by Diana Palmer
“Eb Scott’s men,” she ventured.
He nodded. “I was already upset because Manuel Lopez had killed my undercover officer, Walt Monroe. He was my newest agent. I sent him to infiltrate Lopez’s organization.” His eyes were bleak. “I wanted Lopez. I wanted him badly. The night of the raid, I had no idea that Scott and his gang were even on the place. They were running a Mexican national undercover. If Kennedy knew, he didn’t tell me. We could have killed him, or Scott, or any of his men. They weren’t supposed to be there.”
“I expect Mr. Kennedy lived to regret that decision.”
He gave her a cool look. “Oh, he regretted it, all right.”
She wasn’t surprised that Mr. Kennedy was intimidated by Alexander. Most people were, herself included.
She finished her coffee. “Thanks for lunch,” she said. “I really enjoyed it.”
He studied her with real interest. “You have exquisite manners,” he commented. “Your mother did, too.”
She felt her cheeks go hot. “She was a stickler for courtesy,” she replied.
“So was your father. They were good people.”
“Like your own father.”
“I loved him. My mother never forgave him for leaving her for a younger woman,” he commented in a rare lapse. “She drank like a fish. Margie and I were stuck with her, because she put on such a good front in court that nobody believed she was a raging alcoholic. She got custody and made us pay for my father’s infidelities until she finally died. By then, we were almost grown. We still loved him, though.”
She hadn’t known the Cobbs’ mother very well. Margie had been reluctant to invite her to their home while the older woman was still alive, although Margie spent a lot of time at Jodie’s home. Margie and Alexander were very fond of Mr. and Mrs. Clayburn, and they brought wonderful Christmas presents to them every year. Jodie had often wondered just how much damage his mother had done to Alexander in his younger, formative years. It might explain a lot about his behavior from time to time.
“Did you love your mother?” she asked.
He glared at her. “I hated her.”
She swallowed. She thought back to the party, to her uninhibited behavior when she’d had those glasses of champagne. She’d brought back terrible memories for Alexander, of his mother, his childhood. Only now did she understand why he’d reacted so violently. No wonder she’d made him sick. He identified her behavior with his mother’s. But he’d said other things, as well, things she couldn’t forget. Things that hurt.
She dropped her eyes and looked at her watch. “I really have to get back,” she began.
His hand went across the table to cover hers. “Don’t,” he said roughly. “Don’t look like that! You don’t drink normally, not ever. That’s why the champagne hit you so hard. I overreacted. Don’t let it ruin things between us, Jodie.”
She took a slow breath to calm herself. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She looked at his mouth instead, and that was worse. It was a chiseled, sensuous mouth and she couldn’t stop remembering how it felt to be kissed by it. He was expert. He was overwhelming. She wanted him to drag her into his arms and kiss her blind, and that would never do.
She withdrew her hand with a slow smile. “I’m not holding grudges, Alexander,” she reassured him. “Listen, I really have to get back. I’ve got a diskette full of letters to get out by quitting time.”
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Kennedy raised his hand and waved as they went out. Alexander returned the salute, sliding his hand around Jodie’s waist as they left the building. But she noticed that he dropped it the minute they entered the parking lot. He was putting on an act, and she’d better remember it. She’d already been hurt once. There was no sense in inviting more pain from the same source.
He left her at the front door of her building with a curious, narrow-eyed gaze that stayed with her the rest of the day.
The phone on her desk rang early the following morning and she answered it absently while she typed.
“Do you still like symphony concerts?” came a deep voice in reply.
Alexander! Her fingers flew across the keys, making errors. “Uh, yes.”
“There’s a special performance of Debussy tomorrow night.”
“I read about it in the entertainment section of the newspaper,” she said. “They’re doing ‘Afternoon of a Faun’ and ‘La Mer,’ my two favorites.”
He chuckled. “I know.”
“I’d love to see it,” she admitted.
“I’ve got tickets. I’ll pick you up at seven. Will you have time to eat supper by then?” he added, implying that he was asking her to the concert only, not to dinner.
“Of course,” she replied.
“I have to work late, or I’d include dinner,” he said softly.
“No problem. I have leftovers that have to be eaten,” she said.
“Then I’ll see you at seven.”
“At seven.” She hung up. Her hands were ice cold and shaking. She felt her insides shake. Alexander was taking her to a concert. Mentally her thoughts flew to her closet. She only had one good dress, a black one. She could pair it with her winter coat and a small strand of pearls that Margie and Alexander had given her when she graduated from college. She could put her hair up. She wouldn’t look too bad.
She felt like a teenager on her first date until she realized why they were going out together. Alexander hadn’t just discovered love eternal. He was putting on an act. But why put it on at a concert?
The answer came in an unexpected way. Brody stopped by her office a few minutes after Alexander’s call. He came into the cubicle, looking nervous.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He drew in a long breath. “About next Saturday…” he began.
“I can’t go,” she blurted out.
His relief was patent. “I’m so glad you said that,” he replied, relief making him limp. “Cara’s going to be home and she wants to spend the day with me.”
“Alexander’s having a birthday party that day,” she replied, painfully aware that she wouldn’t be invited, although Alexander would surely want her coworkers to think that she was.
“I, uh, couldn’t help but notice that he took you out to lunch yesterday,” he said. “You’ve known him for a long time.”
“A very long time,” she confessed. “He just phoned, in fact, to invite me to a concert of Debussy…”
“Debussy?” he exclaimed.
“Well, yes…?”
“I’ll see you there,” he said. “Cara and I are going, too. Isn’t that a coincidence?”
She laughed, as he did. “I can’t believe it! I didn’t even know you liked Debussy!”
He grimaced. “Actually, I don’t,” he had to confess. “Cara does.”
She smiled wickedly. “I don’t think Alexander’s very keen on him, either, but he’ll pretend to be.”
He smiled back. “Forgive me, but he doesn’t seem quite your type,” he began slowly, flushing a little. “He’s a rather tough sort of man, isn’t he? And I think he was wearing a gun yesterday, too…Jodie?” he added when she burst out laughing.
“He’s sort of in security work, part-time,” she told him, without adding where he worked or what he did. Alexander had always made a point of keeping his exact job secret, even among his friends, for reasons Jodie was only beginning to understand.
“Oh. Oh!” He laughed with sheer relief. “And here I thought maybe you were getting involved with a mobster!”
She’d have to remember to tell Alexander that. Not that it would impress him.
“No, he’s not quite that bad,” she assured him. “About next Saturday, Brody, I would have canceled anyway. It didn’t feel right.”
“No, it didn’t,” he seconded. “You and I are too conventional, Jodie. Neither of us is comfortable stepping out of bounds. I’ll bet you never had a speeding ticket.”
“Never,” she agreed. “Not that I driv
e very much anymore. It’s so convenient to take buses,” she added, without mentioning that she’d had to sell her car months ago. The repair bills, because it was an older model, were eating her alive.
“I suppose so. Uh, I did notice that your friend drives a new Jaguar.”
She smiled sedately. “He and his sister are independently wealthy,” she told him. “They own a ranch and breed some of the finest cattle in south Texas. That’s how he can afford to run a Jaguar.”
“I see.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and watched her. “Debussy. Somehow I never thought of you as a classical concert-goer.”
“But I am. I love ballet and theater, too. Not that I get the opportunity to see much of them these days.”
“Does your friend like them, too?”
“He’s the one who taught me about them,” she confided. “He was forever taking me and his sister to performances when we were in our teens. He said that we needed to learn culture, because it was important. We weren’t keen at the time, but we learned to love it as he did. Except for Debussy,” she added on a chuckle. “And I sometimes think I like that composer just to spite him.”
“It’s a beautiful piece, if you like modern. I’m a Beethoven man myself.”
“And I don’t like Beethoven, except for the Ninth Symphony.”
“That figures. Well, thanks for understanding. I, uh, I guess we’ll see you at the concert tonight, then!”
“I guess so.”
They exchanged smiles and then he left. She turned her attention back to her computer, curious about the coincidence.
Had Alexander known that Brody and his girlfriend Cara were going to the same performance? Or had it really been one of those inexplicable things?
Then another thought popped into her mind. What if Alexander was staking out her company because he suspected Brody of being in the drug lord’s organization?
6
The suspicion that Alexander was after Brody kept Jodie brooding for the rest of the day. Brody was a gentle, sweet man. Surely he couldn’t be involved in anything as unsavory as drug smuggling!
If someone at the corporation was under investigation, she couldn’t blow Alexander’s cover by mentioning anything to her boss. But, wait, hadn’t Alexander told his agent, Kennedy, that they were investigating a case at Thorn Oil Corporation? Then she remembered why Alexander wanted to pretend to be interested in Jodie. Something was crazy here. Why would he lie to Kennedy?
She shook her head and put the questions away. She wasn’t going to find any answers on her own.
She’d been dressed and ready for an hour when she buzzed Alexander into her apartment building. By the time he got to her room and knocked at the door, she was a nervous wreck.
She opened the door, and he gave her a not very flattering scrutiny. She thought she looked nice in her sedate black dress and high heels, with her hair in a bun. Obviously he didn’t. He was dashing, though, in a dinner jacket and slacks and highly polished black shoes. His black tie was perfectly straight against the expensive white cotton of his shirt.
“You never wear your hair down,” Alexander said curtly. “And you’ve worn that same dress to two out of three parties at our house.”
She flushed. “It’s the only good dress I have, Alexander,” she said tightly.
He sighed angrily. “Margie would love to make you something, if you’d let her.”
She turned to lock her door. Her hands were cold and numb. He couldn’t let her enjoy one single evening without criticizing something about her. She felt near tears…
She gasped as he suddenly whipped her around and bent to kiss her with grinding, passionate fervor. She didn’t have time to respond. It was over as soon as it had begun, despite her rubbery legs and wispy breathing. She stood looking up at him with wide, misty, shocked eyes in a pale face.
His own green eyes glittered into hers as he studied her reaction. “Stop letting me put you down,” he said unexpectedly. “I know I don’t do much for your ego, but you have to stand up for yourself. You’re not a carpet, Jodie, stop letting people walk on you.”
She was still trying to breathe and think at the same time.
“And now you look like an accident victim,” he murmured. He pulled out a handkerchief, his eyes on her mouth. “I suppose I’m covered with pink lipstick,” he added, pressing the handkerchief into her hand. “Clean me up.”
“It…doesn’t come off,” she stammered.
He cocked an eyebrow and waited for an explanation.
“It’s that new kind they advertise. You put it on and it lasts all day. It won’t come off on coffee cups or even linen.” She handed him back the handkerchief.
He put it up, but he didn’t move. His hands went to the pert bun on the top of her head and before she could stop him, he loosed her hair from the circular comb that held the wealth of hair in place. It fell softly, in waves, to her shoulders.
Alexander caught his breath. “Beautiful,” he whispered, the comb held absently in one hand while he ran the other through the soft strands of hair.
“It took forever…to get it put up,” she protested weakly.
“I love long hair,” he said gruffly. He bent, tilting her chin up, to kiss her with exquisite tenderness. “Leave it like that.”
He put the comb in her hand and waited while she stuck it into her purse. Her hands shook. He saw that, too, and he smiled.
When she finished, he linked her fingers into his and they started off down the hall.
The concert hall was full. Apparently quite a few people in Houston liked Debussy, Jodie thought mischievously as they walked down the aisle to their seats. She knew that Alexander didn’t like it at all, but it was nice of him to suffer through it, considering her own affection for the pieces the orchestra was playing.
Of course, he might only be here because he was spying on Brody, she thought, and then worried about that. She couldn’t believe Brody would ever deal in anything dishonest. He was too much like Jodie herself. But why would Alexander be spending so much time at her place of work if he didn’t suspect Brody?
It was all very puzzling. She sat down in the reserved seat next to Alexander and waited for the curtain to go up. They’d gotten into a traffic jam on the way and had arrived just in the nick of time. The lights went out almost the minute they sat down.
In the darkness, lit comfortably by the lights from the stage where the orchestra was placed, she felt Alexander’s big, warm hand curl into hers. She sighed helplessly, loving the exciting, electric contact of his touch.
He heard the soft sound, and his fingers tightened. He didn’t let go until intermission.
“Want to stretch your legs?” he invited, standing.
“Yes, I think so,” she agreed. She got up, still excited by his proximity, and walked out with him. He didn’t hold her hand this time, she noticed, and wondered why.
When they were in the lobby, Brody spotted them and moved quickly toward them, his girlfriend in tow.
She was pretty, Jodie noted, very elegant and dark-haired and long-legged. She wished she was half as pretty. Brody’s girlfriend looked Hispanic. She was certainly striking.
“Well, hello!” Brody said with genuine warmth. “Sweetheart, this is my secretary, Jodie Clayburn…excuse me,” he added quickly, with an embarrassed smile at Jodie’s tight-lipped glance, “I mean, my administrative assistant. And this is Jodie’s date, Mr., uh, Mr….”
“Cobb,” Alexander prompted.
“Mr. Cobb,” Brody parroted. “This is my girlfriend, Cara Dominguez,” he introduced.
“Pleased to meet you,” Cara said in a bored tone.
“Same here,” Jodie replied.
“Cara’s in marketing,” Brody said, trying to force the conversation to ignite. “She works for Bradford Marketing Associates, down the street. They’re a subsidiary of Ritter Oil Corporation. They sell drilling equipment and machine parts for oil equipment all over the United States. Cara is over the southweste
rn division.”
“And what do you do, Mr. Cobb?” Cara asked Alexander, who was simply watching her, without commenting.
“Oh, he’s in security work,” Brody volunteered.
Cara’s eyebrows arched. “Really!” she asked, but without much real interest.
“I work for the Drug Enforcement Administration,” Alexander said with a faint smile, his eyes acknowledging Jodie’s shock. “I’m undercover and out of the country a lot of the time,” he added with the straightest face Jodie had ever seen. “I don’t have to work at all, of course,” he added with a cool smile, “but I like the cachet of law enforcement duties.”
Jodie was trying not to look at him or react. It was difficult.
“How nice,” Cara said after a minute, and she seemed disconcerted by his honesty. “You are working on a case now?” she fished.
One of the first things Jodie and Margie had learned from Alexander when he went with the DEA was not to mention what he did for a living, past the fact that he did “security work.” She’d always assumed it had something to do with his infrequent undercover assignments. And here he was spilling all the beans!
“Sort of,” Alexander said lazily. “We’re investigating a company with Houston connections,” he added deliberately.
Cara was all ears. “That would not be Thorn Oil Corporation?”
Alexander gave her a very nice shocked look.
She laughed. “One hears things,” she mused. “Don’t worry, I never tell what I know.”
“Right,” Brody chuckled, making a joke of it. He hadn’t known what Alexander did for a living until now.
Alexander laughed, too. “I have to have the occasional diversion,” he confessed. “My father was wealthy. My sister and I were his only beneficiaries.”
Cara was eyeing him with increased interest. “You live in Houston, Mr. Cobb?”
He nodded.
“Are you enjoying the concert?” Brody broke in, uncomfortable at the way his girlfriend was looking at Alexander.
