The Librarian and the Spy

by Susan Mann

  “Unless you were hoping to catch a glimpse of a real live Frosty the Snoworc, I get the feeling there’s another reason you stood outside in the snow until you almost froze.”

  He’d been gazing mutely at the flames for so long, it surprised her when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry I overreacted.”

  “Look,” she said, “I know spies are supposed to be mysterious and brooding and stoic and all that kind of crap, but I’ve never gotten that constipated Jason Bourne vibe from you.” She dipped her head to look at him. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  James’s eyes squeezed shut and he took several deep and deliberate breaths through his nose. His entire body tensed and she thought he might bolt again. He didn’t. Instead, his shoulders sagged further and he exhaled in surrender. When he opened his eyes and looked into hers, the profound sadness she saw there gutted her. “It was about a year and a half ago. We were on a mission in . . .” He stopped and blew a half laugh through his nose. “I can’t tell you where.”

  “That’s okay. Can you tell me who ‘we’ are or is that off-limits?”

  “The ‘we’ was my partner. I can’t tell you her name, so I’ll call her Claire. We were undercover.” He stared down at his hand and rubbed the thumb of one hand into the palm of the other. “We were, ah—” He stopped and carefully considered his words before beginning again. “We were betrayed by someone we were told we could trust. We both ended up getting shot. I survived. She didn’t.”

  “I’m so sorry, James. That must have been devastating for you.”

  He nodded. “We’d spent so much time together. We went through training together at the Farm and once we finished, they paired us up. We were a good team. We had a couple of successful ops together before . . .”

  Silence hung between them, only interrupted by the staccato pops of the fire. “Were you two, um . . .” Quinn worked her tongue in an attempt to get some saliva going. “Involved?”

  His head lowered and he shook it. “She had a serious boyfriend.”

  Ah. “Did she know how you felt about her?”

  His head jerked up and he stared at her. His surprise morphed into a knowing, fleeting smile. “Of course you’d figure it out.” He sighed and his smile faded. “No. She never did. No one did. We were professional partners only.”

  James had wanted more with Claire. Now Quinn wondered if he wanted more with her in the same way. If their date was any indication, she would have to say yes, he did. It was all beginning to make a lot more sense.

  “You’re afraid if I go on this op with you, the same thing might happen to me that happened to Claire?” No wonder he looked like he was going to throw up when he asked her to dinner. He was scared of letting himself get close to her, to anyone. And now he was facing the very thing that petrified him the most, going on an op with a partner he cared about in more than a professional way.

  “Yeah.” He dragged a hand over his face.

  “I get it,” she said with a gentle smile. “But just because something terrible happened to Claire doesn’t mean it will happen to me, too.”

  James shook his head. “You’re not even a trained operative. If this thing goes sideways at some point, I can’t promise I’ll be able to keep you safe. I can’t do that to myself again.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me.”

  “Really.”

  Without a word, she set her mug down, slid out of the chair, and knelt by the coffee table. She picked up one of James’s firearms and slipped it from the holster. When he tried to protest, a dangerously arched eyebrow shut him down.

  “Nice,” she said. She studied the weapon, being sure to keep her right index finger away from the trigger by resting it on the slide. “The Glock 33’s a cute little pistol.” With her thumb, she pressed the magazine catch, slid it from the grip, and set it off to the side. “Three-fifty-seven SIG cartridges pack a pretty good wallop. No wonder they call it the Pocket Rocket.” Next, she pulled the slide back and locked it open. After visually checking to ensure the chamber was empty, she stuck her pinky into it. “You can never be too careful,” she said, winking at James who stared at her slack-jawed.

  “Gaston Glock is Austrian, you know,” she said in a light tone. “His first pistol, the Glock 17, was called that since it was the seventeenth set of technical drawings for the company.”

  She somehow managed to suppress a smile at how utterly and completely confounded he looked. Assured the gun wasn’t loaded, she released the slide. It popped forward with a click. She made sure to point the barrel in a safe direction and pulled the trigger. The resulting click was innocuous and uneventful.

  “I know some people don’t like to dry-fire their weapon since it can damage the firing pin, but since the Glock has a safe action trigger, it has to be done to field strip it.” As she spoke, she gripped the top of the slide with the fingers of her right hand and moved it back a little. “Once in a while doesn’t hurt it, right?” With her left thumb and forefinger, she pressed down on the lock and let go of the slide with her right. There was another harmless click, after which she removed the entire slide from the frame. She set the lower part of the gun down, flipped the slide over, deftly removed the recoil spring assembly, and popped out the barrel.

  Quinn squinted, checked out the barrel, and made a clucking noise with her tongue. “The feed ramp’s got some schmutz on it,” she said and scratched at the buildup with her fingernail. “You might want to clean that.”

  James looked as if his cranium had just been smacked with a two-by-four.

  She’d made her point. She replaced the barrel and recoil spring assembly, guided the slide back onto the frame, and ratcheted back on it a couple of times to make sure it was working properly. Finally, she slapped the magazine into the grip. Once the pistol was back in its holster, she carefully set it down on the table where she’d found it. She folded back up in her chair and gave James an innocent smile.

  “How do you—? I don’t understand how—” His stammering was adorable. “God, you’re hot,” he breathed. The second the words slipped through his lips, he blushed. “Sorry.”

  The heat crawling up her neck told her she was probably as red-faced as he. Not knowing how to appropriately respond to his slip, she ignored it and said, “My dad’s a Marine. I’ve been around guns my entire life. As soon as I was old enough, he started teaching me gun safety and then how to shoot, first with a BB rifle and then a .22. By the time I was in high school, I was shooting pistols and revolvers with him at the firing range. And I know it’s not exactly combat, but on most family occasions, my brothers and I engage in some pretty epic paintball battles.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “I hate shopping for clothes, I’m terrible at applying makeup, and my cooking skills would be classified as ‘good-enough-to-make-it-edible-so-you-won’t-starve-to-death. ’” She shook her head slowly when she intoned, “And you do not want to hear me sing.”

  “There goes going undercover as the lead in a West End musical.”

  “Am I to take from that comment you’ve finally accepted the fact I’m going to London with you?”

  “You’ve shot down, no pun intended, most of my concerns.” With a mock sigh of defeat, he said, “Yes, we’re going to London.”

  She grinned as a surge of excitement sent a raft of chills through her.

  “I’m still going to do everything I can to protect you and keep you safe.” One corner of his mouth lifted when he said, “Think of the avalanche of paperwork I’d have to deal with if something happened to you.”

  She hurled the pillow at his head.

  He snatched it easily from the air before it could hit him in the face. “Seriously, though,” he said, dropping the pillow to his lap. “You might be handy with a pistol, but you’re still not a trained operative. You have to follow my orders.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied crisply and she threw him a smart salute.

  “I know you’re kidding around,
Quinn, but this isn’t like the spy novel you’re reading. This is real life with real bad guys who can hurt you. You have to do what I say. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

  Her frivolity dropped away at the gravity in his voice. She nervously rubbed one thumb with the other.

  “What’s the matter?” James asked.

  “Well, the good news is we worked out our problems like Meyers wanted us to.”

  “I guess the bad news is now that we’ve, ah, cleared the air between us, things have gotten a bit more”—he paused and gave her a significant look—“complicated.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s look at it this way. This isn’t a vacation. It’s a CIA op. We’re going to London to figure out what’s going on with Ben.” The seriousness in his tone told her CIA operative Anderson was speaking. “We need to stay focused on that. Any distractions, personal or otherwise, can’t be a part of this.”

  That was exactly the reset she needed. “I agree. From here on out, it’s all about the mission. You and I will be nothing more to each other than professional partners, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Like the way you and Ben are partners.”

  “Exactly. Although Ben and I’ve never made pancakes together.”

  “We’ll have to make pancakes with Ben after we track him down so he won’t feel left out.”

  For the first time since he sat down in front of the fire, his smile reached his eyes. “Now that’s a plan.” His phone rang and he answered it with a curt “Anderson.”

  Quinn watched James’s gaze roam the room as he listened. “Depending on the snow, it would be about”—he drew out the last word as he glanced down at his watch—“two and a half hours or so at the most. Traffic shouldn’t be an issue since it’s Sunday.”

  When his eyes settled on her, she mouthed, “Where?”

  “Airport,” he replied silently. “It’ll be cutting it close, but we’ll be there,” he said into his phone. After another moment, he said, “I understand,” and then ended the call. He tossed the pillow onto the couch, shrugged the blanket off his shoulders, and stood. “Grab your stuff. Our flight to Heathrow leaves in five hours.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The first few miles of their trip to the airport had Quinn white-knuckling it as James navigated the snow-covered twists and turns of the road. He, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed and drove as though they were cruising through the mountains to take in the scenery on a lazy Sunday afternoon. He reminded her he’d received extensive training at the Farm for driving in all sorts of conditions and circumstances, including snow and ice. Still, she didn’t lessen her death grip on the door handle until the road was completely devoid of frozen precipitation.

  Once they descended the mountains and returned to civilization, they both admitted they were starving. A few crackers and some pancakes were all they’d eaten since dinner in Santa Monica the night before. It was a cause for celebration when Quinn located the nearest In-N-Out on her phone and directed James to it. They stopped only long enough to get their food and for him to wolf his Double-Double down in two minutes flat.

  Soon, they were rocketing west on the freeway again. Quinn washed down the last bite of her Double-Double with a sip of root beer and tossed the wadded-up wrapper in the bag at her feet. “Are you sure we can’t stop by my apartment so I can pick up some clothes and check on Rasputin?”

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t. Rick thinks we’re already gone and if he sees you, it blows up our time line for last night.” James snagged a couple of fries and popped them in his mouth. “Trust me. The agency will make sure you have everything you need.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. Some wonk gets the order to ‘go buy a librarian some clothes for London’ and I end up with a suitcase full of wool skirts, tweed jackets, and cardigan sweaters.” Just the thought of it made her shudder. “Although on the plus side, if the queen calls, I’ll be all set to go up to Sandringham Castle for Christmas.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He shot her a quick glance. “And give those wonks a chance. They might surprise you.”

  “Now I’m really worried.” She decided if the clothes were completely intolerable, she could pick up a few things in London.

  “Speaking of librarians, we need to let Virginia know you won’t be in the library at all this week.”

  Quinn expelled a loud groan and dropped her head back against the seat’s headrest. “She’s gonna flip.”

  “Do you want to call her or should I?”

  “She’ll take it better if it comes from you.” She peered at him side-eyed and added in a husky tone, “She’s putty in your hands, you know.”

  Quinn laughed when his face twisted like he’d just licked the inside of a Dumpster. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

  This, of course, only made her laugh harder. When she got herself under control, she asked, “Is there a chance you can pony up another donation for the Friends of the Library? Money seems to soothe her savage breast.”

  “Already on it.”

  “Then I guess I should make that call.” She dusted the salt from her fingers, took out her phone, and called Virginia’s direct work line. Once her boss’s outgoing message was playing, she put her phone on speaker.

  After the beep James said, “Good Sunday afternoon, Virginia. James Lockwood here.” It was a little jarring to hear him switch back to his British accent, though it never ceased to charm the socks off her. “I wanted to inform you that Ms. Ellington and I will not be in the library at all this week. Some information regarding one of the items we’re researching requires us to travel out of town. I understand this is a huge inconvenience for you since Quinn is such an integral part of your team.” He winked at her, eliciting a monster eye roll. “To compensate you for her time away, I’ve arranged for five thousand dollars to be delivered to you tomorrow as a donation to the Friends of the Library fund.”

  Quinn’s entire body jerked and she stared at him in complete shock. “Five thousand dollars?” she mouthed.

  James nodded and made a face that conveyed, “Totally worth it.”

  Her face in reply said, “You’re crazy.”

  It was obvious he disagreed with her, given the way he frowned and shook his head. “Thank you, Virginia, for being so willing to allow Ms. Ellington to assist me. You are a credit to your profession.” At that, Quinn pretended to stick her finger down her throat. He finished with a jovial “Cheerio.”

  She touched the screen and ended the call. “There’s a part of me that wishes I could be there when she listens to that message. My guess is steam will come out of her ears when you say I won’t be in, and then she’ll fall out of her chair when she hears about the five grand.”

  “Do you think she’ll believe we’re working or will she think I’m paying her off so I can sweep you off to some exotic locale.”

  “As long as the money keeps rolling in, she wouldn’t care if I never came back.”

  “I doubt that.” A cheeky smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Although now that I think about it, I might have to find someone cheaper to work with. You’re getting pretty expensive to keep around. Ow!” he yelped when she playfully slugged him on the arm.

  “Stop making me sound like I’m some kind of kept woman.”

  He rubbed the spot where she’d punched him and huffed a wry laugh. “Believe me. There’s not a man on this planet who can keep you.”

  “Good,” she said, mollified. She tossed a couple of fries in her mouth, trying to finish off the rest before they went completely cold. “Is it okay if I call Nicole and tell her I’ll be gone?” she asked. “I promised I’d call her today and I definitely don’t want her hearing about our impromptu trip from Virginia tomorrow. I’m pretty sure she’d hunt me down, hurl Korean curse words, and then pummel me.”

  “If I hadn’t met her myself, I’d say you were being a little overdramatic. You need to call her, but just keep the party li
ne about why we’ll be gone.”

  “Got it.” Not wanting James to overhear whatever inappropriate comments Nicole was sure to make, Quinn plugged her earbuds into her phone and stuck them in her ears. Then she slipped off her boots and got comfortable in her seat. She breathed deeply to mentally prepare herself and placed the call.

  The phone had barely connected the call when Nicole shouted, “Do you know what time it is? I’ve been waiting for you to call me all day, Quinn. All day!”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I called as soon as I could.”

  “As soon as you could? What the heck do you mean by that?” Nicole was certainly worked up and Quinn expected the swearing to start any second. “Wait, were you out with James all night or something?”

  “Actually, I kind of was.”

  Quinn winced when Nicole cut loose with a thundering, “You were out with James all night? Oh my gosh. Did you sleep with him?”

  “What? No!” she replied, matching Nicole’s volume level.

  “Well, what am I supposed to think? I’ve never known you to be out all night with a guy before.” At least Nicole’s reply was at a volume that no longer threatened to rupture Quinn’s eardrums. “So what did you do all night?”

  Quinn warned her off with a drawn-out “Nic.”

  “Okay, okay. Backing off. How was dinner?”

  “It was really nice. After dinner we walked down to the little park at Ocean and Santa Monica and sat on one of the benches for a while.”

  “Oooo, romantic. Did he kiss you?”

  Had that question come from anyone else, Quinn would have informed that person in no uncertain terms it was none of their business. However, having gone through Nicole’s postdate interrogations a couple of times before, she indulged her. “No.”

  She harrumphed. “Did he at least hold your hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “He did? Was it like when you’re holding a little kid’s hand when you cross the street or were your fingers laced together?”

  The memory of it made Quinn’s pulse race. “The second.”