Undercover with the Enemy

by Christine Michels

  Court sighed inwardly. He’d gotten so tired of it all. All the subterfuge and the acting. He’d seen too much. Too much pain, too much filth, too much of the devil’s domain.

  Holding a wholesome young woman like Heather in his arms made him even more acutely aware of the other world that existed out there. Made him long to escape the devil’s realm. And perhaps, for tonight, he could—partially anyway. Tonight he could live in the moment. And at the moment, he had a beautiful young woman in his arms. He intended to kiss her senseless, seduce her and to carry her off to his bed. And then—since he couldn’t completely escape his work—he would find out just who she was and what she had been doing coming out of the Colombian-owned emporium. Because he couldn’t allow himself to forget, for even so short a time, that he had a job to do. He couldn’t forget all the lives that could be jeopardized if he was found out. He couldn’t forget that at the moment, he was undercover with the enemy.

  Now, if only she’d look at him instead of over his shoulder. “Heather—”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “Yes?” That was when she saw the expression in his eyes. The intensity. The desire that bordered on avarice. The resolve that bordered on ruthlessness.

  Hastily, she lowered her gaze to a safer place. His chest. No threat there.

  But in the next instant, as he turned and his jacket gaped slightly, she knew she’d been wrong. There was a threat, and it struck her with the force of a blow.

  Court was carrying a gun! As plain as day, she could see the butt sticking out of the shoulder holster he wore. It was so much a part of him that he’d worn it to a dinner party. So much a part of him that he hadn’t thought to remove it before dancing with her. So much a part of him that it served as an icy reminder of the kind of world she’d entered…and hoped to escape as soon as possible.

  For the first time in a long time, she found herself thinking about her therapist, Dr. Shaw. At least he’d been right about that much: to get over her terror of handguns and what they could do, she’d had to become acquainted with them. Study them. Reduce them down to the essence of their mechanical parts. Because if you know something intimately, it’s often less fearsome. The advice hadn’t helped Des, but it had helped her. Nothing Dr. Shaw had ever said, though, had allowed her to get over her discomfort at seeing a gun in the possession of another human being.

  But knowing handguns, being capable of using them efficiently and carefully had not eradicated her hate for the weapons. She hated them for their purpose. She always would.

  Knowing that, how could she possibly even contemplate a relationship with a man like Court?

  Before he could intensify his already potent seduction, Heather pulled out of his arms. “I’m sorry, Court, but I—I can’t do this. I just don’t know you well enough. Forgive me.” Then, before Court could respond, she turned and raced off.

  Dumbstruck, Court frowned after her. He felt as though he’d been kicked in the gut. What the hell did I do? he wondered. Had those really been tears he’d seen glittering in her eyes? The last thing he’d meant to do was hurt her.

  Either his seduction techniques were in serious need of an update, or Heather Buchanan was deathly afraid of becoming intimate with him. Afraid of him. And again he could only ask, why.

  The next morning Court got his answer when he met with Edison again. The library where they’d chosen to meet was quiet and devoid of people with the exception of three students. He set his briefcase down on the table and opened it to withdraw a sheaf of papers and a brown envelope which he lay next to an identical one already on the table. Then, looking at Edison for the first time, he noticed that he appeared particularly solemn. He frowned inwardly. Whatever Edison had found, it wasn’t good.

  A muscle knotted in Court’s jaw as he began to prepare himself for bad news. He spent a couple of minutes taking random notes and then finally, after a quick glance around, said in an undertone, “So, what did you find out?”

  “Everything there is to find out from public rec ords. It’s in the envelope,” Edison responded in a whisper.

  “You access medical records?”

  Edison turned his head to the left as though looking for someone, and then nodded slightly. “Yep.”

  “How did she get shot?”

  Edison looked directly at him then, and Court was shocked to see some intense emotion reflected in his eyes. “Read the file, Court.” Rising, he gathered the books he’d been perusing, along with the envelope Court had brought. “I gotta tell you, she’s one hell of a woman,” he added in an undertone before moving away.

  Court stared after him. What the hell?

  After a quick glance around to ensure that he remained alone in this secluded corner of the library, Court opened the envelope and set the pages down on top of the open book before him. To casual observers it would appear that he was reading the book.

  For long minutes, he sat quietly absorbing the information Edison had compiled. Bureaucratic words on paper that told a story more tragic than he had ever expected. And he realized that he’d misjudged Heather. Despite her aura of innocence, she was not as untouched by the pain and darkness of the world as he had assumed. She had confronted death, and survived.

  Shot by her own father!

  How could he face her again without revealing the depths of the sympathy he felt?

  A bit pensive and preoccupied, Court returned home. He’d go to his study first and put the infor mation on Heather into the safe. Then, he’d have some lunch before his afternoon exercise session. Hopefully by then he’d be able to face her.

  Unfortunately, his planning came to naught, for when he arrived at his study, he unexpectedly encountered Heather. She was just emerging from the room. Court paused to observe her as she closed the door behind her with exaggerated care and then glanced in his direction. At sight of him, she jumped, her entire body going into a paroxysm of surprise. He said nothing, merely waited, as he wondered what she would say to explain herself this time.

  “Oh, you gave me a fright,” she gasped. “I was just looking for you.”

  He nodded sagely and moved toward her. “Of course you were.”

  She eyed him uncertainly for a moment. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve come up with a series of exercises that I think will isolate the muscle that’s giving you the problems with support. We’re still on for two o’clock, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well…okay. I’ll see you then.” Turning, she hurried away as though she couldn’t wait to make good her escape.

  Court decided wickedly to torment her just a little more, “Won’t you join me for lunch, Heather?” he called.

  She stopped in her tracks and then slowly turned to face him again. “Oh, no. Thank you. I don’t think I could eat a thing.”

  He studied her flushed face with interest. There was guilt written all over it. “Fine. I’ll see you at two then.”

  He observed her as she hurried down the corridor and turned toward the gym. Then he opened the door to his study. Taking one step into the room, he stopped and carefully perused the interior looking for signs of disturbance. Signs that would tell him what Heather had been doing, and, perhaps, for what she’d been looking.

  But, a careful examination revealed nothing missing or out of place. Not that he could tell immediately anyway. He’d have to check the surveillance tape. His office was the one room in the house that was under constant surveillance, like the corridors. An evidence-gathering process that was serving double duty with Heather around.

  After putting the papers concerning Heather away, he sat at his desk and pondered the situation. He didn’t like it. What was she looking for? Something in particular? But the most immediate question was, what did he do about it?

  His instincts still clamored to get her out of here. But, he couldn’t fire her. He needed her help with getting his leg better. At least until the clinic sent a replacement for her, which they seemed darned slow in doing. Besides, firing
her would only tip off those who had placed her in his house that she’d been made, and their next attempt might not be so easy to spot. Damn! This was a mess.

  Chapter 9

  It was two-fifteen when Heather gave up on waiting for Court to arrive in the gym. Five minutes later, after a brief search of the kitchen, she knocked on the door to his study. “Come,” came a muffled voice from within.

  Heather opened the door to see Court sitting at his desk with his head propped in both hands.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “I just wanted to remind you about your appointment.”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot.” He rubbed his forehead. “Can we postpone it until, say three-thirty?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.” She observed him for a moment. His head was once again propped in his hands while he stared at his desk. His face seemed drawn, there were faint lines of tension that hadn’t been there earlier. “Is something wrong, Court?”

  He looked up at her and shook his head. “Not a thing, other than one doozie of a headache.”

  Oh, that was all. She could probably take care of that. Stepping into the office, she closed the door behind her and walked toward the desk.

  “I thought we agreed to meet at three-thirty,” he said in a strained tone.

  “We did. But in the meantime, I’ll do what I can to ease your headache.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not necessary. I’ve taken a couple of aspirin. They should kick in soon.”

  Ignoring his protest, she walked around his desk to stand behind him. “It’s probably a tension headache. And there’s nothing better at relieving one of those than getting rid of the tense muscles that cause it.” Without waiting for further comment, she slowly began to knead the muscles of his shoulders.

  “I don’t need a mas— Oh, damn, that feels good.”

  “I told you.”

  “Mm,” he said, allowing his head to loll forward slightly, “so you did.” Heather massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders, in silence for a few minutes, then he spoke again. “There is definite magic in those hands.”

  She laughed slightly. “I don’t know about there being magic in them, but they’ve always worked for me and I’m rather partial to them.”

  “I’m getting partial to them myself.”

  He was flirting with her. The realization sent color climbing into Heather’s face. Maybe it would be prudent of her to terminate this particular massage. “Better?”

  “Oh, yeah. Much.” Turning slightly toward her so that he sat at a right angle to the desk, he grasped her hand and tugged her around to face him. Then, with his eyes on her face, he lifted her hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips.

  The warmth of his lips set her fingers tingling and she tried to gently extricate her hand from his grasp. “Ah, I think I should get back to the gym.”

  “What’s your hurry?” he murmured against her hand. “I’m not even there.” Without warning, he rose. Holding her gaze with his, he continued to stroke and massage her hand. “I’m here.”

  “Stop that, please,” Heather said as she tried once more to tug her hand from his grasp.

  “Stop what?”

  “What you’re doing with my hand.” She tried to step away from him, but he followed, turning so that she was effectively placed between him and the desk.

  “Why?” he asked in a low tone.

  “It—it bothers me.”

  He held her gaze. “Liar. You want me to stop because you like it, and you don’t want to like it.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “I am many things, honey. But I’m never absurd.”

  Before Heather could get over her startlement at being called honey and think of a response, he tugged her closer. Placing her captured hand behind his neck, he kissed her. Thoroughly.

  Her heart stumbled and tilted before righting itself. Her breath hitched in her chest making her feel more than a little light-headed. And a strange kind of excitement coiled traitorously in her stomach. It felt so good, so right. Of its own accord, her mouth opened beneath the demanding pressure of his lips.

  She tried desperately to maintain her reason, to remember that Court was the enemy, but the thoughts dissipated like smoke in a breeze. His arms encircled her, clutching her close. Too close. His chest compressed her breasts. His arousal pressed against her abdomen. And her senses swam. Vaguely she was aware of his hand working the buttons of her blouse, of his fingertips on her skin. Warm. Exciting. Tantalizing.

  Suddenly an insistent buzzing sound drew Heather back from the depths of passion. The intercom!

  “Damn!” Court muttered as he leaned away from her with obvious reluctance to answer the call.

  Heather looked down at herself. Oh, Lord, she was sitting on Court’s desk with her blouse wide open and the edge of one bra cup pushed down to reveal her nipple. Her face flamed as she hastily began to set her clothing to rights and leapt off his desk. Drowning in her own embarrassment, she didn’t even hear the conversation via the intercom.

  How could she have lost control like that? How could he have taken advantage of her that way? Well, maybe he didn’t really take advantage, but…it felt as though she’d been ambushed. Whether by her own emotions or Court’s expertise, she didn’t know.

  Court terminated the conversation on the intercom and reached for her. “Heather—”

  “Don’t!” She jerked away and walked beyond his reach. “This shouldn’t have happened. It can’t happen. Our relationship has to remain purely professional.” She went to the door and then reluctantly turned to add, “I’ll be waiting in the gym.”

  Court stared at the door. He hadn’t intended for things to go so far between them just then. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he had been carried away in the heat of the moment. And, considering his position, that wasn’t good. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what lay behind Heather’s emphatic assertion that their relationship must remain a business one. Especially since getting close to him could only further her objective in spying on him for DiMona. It didn’t make sense.

  He waited a few moments to give them both some time, and then made his way to the gym. As he had expected, Heather was all business.

  “Hi,” she said. “The first thing I want to try to do is recreate the situation that causes your leg to collapse on you. I think it must be when you rise onto the ball of your foot. That’s about the only time that the atrophied muscle would be operating as the primary source of strength.”

  “Okay.” He studied her briefly and found it difficult not to remember what she had felt like in his arms. He cleared his throat in an attempt to banish the recollection. “What do you want me to do?”

  “We’ll use the parallel bars so that you can control the collapse and catch yourself with your arms if you need to.”

  Court nodded and positioned himself between the bars.

  “Rise up onto your toes.” She waited as he complied and then said. “Make sure you’re hanging on to the bars firmly, and then shift your entire weight onto your weak leg.”

  He did as she asked. His leg, although a bit unsteady, supported him. “What next?”

  “Unlock the knee. That’s the only way to isolate that muscle.”

  He nodded and bent his leg slightly. It collapsed so quickly that, even holding the bars, he almost fell. It took a moment for him to get his uninjured leg back beneath him and regain his feet.

  “I’d say we’ve definitely isolated that muscle and recreated the situation that causes your leg to fail.” Heather smiled.

  He looked at her wryly. “You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

  She raised her eyes to his in surprise. “But I am happy. Now that we’ve isolated the muscle, we can work it. And that should hasten your recovery considerably. Depending on how it responds to exercise, you could give up your cane within a couple of weeks.” She held up a cautionary hand. “That doesn’t mean that your leg will be a hundred perc
ent. The nerve damage will take considerably longer to heal.”

  “I can live with that. So what now?”

  “To begin with, you’ll use both legs. I want you to rise onto the balls of your feet and do squats. Make sure you support yourself well. Later, when your weak leg has begun to gain strength, if you want to regain the strength even more quickly, you can try one-legged squats.”

  Grimly determined, Court nodded and set to work while Heather observed, correcting his form or urging him on when necessary. She was a good therapist, despite her personal agenda. And that said a lot for her character.

  It was eleven-fifty. Heather sat in her room attempting to read as she waited for the time to pass. She planned to wait until midnight in the hope that everyone in the house would be asleep. Since she’d been unable to find Court’s notebook computer in the study, she had decided to access the desktop model in the library. Luckily, she was at least semi computer savvy. She had invested in a home computer some time ago to help Des with his studies, and they’d shared it. Hopefully there would be something on the computer to keep DiMona happy.

  A few minutes later, she checked her watch again. It was time. She reached the library without incident and slowly opened the door to peek inside, heaving a sigh of relief as she discovered it dark. Closing the door softly behind herself, she took a deep breath, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and tiptoed across the room to the computer desk.

  So far, so good.

  Seating herself at the desk, she turned the machine on and then began to go through the drawers of the desk while the computer went through its boot process. She was busy scanning the labels of some floppy disks she’d found when the machine beeped loudly, sending her heart into her throat. Clutching her chest, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm her racing pulse. Sheesh! She’d never before noticed how loud computers could be.