Her Spy to Hold (Spy Games Book 2)

by Paula Altenburg

  Once she was outside, Irina breathed deeply of the fresh air and sunshine and tried to let go of the tension. The HR offices were across the street from her building, with the parking lot between them, so she wouldn’t have to go back to her office again and risk running into Christine.

  She planned to play hooky the rest of the day. She’d refused to allow Kale to drive her to work that morning, so for the first time in weeks she had her car and her freedom. She’d pointed out to him that, if she no longer had a reason to be worried about her safety, then there was no need for him to act as her chauffeur. He’d chosen not to argue. Lucky for him.

  Pick up where we leave off…

  He hadn’t argued when his boss took those extra two weeks from him either. From them. Anger coiled inside her, a snake poised and ready but with nowhere to strike. She couldn’t say who she was angriest with—Kale or herself. She’d gone into a sexual relationship willingly. He wasn’t to blame for how it turned out. He had no idea how she felt about it or him.

  But he should.

  The insensitive bastard.

  There were no empty meters to be found on the street when Irina reached the city so she left her car at a local parkade and walked the few blocks to Durty Nelly’s. A light, humid breeze off Halifax Harbour left the city sweltering in a late summer heat wave. The steep upward climb and her impractical high heels made her late. She arrived breathless and sticky, her hairline damp at the nape of her neck.

  Beverley waited for her at a table in a corner of the outdoor patio, patiently eyeing the men walking by on the sidewalk from under the shade of an umbrella. Irina slid into a chair, the green plastic hot against the backs of her legs. She’d be sticking to it in no time.

  “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Bev asked. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess it has something to do with the incredibly gorgeous new man in your life.”

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Tell Doctor Bev all about it. Let’s start with the bedroom. That’s the root of all evil.”

  They placed their lunch orders while Irina gathered her nerve. She grabbed the sweating glass of lemon water the waitress left her and took a long swallow. Her throat had gone painfully dry. She set the half-empty glass on her paper napkin to keep it from blowing away.

  “I filed a harassment complaint against the administrative assistant in my office this morning,” she blurted out.

  “Wow.” Bev sat back in her chair. “I did not see that coming.”

  “Neither did I.”

  Irina stuck with the story she’d agreed to tell Human Resources. Bev, of all people, would understand how humiliating and potentially career damaging this was for her.

  No one else did. Rather no one else cared.

  “A sex tape…I don’t know if I should be congratulating you or offering my sympathy,” Bev said when she’d finished. “I’m going to focus on the positive and go with congratulations.”

  Irina couldn’t believe it. “You see something positive in this?”

  “I see you coming out of your comfort zone. Your safe little shell. You’re a young, attractive woman, Irina. Life is passing you by. Embarrassment isn’t going to kill you. Even if it did at least you’d die with a little fun under your chastity belt.”

  “I have a life.”

  “You have a career,” Bev corrected her. “You work all the time. And most of the time it isn’t very much fun.”

  That wasn’t true. The only fun Irina’d had lately was thanks in large part to her career, although she couldn’t confide that particular tidbit of information to her friend. Kale was the only person she could share secrets with that were both professional and personal. Unfortunately, right now he featured highly in both.

  “You don’t think I should be worried?” Irina asked, incredulous. She’d expected commiseration, not censure.

  “You should be, yes. But ten years from now it’s not going to make any difference. You’re respected for your mind. That’s all the scientific community really cares about. If that video is as murky in detail as you say it is, then the majority of them are going to choose to believe it’s not you. Only a few people you work with right now will know the difference and they’re hardly about to make a public announcement. A security breach looks bad on them. And if word about the video does get out all you have to do is sit back and neither confirm nor deny.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Irina caught sight of a man walking up the street toward Durty Nelly’s. He was talking on a cell phone. She turned her head to watch him, trying to figure out where she’d seen him before. The pulse throbbed in her throat. That day at the beach. The man Kale hadn’t liked. He was dressed in a suit and tie, not a wetsuit, which was why it took her so long to place him.

  His eyes slid right on past. He didn’t recognize her. Why would he? Here, she was simply one of many professional women having lunch, most of them more attractive and noteworthy than she was. She didn’t stand out from the crowd.

  Her pulse steadied again. She turned back to Bev and the topic of their conversation.

  “Do you really believe it’s that simple?” She hardly dared hope it was true.

  “I do.” Their lunches arrived. Bev took a bite of her salad. “While there aren’t any sex tapes in my past that I know of, I’ve had my fair share of professional embarrassments. FYI—having an affair with your married boss gets noticed. And quit looking so shocked. It was a long time ago when I was fresh out of college. I learned from my mistakes. You will too. Next time pull the curtains. And also for future reference, always lock the office door.”

  Irina laughed. It felt good.

  It didn’t, however, resolve her anger with Kale, which she couldn’t seem to get past. All she had to do was tell him she wasn’t interested in what he proposed and yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  After lunch, the two women parted ways on the sidewalk in front of the pub.

  Bev had to return to her working group. Irina, however, who had the afternoon off, was in no particular rush to go home and face Kale.

  Her high heels weren’t meant for walking, limiting her entertainment options. A hike farther up the steep streets to visit the Public Gardens was out. Traipsing through boutiques held little appeal. Besides, she preferred doing her shopping online. That left the waterfront where she could sit on a bench in the shade and watch the ships come and go in the harbor.

  She walked the short distance downhill to the boardwalk and spent an hour on a bench before growing bored. She couldn’t avoid Kale forever. She also had a conference presentation she’d like to finish. Paris was six weeks away.

  She’d left her car on the third level of the parkade. The tap of her heels on the steps echoed loudly. Her toes ached. The afternoon heat hadn’t yet seeped past the concrete walls of the outer stairwell, leaving them dank and smelling of urine. It was three o’clock, that period of time when visitors had already headed out of the city to beat the afternoon traffic, but before the workday was finished, leaving the parkade empty of people.

  When she reached the first landing and turned to take the next flight of stairs a soft noise caught her attention. She paused to listen, but the sound wasn’t repeated. She started up the next flight.

  The noise came again. Disconcerted, she stopped. So did the sound. She reached in her purse for her car key and her cell phone. She punched in 911 but didn’t hit send. She kept the phone in one hand and her key in the other as she continued to climb. She didn’t hurry her steps and she didn’t stop to listen again. If someone was following her there was no purpose in letting them know she was aware of their presence.

  The footsteps below her were unmistakable now and gathering speed. The heavier tread and the softer ring of the shoes on the stairs indicated it was a man. She reached the level where she’d parked her car and pushed through the swinging doors. The lot was full of cars but empty of people. Hers was on the far side of the parkade from the stairs. She didn’t w
ant to look foolish, or worse scared, by sprinting for her car. Her high heels weren’t practical for that purpose anyway. She did, however, glance at her watch and quicken her pace as if she were late for an appointment.

  She wished Kale were here.

  “Dr. Glasov, wait up,” someone called.

  She stopped and turned back to the doors leading to the stairwell. She couldn’t catch her breath. It was the man from the beach again.

  Her thumb remained firmly in position on the send button of her phone. If all he wanted was to speak with her he could have done so at the pub. While there was a slight chance he’d only just recognized her, he had no reason to follow her up the stairs in such a furtive and frightening manner. The possibility that he’d happened to park in the same garage—and on the same floor—was even less likely. Neither did she recall giving him her name. She doubted very much if Kale would have done so.

  And Kale hadn’t liked him. That was the biggest red flag. If he tried to come too close, or did anything she found threatening, she was pressing that button.

  She again looked at her watch, masking nervousness with the impatience she reserved for competitors who thought to make names by discrediting her work. “I’m late for a meeting.”

  He stopped two parking spaces from her. Irina could place a parked car between them if she had to. He put his hands in the air. “I have a message for you to pass on to your friend for me.” He remained pleasant enough, but there was an edginess to it that Irina found frightening. He took a step closer. “Tell him he might not be stupid easy to find, but his friends are.”

  This wasn’t about her, then. It was about getting at Kale. Blind rage overcame any fear. He wanted to threaten a CSIS intelligence officer?

  He could do it in person.

  Irina’s thumb hit the send button. She held up her phone. A bored voice, loud in the empty, echoing parkade, crackled, “911, where is your emergency?”

  Angry red blotches mottled the man’s throat and cheeks. “What the hell are you doing?”

  She gave the police dispatcher the parkade address. Then, before he could recover from his surprise, she snapped his picture.

  “Crazy bitch.”

  For a heart-pounding second she thought he might grab for her phone. She read the intent in his eyes.

  Instead, he took off for the doors to the stairwell, not running, but walking very fast.

  For her part Irina made a mad dash for her car, unmindful of her precarious heels, aching toes, and the undignified spectacle she undoubtedly made.

  She locked herself inside the vehicle and waited for the police to arrive.

  * * *

  Kale couldn’t remember the last time he’d come this close to losing his shit. A man of his size, in his line of work, either learned self-control or faced unemployment.

  Right now, despite Irina being safe and sound in her kitchen and standing in front of him, trying to keep all that anger in check left his brain on the verge of implosion. As near as he could ascertain the investment banker had spotted her at Durty Nelly’s—of all places—and followed her to a parking garage to deliver a threat. Kale shook his head. People with that level of entitled arrogance were naïve and stupid. He was so sure his friends could protect him that he’d gotten overconfident. A little flattery from the right sources had convinced him he was invincible. He wasn’t. While he’d done nothing to Irina to get him arrested, it was coming—and thanks to his actions today there’d be no cutting deals for him when it did. His terrorist buddies would be the first ones to let him swing too.

  But Irina was trying to pretend that what happened to her was nothing to be concerned about and that wasn’t OK. She wasn’t invincible either. While she’d had the presence of mind to call 911, and Kale applauded her for it, taking the guy’s picture stepped over the line. Cold sweat chilled his skin and his soul. If it had been one of the banker’s friends following her instead and she’d pulled that stunt, the outcome of this afternoon might have been far, far different. They had zero fear of the law.

  He pulled his shit together long enough to ask the question that bugged him the most. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “What good would that have done?”

  She sounded so calm. So practical. And she was right. There wasn’t a thing he could have done to help and that scared him even more. He tracked down terrorists. An element of danger was inherent in his line of work. While he accepted that for himself, and truthfully, maybe enjoyed it a little more than he should, a threat to someone close to him was a nightmare come true.

  She rinsed the potatoes she’d peeled, then carefully cut them in chunks before seasoning them and wrapping them in tinfoil. She set the tidy packets on a tray. “Would you start these on the barbecue for me? Steaks are up next.”

  He didn’t pick up the tray. Now that his anger wasn’t affecting his reasoning, a few holes in her story jumped out at him. She should have been in her office all day. If he’d known she intended to go elsewhere he’d have insisted on driving. “Why were you in the city and not at work?”

  She began shredding a head of lettuce for a salad, dropping leafy handfuls into a spinner sitting in the sink. “I told you. I was having lunch with Beverley.”

  He didn’t buy her explanation. It was a break in routine and that was unlike her. “Why today, all of a sudden?”

  “What makes you think it was all of a sudden?”

  “Because it wasn’t in your day planner.” He confessed to snooping through her agenda without shame. His job was to gather information. What he did to obtain it was offset by its value. In this case it was priceless. Or should have been.

  She tackled dicing the green peppers with unwarranted ferocity. A tendril of hair clung to the slender line of her throat, curling gently against a bare shoulder. “Neither was the appointment I had with HR. You can pass on to your boss that Christine is going to be fired tomorrow if you’d like.”

  This day continued to dole out surprises. He’d known Irina would file the complaint because it was the right thing to do, but never dreamed she’d do it so soon or without more prodding from him. He would have preferred to finesse the script they’d agreed on. “How did it go?”

  “As well as expected. Maybe a little less humiliating in that the director of HR is a woman.”

  “Good for you, always looking for the silver lining,” he said.

  Thinning lips and an expressive roll of those sea-green eyes indicated her lack of appreciation for his half-assed and ill-timed attempt at a joke. She wasn’t as unaffected by today’s events as she tried to pretend.

  Neither was he. A hard fist of guilt pounded his chest. He’d brought this to her door. He wanted so badly to hold her. Instead he grabbed the tray and took it outside on the patio where the barbecue awaited.

  Sultry heat from the late afternoon sun blanketed the tiny back yard. Crickets chirped in the dry grass along the edge of the ragged birch trees. He dragged in a lungful of air laden with the scent of vanilla from pyeweed bordering the fence and grabbed a few seconds to think it all through. Calling the police first was the right decision for her to make and in line with her way of thinking. But he hadn’t been her second call either, and it was hard to ignore the reason why not. He’d thought she might be falling for him, but mounting evidence suggested that even if she were she was far too smart to invest her heart in someone she couldn’t rely on.

  He hadn’t been nearly as clever. His heart was invested in her all right. And right now it was twisted in tight, painful knots. The next three days were going to be hell, but the thought of heading to London before sorting out the personal problems between them didn’t sit well.

  He opened the propane valve underneath the barbecue and pressed the ignite switch on the front, then arranged the packets of foil-wrapped potatoes on the lower grill. He’d move them to the top when it was time to cook the steak.

  Inside the house, through the half-open sliding patio door that led to the kitchen, he could he
ar Irina moving between the fridge and the island. Today could have ended in disaster, but thankfully it hadn’t. Relief wound its way from his feet to his head, edging out the last bits of anger and fear, leaving him dizzy and counting his blessings. She’d remained her usual calm, controlled, rational self. The investment banker was probably already in the backseat of a police cruiser, demanding to speak to his lawyer. The admin assistant was about to be fired, which hopefully would make her online activities a lot easier to trace. Without her government clearances she’d have no high-security servers to hide behind. A thorough background check had confirmed money problems but no history of radicalism or violence. Interpol had nothing on her.

  Well. They’d had nothing on her before. They did now.

  Leaving Kale with three days to end things on a better note with Irina. She might not plan to pick up where they left off if they ever ended up in the same city again, but this was the present and they hadn’t left off anything yet.

  He was selfish enough to want her to remember him, but for the right reasons and not this current parade of disasters.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They lingered over wine on the patio after dinner, with citronella candles burning in a circle around them to ward off the mosquitoes, because once the sun settled below the treetops, the bloodthirsty little beggars came out in full force.

  Kale fiddled with his cell phone, pretending to check for messages while he struggled to find some neutral topic of conversation. His knees bumped the underside of the round teakwood bistro table. The matching teak deck chair, while sturdy, was a size too small for him and it creaked under his fidgeting weight.

  He topped off their glasses from the half-empty wine bottle between them. Irina had been quiet all through their meal and he hated not knowing what was going on in her head. With any other woman he would have been out the door long before things grew this awkward. Instead the flight to London on Friday loomed over his head like a hurricane at sea.