Hard to Handle

by Diana Palmer

  He still looked worried. She tugged his head down and kissed him warmly, her body exploding inside when he half-lifted her against him and kissed her until her lips were sore.

  “I could have lost you tonight,” he said curtly.

  “Oh, I’m a weed,” she murmured into his throat. “We’re very hard to uproot.”

  His arms tightened. “Just the same, you watch your back. If Brody asks what you know, and he will, you tell him nothing,” he added. “You were with me when things started happening, you didn’t even know what was going on until bullets started flying. Right?”

  “Right.”

  He sighed heavily and kissed her one last time before he put her back onto her own feet. “I’ve got to go help the guys with the paperwork,” he said reluctantly. “I’d much rather be with you. For tonight, lock your doors and keep your freedom phone handy. If you need me, I’m a phone call away. Tomorrow, you’ll have security.”

  “I’ve got a nice, big, heavy flashlight like the one you keep in your car,” she told him pertly. “If anybody tries to get in, they’ll get a headache.”

  Unless they had guns, he added silently, but he didn’t say that. “Don’t be overconfident,” he cautioned. “Never underestimate the enemy.”

  She saluted him.

  He tugged her face up and kissed her, hard. “Incorrigible,” he pronounced her. “But I can’t imagine life without you, so be cautious!”

  “I will. I promise. You have to promise, too,” she added.

  He gave her a warm smile. “Oh, I have my eye on the future, too,” he assured her. “I don’t plan to cash in my chips right now. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Good night.”

  “Good night. Lock this,” he added when he went out the door.

  She did, loudly, and heard him chuckle as he went down the hall. Once he was gone, she sank down into her single easy chair and shivered as she recalled the feverish events of the evening. She was alive. He was alive. But she could still hear the bullets, feel the shattering of the windshield followed by dozens of tiny, painful cuts on her skin even through the sweater she’d been wearing. It was amazing that she’d come out of a firefight with so few wounds.

  She went to bed, but she didn’t sleep well. Alexander phoned very early the next morning to check on her and tell her that he’d see her at lunch.

  She put on her coat and went to work, prepared for some comments from her coworkers, despite the fact that she was wearing a long-sleeved, high-necked blouse. Nothing was going to hide the tiny cuts that lined her cheeks and chin. She knew better than to mention where she got them, so she made up a nasty fall down the steps at her apartment building.

  It worked with everyone except Brody. He came in as soon as she’d turned on her computer, looking worried and sad.

  “Are you all right?” he asked abruptly. “I was worried sick all night.”

  Her wide-eyed look wasn’t feigned. “How did you know?” she faltered.

  “I had to go and bail Cara out of jail early this morning,” he said coolly. “She’s been accused of drug smuggling, can you imagine it? She was only parking her car when those lunatics opened fire!”

  9

  Remembering what Alexander had cautioned her about, Jodie managed not to laugh out loud at Brody. How could a man be so naive?

  “Drug smuggling?” she exclaimed, playing her part. “Cara?”

  “That’s what they said,” he replied. “Apparently some of Ritter’s security people had the warehouse staked out. When the shooting started, they returned fire, and I guess they called in the police. In fact, your friend Cobb was there when they arrested Cara.”

  “Yes, I know. He heard the shooting and walked right into it,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “We were parked across the street…”

  “I saw you when I let Cara into the parking lot,” Brody said, embarrassed. “One of the gang came in with a machine gun and they say you aimed Cobb’s car right at him and drove into a hail of bullets to save his life. I guess you really do care about him.”

  “Yes,” she confessed. “I do.”

  “It was a courageous thing to do. Cara said you must be crazy about the guy to do that.”

  “Poor Cara,” she replied, sidestepping the question. “I’m so sorry for the trouble she’s in. Why in the world do they think she was involved? She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Brody seemed to relax. “That’s what Cara said. Uh, Cobb wasn’t in on that bust deliberately, was he?”

  “We were in a parked car outside the gate. We didn’t know about any bust,” she replied.

  “So that’s why he was there,” he murmured absently, nodding. “I thought it must be something of the sort. Cara didn’t know any of the others, but one was a female detective and another was a female deputy sheriff. The policewoman arrested her.”

  “Don’t mess with Texas women,” Jodie said, adding on a word to the well-known Texas motto.

  He laughed. “So it seems. Uh, there was supposed to be a DEA agent there, as well. Cara has a friend who works out of the Houston office, but he’s been out of town a lot lately and she hasn’t been able to contact him. She says it’s funny, but he seems to actually be avoiding her.” He gave her an odd look. “I gather that it wasn’t Cobb. But do you know anything about who the agent was?”

  “No,” she said straight-faced. “And Alexander didn’t mention it, either. He tells me everything, so I’d know if it was him.”

  “I see.”

  She wondered if Cara’s friend at the DEA was named Kennedy, but she pretended to know nothing. “What’s Cara going to do?” she asked, sounding concerned.

  “Get a good lawyer, I suppose,” he said heavily.

  “I wish her well. I’m so sorry, Brody.”

  He sighed heavily. “I seem to have a knack for getting myself into tight corners, but I think Cara’s easily superior to me in that respect. Well, I’d better phone the attorney whose name she gave me. You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine, Brody, honestly.” She smiled at him.

  He smiled back. “See you.”

  She watched him go with relief. She’d been improvising widely to make sure he didn’t connect Alexander with the surveillance of the warehouse.

  When Alexander phoned her, she arranged to meet him briefly at the café downstairs for coffee. He was pushed for time, having been in meetings with his drug unit most of the day planning strategy.

  “You’ve become a local legend,” he told her with a mischievous smile when they were drinking cappuccino.

  “Me?” she exclaimed.

  He grinned at her. “The oil clerk who drove through a hail of bullets to save her lover.”

  She flushed and glared at him. “Point one, I am not a clerk, I’m an administrative assistant. And point two, I am not your—!”

  “I didn’t say I started the rumor.” He chuckled. His eyes became solemn as he studied her across the table. “But the part about being a heroine, I endorse enthusiastically. That being said, would you like to add to your legend?”

  She paid attention. “Are you kidding? What do you want me to do?”

  “Cara made bond this afternoon,” he told her. “We’ve got a tail on her, but she’s sure to suspect that. She’ll make contact with one of her subordinates, in some public place where she thinks we won’t be able to tape her. When she does, I’m going to want you to accidentally happen upon her and plant a microphone under her table.”

  “Wow! ‘Jane Bond’ stuff!”

  “Jane?” he wondered.

  She shrugged. “A woman named James would be a novelty.”

  “Point taken. Are you game?”

  “Of course. But why wouldn’t you let one of your own people do it?”

  His face was revealing. “The last hearty professional we sent to do that little task stumbled over his own feet and pitched headfirst into the table our target was occupying. In the process he overt
urned a carafe of scalding coffee, also on the target, who had to be taken to the hospital for treatment.”

  “What if I do the same thing?” she worried.

  He smiled gently. “You don’t have a clumsy bone in your body, Jodie. But even if you did, Cara knows you. She might suspect me, but she won’t suspect you.”

  “When do I start?”

  “I’ll let you know,” he promised. “In the meantime, keep your eyes and ears open, and don’t…”

  Just as he spoke, there was a commotion outside the coffee shop. A young woman with long blond hair was trailing away a dark-haired little girl with a shocked face. Behind them, one of the men Jodie recognized from the drug bust—one of Alexander’s friends—was waving his arms and talking loudly in a language Jodie had never heard before, his expression furious.

  The trio passed out of sight, but not before Jodie finally recognized the man Alexander had called Colby Lane.

  “What in the world…?” she wondered.

  “It’s a long story,” Alexander told her. “And I’m not at liberty to repeat it. Let’s just say that Colby has been rather suddenly introduced to a previously unknown member of his family.”

  “Was he cursing—and in what language?” she persisted.

  “You can’t curse in Apache,” he assured her. “It’s like Japanese—if you really want to tick somebody off in Japan, you say something about their mother’s belly button. But giving them the finger doesn’t have any meaning.”

  “Really?” She was fascinated.

  He chuckled. “Anyway, Native Americans—whose origins are also suspected to be Asian—don’t use curse words in their own language.”

  “Mr. Lane looked very upset. And I thought I recognized that blond woman. She was transferred here from their Arizona office just a few weeks ago. She has a little girl, about the same age as Mr. Hunter’s daughter.”

  “Let it lie,” Alexander advised. “We have problems of our own. I meant to mention that we’ve located one of Cara’s known associates serving as a waiter in a little coffeehouse off Alameda called The Beat…”

  “I go there!” she exclaimed. “I go there a lot! You can get all sorts of fancy coffees and it’s like a retro ‘beatnik’ joint. They play bongos and wear all black and customers get up and read their poetry.” She flushed. “I actually did that myself, just last week.”

  He was impressed. “You, getting up in front of people to read poetry? I didn’t know you still wrote poetry, Jodie.”

  “It’s very personal stuff,” she said, uneasy.

  He began to look arrogant. “About me?”

  She glared at him. “At the time I wrote it, you were my least favorite person on the planet,” she informed him.

  “Ouch!” He was thinking again. “But if they already know you there, it’s even less of a stretch if you show up when Cara does—assuming she even uses the café for her purposes. We’ll have to wait and see. I don’t expect her to arrange a rendezvous with a colleague just to suit me.”

  “Nice of you,” she teased.

  He chuckled. He reached across the table and linked her fingers with his. His green eyes probed hers for a long moment. “Those cuts are noticeable on your face,” he said quietly. “Do they hurt?”

  “Not nearly as much as having you gunned down in front of me would have,” she replied.

  His eyes began to glitter with feeling. His fingers contracted around hers. “Which is just how I felt when I saw those bullets slamming into the windshield of my car, with you at the wheel.”

  Her breath caught. He’d never admitted so much in the past.

  He laughed self-consciously and released her hand. “We’re getting morose. A miss is as good as a mile, and I still have paperwork to finish that I haven’t even started on.” He glanced at his watch. “I can’t promise anything, but we might see a movie this weekend.”

  “That would be nice,” she said. “You’ll let me know…?”

  He frowned. “I don’t like putting you in the line of fire a second time.”

  “I go to the coffee shop all the time,” she reminded him. “I’m not risking anything.” Except my heart, again, she thought.

  He sighed. “I suppose so. Just the same, don’t let down your guard. I hope you can tell if someone’s tailing you?”

  “I get goose bumps on the back of my neck,” she assured him. “I’ll be careful. You do the same,” she added firmly.

  He smiled gently. “I’ll do my best.”

  Having settled down with a good book the following day after a sandwich and soup supper, it was a surprise to have Alexander phone her and ask her to go down to the coffee shop on the double.

  “I’ll meet you in the parking lot with the equipment,” he said. “Get a cab and have it drop you off. I’ll reimburse you. Hurry, Jodie.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way,” she promised, lounging in pajamas and a robe.

  She dashed into the bedroom, threw on a long black velvet skirt, a black sweater, loafers, and ran a quick brush through her loosed hair before perching her little black beret on top of her head. She grabbed her coat and rushed out the door, barely pausing except to lock it. She was at the elevator before she remembered her purse, lying on the couch. She dashed back to get it, cursing her own lack of preparedness in an emergency.

  Minutes later, she got out of the cab at the side door of The Beat coffeehouse.

  Alexander waited by his company car while Jodie paid the cab. She joined him, careful to notice that she was unobserved.

  He straightened at her approach. In the well-lit parking lot, she could see his eyes. They were troubled.

  “I’m here,” she said, just for something to say. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’m not sure I want you to do anything,” he said honestly. “This is dangerous. Right now, she has no reason to suspect you. But if you bug her table for me, and she finds out that you did, your life could be in danger.”

  “Hey, listen, you were the one who told me about the little boys being shot by her henchmen,” she reminded him. “I know the risk, Alexander. I’m willing to take it.”

  “Your knees are knocking,” he murmured.

  She laughed, a little unsteadily. “I guess they are. And my heart’s pounding. But I’m still willing to do it. Now what exactly do I do?”

  He opened the passenger door for her. “Get in. I’ll brief you.”

  “Is she here?” she asked when they were inside.

  “Yes. She’s at the table nearest the kitchen door, at the left side of the stage. Here.” He handed her a fountain pen.

  “No, thanks,” she said, waving it away. “I’ve got two in my purse…”

  He opened her hand and placed the capped pen in it. She looked at it, surprised by its heaviness. “It’s a miniature receiver,” he told her. He produced a small black box with an antenna, and what looked like an earplug with a tiny wire sticking out the fat end. “The box is a receiver, linked to a tape recorder. The earplug is also a receiver, which we use when we’re in close quarters and don’t want to attract attention. Since the box has a range of several hundred feet, I’ll be able to hear what comes into the pen from my car.”

  “Do you want me to accidentally leave the pen on her table?”

  “I want you to accidentally drop it under her table,” he said. “If she sees it, the game’s up. We’re not the only people who deal in counterespionage.”

  She sucked in her breath. She was getting the picture. Cara was no dummy. “Okay. I’ll lean over her table to say hello and make sure I put it where she won’t feel it with her foot. How will that do?”

  “Yes. But you have to make sure she doesn’t see you do it.”

  “I’ll be very careful.”

  He was having second thoughts. She was brave, but courage wasn’t the only requirement for such an assignment. He remembered her driving through gunfire to save him. She could have died then. He’d thought about little else, and he hadn’t slept well. Jodie was
like a silver thread that ran through his life. In recent weeks, he’d been considering, seriously, how hard it would be to go on without her. He wasn’t certain that he could.

  “Why are you watching me like that?” she wanted to know, smiling curiously. “I’m not a dummy. I won’t let you down, honest.”

  “It wasn’t that.” He closed her fingers around the pen. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  “Very sure.”

  “Okay.” He hesitated. “What are you going to give as an excuse for being there?”

  She gave him a bright smile. “I phoned Johnny—the owner—earlier, just after you phoned me and told him I had a new poem, but I was a little nervous about getting up in front of a big crowd. He said there was only a small crowd and I’d do fine.”

  “You improvise very well.”

  “I’ve been observing you for years,” she teased. “But it’s true. I do have a poem to read, which should throw Cara off the track.”

  He tugged her chin up and kissed her, hard. “You’re going to be fine.”

  She smiled at him. “Which one of us are you supposed to be reassuring?”

  “Both of us,” he said tenderly. He kissed her again. “Go to work.”

  “What do I do when she leaves?”

  “Get a cab back to your apartment. I’ll meet you there. If anything goes wrong,” he added firmly, “or if she acts suspicious, you stay in the coffeehouse and phone my cell number. Got that?” He handed her a card with his mobile phone number on it.

  “I’ve got it.”

  She opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night air. With a subdued wave, she turned, pulled her coat closer around her and walked purposefully toward the coffeehouse. What she didn’t tell Alexander was that her new poem was about him.

  She didn’t look around noticeably as she made her way through the sparse crowd to the table where she usually sat on her evenings here. She held the pen carefully in her hand, behind a long fold of her coat. As she pulled out a chair at the table, her eyes swept the room and she spotted Cara at a table with another woman. She smiled and Cara frowned.