“Fredericton’s only a four hour drive from here. Have you been to visit your grandmother?”
She had no idea he was in Canada right now, so his visit wouldn’t be missed. He’d been meaning to make the time, but then he’d been asked to follow Irina.
“Would you like to go with me?” he heard himself ask, shocking the hell out of him.
She took her time answering, as usual. “I know we’re pretending to be a couple in public. But shouldn’t we try and keep things as professional as possible between us in our personal lives?”
Disappointment cut through his shock. He hadn’t expected her to say yes. They weren’t forming any long-term relationship. They both knew that was impossible. Keeping things professional, however? After tonight?
That was too far a stretch.
“I can see your point,” he said. “You’d meet my grandmother, then I’d have to meet your parents to level the playing field, and before you know it we’re sleeping together. We wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“God forbid.” She snuggled against him, all smooth, naked skin and soft, kissable curves, sliding her knee between his thighs and tucking her head under his chin. She curled her arms between them so that both palms rested on his chest, then yawned. “I promise I won’t make a habit of sleeping in here, but I’m literally too tired to crawl out of bed.”
He had no problem with that. She was right where he wanted her. He drew the cotton sheet up around them and kissed the top of her head. Once he got into her bed—and he would—he’d use the same excuse to spend the night there.
“OK. But this means you’re cooking breakfast,” he said.
Chapter Ten
Sunlight poured across the bed in the spare room. The shower was running in the guest bathroom, but it was Kale’s cell phone vibrating on the bedside table that had awoken Irina. Someone was sending him a text message at 6:58 in the morning.
Her brain fully reengaged and heat scalded her body. Last night he hadn’t had to talk her into anything. She’d volunteered to do it all on her own. And she’d proved she was no Mother Teresa.
The cell phone fell silent. She heard the shower shut off and scrambled out of bed. That was her cue to leave. The last time she’d woken up without any clothes on she’d had to pretend to be comfortable walking around naked, but in reality, it was a whole lot easier to be cool and collected when fully dressed. She didn’t want him thinking she expected more from him than sex. She wasn’t going to be that woman—the one who didn’t know how to walk away when the fun times were over. She’d already used the lamest excuse possible to spend the whole night with him. Again. Where was her pride?
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, she was in front of the open fridge door in the kitchen wearing a bathrobe and slippers. He had on a pair of navy board shorts and, she suspected from the way they hung off his hips, nothing else. His skin was damp from the shower. He’d tied his wet hair in the usual knot. The way those blue eyes examined her, as if he were recalling in vivid detail every intimate thing that they’d done, sucked all the air from her lungs and had her heart attempting a jail break.
She’d never had sex on her kitchen counter. Broad daylight, however, made it much more difficult to suggest. There was a lot to be said for the cover of darkness.
“We’re having an omelet and fresh fruit for breakfast,” she announced. “Lunch will be soup and a salad. We can’t keep eating pizza.”
She caught a glimpse of those white teeth as he folded his arms across his bare chest and leaned against the island to watch her work. “If you’re trying to starve me, do your worst. I’ve gone for three days without eating real food before. I’ll survive your fresh fruit and salad.” He tugged at a lock of her hair. His tone changed, becoming more serious. “I’ve got a work-related thing to do in the city this morning. What’s on your agenda? Can I drop you off somewhere? Any friends you want to hang out with for a few hours? What about Bev?” He grinned. “She seems like fun.”
That must have been what the text was about. She appreciated his consideration for not wanting to leave her alone when he knew it still made her nervous, but he had a job to do and not everything about it involved her. Besides, sometimes it was difficult for her to work when he was around and he was a definite distraction today. Last night should have taken the edge off, but no. A few hours apart might be good for them both.
“Why don’t you drop me at my office?” she suggested. “I can work on the computer there until I get my laptop cleaned up.”
Humor licked at his lips. “Have you ever considered doing something more…recreational on a Saturday?”
The counter again came to mind. She took the carton of eggs from the fridge and got a glass mixing bowl from the cupboard under the island. “You’re working today too.”
“Not the whole day.” He reached for the cutting board and a knife, and picked up the cantaloupe she’d already set out. “I can survive your healthy breakfast, but how about we skip the soup and salad and I take you somewhere for a late lunch with more substance?”
She was so, so tempted. But she’d never embarked on a strictly sexual relationship before and didn’t know how these things worked. They were currently sharing a residence, complicating things further. Having him take her out for lunch, especially after last night, sounded too much like something real couples might do. This wasn’t her simply tagging along while he went surfing or climbing. Common sense whispered, Say no.
Kale’s gaze, locked on her face, never wavered. “You’re thinking too much again, Dr. Babe. I’ll make it easier for you. Here’s how things will be. I’m going to leave you at your office until twelve or twelve thirty. After that, we’re taking a drive to the Annapolis Valley. There’s a winery in Grand Pré with a restaurant attached to it that I’d like to check out. We’ll do a little sightseeing too. And in the meantime, if you want to think about anything other than work, you can think about tonight. I know that’s what’s going to be on my mind all day.” His eyes filled with a heat that made her toes curl inside her slippers. “Unfortunately, before any of that can happen, I have a meeting to get to.”
Against her better judgment, she heard herself agreeing. After all, what could it hurt?
* * *
“You might not want to open any emails from yourself,” Kale advised her as he stopped the car at the door of her office building.
He was kidding, but she’d already thought of that. She did send emails to herself at the office. She also notified the admin assistant if she was working out of the office and kept the department director apprised of her progress on any project deliverables. She sometimes had a junior staff member do research for her. Everyone got emails from her.
This was why cyber intrusions were so difficult to contain.
Kale waited until she was inside. She waved from the foyer, watching as he drove away. She then signed in with the commissionaire on duty and took the elevator to her floor.
The offices in her department were empty, which wasn’t unusual considering it was a Saturday. This morning, however, felt different, as if someone were staring over her shoulder, which was ridiculous. She’d worked after hours on plenty of occasions. No one could get in or out of the building without a security pass. The commissionaires patrolled the floors on a staggered schedule to avoid predictability.
The problem was that she didn’t have Kale here to make her feel safe and that was a problem she’d have to overcome. He wasn’t her bodyguard. He collected intelligence, and pop-ups and botnets simply weren’t worth his time. Only her professional reputation had kept CSIS interested this far. She suspected the same could be said about Kale’s personal interest in her. He liked getting dirty with prim and proper Dr. Glasov. She was a challenge he couldn’t resist. Eventually, though, the novelty would wear off. When it did, and CSIS’s interest in her situation was satisfied, he’d be gone.
She didn’t want to think about that.
Once she was inside her office w
ith the door locked behind her she felt more at ease. She started her desktop computer and ran the antivirus program just to be safe. It appeared to be clean. Nothing lurked in her spam folder. She plugged in her thumb drive and ran a check on it too. So far so good.
She was engrossed in revising the paper she was presenting in Paris next month when the pop-up appeared, catching her completely off guard. It was a video, dark and grainy, and of such poor quality that it took a second for her preoccupied brain to process the images she was seeing. When it did there was no mistake. Although her face was a blur, it was definitely her. She was doing a striptease in front of her living room window with Kale on the sofa in the background behind her. His face, too, was obscured, but she knew every inch of those muscular legs. She had her thumbs under her bra straps, sliding first one, then the other, off her shoulders. The rest of the events unfolded much faster than she remembered, but it was all there—right down to her straddling Kale’s thighs with an enthusiasm that photographed well.
Blood rushed to her head, pounding so hard in her ears that her vision went black. She grabbed the edge of her desk with both hands, afraid of passing out. That pop-up had come in through the company’s intranet. She had no idea how far it might have already spread. Thank God the department was empty. If this had been Monday morning, there would be no hope of stopping it.
Forget about company rules regarding security and how to deal with Internet threats. She had to contain this.
* * *
By the time she finished, Irina was confused about some things but clearer on others. She cupped her forehead in her hands, her elbows on her desk, thinking it through. The pop-up was fairly basic and easily removed. It had come in through her intranet connection, the same as the others, and been targeted specifically at her. She could find no signs of it anywhere else. The big question remained—who would do such a thing? And why?
If the video had come from inside the department, then whoever had done this had to know there was nothing to gain by phishing. Classified information simply wouldn’t show up on non-dedicated computers. She had no access to it when she was working alone. She had to sign for the key to the room and it required one other signature, usually the production manager’s or that of the administrative assistant. That meant her after-hours work at the office mainly involved correspondence and research.
From the corner of her eye she caught sight of the time. It was 1:07. A quick check of the parking lot through her window showed that Kale was waiting for her, patient as always. She had no idea how long he’d been there. He had his feet on the dash and no doubt the radio cranked up full blast.
She backed up her files and ejected her thumb drive from her computer, then gathered her things. As she waited for the elevator the numbness and shock began to wear off. Logic returned. Someone was harassing her. Spying on her home. Invading her privacy. While she’d known that already the steadiness and angle of the image suggested the camera was mounted. She hadn’t suspected for a moment there might be a surveillance camera trained on her front window 24/7. She tried to imagine how Kale would react when she told him about it.
She went cold all over. How would he react?
Her light-headedness returned as she followed the train of events. The night the video was taken they’d had sex in her living room. He’d encouraged her not to be so uptight. He’d seemed fine when they woke up the next morning, if somewhat insultingly anxious to curtail any expectations on her part. It wasn’t until after he’d taken a walk around her property that things had become truly strained between them. She’d chalked it up to him being indiscreet and telling his boss about them, but now, she had to ask herself—what had precipitated that call to his handler in the first place? Why had he been told that sex with her was off limits? Why, last night, had he not wanted to have sex in the living room, but was OK with it up against the wall in the hallway?
Because he’d discovered that camera. That was the only logical conclusion.
She was seriously afraid she’d throw up. She might have gotten rid of the pop-up, but the video with the original content remained at large in the world.
The elevator arrived. The doors slid apart, loud in the empty reception area, and she stepped inside on unsteady legs. She wanted so much to give Kale the benefit of the doubt, but if he’d even suspected the possibility of a video and said nothing to warn her he’d better have a good explanation.
* * *
A message from Dan asking for a meeting wasn’t the way Kale had planned to kick start his morning. They’d arranged a rendezvous in the parking lot of a local sportsplex where it wouldn’t seem strange for two men to sit in a car and carry on a conversation.
As he waited for Dan to arrive Kale’s thoughts refused to shift far from Irina. She was Dr. Jekyll and a really hot Mrs. Hyde—minus the murderous inclinations. He’d never been so turned on by a fuzzy pink bathrobe and matching slippers in his life, probably because he knew that underneath it her preference in underwear was lacy pink thongs. Pink was his new favorite color. He couldn’t seem to get enough of it. Or of her.
Dan had asked for this meeting. If this was about his personal relationship with Irina he planned to tell Dan that what they did together in private was none of his business. Kale was here unofficially and she wasn’t under investigation so there was no conflict of interest. He’d give up his vacation time if he had to. The trade-off would be worth it.
The passenger door of his car creaked open and his team leader hopped in. At thirty-seven Dan Hanson was the epitome of average, at least in physical appearance. Underneath the tax-auditor exterior he had the nerves of a cliff diver. A former intelligence officer with a background in psychology and anti-terrorism, he’d given up fieldwork two years ago to sit behind a desk.
Kale’s work too was normally focused on anti-terrorism, which was how he’d found himself on Dan’s team. Meeting Irina had been dumb luck, a simple case of being in the right place at the right time.
“Public transportation in this city leaves a lot to be desired,” Dan complained. “I gave up and rented a car at the airport.”
Enough with the small talk. If there was going to be bad news Kale wanted it straight up. “What’s so important that you had to tell me in person?”
“And hello to you too,” Dan replied. Amusement flashed for an instant in eyes that normally lacked any tells. The team leader kept his cards close to his chest. “Dr. Glasov’s connection to the RBN could be part of a larger problem. I told you before that the director is trying to keep a lid on certain information. We currently have a Canadian citizen under investigation. He’s an old friend of the Minister of National Defence. He operates abroad using the RBN as part of his network for transporting stolen military weapons systems parts. He has a clever system for private communication with his daughter over the Internet too. The intelligence officer assigned to that case is here in Nova Scotia, visiting family. I’m trying to decide if I should turn Dr. Glasov and her cyber issues over to him. If I do that it means opening a new case file and I’d be shining a light on her at a higher level. The lid would be off.”
The friendship with an expat of questionable morals explained why the director didn’t want sensitive information going to the defense minister’s office right now. There was likely a whole lot more to that story too. But all Kale really heard was Dan suggesting someone else might be handed responsibility for Irina.
That wasn’t going to happen. “There’s no need to open a case file on her. I’m OK with staying right where I am.”
“I’m sure you are.” Dan’s cool gaze said he saw right through Kale and his motives. “However. The RBN is already a common denominator. Considering the nature of Dr. Glasov’s work I’d really like to know if there’s any connection between her pop-ups and botnets and those missing military parts—or if a Canadian expat named Marc Leon Beausejour factors in anywhere.”
“The name doesn’t ring any bells,” Kale said slowly. “But if you’re looking
for connections, why not investigate Irina’s father? She says he was a sort of journalist translator in the former Soviet Union. Maybe someone’s trying to get to him through her. Maybe he hasn’t entirely forgotten the motherland. Or been forgotten by it either.”
Dan drummed his fingers on his knee and stared out the windshield, a frown of concentration on his face. “Anton Glasov isn’t a problem,” he finally admitted. “He was working for the Canadian government in Russia. That’s why he defected here. If Dr. Glasov goes back a generation or two she’ll find she has less Russian in her family tree than he’s led her to believe. Once he met and married her mother he dropped out of the spy game completely. His choice. And while it’s possible someone might be using his daughter to try and get to him I can’t see why. The wall is down. He hasn’t been active anywhere in more than thirty years. No, Dr. Glasov’s work is a far more likely target than he is.”
And they’d established that her work was only accessible through her head. Kale’s gut clenched. He handed Dan the file folder he’d grabbed from the backseat of the car. “Here’s the printed list of Irina’s email contacts. I didn’t see the name Beausejour anywhere on it.”
Dan examined the folder. “Did you get a list of contacts from her workplace computer too?”
“No,” Kale admitted. He’d gotten…sidetracked. “I’ll ask her for one.”
“If you can get it to me before my flight leaves tonight, I’d appreciate it.” Dan scanned the names. “Baby Jesus. Between them these people could take over the world. Or destroy it.”
“Now you see why I didn’t want to email the list to you.”
“I keep expecting this piece of paper to catch fire and self-destruct.” Dan hummed the theme music from Mission Impossible as he tucked it back in the folder. He tapped the edge of the folder against his thigh. “My other reason for coming here was to tell you that you’re needed in London, but now I have to figure out what to do about Dr. Glasov.”
Her Spy to Hold (Spy Games Book 2) Page 13
