by Roy Street
Jenna spoke up. “This is Aiden Flynn. He’s staying at my mom’s place.”
Aiden greeted them and turned to Jenna. “How’d the shoot go?”
“Really well, thanks.”
Lexi looked at Aiden. “Is it any wonder? She’s a professional who’s danced around the world. A seasoned performer. If it were me, I’d be having panic attacks.”
Jenna glanced at Aiden. Her cheeks flushed.
He remained poker-faced. But did she detect an “our little secret” glint in his eyes?
She changed the subject. “Aiden watches the stars.”
“Don’t we all,” Rachel said.
“No, I mean the real stars,” Jenna said. “Like in the sky at night.”
“Cool,” Lexi said. “Have a seat. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks,” Aiden said. “But I better get back to my work.”
“What kind of work do you do?” asked Rachel.
“Nothing interesting.” He appeared slightly uncomfortable at Rachel’s question and followed with a classic verbal pivot. “Well, it’s been great meeting you ladies.” He nodded to Jenna. “Guess I’ll see you back at the house.”
Why wouldn’t he answer? Last night he’d avoided telling her anything about himself, too. She had chalked it up to her panic attack and the focus all being on her. But now she wondered if there was more to it.
He had a slight Boston accent, so he obviously wasn’t a native New Yorker. But who was Aiden Flynn? This guy that she’d somehow trusted enough to reveal parts of herself she managed to hide from everyone else? And why was a man this sexy hanging out alone at a B&B in a sleepy village like North Cove?
Jenna watched the lanky, enigmatic stranger meander around a small line of customers and out the door.
Chapter Four
Jenna and Lauren Richardson stood on the broad covered porch of Richardson’s Bed and Breakfast and exchanged waves with North Fork Light’s photographer as he backed his minivan out their driveway. Jenna couldn’t help remembering the days when her dad was still alive and there was no B&B, just a farmhouse with a family in it, and they’d all sit on the porch on sunny fall days like this one.
Her mother turned to her, beaming. “I’ve got to call Lynn and Judith. They insisted I give a full rundown on our photo op.” She gave Jenna a quick hug. “Who would’ve thought I’d be featured in the papers with my famous daughter?”
The jubilance pouring from her mother was the kind of thing Jenna had yearned to see as a child. A sign that life around the house would be okay. That her mom was one person, not some Jekyll and Hyde nightmare where Lauren’s manicky highs were followed by bleak tragic lows.
Would it have been different if the cancer hadn’t taken Daddy? Jenna would never know. “Glad you had fun, Mom.” She followed her inside to the ground floor apartment her brother had built when they transformed the house. A small living room, dining room, kitchen and bedroom separate from the larger kitchen, dining and lounge areas used by guests.
There were two guest rooms on each floor of the three-story house for a total of six—not exactly the Grand Hyatt. It was a family operation with big bro Parker handling repairs and lawn care. Her sister Casey used to help out, although she and her mom had always seemed to be at odds. And now Casey was occupied with her four-month-old baby.
“Anything you want me to do around the house this afternoon?” Jenna asked. She wasn’t required on the set today, and after years of daily training, it made her feel lazy.
Lauren waved her off. “Don’t be silly. Enjoy your day off. We’ve only got three guests.”
Three? Did that mean Aiden was still here? Jenna had looked for him on the deck last night, but his room was dark. And when a few people peeked in at the photo session today she kept hoping to see him. Somehow it disappointed her to think he’d leave without saying goodbye. She told herself it didn’t matter. They were practically strangers. It was only because she wanted to thank him for helping her get over that panic attack.
Still, Jenna found herself asking, “Mr. Flynn didn’t check out?”
“No.”
“But I haven’t seen him. Are you sure?”
Lauren nodded. “He’s paid through the week.”
“Where’s he from, anyway?”
“He has a New York City phone number.”
“Did he tell you what he does? Or why he’s staying here?”
“I thought it was Sunrise Lane you were acting in. You sound more like Detective Olivia Benson from Law And Order.”
With a small laugh, Jenna said, “Just curious. That’s all.”
“You know I don’t pry into my guests’ business.”
Jenna chewed her finger for a second, then said, “Does his bedding need changing? Maybe now would be a good time to get in there if he’s gone for the day.”
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing. Just trying to help out.”
Her mother paused. “Go ahead. But no snooping. I haven’t forgotten the time you turned on that woman’s vibrator and then couldn’t shut it off. Had to have Parker come in and dismantle it.”
“Mom, I was ten years old. I’d never seen one before.”
She reached out and patted Jenna’s cheek. “Clean sheets are in the dryer.”
After retrieving the sheets and grabbing a set of keys from her mother’s desk, Jenna bounced up the stairs to room number three, an eager curiosity brimming inside.
The 1880s farmhouse hadn’t always looked like this. When her brother Parker had realized the vineyards sprouting up in the North Fork would bring in enough wine-tasting tourists to give his widowed mom an income, he worked almost single-handedly for three years redesigning and renovating it. Nine years older than Jenna, he’d often take her along to garage sales and let her pick out a used toy while he searched for vintage furnishings for the rooms. The two on the second floor were the largest in the house, each having a private bath and deck. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see in Aiden’s.
Jenna had always been a neat freak and based on her own persnickety standards decided he earned a whopping B+ on that score. On second thought, maybe a little lower due to his crude but effective bed making skills. But then she appreciated the way he’d pulled the sheets and coverlet together, even if the corners were a tad uneven.
At least there were no empty beer cans or smelly pizza boxes. And the waste cans weren’t overflowing. Not even the usual dirty clothes hanging across the chair. Just an open laptop on the desk and the telescope with its folded tripod lying safely across the cushion of an antique love seat. She smiled. Seeing it reminded her of their little therapy session under the stars.
The night table and dresser tops had no personal items. But his suitcase sat open on the floor in the corner next to a black duffle bag and a pair of Nike running sneakers that looked fairly new. She strolled over. Her fingers itched to dig through the suitcase, but she resisted and settled for scanning the top layer.
Hmmm. A pair of folded jeans, a few unopened packs of white athletic socks, a pair of pale blue Jockey briefs. Ten points for not wearing those unsexy boxers.
She couldn’t help imagining what he’d look like in his cute baby blue briefs. Probably damn good, based on what she’d seen of him in his jeans: tight abs, slim hips and long, muscular legs. A small, self-contained seismic disturbance rolled through her, its epicenter located somewhere between her thighs.
What’s happening to me? She was acting like a boy crazy teenager. Last month she was all into Chang. Then along came Sean. Now she was thinking about Aiden every minute. No, not just thinking about him, but stalking him, for God’s sake.
She turned into the bathroom and gave it a quick cleaning, checking the medicine cabinet of course. Nothing there. He’d obviously gone away overnight. Maybe to his New York City apartment.
Next she pulled the old bedding off the four-poster double and meticulously put on the new. Not one wrinkle. All corners perfectly even. She stood th
ere a moment wondering of Aiden slept in the nude.
Zheesh. You really do have a problem, girl.
She ran her dust cloth over the desk, accidentally bumping the laptop and awakened the sleeping computer. A document emerged. Jenna stepped closer to the glowing screen.
Location/Bed and Breakfast/ North Cove/New York/ gathering photints / two assets / one mirror / Renzinsky at Bureau sending the elint / more dry cleaning expected / will bang and burn / SAD CIA case agent Briggs working as bona fide
“What the… ?” Jenna’s eyes went wide. She had no clue what the words photint and elint meant. But the letters C—I—A and the word Bureau sure rang a bell. Not to mention the term “agent.”
A tingle ran up her spine. Such thought provoking data coming from the mysterious stranger who constantly sidestepped questions relating to his profession and you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to put it together.
She felt an irrepressible urge to prowl his desktop, go through his emails or at least scroll down the page, but no way could she do that in good conscience. That would be a true violation of personal privacy. Not to mention illegal. And if he actually was law enforcement—forget it.
Jenna hovered over the desk unwilling to take liberties, yet burning for answers.
She snatched up a Richardson’s B&B souvenir notepad and a ballpoint pen that lay next to the computer and quickly copied down the words.
Heading straight for her own room, Jenna wasted no time searching the Net. With a touch of analytic thinking and a sprinkling of intuition she acted on a simple premise. Was the bizarre wording a form of FBI or CIA slang?
It wasn’t long before she got her answer.
Upon entering the words “photint CIA FBI slang” on Google, a number of sites caught her eye. Each offered essentially the same definitions to the puzzling terminology.
Bureau: FBI
photint: photographic intelligence.
assets: a clandestine source
mirrors: Other government investigators working on the same case.
elint: Electronic intelligence
dry cleaning: efforts made to detect surveillance
bang and burn: demolition and sabotage
SAD: special activities division
bona fide: an operative’s true identity, who he represents, or actual intentions
Was the charming visitor in room three working for the FBI or the CIA? Was Aiden Flynn actually “Renzinsky at the Bureau”? Or maybe “CIA case agent Briggs”? Either way, the B&B’s resident secret operative obviously had business to tend here in North Cove. But what kind? And was it dangerous being around him? Definitely might be wise to give him an extra wide berth.
Except another thing was certain as well. His recently discovered spy status only made him seem even sexier than he was before. And to Jenna that spelled a whole other kind of danger.
Chapter Five
Aiden shifted about in his office chair trying to get used to the new seat cushion he’d recently purchased. All those hours each day behind the computer researching and investigating—it was no wonder his butt ached. Outside, the rain pelted against the window of his apartment on the thirty-fourth floor at Columbus Avenue and Sixty-Seventh. The view was outrageous. Central Park in the distance and the famous Manhattan skyline that glittered each night like millions of diamonds.
He’d come in to the city today to meet with his literary agent. Returning to his apartment after their productive lunch powwow, he gave himself permission to indulge in something he’d been telling himself not to do.
In the Google search box he typed “Jenna Richardson soloist American Ballet Theater.” A list of items appeared on the page. He clicked on a couple stills of her face and found himself sighing like a lovesick adolescent. Why did she have this effect on him? There were other lookers around. But he could just stare into her enormous brown eyes forever. And her tiny, pointed chin just begged to be clasped while he bent to kiss her.
He put a lid on his runaway thoughts and told himself to just click on the video boxes that appeared in the search. He’d never been to a ballet and only wanted to get a glimpse of what she did.
Ironically, the first video was Jenna dancing as the Lilac fairy in Sleeping Beauty, balancing on one leg with the other way up by her ear. He smiled. Hadn’t he called her a fairy princess when he saw her dancing around on the deck of the B&B three nights ago?
Next he saw her do the “Arabian Dance” in The Nutcracker with deep, supple backbends. There was a more modern one by a choreographer named Chang Mulligan. This costume was even sexier than the last. He was entranced watching her outrageously beautiful body move with such skill and artistry. And with such sensuality.
Aiden couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman this badly.
Not even Wendy.
A rush of guilt swept over him.
He could never allow any woman to replace his cherished wife. Ever.
Not that Jenna would want him anyway. He wasn’t her type at all. He belonged with women like his dear Wendy whose plain face and predictable, scholarly nature had made him feel safe after the train wreck of his upbringing.
When the video came to a close, a selection of other highlights featuring Jenna appeared inside the box, including one labeled, “Sean’s Newest Lady.”
Aiden gave into temptation and hit play. Sure enough, it was a slide presentation featuring various photos capturing Sean Risk romping with his latest girlfriend, “sexy Jenna Richardson.” The paparazzi had caught them holding hands in a cafe, walking along the sidewalks of Sag Harbor and jogging side-by-side down Further Lane. It was too much for the vulnerable widower. With a fast click, he left the site.
Aiden was no match for Sean Risk. Jenna and Sean were both performers, both liked to be in the spotlight, in front of a camera.
Unlike K.Z. Knight, who hides his identity from the public and won’t even put an author photo on his books.
He closed out of the windows on the screen and pushed away from the desk.
Aiden ambled to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase that spanned the length of the room. He ran his finger over five hardback books in glossy covers. Writing them had been his therapy, an escape from the grief of losing Wendy. Who would’ve thought his paranormal thrillers would become mega-selling blockbusters?
A world of success wrapped in a blanket of loneliness and sorrow.
Had the time come for him to let go? Or was it too late for that?
Had he forgotten how?
Chapter Six
A dark gray metallic row of Fresnel and Leko lights cast their pearly beams downward from high above the stage of East Hampton’s Guild Hall, while a brigade of techies wearing headsets and carrying clipboards bustled about below. Jenna might have felt right at home had it not been for all the additional lighting and sound equipment tacked on. Not to mention a film crew at least thirty members strong.
She nervously marked her steps, her body stiff and cranky. She’d been so happy to be free of her regimented dancer’s lifestyle that she hadn’t taken a ballet class in two weeks. And waiting around for the tech crew to do its thing in a cold theater didn’t help. Was she going to come off looking like an amateur on national television?
Oddly enough, she’d done fairly well on her speaking parts so far. Wouldn’t it be a kicker if she flubbed her dance parts?
Jittery shivers ran down her limbs, and all the air seemed to go out of her lungs. Oh no. Am I having another panic attack? She remembered her conversation with Aiden and tried to think of food, travel, new clothes. Whatever would take her mind somewhere else.
Suddenly an image came to her of the night sky the way it had looked through his telescope. She pictured it in her mind, and that same soaring feeling of wonder flooded through her.
Director Tony Pacca leaned to the side of his chair and whispered to first assistant director David Saltzman, who then announced, “Quiet on the set, everybody. This is a take.”
Once she got the “go ahead
” Jenna did a series of piqué turns across the stage, into an arabesque sauté. Then grande battements en pointe alternating with quick entrechat jumps. Simple steps for someone at her level, especially now that she’d overcome her momentary terror of messing up. In the middle of the run-through Tony yelled, “Cut.”
After a few switches in the lighting, Jenna completed the sequence. She continued through the variation she’d rehearsed, her nervousness fading to nothing.
“That’s a take,” said Tony. “Nice work.”
She had one more speaking scene to do before the day was out. With Sean’s character, Justin Grant, the spoiled son of an industrial magnet, married to the female lead of the show, but keeping a string of mistresses. He’d supposedly met his match in Cassandra Dawson, world-class ballerina and the blackest swan ever. Her sideline profession as a high-end hooker not only brought her big time cash, but it satisfied her insatiable addiction to control and torment powerful men.
David called out, “Camera?”
“Rolling.”
“Speed.”
“Aaaaand… action.”
Justin bursts into her dressing room and pulls a scantily clad Cassandra into his arms. He kisses her passionately and proceeds to run his tongue over her neck and ear.
Jenna struggled to keep her focus, to be the cold character she played, but the truth was her whole body wanted to melt against Sean’s. His arms and torso were rock hard, and boy, did he know how to kiss.
Justin
I want you all to myself. Screw your other clients.
Cassandra
I do. All the time.
Justin
Nasty bitch. Why do you have this effect on me?
Ten lines and two hot kisses later, the A.D., yelled out, “Great, but we’re going again for sound. Jenna, I want you more calculating, more teasing. Let’s go.”
