The Librarian and the Spy

by Susan Mann

  “Money, or lack thereof. My grandfather and I were talking about my love for adventure at his birthday party last weekend. He was in the import/export business and traveled a lot. When I was little, he and I would pore over this ratty old map of the world and he’d regale me with stories of what it was like in those exotic places he’d visited.”

  “So he understands your desire for adventure.”

  “Since he was the one who fanned the flames in the first place, yeah.” An affectionate smile flitted across her face when she recalled those times when she sat at her grandparents’ kitchen table, absently munching on the warm cookies her grandmother made while her grandfather spun stories that kept her completely spellbound. “Anyway, he said I should put five dollars in a jar every single day and at the end of a year, I’d have enough money to buy a plane ticket to just about anywhere I’d want to go.”

  “Have you taken his advice?”

  “I can’t afford the jar.”

  James snickered, shut off the engine, and looked at her. “I hope someday you will go on your great adventure.” He held her gaze and smiled. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Shall we?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  They walked a block to the dimly lit restaurant, and once inside, they picked their way through a crowd of people to the seating hostess. Their reservation confirmed, James’s hand rested at the middle of Quinn’s back as they followed the menu-carrying young woman to a table for two next to a window.

  James held Quinn’s chair for her and once they were both seated with menus in hand, she took a moment to absorb the atmosphere. As promised, white twinkle lights were strung around the windows and twisted through the leaves of the potted ficus trees placed throughout the restaurant. Rather than kitschy, they worked in concert with the white tablecloths to give the place a casual yet elegant ambiance.

  “I don’t care if the food here turns out to be marginal, I love this restaurant,” she said.

  James raised his gaze from his menu and beamed at her. “The fact every table is full and people are waiting makes me think the food will be excellent.”

  Quinn nodded and began to study the menu when a young woman about her age arrived at their table. “Good evening. My name is Molly. I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

  The innocuous question flooded Quinn with anxiety. She rarely drank alcohol, and when she did, it was usually some microbrew her brother John had run across and insisted she try. It was clear the place had an impressive and extensive wine collection, as evidenced by the giant floor-to-ceiling racks filled with hundreds of bottles housed behind a glass wall. She really did want to take advantage of the collection and try something, but had no idea what to order.

  Quinn eyed the thick folder containing the restaurant’s wine list lying on the table as if it was a coiled rattlesnake about to strike. Deciding the best course of action was to kick the can down the road, she said, “I’ll just have water for now.”

  “For me as well,” James said.

  The waitress moved off and neither spoke as they perused their menus. She wondered if this was the kind of restaurant that served minuscule amounts of food on giant plates. When she snerked, James looked at her and asked, “What?”

  She bit her lower lip in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. That was involuntary. I was just wondering what the portion sizes are here and it reminded me of the time I talked my dad into taking my mom and me to a swanky seafood restaurant in San Diego for her birthday a couple of years ago.”

  “I can’t wait to hear,” he said. His gaze settled on her in anticipation.

  Quinn couldn’t stop the grin at the memory. “My dad ordered salmon, asparagus, and potatoes, right? He’s all ready for a big old slab of fish, especially since he didn’t eat his salad.” Quinn pinched her face in a scowl and lowered her voice to imitate her father. “‘I’m not gonna eat a salad that looks like the pile of weeds I pulled out from the planters yesterday.’”

  James laughed. “I know exactly what he’s talking about.”

  She nodded excitedly. “Right? So anyway, the waiter arrives and with a grand flourish, sets the plate the size of a serving platter in front of my dad. At the center of this huge plate was a piece of salmon about the size of a quarter. Three skinny little spears of asparagus were off to one side and two golf ball–sized boiled potatoes were on the other. That was it.” She laughed. “I felt so bad for him. The look on his face was priceless. He stared down at his food with this mixture of confusion, disgust, and betrayal.”

  James’s eyes rounded. “Oh no.”

  “You know what, though? He didn’t say a word about it. He would never do or say anything to ruin my mom’s birthday, and since he’d already made a snarky remark about the salad, he cleaned his plate in about a minute and that was it. Although later I did overhear him tell my brother George prisoners of war get more food than that place served.”

  James barked out a laugh and then ducked his head when a couple at a nearby table looked over at them. He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “I assume your mum knew what was going on.”

  “Oh sure. She knew he wasn’t thrilled, but she also wanted to honor the sweet thing he was doing for her, so she didn’t say anything about it. On the way home from the restaurant, she said, ‘Robert, thank you for taking me to such a lovely restaurant for my birthday. It was a wonderful treat. And as much as I enjoyed the birthday flan at the restaurant, what I’d really like right now is a chocolate milk shake from In-N-Out. Would you mind stopping? You and Quinn can get something, too, if you like.’”

  “That was her way of giving him permission to eat something else.”

  “Mmm-hmm. ‘Well, Marie,’ he said. ‘It is your birthday and I’m not going to stand in the way of getting anything you want. I don’t want you to eat alone, so I’ll get a little something for myself.’”

  A smile split James’s face. “He ate a Double-Double, didn’t he?”

  “Yup. Animal Style. Mom said it was one of the best birthdays she’d ever had.”

  James leaned back in his chair. “You’re quite close to your parents, aren’t you? They sound like a remarkable couple.”

  “I am and they are. To me, they’re the model of what makes a marriage work: love, commitment, respect, faithfulness, self-sacrifice, gratitude, trust, grace, forgiveness.” She wondered if she’d completely freaked him by uttering the “M” word, even in the context of making an observation about her parents’ marriage.

  To her relief, he didn’t run screaming from the restaurant like his hair was on fire. “You’re lucky to have such a great example.”

  Intrigued by his comment, she was about to ask him a question about it when Molly, their server, returned with their waters and asked if they were ready to order.

  “I’d like the pollo pomodori secco,” Quinn said, sure she was slaughtering the Italian pronunciation.

  “Very good. And you, sir?” Molly asked.

  “As tempting as it is to order the salmon,” he said, and sent a wink Quinn’s direction that nearly knocked her out of her chair, “I believe I’ll have the ciopinno.”

  “Excellent.” Molly collected the menus and turned to leave. She took a step, stopped, spun back around, and pointed the tip of her pen at James. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  Taken aback, James looked up at Molly and said, “I don’t think so.”

  “I feel like I seen you somewhere before. Do you live around here?”

  “No, I’m sorry I don’t, although I have been here in Santa Monica the last week or so. Perhaps that’s it.”

  “Maybe. I must be wrong since the person I thought you were didn’t rock a cool British accent and lived in Colorado,” Molly said and playfully wrinkled her nose at James.

  Quinn didn’t know whether to laugh at the woman openly flirting with her date or punch her in the mouth. While the second option would have been much more satisfying, it was the
less reasonable course of action, so she rested her clasped hands on her lap and pasted a placid smile on her face.

  For his part, James wore a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be on the lookout for my American doppel-gänger.”

  “If you find him, let me know,” she replied in a husky voice. She glanced over at Quinn who continued to watch the exchange with a bland expression. Molly seemed to realize she wasn’t actually in a singles bar and said in a vaguely chastened tone, “I’d better go put this order in for you.” She hurried away.

  James winced. “Quinn, I’m so sorry about that.”

  “It’s not your fault. You can’t help it if women flirt with you all the time.” She was guilty of it herself. “Molly probably shouldn’t expect a big tip from me, though,” she said in a dry tone.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back, and narrowed his eyes at her. “And I suppose you didn’t notice every eye of the male population in this room on you as we walked to our table.”

  Her response was to guffaw and roll her eyes. “No, all eyes were on the seating hostess in the low-cut number.”

  “Trust me. They were on you.” He paused before rocking forward and resting both elbows on the table. “But let’s forget all that and start again.” With a devilish twinkle, he said, “Tell me about yourself, Gwen.”

  She laughed, delighted at the way he dispelled the strain brought on by Molly the Flirtatious Waitress. “It’s Quinn, actually. Quinn Ellington.” She set her elbow on the table and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. With a playful smile, she said, “I’m twenty-six years old and a librarian.” She paused to enjoy the brilliant grin that erupted on James’s face. “I love pizza, a good book by a roaring fire, and long walks on the beach.” After a beat, she finished with “Oh! And all I want for Christmas is world peace.”

  Still grinning, James said, “James Lockwood. I’m twenty-eight and I work in insurance. I like fast cars, a pint of porter, and a good book by a roaring fire.” Quinn’s insides turned to goo when his smile went lopsided. “And all I want for Christmas is a Lamborghini necktie.”

  “I’ll be sure to talk to Santa about that tie,” she said. “So, James, how did you get into the insurance business?”

  “Nepotism, pure and simple. My uncle is my boss. My mum hounded him until he hired me. I didn’t think I’d like it since it sounds incredibly boring, but it’s turned out to be a pretty good job.”

  “How’d you get lucky enough to be the one picked to come here and work with Mysterious Art Collector Guy’s collection?”

  “I’m the only person in the office without a significant other, so my being gone for any length of time wasn’t going to be a hardship. Some of the people actually thought this would be a difficult assignment.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m not finding it difficult at all.”

  She blushed and hoped her face didn’t glow like a hot ember in the dim light. To combat the sudden onset of cottonmouth, she sipped some water.

  “What about you?” he asked. “What made you decide to become a librarian?”

  “I was a sophomore at UCLA and had no idea what I was going to do with my life,” she said and set her glass down. “I was at the library studying one afternoon and the table I was sitting at wasn’t far from the reference desk. It wasn’t long before I wasn’t studying at all. I just sat there and watched the librarian help people who came in with all kinds of questions. I remember thinking, ‘What a cool job. I want to do that.’ So I went over to the librarian and asked him what I’d have to do to work at a reference desk. He told me I needed to go to grad school and get a master’s degree in library and information science.” When James’s eyebrows rose in surprise, she chuckled and said, “Who knew, right? Anyway, from that moment on, I knew it was what I wanted to do.”

  “You’re very good at it.”

  She smiled her thanks. “I guess my work this past week was worth the money?”

  There wasn’t a hint of doubt in his voice when he answered, “Every penny.”

  Chapter Ten

  After dinner they strolled the few blocks to the place where Santa Monica Boulevard met the Pacific. There, at the edge of the small park, they found a bench that overlooked the beach and the water beyond. Quinn felt like they sat at the cusp of two worlds: a continent ablaze with the lights of civilization behind them and the vast darkness of the ocean before them. She couldn’t help but feel insignificant.

  Quinn pulled the front of her jacket tight and gave voice to her musing.

  James reached over, gently pulled her hand out from where it was tucked, and laced their fingers together. Resting their entwined hands on his thigh, he closed his other hand around hers, too. He said, “You might be a tiny speck on this big planet, but you are by no means insignificant.” His voice was as warm as his hands.

  Her stomach somersaulted so ferociously she could barely breathe. They were holding hands. She tried not to read too much into it. Maybe it was just a gesture of friendship. But judging by the way their evening had gone, the undeniable chemistry between them, the way he sometimes looked at her, she was fairly certain this was something more than friendship. She’d never felt anything like it. She was thrilled and overwhelmed and happy and terrified all at the same time. And overarching her jumble of emotions was the whispered feeling she and James simply fit.

  Her words came haltingly and her voice was thick with emotion. “You’re important to me, too.”

  The soft squeeze of her hand was his wordless and perfect response.

  They sat hand in hand and watched the white foam appear with each breaking wave and then disappear as the surf rolled up the sand. It was as if they both understood words would break the tenuous, magical spell.

  It was only when the hour grew late and they felt a spit of rain that they finally rose from the bench. They walked back to James’s car, holding hands the entire way.

  They were in a contented, mellow mood during the drive back to Quinn’s apartment and chatted quietly over the soft music coming from the car’s speakers. When James parked in front of her building, she was disappointed. It meant the evening was coming to an end.

  She slipped her hand into the crook of James’s arm as they sauntered along the walkway toward her door. James dug his hand into his pocket, pulled out his money clip, and peeled off a five-dollar bill. He held the note between two fingers and offered it to her. When she gave him a puzzled look, he said, “Seed money for your great adventure jar.”

  She stared down at the money and murmured, “James, that’s very sweet, but I can’t.”

  “Please. Take it. It would be my honor to help you get started. Perhaps you’d consider putting London at the top of your list of places to visit.”

  She couldn’t hurt his feelings by refusing. “I think I can do that.” She took the bill and tucked it into the front pocket of her jeans. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Her heart rate increased as they climbed the steps and stood on the landing outside her door. She wasn’t sure what to do next and surprised herself by asking, “Would you like to come in for a little while?”

  “I would, but it’s getting late and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

  “Oh, okay.” She swallowed and said, “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

  “You’re welcome. I had a great time.” His eyebrows rose. “Can I ring you tomorrow?”

  “Of course. I’d like that.”

  “Great. Talk to you tomorrow.” He bent and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Good night.”

  Her legs went a bit wobbly, but she managed to stay upright and murmur, “Good night.” She turned, unlocked the door, and opened it. “That’s weird,” she muttered when she saw her apartment was completely dark. She was sure she’d left the lamp on. She flipped the switch up and down. Nothing.

  “Quinn? Is something wrong?”

  “I think the bulb in the lamp went out while we were gone.” She left the
door open to let in some light, walked to the kitchen, and dropped her purse and keys on the counter. When she flicked on the lights and looked into the living room, adrenaline exploded in her chest as she let out a strangled yelp.

  “Quinn!” James bolted to her side. “What—”

  She was barely aware he was there. All she could see was her overturned couch, her lamp lying broken on the floor, and every book from the bookcase strewn about.

  James sprang into action. He lifted the hem of his jeans and slipped a pistol from an ankle holster. “Stay here,” he said in a low voice. Gun raised, he hurried toward her bedroom. The second he disappeared into the room, she heard a shout, followed by a crash, then thumping and grunting.

  “James!” She was about to run to her bedroom when a man in a black hoodie barreled toward the front door with her laptop tucked under his arm.

  Without thinking, she grabbed her keys, stepped in front of him, and stabbed her car key at his face, ripping through the flesh of his cheek.

  He crashed into her and sent her stumbling backward. She slammed into the wall.

  He dropped her computer and slapped a hand over the gash. “Bitch!” he spat and lunged at her.

  When she could smell onions on his breath, she pushed away from the wall and rammed her knee up into his danglers so hard, he grunted out a strangled “oof.”

  Wild-eyed and red-faced, he doubled over in pain. Blood seeped through the fingers clamped over his cheek while his other hand clutched his injured privates.

  Quinn raced past him. Edward Walker could turn any object into a weapon. She scanned the living room hoping to do the same. Inspiration struck when she spotted one of the two large hardcovers from her set of the Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary. She hefted the eight-pound “P-Z with Supplement and Bibliography” volume with both hands. The intruder turned around and charged at her again. She reared the book back and swung it like a baseball bat. It caught him solidly on the side of the head. There was a resounding crack. He dropped to the floor like a bag of rocks and didn’t move.

  She heard grunting and scrabbling coming from the bedroom. She spun, and still armed with her reference book, burst into her bedroom just as James threw a haymaker at the face of the second, bigger man. His head snapped around at the force of James’s punch.