After shutting the garage door behind them, he stood looking at their car. He had a few questions for Joe, but he didn’t want to alarm Pixie. Edginess flared from her and he didn’t want her to fall over. There was no room in his mind to entertain the impact of his new look. Maybe they could relish the moment another time.
Joe handed him a large brown envelope. He took it but wasn’t going to bother examining the contents—at least not now.
“We’ll check in when we get to Edgartown. You sure it’s okay to leave the car in the ferry parking lot in Woods Hole?”
“Sure. No one’s going to bother looking for it until after you’re wheels-up at midnight. That’s the next check-in time with the boss.” Joe gave him a grin and darted a glance toward Pixie. “Enjoy your adventure. And take care.” Joe’s grin was gone.
Chauncey extended his hand and they touched knuckles. “I owe you. Look forward to paying you back.” He slipped his arm around Pixie’s shoulders then and nudged her toward the passenger door. She startled at his touch but didn’t resist. She gave a nod to Joe over her shoulder as she got in the door. That rankled him. What the hell for, he couldn’t afford to guess at and he shut that down fast.
They pulled out of the garage and were on their way. The portable navigator on the dash as well as his cell phone both served the purpose of tracking them. First order of business would be to find someone else heading north and let them carry the tracking devices for them. Then he and Pixie would turn around and head to the island called Martha’s Vineyard. He figured he’d change around a few license plates if he had the opportunity as extra insurance.
An hour later, driving north on Interstate 93, he looked over at Pixie yet again and puzzled about what might be floating around in that mind of hers. He knew she only pretended to sleep. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was shallow and tense. Her body screamed with her tension. He sighed. She opened her eyes and looked over at him.
“Tired of the so-called adventure already?” She tried to sound careless, but he heard her anxiety and knew she needed reassurance. Since when had he become bodyguard and nursemaid on top of undercover agent on the run? He doubted his father had ever found himself in this predicament. He’d have to ask him. Soon as he spoke to the man again. Whenever that might be. He turned to Pixie.
“Just getting started. We’re safe now. The goal is to keep us that way—or at least to keep you that way.” He smiled. She widened her eyes. Shit. She better not be ready to cry. He felt his chest tighten.
“So how are you at speaking with a British accent?” He tried for a light tone.
“Well, blimey. I’ve never tried it before.” She spoke in what she supposed fit the bill.
“Maybe you better let me do all the talking.”
She scowled at him and he felt encouraged. His smile at her was automatic and before he realized what he was doing, he reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. She snorted.
“Don’t start patronizing me now. I’m your Bond girl, remember? Although, with this get up I feel more like the recalcitrant younger sister gone astray who needs rescuing.”
“Interesting. But if it’s any consolation, thinking of you as my little sister never remotely entered my consciousness. Not even on the outermost rims and not even when you were at your most recalcitrant.”
She snorted again. Then she crossed her arms over her chest. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t hide the voluptuousness, especially since it was emphasized by the skintight black top with the strategically designed keyhole exposing gleaming mounds of her creamy skin in the most inviting cleavage he’d seen in a long time. Too late, he realized he’d given the subject entirely too much thought and she eyed him, then angled her body toward the window.
He put his foot down on the gas harder than he should have, but he suddenly needed to speed this journey along.
He looked comical in his surfer dude outfit as he carried their duffle bag onto the ferry ahead of her. He paused and turned to wait for her after surveying the landscape. It was a bright sunny day, but chilly for the shorts and cotton shirt that he wore. Still, to anyone else he probably looked authentic. He had a way of carrying off whatever he wanted to. He didn’t allow any questioning of himself. Confident, a hair shy of arrogant. Sometimes past it.
“I’m having some trepidation about getting on the ferry. Brings to mind my last excursion onto a ship with you,” he said.
He quirked that stupid heart-melting smile of his.
“Don’t worry. This time I’m prepared. I have a secret life vest stashed in a compartment of my utility belt.” She enjoyed the puzzled look on his face as she caught up and passed him by, stepping off the boarding bridge onto the ferry.
He walked on, caught up and wrapped his arm around her as he propelled them forward through the thin crowd of people on the deck. She figured he held her to keep himself warm in the breeze that blew across the bow. They walked to the front of the boat—or bow or aft or whatever it was called—and he stopped along the rail where they had a good view to where they were headed. Wherever that was. In spite of all the plans, she wasn’t sure. This crazy world she was in was completely unreliable. If she were Dorothy, which character out of Oz should she cast Chauncey as? The Scarecrow or Oz himself? She looked up at him.
“Who the hell are you and what am I doing here with you? How did I let you take me away from my life?”
He glanced back down at her as if he were expecting the questions. She prepared herself for his prepared answers.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry you ever got mixed up with me.” He looked out at sea as the boat moved, then back at her. He stared into her eyes for a moment. She realized his disguise was useless. He’d be instantly recognizable to anyone who saw his eyes if they got within ten feet of him. Waves of his energy captured her. When she dragged in a breath it wasn’t the strong ocean air she smelled, but his heady scent. The strong smell of maleness and sweat overpowered her. In that instant, she had no regrets about getting mixed up with him. Her head swam and her heart hammered. She waited for him to speak as she knew he intended to do.
“This will be intense at times but worth it. We’ve thought of every precaution possible and I promise not to leave you open to danger. Not for one millisecond. On our first boat trip, I admit I was blindsided. He was lucky. No more. Now once we board the plane to London, we’ll be one step ahead of him.” He stopped and lifted his hand to caress her cheek and leaned into her, kissing the top of her head as if she were his little sister. She felt herself heat up in spite of the stiffening breeze. He felt impossibly warm with nothing but a cotton shirt to hold his heat. Then he looked at her again and she tilted her chin up, feeling her natural defiance of his power rising.
“I promise in a week’s time this will all be nothing more than a dream,” he said. “You’ll have your familiar life back. And I’ll have disappeared as if I’d never existed.” He stilled and turned back out to the sea.
“Like the Scarecrow,” she muttered. His last words should have been reassuring. But the hammering of her heart grew stronger and she discovered she was no Dorothy. The new orientation in her life was him. She didn’t want to go back home. The notion of him disappearing gave her more fright than all the rest of her life’s familiarity disappearing combined. How could she let herself get so carried away? The craziness must be getting to her—driving her crazy. He was right. Everything would return to normal within a week. All she needed to do was stay alive until then.
It would be great fun. She hiccupped.
“Hey wait a minute—how will you catch this guy if you’re going to keep watch over me every second?” She thought out loud. Her head cleared and her heart stopped hammering, although it dropped lower and thudded heavier than was normal.
He snapped his head around. Then he smiled at her. That smile she’d recognize from across the boat no matter what color his hair was.
“I haven’t worked out all the details yet. I’ll keep you up on it when I d
o.”
“You should wear sunglasses.”
“You’re right.” He flipped a pair from his shirt pocket and put them on.
They arrived at the dock in Vineyard Haven and walked the short distance to an inn a couple of blocks down the street from the ferry. She coughed when he registered them as husband and wife. Mr. and Mrs. “Johnson” hailing from Down Under up on vacation.
Once they got to the room her nerves kicked up again, same as her heartbeat, but it had nothing to do with her crazy adventure and everything to do with this crazy man. Or rather, the crazy way she felt about this crazy man. He would have ranked top as the most wrong man for her to get entangled with in anyone’s contest. She could tweet about it now and have a vote among her decorating followers if it wasn’t for the top secret mission they were on. She laughed out loud and plopped down on the four poster bed. Deja vu. The early New England maritime quilt on the bed jumped into her vision. Was she in Oz or the Outer Limits? Was this giddiness overtaking her or dizziness? She sat on the bed and smoothed her hands over the real fabric to reassure herself.
She watched the center of her confusion roam the room and check things over, look out each window surreptitiously and check the closet for the boogie man.
She held in her giggle and decided to go with lazy sarcasm.
“What are you expecting?” She needed to call him on the ridiculous levels of caution to which he was going. “No one knows we’re here. Except Joe. And even he doesn’t know which inn we’re staying at.” He turned from the closet and closed the door to observe her and she said, “Do you think I’m the boogie man?”
“If you were my little sister, I’d have you over my knee for such disrespect. Do you ever converse without mockery in your intent?” He stepped toward the bed and hovered over her. If his intent was to intimidate her, his challenging posture failed. But she tried desperately not to let him know that he’d succeeded magnificently in turning her insides to a quivering mess. He looked sexy as hell standing over her with the dark shadow of his beard belying his bleached blond hair.
He leaned closer.
The jump in her insides caused a catch in her breath. She refused to let the jumble of jitters stop her mockery. She was game for his game. She patted the bed next to her. With a vibration of excitement in her voice, she said, “What are you waiting for?”
He pounced, pushing her back into the soft quilt with him. She gasped and let her giddiness bubble to the surface. She wasn’t at all sure he was fooling with her. He pressed himself fully on top of her and pinned her the way he had on the beach—was that only a few days ago?
“So here we are again.” He breathed deep. “Sis.” He arched a brow in challenge. She felt his excitement and there was nothing brotherly in the heat and hardness of his body right now. She narrowed her eyes. Then she parted her lips—or rather her lips parted because they wanted to be kissed and she had no say. He lowered his mouth to touch hers in a feather-light caress, then a nibble. Soft and moist and cool until he opened his mouth and his tongue, hot and strong and demanding, plunged and plundered mingling with hers.
The taste, the feel, the sensual intimacy of the world that shrank to their two mouths made her dizzy with need and she found herself pressing her hips against him and thrilling at the feel of his hardness. The soft caress of his hot breath poured over her face as he broke from her mouth to nip her with kisses and nibbles meant to mark their claim up along her jaw and back down. She opened her eyes to see the rough stubbles of his face and strong juicy lines of his lips hovering with the gleam of his perspiration tempting her. Without a thought she flicked her tongue and licked his upper lip to taste the salty maleness of him. His growl caused a flare of heat deep inside her.
Had she known it would cause him to lift himself away from, she would have kept her mouth shut. He stared down at her now, a quiver visible along the lines edging his luscious mouth. That’s all she saw, all that filled her vision—his quivering mouth—until her mind registered the words as he spoke.
“….not the time or place, as tempting as you are. I’m not sure when or if there will ever be a right time or place for us. This isn’t the movies and you’re not really a Bond girl, after all.” He curved his mouth—or rather half his mouth, but it wasn’t a real smile.
She pushed him then. To hell with him if he couldn’t see a way to fit her in.
“Of course I’m not a Bond girl. But I’m no little sister either and you’d better not forget that. Ever.” She held in the tremble of hurt, not sure where or why she should feel more than minor disappointment at the lost moment of indulgent lust. “And for the record,” she pushed at him again since he’d hardly budged. “You’re no James Bond either.”
Now he gave her a real smile and he lifted off of her and the bed in a sweeping move that landed him on his feet. She propped herself up on her elbows. He stood a foot from the bed with a hand out to help her up as if she were an invalid because she hadn’t bounced up as if the bed were a trampoline.
“What are you, an acrobat? Did you do an undercover gig with the circus or something?” She struggled without an ounce of grace to a sitting position and then stood while trying to straighten her clothes, aware of him watching the whole time as if he were going to hold up a judging card with a score of two.
Of course he laughed. She bent to fix the hemline of her skirt and let the pleasure of hearing his amusement turn her smile on. Damn the man. She compressed her mouth to a line before she looked up at him again.
“You are an endless source of amusement and I have no idea why I take such joy in your sarcastic digs at every possible turn. But I do.” He deftly put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in, even as she tried to avoid it. Halfheartedly.
“So what you’re saying is, we’re more like Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story than James Bond and Bond girl? Well, I can do that.” She escaped from his hold then, feeling him burn too hot for her. He let her go easily.
“Lucky for you I know something of old American movies. My mother was a fan.” A shadow that looked very much like longing passed over his face. He hadn’t bothered to hide it. He didn’t expound. He only stood there contemplating her and presumably his mother and the past for another second before returning to business. She noted that too and wished she had a pad to write all her notes down because this man was very complicated. And she was afraid of him as much as she was excited by him. Or maybe because she was excited by him.
“Never mind. We have things to do.” He slipped a packet from his pocket and tossed it to her. She managed to catch it. “Your new identity. Study it in case the airport is tricky. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d do all the talking. But if you’re asked a direct question you should answer in as normal an Australian accent as you can manage. The airport security personnel…”
“You mean the TSA people.”
“Right. They’ll ask perhaps where you’re going and why and maybe where you’re from. Rehearse your answers to mundane questions like those. Use the mirror in the loo to practice. You have thirty minutes, then I’ll put you to the test.”
She stood looking at him. She didn’t say, “Really?” but she thought it. He arched his brow and tilted his head toward the bathroom when she didn’t jump at his command.
“Yes, sir. To the loo.” She turned and marched, almost tripping over her platform boots designed by the fashion genius of Harley Davidson. She scooted into the room but heard him laugh through the closed door.
“And when you’re finished with that assignment, I’ll give you a quick lesson in self-defense.”
She paused and stared at the door at that. A shiver ran through her. He was the only one she’d likely need to defend herself from.
The next morning, day five of his new assignment stateside, they ditched their things in a dumpster out back, which Sophia thought was crazy. She pointed out that they might look suspicious going to London with no bags. He told her they needed to travel ligh
t and hid the mild tic of concern that her point was valid.
They waited on the front porch for a taxi. He had one more thing to do before they left. He needed to place the call to his father.
The misinformation.
He took out his new throwaway cell phone—the best and worst invention to come along in the undercover business since dark glasses—and pressed in the numbers. He never saved numbers anywhere except his head. The phone rang. Pixie watched him. He should feel the need for privacy. David knew he’d planned to misdirect the London office and go on his own, but David insisted Chauncey be the one to give the misdirection. Talking to the esteemed Deputy Director—his father—had always been a cause for a blip in his anxiety. Especially since his mother had passed and he had to communicate more often. It hadn’t gotten easier.
“I’ll contact David first.” He stamped his thumb to end the call and tapped in a new number.
“Were you asking my permission?” Pixie’s signature sarcasm snapped his tension. Her presence kept him grounded like lead. He hid his smile. She was the reminder that he had a good cause and was doing the right thing.
“Yes. I’m calling your friend Grace’s phone to see if anyone bit on the misdirection on David’s end.”
“Sure. She’s the perfect person to call. She knows all there is to know about terrorist plots. Good choice.” Pixie gave him a thumbs-up and a “what drugs are you on?” look.
His heartbeat accelerated and floated higher. He might have laughed, or explained that David had Grace’s phone, but David answered with, “Nothing on this end.”
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 80
