by The Saint
Much to Courtney's surprise and without explanation, he pulled down a side street and stopped in front of an apartment house. Even in the first light of morning its exterior appeared dingy, at best. Several stories high. Brownstone construction. A dismal, cookie cutter replica of nearly every other building on the block.
"Come on up," he said, hopping from the car before she could say a word. And he'd bet his badge she would have something to say.
Another order, she thought with distaste. Or maybe he simply didn't trust her out of his sight. Could he know her that well, she wondered? Her smile faded into something far more serious as she watched him round the hood. Athletic. The word immediately came to mind. Jake had always been strong and athletic…and good? When push came to shove, that was the real dilemma, wasn't it?
As he opened her door, the early morning air held a hint of spring chill. That, she reasoned, must have caused her to shiver.
Not because God had given Jake Ciora so much in life, and Jake had chosen so little for himself.
Not the fact that she still desperately wanted to believe in him. For all the right reasons as well as all the wrong ones.
Not the feelings that trembled so close to the surface that they made her heart ache every time she looked at him . . . and remembered.
No, it was just the chilly May breeze, not her overwhelming sadness coupled with regret, that had rattled her. Despite the rundown neighborhood or maybe just to spite Jake and all the lousy choices he'd made, she looked up and insisted, "That's okay. I'll wait in the car."
Wasn't anything ever simple with this woman? Jake was already feeling the pressure of the clock. The final hours of this operation had begun ticking like a time bomb. Tack on the responsibility of O’Shea plunking Courtney smack in the middle of Templeton's takedown. Add the death threat in her car last night. It was no wonder Jake's patience was about as likely to snap as a locker room towel on a bare butt.
With zero time for explanations, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her from the car. "No. You won't."
He figured the best way to handle Courtney right now was no frills, no explanations, no delays. The sooner they got going, the quicker this would be over. If Courtney was half as good at her job as O’Shea had bragged, she should be able to finish off Templeton today. And, this time tomorrow, she would still be alive, and Jake would have his life back.
Escorted by a firm grip on her arm, she struggled to match his stride. "Okay. All right." She jerked free, but a quick glance around the graffiti marked street inspired her to keep his pace. Once they were inside, she followed him up two flights of stairs and waited while he unlocked the door. Courtney stepped inside–barely–and faced Jake. Crossing both arms across her chest she questioned him without saying a word.
Six years had passed since Jake had seen the look, but he recognized it immediately. All things being equal, he had to admit the college girl she'd been back then might have pulled it off, but the woman she was now had definitely perfected it. Without compunction, he answered, "You bought clean clothes last night. I didn't."
"I see." And she did. His suit was crumpled, and sporting the five o'clock shadow that added to his already dark and dangerous appearance might not be in his best interest. Or hers for that matter, considering that they would be walking into work together. Suspicion was one complication she didn't need right now.
"Stay put." Jake snagged clean clothes from his closet and headed into the bathroom. He left the door slightly ajar, just in case the neighborhood hadn't been intimidating enough to keep her from leaving without him.
Jake's apartment–well, maybe more of a sleeping room–was quite an eye-opener. The dingy, walls were in desperate need of a coat of paint, but the solitary window was spotless. Not a smudge. Not a streak.
One corner of the large room held a refrigerator, stove and sink. All three white. All three clean. There was also a small metal table with four chairs neatly seated around it.
A brown corduroy davenport, presumably a hide-a-bed, occupied the other side of the room along with an overstuffed Naugahyde recliner and one brass floor lamp. The telephone sat on the sole end table flanking the couch.
No pictures. No photographs. Nothing personal. Where he had chosen to live–more specifically the way he had chosen to live–didn't add up any more than Jake did. Armani suits. Italian shoes. And this? Never.
Unfortunately she didn't have time to mull over all the inconsistencies of Jake's existence. Right now, her priority was coming up with a way to get the information out of Templeton Enterprises.
She had initially planned to reinstate Dirk's system, locate the information O’Shea needed and walk out with it on disk. Unfortunately, Eddie's unexpected zeal for security made that impossible. Physically, his search prohibited taking any information in or out on her person. Technologically, his thorough logging and scanning procedures dead-ended that avenue all together.
So, with time running out, Courtney knew she had to come up with some kind of miracle, akin to a carrier pigeon, or O’Shea's entire six-month undercover operation would have to continue without any help from her. She thoughtfully tapped her front tooth with one fingernail as she contemplated and discarded various ideas.
Ruling out the carrier pigeon concept, Courtney actually considered the feasibility of tossing a package from the window. She paced the confines of the room as she plotted, deciding there was probably some mathematical theory or equation she would need to know, involving weight, height and wind velocity– and then it dawned on her.
That's it, she thought, stifling the need to shout. She picked up Jake's telephone and punched in two digits followed by the pound sign and waited. Please, please, please, don't make this too good to be true, she prayed silently.
Yesss, Courtney cheered under her breath. After hearing the two tones, she quickly entered a phone number and quietly settled the receiver. Thanks to Jake's pit stop, O’Shea would get his evidence, and Dirk Templeton would get exactly what was coming to him. As for Jake…
Her smile faded as he reappeared clean-shaven, and dressed.
"Ready?" he asked, wondering why she looked like someone had just run over her puppy.
"Yes," she told him, suddenly unconvinced that it was so. "I'm ready."
**
Lead shoes. That would be about the only thing heavy enough to keep Jake's feet on the ground this morning. He had hit overdrive about twelve hours earlier and hadn't touched down since. Even O’Shea's official, wrap-this-up-now deadline hadn't been incentive enough to settle his adrenaline.
Walking through the dingy parking deck with Courtney's long strides matching his, Jake realized that six long months of living a lie were about to come to a screeching halt. A fruition, of sorts. All he asked right now was that the operation would come off without a hitch. That meant Courtney surviving, incriminating information planted firmly in Brian's hands and Templeton's sorry butt in jail.
After that, the whole world could kiss off for all Jake cared. At least for a while. Unfortunately the tedious job of getting Courtney past Eddie for hopefully the next-to-the-last time usurped Jake's vision of resuming his own life–whatever that would be.
To Courtney, Eddie's thoroughness seemed endless this morning. But how could it? She'd done everything in her power to hurry the process. Planning ahead, she'd dumped the contents of her purse in Jake's Jeep, only tossing her billfold and cell phone back into the empty bag.
This time, she didn't have her diskette case, because she had left it in her car last night. Didn't matter, though. After passing through Eddie's little checkpoint yesterday, she had completely ruled out using disks to transfer information.
That, in itself, should have pared down the span of his search considerably. No logging. No inserting. No scanning. So, why did it seem like this was taking so long? Time was definitely not on her side, so the less she wasted for any reason, the better.
She'd already formulated a plan, more or less. If all the information she'd
ascertained was correct, moving Templeton's files without being detected might call for a little creativity on her part, but she'd unearthed the one piece of information she needed. The fact that it was feasible.
"Step on it, Eddie," Jake ordered. "I haven't got all day."
Eddie stopped and met his gaze. "Then go on. I'll walk her back when I'm done."
Courtney saw Jake's rage flare like grease tossed into a hot skillet. The flame flashed. Red hot and immediate. So, why did the cool mask of composure that followed scare her more?
"I don't think so." Jake's voice was low and controlled, but he took a step closer. "Now finish up."
Courtney glared at Jake. Oh, great. Just what she needed. Another senseless delay. She put a hand on Eddie's shoulder to avert his attention.
"Your offer to walk back with me is sweet, Eddie, but I wouldn't want you to leave your desk and get in trouble with Mr. Templeton." When his eyes met hers, she smiled. Not to trade pleasantries, but because Courtney could see she had made her point. Eddie didn't relish locking horns with Templeton either. That realization was frightening enough to spur her on. "You're done now, aren't you?"
"Sure."
The moment Eddie stepped back and let her pass, Courtney hurried through the glass doors. She not only didn't wait for Jake but could have cared less if he and Eddie tore one another apart. In fact, the less she saw of Jake from now on, the easier her job would be.
She already had a sneaking suspicion she was going to have to use the main file server to pull off her little feat. Yeah right, she thought dismally–the one that’s located in Dirk's office!
"Good morning, Sandy," Courtney began, her decision made. "You're in awfully early, aren't you?"
Leaning one forearm against the filing cabinet she turned to face Courtney and smiled. “Yeah.” She nodded. “I left a little early yesterday.”
Seven to seven was one heck of a long day, Courtney thought, watching the secretary efficiently resume filing as they spoke. "Is Dirk in?"
"I haven't seen him yet, but that doesn't mean he isn't around here somewhere." Sandy checked her watch. "Every once in a while, he shows up before eight." She stopped a second time. "Would you like for me to page him?"
"No thanks." First things first, Courtney told herself. "Looks like you're on a roll this morning, and I can catch him later."
"Okay, but if you need anything else, just let me know."
"Thanks." Courtney hurried to the office Dirk had assigned her yesterday, glancing back over her shoulder the entire length of the empty hallway. So far, so good. At least Jake wasn't breathing down her neck. Yet. Trouble was, she didn't know whether that eased her mind or made her more nervous. Not that it mattered. Jittery or not, she had a job to do, and she was running out of time. Opening the door, she charged in ready to take on the world until the high backed desk chair swiveled to face her.
"Dirk," she yelped, forcing away the haunting, déjà vu images of her nightmare.
"I'm sorry." He paused a beat before adding, "Did I scare you?"
Such an innocent question. Or was it? Something in his smile rang so untrue Courtney had to bribe herself not to run for her life. Only one more day–two tops–she promised silently.
"Of course not," she lied, returning his smile with equal insincerity. "I'm just surprised to find you in here."
Dirk leaned back. "I keep a close eye on all my employees, Mrs. Montgomery. Especially contractual ones."
"I'm sure you do." Remembering the fear on Eddie's face, Courtney didn't doubt Dirk for a moment.
"Good business, don't you agree?" Shutting the door, she reluctantly closed the distance between them as well, but stopped short. Instead of sitting down, she stayed in back of the chair situated opposite the desk. The gesture meant nothing, she assured herself. Certainly not cowardice. She did not need to hide behind anything, especially furniture, when it came to this man.
A streak of temper lashed out at her own apprehension. He should be the one hiding, she thought heatedly. He should be the one who finds it hard to face me. The one who answers to me. And he will, she swore. So help me God, he will.
Placing both hands on the chair's cool, leather back, she focused, without flinching, on his face. "So, what can I do for you?"
"You had a day to look over the system." Dirk leaned forward and met her gaze. "I'd like a progress report."
Courtney confidently clasped her hands together and refused to fidget under his unnerving scrutiny. She pushed aside the fact that she loathed him. Ignored everything despicable for which he stood. Fought to repress her outrage that O’Shea believed Templeton had killed her father.
She steadied her shaking legs and took a breath, before handing this most vile and heinous man the biggest bunch of nonsensical double-talk she could concoct, and still keep a straight face.
"I began a complete system diagnostic procedure to assess the extent of file contamination and to determine the ectomologic damage to your system…"
I dare you to question me, you slimly piece of garbage.
"After that I had to initiate a virtro-equatius virus scan…"
Sound like a truckload of crap, you computer illiterate freak?
"And finally, I deleted the virus from your pseudo system and began my gramactic program, designed to recover and restructure your contaminated sephulage…"
Take that, you murdering bastard.
As much as Courtney enjoyed her little performance, she never would have gotten away with any of it if Leonard had been with Dirk. And now that she thought about it, why wasn't Leonard here? It didn't make sense that Dirk would ask about her progress without his computer expert being present.
"I want the bottom line," he requested. "When will you be finished?"
"Tomorrow." She sealed her fate without hesitation.
"I'll be out of the office this afternoon, but I'll check back in after dinner." Dirk stood and rounded the desk that separated them. "Every day I'm off that system, I lose money."
Courtney sensed the unmistakable threat and wanted desperately to take a step back, but instead, she stood her ground. "Well, rest assured I'll lock out the system while I finish, so no one can log on and knock out my program. That would really cause a major set back."
"Do what you have to do, Mrs. Montgomery. I'm not talking chump change. I'm losing hundreds of thousands of dollars,"–he stepped closer–"So I'm going to hold you to that deadline."
"With that much at stake, I'm surprised you even let me go home last night," she told him, burying the underlying truth in her flip comment.
"What can I say," Dirk began, heading for the door, "I'm just one helluva nice guy. Isn't that right, Jake?"
Still intent on keeping Templeton at arm's length, Courtney turned. She'd been so relieved to learn Dirk was leaving for a few hours, she hadn't even heard Jake enter the room.
But there he stood. Legs crossed at the ankles. Arms folded across his chest. Leaning against the far wall, all attitude and body language.
"That's right, Boss," he echoed.
Rote regurgitation, she decided, didn't suit Jake well at all. Oh, the words had come from his mouth, all right. But she still professed to know him, somewhat, and his suck-up response rang with about as much sincerity as an, of course, I love you, coming from the back seat of a car at a drive-in movie. Her heart sank at the all-too-familiar analogy.
Hearing Jake mindlessly recite such a programmed response proved a bitter pill for Courtney to swallow. Especially after last night. The man who had secreted her away would never knuckle under to Templeton. So either Deluka was Ciora's evil twin or her intuition, that there was a whole lot more to Jake than he was letting on, had once again hit its mark.
For one thing, at the hotel the source of Jake's compassion and understanding had come solely from the man. They had nothing to do with his connection to Templeton. His job, her stomach churned at the thought, was another matter entirely. Could she imagine Jake driving a low-life, high-powered cri
minal like Dirk around for a living? Not in a million years.
She may be nuts. Or naive. Or both. But she could not–would not–believe that Jake had traveled down such a dead end road, much less that he had stayed there. Not even after seeing it with her own two eyes.
Then what held him to Templeton? Threats? Blackmail? Courtney didn't have a clue, but she did know one thing for certain. Something was very wrong with this picture. Once she finished her job for O’Shea, Courtney intended to pinpoint exactly what that something was. She had to.
The minute Dirk left the room, Courtney sat down at her desk. "You heard your boss."
Jake lifted a brow, but said nothing.
"Time is money," she reminded him.
"And?"
"If you don't mind, I need to get to work." When he still didn't make any attempt to leave, she flipped on the computer and pointed to the door. "Go. Earn your paycheck, Deluka."
Jake needed to get the note that had been left in Courtney's car to O’Shea, so the lab boys could have a look at it. But after seeing her so vulnerable last night, he hated to leave her. Even if she did look fine now. How she'd pulled herself together so completely this morning was still a mystery to him. But she had.
Lush, brown hair upswept and professional–except for two gentle wisps that teased both cheekbones.
Pale pink lips pursed in concentration. Pale blue eyes intently focused on the monitor. Surely, under the circumstances, he could leave her alone long enough to take care of business. Unless, of course, her efficiency was just an act. A decoy to get him to leave.
"Stay put," he ordered, not giving a damn what she thought of his dictate. "I'll be back…later."
The glint in her eyes had caused him to change mid-sentence, deciding against telling her what time he would return. His gut instinct told him that despite, or maybe because of her nonchalant shrug, she might be up to something. Well, he thought, two can definitely play that game.
"In case you missed it, I told Dirk I'd finish by tomorrow, so I hardly think I'll be stopping any time before–oh, I don't know–late."
