgarian attaché turned out to be an officer in the KGB, and we successfully ran the American student for two years as a double agent.” Arlen smiled faintly. “The student had a yen to be James Bond. He loved every minute of it. And we got five or six very important arrests out of it, not to mention all the disinformation we passed to the Soviets.”
“So my student might have been making an approach.” Jessica watched him, hoping he would deny it.
“He might have been. The thing a lot of people don’t understand about students from some less-than-friendly nations is that they’re not spies exactly, but they’re expected to report back to their embassies about every person they meet. So say this student reported his brief meeting with you, as he’s reported a hundred others, but this one caught the eye of somebody in intelligence. So he was told to make a further contact with you. If he can manage to become just slightly acquainted with you, then he can introduce someone else to you without arousing your suspicions.”
Jessica nodded unhappily. “Then if it really wasn’t an accidental meeting, I can expect to run into him again sometime.”
“Absolutely. And if you do, I want you to go along with his suggestions.”
Jessica’s eyes widened, and she drew a sharp, disbelieving breath. “You’re kidding! Tell me you’re kidding!” But from the expression on his face she knew he wasn’t. The unease she’d felt over the missing document was nothing compared to the nervous fluttering in her stomach right now. “Arlen, I don’t have the nerves for this!”
“No nerves are required,” he said calmly. “The man asks you to lunch, and you go. He may or may not introduce you to someone else. At each stage, you’re always free to continue or bow out. Nothing commits you for the long haul, Jessica.”
“But—but—” How could she adequately express the terror she felt? “I’d be too scared to do it.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of. Nobody who’s been a double agent for us has ever, ever, been harmed. In fact, a few have found the KGB protects them as carefully from the FBI as we try to protect our double agents from them.”
“We’re not talking about the KGB here, Arlen.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll look after you. The whole damn Bureau will look after you. And if the opposition tumbles to the fact that you’re a double agent, all they’ll do is skedaddle so fast your head’ll spin. They would have absolutely nothing to gain by harming you, and everything to lose.”
Jessica shook her head, frantically trying to find an objection that would convince him.
“Look.” Reaching out, he caught one of her hands in each of his and stilled their nervous motions. “Just think about it, Jessica. You don’t have to answer right now. Just think about it and how important it is.”
He saw the fear in her bright brown eyes and felt guilty for what he was doing. He was positive she wouldn’t be hurt in any way, or he wouldn’t be suggesting it. It was important that she do this, damn it, but not important enough to put her life at risk. The problem was, people’s heads were full of Hollywood notions of espionage, notions that had little to do with reality, particularly the reality of domestic espionage. In fact, Hollywood aside, foreign intelligence operations had more to lose than they could ever gain if they even once harmed an American citizen who was working for either them or the FBI.
Her fingers felt so small and fragile within the confines of his large hands, and her skin was so smooth and satiny. Her wrists were small and delicate, certainly less than half the size of his. She would be small and soft and satiny, hot and tight and—
He abruptly released her hands, schooling his thoughts to less inflammatory paths. What a damnable time for his libido to resurrect itself!
“Just think about it,” he said, relieved to find he sounded natural. “I promise I won’t pressure you.”
That was fair, Jessica thought with relief. She understood the importance of what he’d asked her to do, but she seriously doubted she had steady enough nerves for anything of the sort. In many ways, she was simply a mouse. Still, she thought wistfully, she might almost consider it—if he would hold her hands again. She had known so little caring physical contact in her life.
“I’d better be getting you back,” Arlen said, signaling the waitress. “I’ll come by this evening, unless that will interfere with your plans.”
“To ask me about what happens this afternoon?”
He nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “And that’s all, I promise. Unless you want to talk about something more.”
“All right.” She tried to look indifferent. “I’ll just be trying to straighten up the place. Someday I hope to have all those boxes emptied.”
When they were driving back toward MTI through the steady rain, Jessica thought to ask, “What do you want me to do about that document?”
Arlen braked for a stoplight and rubbed his chin before glancing at her. “Leave it undiscovered until tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Tonight I’ll give you a crash course in how to lift a fingerprint. I’m willing to bet, though, that the prints will be wiped off. Anyone with half a brain would have thought of that once the hue and cry was raised over that document.”
“But if I find one?”
“It may be yours. Whatever you find, you can bring it out to me tomorrow. Why don’t I meet you for lunch again?”
Jessica looked sideways at him. “Is your expense account up to this?”
He chuckled. “When it starts complaining, I’ll let you know.”
When he pulled up before MTI’s main entrance, he set the car in Park and turned to her. “Take care, Jess,” he said and bent forward, giving her the lightest, gentlest kiss on her lips. “See you tonight,” he added in a husky murmur.
It was all for show, but it didn’t feel like playacting, not to Jessica. Her heart stopped in her throat,
and electric sparks shot out from that brief, light caress, dazing her.
Somehow she climbed out of the car. It was only as she was stepping into the lobby that she realized someone had been watching. Bob Harrow, her project chief, stood just inside the doors, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Something wrong, Bob?” she asked him, feeling annoyed that he’d seen the gesture. That in fact he’d probably precipitated it.
“Not a thing,” he said, suddenly all innocence. “Not a thing, Jessica.” But there was a knowing glint in his eye as he rode the elevator upstairs with her.
Chapter 3
Bob Harrow hadn’t been the only one to notice Jessica’s lunch date. Frank Winkowski, another of the project’s programmers, had seen her departure and Arlen’s kiss on her cheek. Before the afternoon was over she had endured some merciless teasing, and naturally she made it worse by insisting that Arlen was just a good friend.
She wasn’t entirely comfortable with teasing. She’d been an only child, raised by a mother and grandmother who’d had little use for her. Since coming to work at MTI, she’d seen a lot of teasing among her coworkers, and on occasion she’d been the gentle butt of some of it. It was easier to handle now, but she couldn’t take it as casually as others did.
The teasing, however, had taken her mind off other things, and she got through the entire afternoon with only occasional thoughts of the document in her drawer or the security inspection that surely had begun somewhere in the building.
Unannounced inspections were permitted by the terms of the security agreement a defense contractor had with the government, so the Defense Investigative Service needed to give no excuse for showing up. No one knew that this inspection was a direct result of Jessica’s report to the FBI, and Arlen had assured her that DIS would be careful not to draw any attention to her. She would be treated exactly like everyone else, and since these inspections always took at least three days, she didn’t really expect to see an inspector for another day or so.
When she got home she changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, ate a quick salad for dinner and dug into the packing boxes that still waited all over the house. She’d accumulated quite a few possessions over the years since she left college. Most of them had been bought by chance when she stumbled on some item that she knew would be perfect for the home she dreamed of owning someday. Now she owned the home, and she was a little surprised to find how much of the furnishings and bric-a-brac she’d already acquired.
She had just dragged the last of a series of boxes to the foot of the stairs to be carried up when the doorbell rang. Arlen. This time she didn’t imagine herself slinking away. This time a swift image flashed across her mind that left her aching. Giving herself a mental scolding, she dusted her hands against her jeans and went to open the door.
If she’d been jolted by his charisma last night, tonight she came close to being stunned. Tonight he wore snug, faded jeans and a black sweater that awoke swashbuckling images in Jessica’s hyperactive imagination. She wouldn’t have thought that a man who could look so elegant and conservative in banker’s gray could look like an outlaw in a pair of jeans.
“Hello, Jessica.” He smiled, deepening the creases at the corners of his eyes. Unaware of the effect that expression had on her pulse rate, he scanned her from head to foot. Her jeans, unlike last night’s slacks, were worn from many washings and were a closer fit. Her sweatshirt, also worn thin from many washings, hugged her breasts with more familiarity than he suspected she realized. This lady was womanly. She would fill a man’s hands and arms; she would cradle him in softness and surround him in heated satin. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be thinking about things like that when he was supposed to be working.
Jessica stepped back, achieving a smile despite her heart’s hammering—the way he’d looked at her!—and invited him in.
“This isn’t a bad time, is it?” he asked as he stepped into her foyer. Immediately he noticed the boxes lined up at the foot of the stairs. “Do you need those carried up? Let me do that for you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t really—”
Turning, he smiled down at her. “Sure you can. You’re helping me, and I’d like to do something in return.”
Jessica’s knees rubberized instantly. That crooked, warmly intimate smile did things to her insides, tweaking, pulling, tingling. Before she could gather her wits to respond, he squatted and hefted the first box. His sweater pulled up in the back, exposing a band of smooth skin and the fact that he wore no belt on his jeans. Why did the absence of a belt cause a deep, slow pulsing inside her?
“Where upstairs?” Arlen asked as he began climbing.
“First room on the right.” Was that really her voice, sounding so husky?
Arlen set the box out of the way against the wall in the designated room. As he straightened, he knew with sudden, deep certainty that this was Jessica’s room. It was, he supposed, prying, but nevertheless he looked around him with interest, noting the ruffled dotted swiss curtains on the tall windows, the white satin comforter and white dust ruffle on the maple four-poster. Embroidered linen doilies decorated the top of her maple dresser, and dotted swiss skirted a dressing table with a matching mirror. The only colors in the room were the bright area rugs scattered around the polished wood floor.
Virginal, he thought. The room of a sixteen-year-old. He started to turn away, wondering what had arrested Jessica’s development, when he suddenly had the most erotic image of bare skin on white satin and dark hair that tumbled to her waist. How long was her hair? he wondered, then shook himself and headed downstairs for the next box. Damn it, Coulter, this is business!
Five boxes later, he’d seen the other two bedrooms, one of which held a desk, bookcase and personal computer with all the necessary peripherals. And he was still as randy as the old goat he was beginning to feel like. Bare skin on white satin. He cursed the randomly firing brain cell that had brought that image to mind.
Jessica awaited him at the foot of the stairs. “Coffee’s ready,” she said brightly.
“Great.” He descended the last few stairs wondering what she would do if he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. By the time he reached the bottom she’d started to move into the living room, unwittingly giving him a view of her gently swaying rear that only compounded his problem.
Once again she served coffee in the delicately patterned china cups. Seated in an armchair, Arlen gave himself a few minutes to savor her really excellent coffee and to bank some of his unwanted urges.
“How’d it go at work this afternoon?” he asked finally.
“Like always.” She flushed. “Well, not exactly. It seems you were right that we might be observed. Two of the guys I work with saw us, and I got teased about it.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “But I bet they didn’t ask who I was.”
“Of course not. They had that all figured out.” Her voice was tart, and then she laughed softly. “You were right. Once they saw you kiss me, they filled in all the blanks. Nobody even asked your name.”
“It’s an old magician’s technique. Misdirect the attention of the audience. Works every time.” His smile broadened. “What about the inspection?”
“It never got anywhere near our section today. The grapevine didn’t even get the word to us until almost quitting time. The only thing different that I noticed was that the security stations were performing random briefcase checks for the first time in an age.”
Arlen nodded. “I expected that. Just like I expect that tomorrow you’ll have to show your ID to get past the front desk, even if it’s a security crew that knows you.”
He sipped coffee and let his head rest against the chair back. “This chair is too comfortable, Jess. You may never get rid of me.” Heavy lidded, his eyes watched her lazily. “I’ve got the fingerprint kit out in my car. I suppose I should get it.”
“There’s no rush,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
They sat for a while in companiona
ble silence, and he began to feel more relaxed than he could remember feeling in quite a while.
“Arlen?”
“Hmm?”
“How can I carry fingerprints out of the building tomorrow if they’re doing briefcase checks?”
He rolled his head a fraction so that he could look at her. “There’s no law that says you can’t carry fingerprints around with you.”
“But what if they ask?” Her small face was worried.
“Tell them your boyfriend’s a cop, and they’re his. Or tell them you’re taking a night school course in criminology. Relax, Jess. They probably won’t even look in your briefcase tomorrow, but if they do, they’ll know better than to bother you about things that are none of their business. They don’t want any trouble with their bosses.”
He spoke lazily, his eyelids still drooping, and Jessica’s wild imagination suddenly presented her with the image of a panther lazing in the sun, deceptively sleepy but very much alert.
“Where are you from originally?” she asked him abruptly.
Arlen heard the shortness of her tone and wondered if he’d said something to disturb her. No, he was sure he hadn’t. And then coiling through him like liquid heat was the memory of the way her lips had parted at his touch earlier in the day. Could she be bothered by the same impulses that were troubling him? Turning his head a little more, he looked at her fully.
“I hate to admit this,” he said, “but I’m a damn Yankee from New York.”
Jessica’s lips curved. “New York? Do you miss it?”
“Hardly. One of the Bureau’s rules is that you can’t be stationed anywhere too close to home. I knew when I signed on that I’d never go back.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know you Texans have the same opinion about Yankees in general and New Yorkers in particular that the rest of the country has about Texans.”
Jessica laughed. “So you’re a big-city boy?”
“Oh, I’m not from the city,” he said. “I’m from a sleepy little dairy-farming community upstate. What about you? Did you grow up right here?”
