Serious Risks

by Rachel Lee

  His apartment was small, as much as a single person would need and little more. He hadn’t wasted any time on decorating, had simply plopped the necessary pieces of furniture where they fit and left them. It was clean, however, and Jessica might have thought no one lived here, except for the photographs. After she called her office to explain that she wouldn’t be back that afternoon, she turned her attention to the pictures.

  Those photos were why he’d brought her here, she realized. On the wall over the sofa, facing the battered easy chair that she suspected was Arlen’s favorite place to sit, were dozens of photographs of his children, beginning when they were newborns and continuing up to the present. Drawn forward, she picked out what must be a recent photo of his daughter. Melanie stood next to a huge piece of yellow road equipment. She was dressed in dusty khaki and a white hard hat, and her shirttails hung out. Turned sideways, she displayed her gently swollen womb and looked over her shoulder, laughing into the camera.

  “Her husband took that last week,” Arlen said as he came up beside her.

  Jessica took the coffee mug he held out to her. “Thanks. She’s lovely, Arlen.”

  “Yes.” He looked at the photo for a moment and then glanced at Jessica with a smile. “Lunch won’t be much, but I’ll have it ready in a couple of minutes.”

  “There’s no rush,” she answered. “I’m taking time off, remember?”

  It was hard to be nervous about being in a man’s apartment when faced with a shrine to his family, like this wall. The sinking, butterfly-like feeling that had plagued her all the way here subsided. Turning, she decided to go to the kitchen and offer to help Arlen. She didn’t quite make it.

  On the table next to the easy chair was a framed color photograph of a smiling woman. Jessica didn’t have even a moment’s doubt: this was Lucy. Slowly she sank onto the edge of Arlen’s chair and stared.

  Lucy was lovely. Beautiful. All blond hair and blue eyes, photogenic cheekbones and perfect teeth. Even the faintest hint of crow’s-feet at her eyes only added character and humor. Jessica had no trouble understanding how a young Arlen could have tumbled head over heels and married this woman as soon as he got out of high school. And she could understand why nobody else would ever measure up. Certainly not a brown mouse.

  It hurt, but she was used to that particular pain. It had been part of her life all the way through high school and into college, and hadn’t gone away until she’d convinced herself that she didn’t want men any more than they wanted her. Now look at her. Disgusting.

  Rising, she turned her back on Lucy Coulter and marched into the kitchen, her chin set with determination.

  “Can I help?” she asked as she rounded the corner.

  Arlen had shed his suit jacket and tie, and rolled up the cuffs of his white shirt to reveal strong, bronzed forearms. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, and she resisted an impulse to brush it back. And he still wore his gun. As he turned a little, she came face-to-face with reality for the second time in just a few minutes. The man was an FBI agent. He wore a gun. He had a dangerous job. And she was just a part of that job.

  “Thanks,” he said, “but I’m just about done. Why don’t you go sit at the table.”

  Looking up with a faint smile, he saw the hollowness in her bright brown eyes. It seemed he’d gotten through, but the expected relief was missing. Instead he felt guilty, as if he’d just kicked her.

  While they ate Arlen broached the subject of the espionage investigation that had been the whole point of meeting her for lunch today.

  “Did you tell security that you’d found the missing document?” he asked her.

  “I tried. They told me Dave Barron was out sick today, and Vicki Grier was tied up with the DIS investigators. I didn’t know who else I should talk to about it, and then I got tied up myself with the inspection.”

  “Vicki Grier. She’s the assistant facility security officer, right?”

  Jessica nodded.

  “Do you know much about her?”

  “Not really. I don’t have a whole lot to do with the security people, Arlen, and she’s only been there a couple of months besides. I’ve seen her around, I’d recognize her on the street, but I wouldn’t bet she’d recognize me.”

  “Okay.” For a minute he didn’t say anything, appearing absorbed in his sandwich. “All the safe combinations at MTI are going to be changed sometime today.”

  Jessica looked at him. “Mine was changed this morning. Did DIS find something to justify ordering the changes?”

  “No.” He sighed and pushed his plate aside. “You’ll hear this, anyway, so I might as well tell you. Dave Barron committed suicide last night.”

  A cold wave of shock washed over Jessica. In the six years she’d worked at MTI, she had come to know the facility security officer well enough to feel horrified at this news. “You’re sure?” she asked hoarsely. “Suicide?” She’d talked to the man for hours only two days before. It just didn’t seem possible.

  “It looks like suicide,” Arlen replied. “We won’t know for sure until the medical examiner’s report is in.”

  “Was there a note? Does anybody know why?”

  “No note, nobody has a guess.” Arlen’s gray eyes settled on her face. “Because of his position at MTI, the Bureau’s taking over the investigation of his death. And because suicide indicates a dangerous emotional instability, DIS has the excuse it needed to see that all the safe combinations are changed.”

  Jessica looked at him uncertainly. “Do you think he was involved in the spying?”

  Arlen shrugged. “It’s anyone’s guess. It’s possible, I suppose, that he was, and that the intensity of the DIS inspection pushed him over the edge. It’s even more possible that there was something else going on in his life. We’ll investigate every possibility.”

  Jessica nodded. “Are you the one investigating?”

  “No. Phil Harrigan and Ed Marcel are handling that. They’ll keep me informed, but right now I’m staying very much in the background. I don’t want anyone at MTI to discover you’re hanging around with an agent.”

  Jessica’s expression grew even more uncertain. “But why? I’m not important to anything that’s going on. All I did was find out that a document was missing. You’re just wasting your time with me, especially now that Dave’s suicide gives the FBI a legitimate reason to conduct an investigation at MTI.”

  “And you’ve also been targeted by the KGB.”

  Jessica gasped. “The—the—” She couldn’t even complete the words. “Who— How—”

  Without answering, Arlen pushed his chair back from the table and went to get the coffeepot. He filled both their mugs before returning the pot to the kitchen. By the time he resumed his seat across from her, Jessica had collected her wits.

  “You’re kidding,” she said flatly.

  “Nope.” Settling back in his chair, he crossed his legs loosely, right ankle on left knee, and cradled his mug in both hands. “We did a little investigating of Dr. Kostermeyer’s grad students. The one who approached you was Greg Leong, right?”

  Jessica nodded slowly. “That’s right.”

  “Greg Leong is from Singapore, where he’s a member of a Communist cell. He attended Patrice Lumumba University in Moscow before coming here. What most people don’t know is that Patrice Lumumba is a recruiting ground for the KGB. Any student who has studied there is highly suspect. Combine that with his approach to you at the supermarket and there’s an extremely high probability that he’s making a planned contact with you.”

  Jessica was having a hard time grasping that. “How did you find out so much about him so fast?”

  “We’ve been aware of him since he entered the country a year ago. This is the first indication we’ve had that he might be doing something other than studying here.”

  Her eyes were wide as they met his. “Then the meeting might have been just a coincidence. You can’t be sure.”

  “I can’t be a hundred percent s
ure,” Arlen agreed. “But I wouldn’t bet a plugged nickel that he ran into you by accident.”

  But she continued to struggle with the idea. “It’s so unlikely, Arlen! Things like this don’t happen in real life.”

  Setting his mug aside, he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Jessie, things like this happen all the time in real life. That’s why the FBI has a counterintelligence division. That’s why the Defense Investigative Service inspects contractor facilities and interviews employees all the time, and always asks if you’ve had any suspicious contacts. Most people think it’s paranoia, but believe me, Jess, it’s not. Approaches are so common in the Washington, D.C., area, that we tell people the only way they can avoid being targeted is never to leave their house. Out in the rest of the country it’s not quite as bad, but it happens. It happens more than anyone would ever imagine. Hell, I was approached three times when I was stationed in Washington.”

  “Three times,” Jessica repeated, trying to conceive of it. “But you’re in the FBI!”

  “That’s why they approached me.” He gave her a faint smile. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. They use some minor bureaucrat who’s about to go home to make the approach, and when it fails they ship him out of the country fast on his diplomatic passport. What you need to understand, Jess, is that it can happen and it does.”

  She’d been hearing this in security briefings for six years now. In the briefings, however, she’d never quite believed it could happen to her or someone she knew. It seemed so removed from daily life. Yet here was an FBI agent—the Special Agent in Charge of the local field office, no less—telling her that it might very well be happening to her.

  “And I suppose,” she said, “that you still want me to go along with it? If it happens.”

  “Yes. I do.” His gaze was unwavering. “It’s important, Jessica. We have to know who else might be involved. If there’s an espionage operation in this town, and it appears there might well be, given your missing document, then we need to discover everyone who’s in on it. Don’t you see, Jess, your document and your grad student are probably only the tip of an iceberg. A potentially huge iceberg.”

  Jessica looked from him to her plate, and finally back at him again. “You promised you wouldn’t pressure me on this, Arlen. I told you, I’m a mouse.”

  Leaning across the table, he covered her hand with his. “Trust me, Jessie. You won’t be harmed. That’s a promise.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “I’ll think about it. I told you I’d think about it.” But she hadn’t been thinking about it. Once she got him to drop the subject, she’d dropped it herself. Jessica Kilmer, double agent. It didn’t sound like her at all.

  She looked down at his hand where it lay covering hers. It was a powerful, masculine hand, with a faint dusting of fair hairs, a tracework of strong veins and long, blunt fingers. And as she stared at them, those fingers curled around hers, holding them.

  “Damn it, Jessie,” Arlen said roughly, “haven’t you realized how much I want you?”

  Jessica’s breath stuck in her throat, and she raised huge, disbelieving eyes. Arlen. Her lips framed his name, but no sound emerged. She would have sworn that her heart had stopped completely.

  “I want you,” he repeated, “but that’s all I can offer you, Jessie. That’s all I’ve got left to offer. So I’d be real grateful if you wouldn’t kiss me again the way you did when I picked you up.” There, he’d said it. It didn’t ease his conscience in the least, but he’d said it. He’d warned her in no uncertain terms.

  Her hand trembled beneath his, and then, with a violent tug, she pulled it away. Frantically she shoved her chair back, knocking it over as she stood. Arlen stared up at her in astonishment that was soon mixed with concern as he saw a tear sparkle on her eyelash.

  She was breathing so hard that she could hardly form the words that were hammering for escape from her brain.

  “You don’t— You can’t buy my cooperation with your b-body!” Turning, she fled, neither knowing nor caring where she would go, leaving Arlen stunned behind her.

  What the hell…?

  She was fumbling blindly at the doorknob when he caught her.

  “Jessie, I didn’t mean— I never— Damn it, you misunderstood me!”

  “D-don’t t-touch me!”

  What, he wondered, had scarred this woman so deeply? Why did she believe he must have an ulterior motive for wanting her? But this was clearly no time to ask about it.

  He touched her. Gently but firmly, he turned her from the door and into his arms. She raised her fists in a gesture of self-protection, and her arms were caught between them as he held her snugly against his chest. One small fist made a vain attempt to strike at him, to shove him away, but he ignored it.

  “Jessie. Shh.” He pitched his voice soothingly and held her as she struggled against his hold, trying ineffectually to free herself. She didn’t stand a chance against his training.

  Finally a violent shudder ripped through her, and she sagged against him. Arlen didn’t quite trust her surrender, so he continued to hold her, rocking gently from side to side, murmuring to her.

  “It’s all right, Jessie. It’s okay.” He’d missed this, too, he realized. He’d missed being able to offer comfort like this. “I didn’t mean what you thought, Jessie. Honest to God, I didn’t mean it the way you took it.”

  “How did you mean it?” Her voice was smothered but defiant, revealing her distrust.

  “I meant it exactly the way I said it.” Loosening his hold on her, he urged her to the couch. Drawing her down beside him, he tugged her back into his arms, holding her head on his shoulder. His weapon proved to be an immediate problem, so he released her for a moment so he could remove it.

  Jessica watched dry-eyed, feeling as if something in her that had been about to take flight had died.

  Arlen dropped his gun and holster on the coffee table and then turned to her. This time he didn’t take her into his arms.

  “Can you listen now, Jess?”

  She nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.

  “It’s just what I told you,” he said flatly. “I want you. Don’t ask me to explain it, I just do. You’re the first woman I’ve wanted since my wife, which is probably why I’m being so damn ham-handed about this. I don’t know how to do it anymore. And I’m not at all sure I want to do it, anyhow, wanting aside.”

  Jessica kept her eyes on her twisting fingers. “Why not?” she asked bravely.

  “Because I’m forty-two and you’re twenty-six. You ought to be getting involved with some guy your own age who wants marriage and children, not some burnt-out old guy like me who hasn’t got anything to give you except a roll in the hay. I’m not in it for the long haul anymore, Jessie. I’ve had my kids. Now I’m looking forward to my grandkids.”

  Slowly, very slowly, her eyes rose to meet his. “I understand that, Arlen.” Whether she could have him for a few hours or just a few days didn’t seem to matter somehow. She wanted, needed, not to miss this. Not to miss him. It was as if she knew somehow that if she didn’t seize this opportunity she would regret it and wonder about it for the rest of her life.

  “Do you?” He rubbed his chin and studied her. “Why the hell did you think I was—that I had an ulterior motive for what I said?”

  Jessica shook her head and looked away from him, too embarrassed to explain.

  “Whoever he was, he must’ve been a real bastard,” Arlen said.

  She didn’t answer, but the way she flinched told him quite enough.

  And she didn’t really believe his reasons, Arlen realized. She was hearing them from a level of confidence that was so low that she heard his reasons as excuses. How could he possibly deal with that?

  There was, he figured, only one way. He just hoped his self-control could handle it. He was being a fool for sure, but this was no noble sacrifice, either, however he rationalized it. He wanted this woman with an ache that went deeper than he dared to think about. When had he last
ached like this? When had he last felt that he couldn’t live without something? Too damn many years, that was how long.

  “Come here, Jessie.”

  She darted him an uncertain look and didn’t move an inch. Sighing, he reached out and took her by the shoulders.

  “Come on, honey,” he said gently. “Some things just have to be proved.”

  “Proved?” She squeaked the word as he lay back on the couch in one smooth movement and pulled her with him so that she stretched, breast-to-breast, thigh-to-thigh, on top of him. Shyness overwhelmed her at the unexpected intimacy of the contact, and she didn’t know what to do. Closing her eyes as a red tide of color rushed into her face, she froze and felt Arlen remove her glasses.

  “Proved,” he repeated firmly. Catching her face between his hands, he drew her mouth down to his. “Come on, Jessie,” he whispered, the husky sound sending electricity along her spine. “Kiss me.”

  He was already getting hard, an ability he’d begun to think he might have lost with the years. Every soft curve of her was pressed against him: full breasts, wide hips, soft thighs. Those hips were wide enough to cradle a man in softness, soft enough not to poke at him. As Jessica’s mouth met his, Arlen ran his hands from her shoulders to her rump and quite brazenly pulled her hips harder against his.

  “Feel that, Jessie,” he whispered. “Feel what you do to me.”

  She shuddered with longing. The heat he’d been stirring in her from the moment of their meeting burst into instant conflagration. His mouth claimed hers, or hers claimed his. She couldn’t tell and didn’t care as their tongues dueled. Again and again Arlen broke the kiss to allow them both to gulp air, and again and again he tugged her mouth back to his, kissing her as if kissing were the end in itself, as if it were all he wanted and all he needed. Deeper he delved, until she pulsed to his rhythm and made heated little sounds, moving helplessly against him.

  “God, Jessie!” Tearing his mouth from hers, he pressed her face to his shoulder, holding her as she rocked helplessly against him, inflaming him further as she responded to impulses and drives that were written in her genes.