by Katie Allen
Even that threatened to abandon her when she ran a hand through his hair. It was long and unruly, but silky-soft, with enough curl to circle her fingers as if it was trying to hold her to him. Her fingertips brushed across his scalp, touching raised, uneven ridges. Scars maybe? The feel of them reminded her of how little she really knew about this man. Clearing her throat, she gathered his hair at his nape and ruthlessly hacked off the long strands.
“Here.” She handed him the fistful of hair. “Want to braid that and keep it?”
He snorted, standing up so he could lift the toilet lid and throw the hair in. “No thanks.” Sitting down again, he reached back to flush the toilet.
“Just in case you’re worried, I really do know what I’m doing,” she babbled, trying to keep her thoughts off the soft strands beneath her fingers as she began to snip away in earnest. “I cut all my friends’ hair in high school. I was actually planning to go to cosmetology school, but my parents insisted on a four-year college. It worked out for the best, I suppose. There are some people whose heads I’d really rather not touch.”
“I’m not worried.”
She’d actually been settling down a little until he spoke. That voice of his sent a shiver through her. Lauren swallowed.
“Um...that’s good. That you’re not...well, worried.” Okay, time to stop talking before you sound like an even bigger idiot.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the blades of the scissors cutting through strands of hair. She combed a section, trapping it between her fingers and pulling it straight, sliding her hand out until just the uneven ends protruded from the line of her fingers. As she snipped, Lauren wished his hair was wet and debated having him stick his head beneath one of the faucets. Without towels or a blow-dryer, though, Calvin would stay pretty damp, and that had to look more suspicious than a not-so-stellar haircut.
“Okay, turn around,” she told him. He obeyed, straddling the seat, and she extended strands on both sides of his head, checking to see if they were the same length. For a bathroom-stall emergency haircut, it wasn’t half bad. “Hang on.” She hopped off the tank and grabbed her purse, dropping the comb back in and pulling out a travel-size bottle of hair gel.
Calvin had turned back around and was watching her suspiciously. “You’re not putting that shit in my hair,” he said, holding up defensive hands as she approached.
“Don’t be a baby,” she mocked, squeezing some gel onto her palm and rubbing her hands together. “Guys use hair products all the time.”
Although he relented enough to allow her to run her fingers through his newly trimmed hair, he still looked unconvinced as she fussed with the short strands, teasing them into an artfully mussed arrangement.
“There,” she said with satisfaction, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Now, how are you going to shave without someone walking in? Should I lock the main door so you can use one of the sinks?”
“No,” he said, gingerly touching his hair. “That’ll just draw attention if someone tries to come in. I’ll shave in here.”
Lauren made a face. “With toilet water?”
He smirked. “I’ll use the water in the tank. It’s clean enough. As you said, I’m a beggar in all this.”
“Even beggars shouldn’t have to shave with toilet water,” she told him with a grimace. “While you do that, I’m going to go plead sick. Stacy’s going to be suspicious after I’ve been in the bathroom this long anyway.”
She unlatched the door and snagged her purse off the hook. Before she could slip out, Calvin caught her wrist.
“Thank you,” he said, his gaze serious enough to melt her knees. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
Lauren shrugged, a little embarrassed by those intent eyes. She couldn’t explain why she’d felt compelled to help him. It was probably a stupid idea thought up by her sex-starved body. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ll be back—don’t leave without me.” As crazy as it was, this whole thing was starting to feel exciting rather than scary.
Okay, so maybe exciting as well as scary. She just knew once Calvin left the building, she wouldn’t see him again, and she wanted to stretch out this adventure for as long as possible. “Please?”
He studied her face and then nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Shooting him a quick smile, she slipped out of the stall.
* * *
“You do look pale,” her boss, Corrine, told her, frowning. “Are you okay getting home?”
Lauren nodded, feeling a pang of guilt at the deception. Corrine was being so nice about it. “I’ll be fine. I just gave the proofs to Stacy, so they just need—”
“Home,” Corrine insisted, “before you make everyone else sick. Go. Now.”
Giving her boss a weak smile, she headed for the door. “Thanks, Corrine. Hopefully I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“Don’t hurry back,” Corrine insisted, making shooing motions with her hands. “You’re never sick. If this bug can catch you, the rest of us are doomed. Go home, eat soup, watch trashy daytime TV and don’t come back until you’re better.”
“I will,” Lauren promised, resisting the urge to offer a theatrical cough. She didn’t have a pretend cough anyway—she had the pretend flu. Almost free, she told herself. Don’t ruin things now.
Closing the door of her boss’s office, she headed back in the direction of the bathroom. As she passed the elevators, the mild ding sound brought her head around, and she almost froze as the two men in suits walked out of the opening doors. Somehow, she forced her feet to keep moving.
“Shit,” she mouthed silently, trying to see where the men were headed without making it obvious she was watching them. Unfortunately, they seemed to be right behind her. Restraining her urge to take off running, she focused on a point down the hall, carefully looking straight ahead.
She couldn’t hear anything behind her, which was somehow so much creepier than hearing their footsteps or voices or something other than the following silence. The women’s bathroom door was in sight, growing gradually closer.
Don’t pick right now to come out, she begged Calvin mentally. Once the thought of him popping out right in front of the two suited men seized hold of her brain, it refused to let go, replaying the nightmare scenario over and over on an insanity-inducing loop.
By the time her hand closed around the restroom door handle, Lauren was panting as if she’d dashed through the hallway like she’d been dying to do. She shoved the door open and slipped inside, using her body to try to block as much of the view into the bathroom as possible.
Unable to resist, she allowed her head to turn as she entered. The men were just a few feet behind her, close enough to make her jump back a step.
“Excuse me,” one of the men said, reaching toward her right before the door swung closed, separating Lauren from the two guys who seemed infinitely scarier this time than when she’d seen them at the front desk talking with Megan. She stared at the closed door for several frozen seconds before turning toward the stalls.
A man stood in front of her.
Clapping a hand over her mouth to hold back a shriek, she flinched back toward the door.
“Lauren,” he said, so quietly she could barely hear him. She blinked, shaking off her startle. Of course it was Calvin. Who else would be in the women’s bathroom? She took a second look at the man in front of her and swallowed.
He looked...good. Too good. The suit fit surprisingly well, although it strained slightly across the shoulders and rode a couple inches too high at his ankles. That was unfortunate, since it exposed more of his black combat boots. His face, though...
It was scarily perfect. He was almost too good-looking to actually exist. No wonder he’d grown that shaggy beard—it was probably the only way he could walk around and not be assaulted by hordes of horny women.
<
br /> “Sorry,” she whispered as quietly as she could while still actually making a sound. Lauren jerked her head toward the door. “They’re right outside.”
He nodded and then pointed at the ceiling. Lauren looked up at the tiles. They were the large, easy-to-push-up kind set in a grid.
“Men’s bathroom is right next door,” she breathed, and he nodded again, climbing up to stand on the counter surrounding the sinks, the computer bag still hanging at his side. As he reached up to slide a tile out of place, Lauren ducked into a stall and flushed, hoping to cover any stray sounds Calvin might make.
She needn’t have worried. When she returned to the sinks, he’d already boosted himself up into the ceiling soffit and replaced the tile. She washed her hands for a while and then listened for any noises from the adjoining bathroom while she pulled out a paper towel. Nothing.
With a deep breath to gather her courage, she pulled open the door and stepped out of the bathroom, right in front of the two waiting men. Lauren put on her most innocent expression.
“Can I help you?” she asked, looking from one dour face to the other.
“Do you know this man?” the taller of the two asked, thrusting the printout of Calvin’s photo in front of her gaze.
She examined the picture with put-on curiosity. Calvin’s beard and wild hair already looked foreign, even though she’d only seen the trimmed-up version for a few frantic seconds.
“Um...he looks kind of familiar,” she said, meeting first one man’s gaze and then the other. “I know I’ve seen him somewhere. Is he one of the janitors?”
“He works in the mail room,” the shorter man said.
Keeping her smile intact, she shrugged. “I must’ve passed him in the hall at one point or another. This is a big place.” She smiled and moved to step around them, but they shifted to keep her pinned into place.
“Are you sure you haven’t talked to this man?” the taller one pressed.
“Not that I remember.” Amiability didn’t seem to be working with these two sourpusses, so Lauren allowed her smile to fade and suspicion to creep into her expression. “Who is he? In fact, who are you? Should I even be talking to you?” She shifted to the side, trying to keep them turned away from the men’s bathroom door.
Both of the suits pulled out black leather wallets, flipping them open to show her their identification cards. Lauren leaned close to the taller man’s to read his, barely controlling her start of horrified surprise when she read “National Security Administration” at the top of the card.
“NSA?” She glanced at the shorter man’s card, matching except for the name. The taller man’s last name was Porter, and the shorter man was Reed. “So what is this guy? Some kind of spy? A terrorist?” Even as she said it, Lauren’s mind rejected the idea. Calvin was too sweet—and too good a kisser—to be a terrorist. She bit her bottom lip. Wasn’t he?
“We are not at liberty to say,” the shorter man said sharply. “All we can tell you is it’s vital that you tell us what you know.”
Forcing a casual smile, Lauren hoped desperately her lips weren’t shaking. “I can’t be much help, I’m afraid. Please excuse me—I need to leave. I’m not feeling well.” Turning around, Lauren held her breath as she walked away from the men, expecting at any second to feel the hard grip of a hand on her shoulder or worse, to hear a shout of discovery as they caught Calvin emerging from the bathroom.
The entire length of the hallway, she felt their eyes on her back. Although she tried to walk casually, it was difficult when every muscle in her body was pulled taut. She pressed the down button on the elevator and then took a step back, not allowing herself to jab the button ten times in a panicked freak-out.
After what felt like hours, the doors slid open and she stepped inside, turning toward the floor buttons. A man followed her in and she almost shrieked, biting off the sound at the last second when she realized it was Calvin. The doors closed behind him, and Lauren grinned, giddy with relief. Looking at him, she knew any notion of Calvin being a terrorist—or a bad guy of any kind—was ridiculous.
“Going down?” she asked, hitting the ground-level button. He lifted an eyebrow.
“Don’t get cocky until we’re out of the building,” he warned, although a smile tugged at those gorgeous full lips.
“I’m not cocky,” she told him, unable to stop grinning at him. “I’m freaked out of my mind.”
All humor disappeared from his face. “Christ. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved,” he said.
Lauren shook her head. “You didn’t—I was the one running down to warn you. Besides, it’s kind of fun.”
“Fun? What?”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Sure. I mean, fun in an I-might-pee-my-pants-in-terror kind of way, but it’s still exciting.”
His laugh was more of a groan as he pulled a pair of glasses out of his pocket and slid them on. Lauren recognized those blue frames.
“Did you steal Marilyn’s reading glasses?” she asked, staring, not sure whether to be impressed or horrified.
“Tall, dyed red hair, smells like Old Spice?”
“That’s Marilyn.”
“Then yes.”
Lauren nodded and then snorted a laugh. “I don’t know why she wears men’s cologne. We’ve tried buying her perfume, but she never uses it.” After a pause, she asked, “Doesn’t wearing those things mess up your vision?”
“Completely,” he said as the doors slid open, revealing the main lobby. “Everything’s blurry. I’m feeling seasick.”
She choked back a laugh as she stepped into the lobby. Megan was on the phone but gave her a small wave, her eyes passing over Calvin with great interest. Lauren shook off an instinctual rush of possession toward the man walking next to her. Now was definitely not the time for that.
Another grim-looking man in a suit was hovering by the main doors, and Lauren’s heart took off at a gallop.
“How do I act?” she muttered in Calvin’s direction. Although her voice was low, he seemed to understand her with no problem.
“Give me orders,” he told her quietly. “I’m your assistant.”
Swallowing hard, she forced her pace to a brisk walk. “What do you mean, you forgot the proofs?” she demanded. Although a faint tremor marred her words, she was moderately proud of her haughty tone. It was very Stacy-like.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Hayes.” At the unfamiliar, whiny voice, she shot a startled look at Calvin. Catching herself, she forced her gaze forward.
“Sorry is not going to fix this problem,” she snapped. They were just a few steps away from the main doors and the man guarding them. “What am I going to tell the client...um, Norman Bate...man?” She struggled to keep her face impassive, although she groaned inwardly. Norman Bateman? Really? That was the best she could do? “Mr. Bateman is expecting to see those proofs at today’s meeting.”
The man in the suit was watching them, and Lauren gave him her best glare. “Well?” she demanded. “Are you getting the door or not?”
The man didn’t move, and Calvin hurried to push open the door and hold it for her, keeping his face tilted away from the agent.
“Rude.” She tsked, giving the man a reprimanding look as she swept through the open door and into the Florida sunshine, slightly warmer than normal for November. She headed for the parking garage next door, her heartbeat pattering in her ears.
“Norman Bateman?” Calvin mocked under his breath.
“Shut it,” she muttered. “I’ve never been good at improv. Be grateful I added the ‘man.’” Lauren spotted her blue compact car right where she’d parked it on the ground floor and started digging in her purse for her keys. “Need a ride somewhere?”
“Just for a few blocks, in case someone’s watching,” he said as she pulled out her key fob and pushed the unlock button. “It�
��d look strange if you got in your car and I just started walking.”
“Right.” She pulled open the driver’s-side door and sank into her seat, while Calvin tossed his pilfered computer bag into the back and then squeezed into the passenger seat, pulling his door closed with a firm thump. When they were both inside the car, Lauren began to shake.
“Seat belt,” she reminded him, trying to steady her hand enough to click her own seat belt into place.
“Christ. Here,” Calvin grunted, taking the seat belt from her and buckling her in.
“Thank you,” she told him, somehow managing to jam the key into the ignition and turn on the car.
“You okay?” he asked mildly, looking at her over the tops of the glasses.
She faced forward but could still feel his eyes on her profile. It wasn’t helping her concentration.
“No. Not really. I have to drive now, though, so if you could focus those laser-beam eyeballs of yours somewhere else for a while, that would really help.”
With an amenable grunt, he turned his head away, and Lauren backed out of the parking space. Once she was on the street, the grip on her heart eased a little, and she let out a shaky breath.
“Okay,” she said. “Where to?”
“Take a right up here,” he told her, pulling off Marilyn’s glasses. “You can drop me off at the library.”
She shot him a sideways look. “The library?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“A better question is why?” Despite her words, she turned right where he’d indicated.
“Free computer use and internet,” he said. “I need to let some people know the shit’s hit the fan, and I’m not sure if my phone is secure.”
“What is going on?” Lauren asked. “You did promise me an explanation.”
