Her Spy to Have (Spy Games Book 1)

by Paula Altenburg

  “I won’t.”

  Garrett closed the door. He rested his palm on the frame and closed his eyes, trying to think. His brother-in-law’s disapproval, although it bore weight, was the least of his worries. On the investigation front, things had gotten a great deal more complicated.

  Marc Beausejour had found a simple system for moving around the internet undetected and his daughter knew what it was. It had to be in one of the sites she’d been visiting this morning. An unexpected disappointment lodged in the pit of his stomach. Deep down he’d wanted to believe in her, but so much of what she’d told him spoke of complicity, either direct or indirect.

  He heard her come out of the bedroom.

  “Did he know I was in here?” she asked when he turned to face her.

  He tried to decide how much, if anything, she’d overheard. “He wants us to watch a movie with them.”

  “I thought I’d go to bed early.”

  His lips twitched.

  “Alone,” she added, cutting him off, although she couldn’t quite smother a small smile in response.

  That hint of a smile had him pursuing the invitation with more aggressiveness. “Watch the movie instead. You’d be doing me a favor. I don’t want to feel like the third person on someone else’s date night.”

  “What movie is it?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it does. Some movies are more ‘date night’ than others.”

  “If this one turns out to be too ‘date night’ you and I can play cards in the kitchen,” he said.

  “Or you could simply excuse yourself and go to bed. You don’t need me there for that,” she pointed out.

  He was determined to win. “If you expect a favor from me, then you can at least do this one thing in return.”

  Wary hope sprang into her eyes. “You’ll see what you can find out about my father?”

  “I will if you tell me how he contacts you. I need something to start with.”

  How much he told her of what he uncovered, however, depended on her level of cooperation. He watched the conflict play out across her face as he waited for her to make up her mind. When she did, she spoke in a rush, the words tripping over each other as if she were afraid to hold them back in case they stopped coming.

  “Through an internet shopping site. He sets up an account for selling handcrafted gold jewelry. I always look for a particular ring. If it’s available, I send him a personal message through the buy link. If it’s on backorder, it means I’m not to leave a message or try and contact him. He’ll come to me when he can. This morning, the ring was on backorder.”

  “And you’ve already been waiting longer than normal.”

  She ran a hand up and down one of her arms. “Something’s wrong. I know it.”

  Garrett could think of several things about this that were wrong, especially when he considered what information Beausejour might be exchanging using similar setups. Worse, at least to Garrett, was that while Beausejour hid from the problems he created, he left his daughter to fend for herself on the streets of Bangkok, or wherever else he’d abandoned her over the years, exposing her to a great deal of danger. The people searching for him would have a much easier time finding her. He had to know that.

  The man was a bottom feeder.

  Between what she’d just told Garrett, and what he’d gotten from her internet usage, he had enough information to turn over to the computer people at headquarters so they could begin to pin down Beausejour’s location. With a little luck, it wouldn’t be much longer before they had him. Then they could find the supply chain for those weapons systems parts.

  He also had to factor in how much involvement Isabelle really had in all of it. Right now, CSIS’s only interest in her was in finding her father. Garrett prayed it stayed that way, because he’d have no choice but to turn her in, too, if he found out otherwise.

  “Stop worrying. I’ll do what I can,” he said.

  Stark relief flooded her eyes. She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said. “He’s very dramatic. He likes playing games of intrigue. But he’s not a bad person.”

  He turned his head to bury his face in her hair. It smelled of fresh ocean air, citrus shampoo, and sunshine. Her impulsive gesture, and the erratic beat of her heart against his ribs, told him more than words how much her father meant to her, and of the enormous stress she’d been under. Peter was right. The last few months had been hard on her. Far more than she’d let on. The next ones would be too, because while she might not want to believe the worst of him, Beausejour was involved in criminal activity. None of this would end well.

  Their ten minutes were up. He disentangled himself, stooped to reach under the sofa, and handed her flip-flops to her.

  “Let’s go watch that movie,” he said. “You might have to wake me up in the morning if you want me to go running, though. Five thirty is too early for me.”

  She held her hair away from her face with one hand and slid the pink flower of each sandal between her toes with the other. She glanced up at him, more carefree than he’d yet seen her. “If you aren’t ready when I am, I’m going running without you.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Guilt pinched his conscience. He’d wanted her trust. Now it seemed he had it.

  No. This wouldn’t end well at all.

  * * *

  He was ready and waiting for her the next morning, and the morning after that.

  But, other than running together, he kept his distance and spent his days with either the children or Peter. Since it was difficult to look at him without remembering how it felt to have his hands on her, or the touch of his mouth against hers, which unsettled her, Isabelle avoided him, too.

  By Saturday afternoon he still had no information for her, and while Isabelle had known it would take time, she was growing increasingly anxious. What concerned her most was how much of what he uncovered, if anything, he’d be able to share.

  She wasn’t certain how much of it she wanted to know. Where her father was, and that he was safe, would be enough. When he did contact her, however, she planned to speak to him about her future. She was done living like this, in both uncertainty and fear. The fact that CSIS was now interested in his activities should serve as a wake-up call to him that it was time to change careers.

  She peered in her bathroom mirror and applied makeup with a light hand. The entire Mansford clan was holding a barbecue at the farm this afternoon, something they did every year, and Cheryl had insisted she come. Weekends were hers to do with as she pleased, but without a driver’s license, she had nowhere else to go, so she’d agreed. Besides, there’d be plenty of people and it would be nice to meet more of the neighbors.

  A driver’s license.

  Her hand stilled in the process of outlining her lips with a nude blush. She’d forgotten about it when she’d discovered it would take her six months to get beyond the learner’s permit stage. There’d seemed little point. But to get a learner’s permit she’d need identification, and a Canadian passport would fulfill all the requirements.

  The strapless muslin sundress she’d chosen to wear had a lavender-colored, form-fitting bodice over a tight waist with a white-and-lavender flowered design. The short, flared lavender skirt broke mid-thigh, swirling around her legs when she moved. It was an impulse purchase she loved but had never worn. She didn’t examine too deeply the reason she’d chosen to wear it today, or to put on makeup. Sometimes it was simply nice to feel pretty.

  When she finished her makeup, she secured her long hair in a loose knot at the nape of her neck with a hairband. A quick glance at her watch, and the pitter pat of three pairs of little feet in the hallway outside her suite, told her it was time to go.

  Small fists pounded on her door and the one next to it. “Izzy! Uncle Garrett! Mommy and Daddy are ready!”

  They stepped into the hall at the same time, coming face to face with each other. Their
gaze met over the children’s heads. Isabelle saw what she thought might be appreciation in his.

  He let out a low whistle. “That,” he said, “is a nice dress.”

  Pleasure bloomed inside her. He looked good, too. He’d changed into a short-sleeved white cotton shirt and navy cargo shorts, and his light brown hair was still wet and spiky from a shower. She caught the familiar scent of spice cologne. Before she could thank him for the compliment, or pay one of her own, he shifted his attention to the children.

  “Go where?” he asked. “I heard they canceled the barbecue because of rain.”

  Chelsea frowned up at him. Her curly red ponytail bounced as she gave a vigorous, negative shake of her head. “It’s not raining.”

  “He knows it’s not,” Beth said, with her seven-year-old superiority. “He’s trying to trick you.”

  Kiefer tugged on Isabelle’s hand, dragging her toward the stairs. “I want to go.”

  The weather was too hot for the children to walk, and it would be dark before they came home, so everyone piled into the minivan for the short drive.

  The main farmhouse, where Peter’s oldest brother lived, sat a half mile up a steep hill in the opposite direction Isabelle always took for her run. Along with the house, the property had two barns and a large machine shed. Beyond the farm, the pavement ended and became a dirt road. Another brother lived across from the farm, while the Mansfords’ parents owned a smaller house a mile farther along the dirt section. Isabelle hadn’t met them yet. She’d heard the elder Mr. Mansford was confined to a wheelchair.

  The large front yard was full of vehicles, everything from half-ton trucks and SUVs to sports cars. Peter parked the van alongside a farm truck. Garrett opened the sliding back door and lifted the girls out while Isabelle freed Kiefer from his car seat. Garrett set the little boy on his feet, reached for Isabelle’s hand to steady her as she stepped to the ground, then closed the door behind her. Peter and Cheryl took charge of the children, leaving Garrett and Isabelle to walk together as they skirted the side of the house and followed the noise to the back yard.

  The enormous stone patio and flower gardens had been strung with lights and circled with bales of hay for seating. To the far left, outdoor games had been set up. To the right was a canopied bar, complete with bartender, tables, and chairs. Three enormous barbecues belched smoke near the steps to the house and the open kitchen door.

  Isabelle slowed when she saw the size of the crowd. Garrett placed a hand on the small of her back, urging her forward so that she stayed by his side.

  “There’s nothing to be shy about,” he said into her ear.

  “I’m not shy.”

  Far from it. But she preferred making a quiet entrance so she could study people first, which was impossible when she was with Peter and Cheryl, who knew everyone.

  It turned out Garrett knew quite a few of them, too. She’d been introduced to a dizzying amount of relatives and neighbors before he finally abandoned her near a thick hedge of dark pink roses with two of Peter’s cousins, Mary and Thea, middle-aged sisters who liked to travel. They were planning a fall trip to Paris and wanted her advice.

  “We went to New Zealand last year, but for the most part, we’re cross-border shoppers and stick to the US,” Mary said. “This will be our first trip to Europe. We don’t speak any French so we’re a little worried about finding our way around.”

  “Just a little, though,” Thea added. “Not enough to stay home.”

  Their enthusiasm sparked a flare of wistfulness. Isabelle had traveled her whole life, and still, she never tired of discovering new places, or revisiting the ones that she’d loved.

  “You won’t need French,” she assured them. “The metro is very economical, and easy to use for getting around the city. Don’t buy anything from anyone who approaches you on the streets or outside of the tourist attractions, don’t give money to children or anyone with a sad story who claims to be hungry, and you’ll be fine.”

  Someone pressed a plastic glass of red wine into her hand. Garrett was back. He’d heard the last bit of her advice.

  One eyebrow shot up. “Don’t give money to anyone who claims to be hungry, hmm? What if they’re desperate?”

  When he’d asked her for an explanation as to why she was trying to sell her passport she’d told him she was hungry. Any desire to make light of the situation died. Her desperation and worry remained far too fresh. She didn’t ever want to go through that again.

  Bangkok seemed so far away now.

  “Feeding them would be a kind gesture on your part,” she conceded. “One greatly appreciated. However, giving money to strangers requires a very big leap of faith.” She couldn’t resist a small reminder that he wasn’t as altruistic as he presented himself. “Unless, of course, you expect to get something in return.”

  Garrett took a sip of his beer and held her gaze. “How mercenary. Sometimes simply taking that leap is its own reward.”

  There’d been no leap of faith on his part. He hadn’t given her money. He’d bought her a plane ticket. They both knew he hadn’t done it out of the goodness of his heart, either. He’d taken her passport away.

  She was grateful to him nonetheless. He’d fed her before he knew anything about her. Whatever his real reasons for helping her were, and regardless of his true level of altruism, he’d been kind to her.

  Thea spoke up. “Since my subtext is even worse than my French, let me see if I understand you both correctly—we shouldn’t give money to strangers unless we believe in a higher Being, but taking them out to dinner is okay,” she said. “Got it. What if they want us to go dancing with them after our meal?”

  Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. “Then you should keep a close watch on your passport. I hear those things are better than gold on the black market.”

  “They’re certainly difficult to recover if they’re taken from you,” Isabelle added. “Embassy staff isn’t as helpful about finding lost items as one might expect.”

  “We’re plenty helpful,” Garrett said. “It all depends on what’s missing, and how it was lost.”

  Mary nudged her sister. “My subtext is better than yours. We should check to see if Catherine needs any help in the kitchen.” She spoke to Isabelle. “It was lovely to meet you. We’ll have to talk again later. But watch out for Garrett. This boy is trouble.”

  They thought he was flirting with her. In a way, she supposed he was. He simply wasn’t after what they assumed—at least, not with any serious intentions.

  The two women left, leaving them alone by the hedge. A honeybee landed in the yellow center of one of the unfurled rose blossoms, its wings quivering as it worked.

  He took another long sip of his beer. “You heard the woman. Watch out. I’m trouble.”

  “I’m not sure you should be flattered.” Isabelle clutched her plastic wine glass. “She didn’t say what kind of trouble. And she called you a boy. I feel as if I’ve been handed the responsibility for your good behavior.”

  He peered at her over the top of the bottle, his hazel eyes unreadable. “If I misbehave you can spank me.”

  Isabelle laughed. She couldn’t help it. It was the deadpan delivery. Plus, the thought of anyone spanking Garrett for any reason was ludicrous. No one would dare.

  “I’m sensing you aren’t into BDSM.”

  That only made her laugh harder. “And you are?”

  “I’ve never tried it.” His eyes dropped from her face to the low line of her bodice, then back. “But probably not,” he admitted. “I prefer a more gentle approach.”

  Her laughter died. They weren’t alone. At least a hundred people milled around the large yard. Yet here, partially hidden behind the high rose bushes, when he looked at her that way, she felt as if the entire world had suddenly emptied. She remembered in great detail how it felt to be kissed by him.

  To have the light touch of his fingers slide against her bare skin.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

>   It wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t want anyone to think she had any romantic thoughts toward Cheryl’s brother. She didn’t. She was tired of intrigue. She had even less interest in spies. To Garrett, no matter how decent he might be, she was a piece in a game involving her father and he enjoyed playing it more than she liked.

  She was going to follow him anyway, without hesitation, because if he’d been flirting before, something warned her he wasn’t now. Despite the heat of the day, a chill chased up her spine.

  They set their empty drinks on the ground. Garrett took her by the elbow and guided her around the end of the hedge to the other side. Fields of grass and foot-high corn stretched to the base of the hill a half mile distant. From there, a dense green blanket of forest began, spread out for miles. A narrow strip of pavement cut a ribbon-like trail through the trees.

  He led her along a narrow gravel footpath that hugged the side of the house, then disappeared into a dense stand of poplars and maple trees a hundred yards beyond. The sounds from the barbecue soon faded, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the sigh of the wind. A squirrel chattered from the branches above them.

  He stopped in a small clearing. By now, dread had built all sorts of worst-case scenarios in her head. Her father was dead. He’d been kidnapped by terrorists. A plane he’d been on had gone missing over the Indian Ocean.

  What he said was unexpected. “We can’t get a fix on your father’s location through the site you gave us. He logged in using a VPN—a virtual private network. We can trace it back as far as the RBN and can’t get any farther.”

  Isabelle was lost. “What does any of that mean? What’s an RBN?”

  “The Russian Business Network. It’s an internet service provider with connections to the Russian mafia.” A muscle in his jaw worked. “It means your father is serious about not being found.”

  Chapter Seven

  It meant so much more than that. Whether or not her father was involved with the Russian mafia, the fact that a Canadian citizen was hiding his tracks behind the RBN, a well-known internet service provider for cybercrime, wasn’t a good sign.