Undercover Agent

by Slade, Heather

  “It needs to be decaffeinated,” I added.

  “Yes,” he responded without turning around.

  A few minutes later, he walked up with a lidded ceramic cup and looked at everything I had on the counter. “You take Emme her chai. I’ll ring you up, and you pay when Rashid delivers.”

  “Are you Rashid?”

  The man shook his head and looked at me as if I was daft. “Rashid is my son.”

  A few minutes after I returned, I realized that I hadn’t given the man at the market Saint’s apartment number. I was just about to leave to do so when Emerson’s mobile rang.

  “Hi,” she answered. “Yes, I’m at Tommy’s.” There were a few seconds of silence on her end, but whatever the caller said, made her smile and her cheeks turn pink.

  She ended the call and sat up. As soon as she did, she put her face in her hands. I bounded across the room to her. “What’s wrong?”

  She moved her hands and peered up at me. “I was hoping that when I opened my eyes, my mishap of this morning would’ve been a weird dream.” She ran her hands over her hair. “I must look terrible.”

  On the contrary, she looked very much like she had the last time I saw her, and that was beautiful.

  I’d woken her with my mouth, watching her face as she came awake. I closed my eyes, only momentarily, pushing the memory away before my body reacted in an embarrassing way. “You look lovely,” I murmured.

  Seconds later, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, I had an inkling of why she was concerned about her appearance.

  Not that I usually took notice of other men, but it was impossible to ignore his attractiveness. He was like a walking sculpture—his facial features and body looked as though they’d been chiseled from stone. His hair was long on top and fell forward, and when he brushed it away and looked at me, I could see gold flecks in his hazel eyes. I felt Emerson’s presence behind me.

  “Emme,” the man said, pushing past me. “What happened?”

  I watched her cheeks flame and her eyes drop to the floor in a way that made me want to bend her to my will.

  “I hit my head,” she said.

  “Oh no,” Rashid responded, putting his arms around her. I hated the way she rested her cheek on his chest and closed her eyes. I might as well have been invisible as far as the two people standing a few feet from me were concerned. When I saw him bring his hand to her hair and stroke it, I was ready to rip his arm off.

  “Your father said you’d have a bill,” I snapped.

  “Yes.” He reached into his pocket but left one arm around Emerson.

  “Did you bring the groceries?”

  “They’re in the hall,” he responded before leaning forward and kissing my Emerson’s forehead.

  When he released her and walked toward me, I wanted to rush around him and reclaim her as my own. Instead, I pulled my billfold from my trouser pocket and handed him twenty dollars more than the tab came to. “I’ll bring them in,” I said as I followed him to the door, standing on the threshold so he couldn’t step back inside. “Thank you,” I managed to grunt at him before closing the door in his face.

  6

  Emerson

  “The groceries,” I reminded Lynx when he stepped away from the door he’d just slammed in my friend’s face. What had that been about anyway?

  “Right,” he mumbled, pulling the door open. When he stepped inside with his arms full, I walked over to close the door behind him.

  He unloaded the bags without looking up at me.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  He raised his eyes. “Is Niven aware you have other boyfriends?”

  If he didn’t already have a scowl on his face, I would’ve laughed out loud. In fact, I should have. At the same time, I was confused. Why did he think Tommy was my boyfriend? I couldn’t recall saying anything to give him that impression.

  “Rashid is not my boyfriend per se. Neither is Tommy for that matter.”

  Lynx set the box of crackers he was holding on the counter. Slammed would be a better word; they had to be broken into thousands of pieces.

  “What is he exactly, per se?”

  This time, I did laugh. “Which one?”

  “Rashid.”

  “He’s just a friend.”

  “I doubt he feels that way,” he muttered.

  “His boyfriend would disagree.”

  “Oh.” Lynx continued putting the groceries away. It was almost as if he was jealous, which was ludicrous, given I didn’t register on his radar enough for him to even remember he’d spent a night with me.

  “And Niven, does he realize the lackadaisical way you view your relationship with him?”

  “We’re friends,” I mumbled, not understanding why Lynx was making this out to be more than it was.

  Tommy and I had gone out for dinner several times, including more than once with Rashid and his long-term boyfriend. It was one of the things I liked best about my neighbor. Tommy seemed to be prejudice-free. Neither Rashid’s ethnic background nor his sexual orientation bothered him.

  I walked over to the sofa and picked up my cell phone, silently praying there would be some kind of response from my parents. When I saw there was a text message, I didn’t feel as happy as I thought I would. If they were responding, that meant my time with Lynx would be coming to an end. I tapped the screen and couldn’t contain my grin when I read the message from my mother.

  Did you forget we’re down the Cape this month?

  I had forgotten. It was usually them looking for me, trying to coax me out of work. I was embarrassed to admit that I didn’t pay much attention to their schedule, especially considering how much they’d sacrificed for me.

  Do you want Dad to come into the city?

  No, but thanks. I’ll figure something else out. Enjoy your time at the beach.

  Let me know if you change your mind.

  I adored my parents. The three of us had always been close, especially after we lost my brother.

  “Everything okay?” Lynx asked right before he took a bite out of an apple. I’d told him I wasn’t hungry, but it looked so good. I couldn’t take my eyes off his full lips as he slowly chewed. Maybe it wasn’t the apple that looked good enough to eat as much as it was him.

  He’d removed the long-sleeve dress shirt he wore to our meeting. Underneath, he had on a white v-neck that hugged his body, but not so tight that it looked like he was trying to show off his muscles. Although he had every right to. When he brought the apple to his mouth, flexing his biceps, I wanted to stalk across the floor and run my hands over them. I even licked my lips.

  Once again catching me staring, he slowly lowered his arm. Damn showoff. “Are you certain you aren’t hungry?”

  Not just hungry, I was starving, but it had nothing to do with food. “That apple looks good. Did you get two?”

  He smiled and returned to the kitchen, giving me another opportunity to ogle his ass. I doubted I’d ever seen a man who looked as good in trousers as he did. Except for maybe Rashid, but I’d never looked at him in the same way I was looking at Lynx.

  I’d slipped earlier and called him that out loud, although it didn’t appear he’d noticed. I had to keep reminding myself that as far as he knew, I wasn’t aware that was another name he went by. Hoping it would prevent another slip, I began repeating Lennox in my head.

  “Here.” When he handed me the apple, his fingers brushed mine. Was it just me that felt a rush of longing whenever he touched me? Was the chemistry I felt between us really one-sided? Had he not noticed how flushed my face became when he spoke to me? Or how I squeezed my thighs together when his skin touched mine? Was I really that forgettable? Forgettable.

  “Oh! I forgot to mention that I heard from my parents.” Was it also my imagination, or did the smile just leave his face? “They’re at their house down the Cape this week. I’d forgotten that too.”

  “I see.” I couldn’t see his face when he turned around, but I could swear h
e was smiling again.

  “I don’t want you to think you’re still on the hook for babysitting.”

  He rested his hands on the counter, and through his shirt, I could see his muscles tense. I stepped to the side so I could see his face, at least one side of it. His eyes were closed, and the muscles of his jaw were as tight as those of his back.

  “Really, Lennox. I can just take a cab to my office, get my bags, and then have the same cab bring me back here. You don’t have to hang out with me.”

  “No,” he snapped.

  Before I could argue, his cell phone rang and he walked into the bedroom.

  God, why had I been so stupid to leave my keys in my bag? Wait. If I didn’t know it would hurt really bad, I would’ve slammed my hand into my forehead. What was wrong with me? The super could get me into my apartment—it wasn’t like it would be the first time.

  I eased myself out of Tommy’s door and called downstairs.

  “Miss Emme, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Hi, Mr. Bridges. You aren’t going to believe this, but I left my keys at the office.”

  He never seemed to mind my calling. It may have been because of the envelope of tip money I gave him every holiday. And in every holiday, I included things like National Pizza Day. That’s how often Mr. Bridges had not only let me into my apartment, but offered to give me yet another set of spare keys.

  I didn’t actually lose them; I left them…not always in the same place, and not always in a place I could remember. When I found them—and I always did—I’d give that set to Mr. Bridges, so he’d have them the next time.

  Fortunately, MIT’s security only required my handprint, along with facial recognition. If I’d been responsible for keys to my building, or even my office, I probably would’ve lost my security clearance in the first month.

  “Don’t you worry. I’ll be right up,” said Mr. Bridges without a single grain of impatience evident in his voice.

  “I’m sorry about this,” I said when he met me at my door.

  “You don’t need to apologize to me, Miss Emme. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

  He held the door open for me, and I walked into the apartment, turning on the lamp in my living room.

  There was something about overhead lighting I’d never cared for. This apartment had it, just like Tommy’s did, but I never used it. I much preferred floor and table lamps.

  The layout of our apartments was identical, but they couldn’t have looked more different. His was modern and sleek. He’d left the concrete floors mostly bare while I’d covered every inch I could with thick, plush throw rugs. His furniture was all grays and tans with metal and glass tables and chairs. Mine was covered in prints and bright colors, and my tables and chairs were antique-looking wood.

  The other difference I noticed, being in Tommy’s apartment today, was that there wasn’t a single thing out of place. Maybe because he was out of town, but something told me it wouldn’t matter. Even if he’d been there this morning, I bet it would still have been spotless.

  I liked having the things I loved out where I could see them. And since I sometimes ran late, it wasn’t important to me that every single coffee cup end up in the dishwasher. Most mornings, I just rinsed out the one I’d used the day before—something that would make my mother absolutely insane. But my mother didn’t live here. I did.

  My guess was, like with most things, I took after my dad when it came to my ability to live happily amongst clutter. He probably didn’t have any choice but to be neat and tidy, since unlike me, he did live with her.

  “What happened?” Mr. Bridges asked, perhaps noticing the bandage that covered the staples in my head.

  “A little mishap.” That was becoming my new favorite word. Mishap. It said everything without needing further explanation. “Thank you again,” I said when I saw the paperwork he was filling out on my kitchen counter.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you it isn’t necessary for you to tip me, Miss Emme. It’s my job to take care of the tenants of this building.”

  “I know that, but I like to do it. I know some of my neighbors make you cookies. I can assure you, you’d much rather have a modest tip than a batch of anything I’d make.”

  My mother was a fabulous cook, something that didn’t get passed down to me. The last five times I’d tried to make something, I forgot that I had a pot on the stove or something in the oven. Poor Mr. Bridges had been forced to come up when my smoke detectors refused to stop blaring.

  7

  Lynx

  “How’s the patient?” Simon asked when I answered his call.

  “My worry is the amount of sleeping. Hence, the message.”

  “It isn’t of concern as long as she doesn’t have any of the other symptoms I mentioned.”

  “None so far.” I checked the time; it was just after four. “Is your conference over, or are you on another break?”

  “Over. I’m heading to Providence as soon as we ring off.”

  “Please give Bridget my regards.”

  “I’ve an idea. Why don’t you come down for dinner?”

  “I’ve the patient to care for.”

  “Bring her.”

  “If she’s feeling up to it.”

  “Brilliant. Bridget will be so pleased to see you again. You will not believe how big the twins have gotten, and Brendan is almost as tall as his mother.”

  The last I saw my cousin and his family was at Simon and Bridget’s wedding. They’d waited to marry until after their twin girls were old enough to travel. Admittedly, I’d never dreamed Simon would marry, let alone become a father, but I remembered marveling at the changes I witnessed in him. Only those who knew him well had any idea that he and Bridget’s son, Brendan, weren’t biologically related. The two were closer than any father and son I’d ever known.

  “Sounds wonderful. Should I make a reservation somewhere?”

  “No, no. Bridget will insist on having you to the house. You know how she is.”

  Actually, I didn’t. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “You won’t be. Truth be told, with the girls, a casual dinner at home is much easier for us to navigate.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, as long as you’re sure we won’t be putting Bridget out.”

  “On the contrary. So, who is this woman whose head injury I treated?”

  “Dr. Emerson Charles. She’s with the International Policy Program.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  As was I.

  “What’s her specialty?” Simon asked.

  “China.”

  “Right up your alley.”

  “On that subject, she isn’t yet aware of my affiliation with MI6.”

  “Understood. We’ll see you around six, then?”

  When I came out of the bedroom, Emerson was nowhere to be found. I looked down the hall; the lavatory door was open, so she wasn’t in there. I went in that direction anyway to check the back bedroom, which I knew was an office Saint kept locked. I tried turning the handle; it was locked as tight as it had been earlier.

  If she wasn’t in either of the bedrooms or the bathroom, she would’ve had to be in the main part of the house, and she wasn’t. A sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

  Shoving my mobile into my pocket, I stalked out the door of the apartment in search of her. As I did, I saw an older gentleman coming out of her front door.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, confronting him as he waited for the lift, immediately regretting the accusatory sound of my voice. “My apologies. Is Emerson in her apartment?”

  “To answer your first question, I’m the super of the building,” he said with an indulgent smile. “As such, I am sure you understand that I am not at liberty to say whether I let Miss Emme into her apartment or not.”

  When he winked, I smiled.

  “Lennox Edgemon,” I said, holding out my hand.

  “Baxter Bridges, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Friend of Saint�
�s?”

  His use of Niven’s code name gave me pause. “That’s right.”

  The lift dinged and he stepped inside, leaving me feeling as though Baxter Bridges knew a hell of a lot more about everything that happened in this building than he’d ever let on.

  I stalked the rest of the way to Emerson’s apartment, annoyed that she’d left without telling me. I knocked on the door—pounded, really—prepared to bust it down if she didn’t answer before my count to five.

  Moments later, the door flew open. “Lynx…uh, sorry…I mean Lennox. I, um, didn’t want to interrupt while you were on the phone, but it dawned on me that the super could let me into my apartment.”

  Without invitation, I swept past her and into a living space that was set up identically to Saint’s, but looked entirely different. Whereas the other apartment was sparsely furnished, sterile almost, Emerson’s was cluttered, which I usually abhorred as much as small talk. But in this case, the space felt homey and warm. A place you could sink into and get lost in. Just like her.

  “I would’ve come over to tell you,” she murmured. “It’s only been a few minutes.”

  “I was worried,” I admitted, although I couldn’t confess to the extent.

  “I’m fine.” She turned away from me like she had so many times before.

  “Simon called.”

  “Oh. Did you tell him I’m okay?” she asked over her shoulder before taking a seat on her sofa.

  “He invited us to have dinner with him and his wife, Bridget.”

  “Please give him my thanks, but I’ll stay put.”

  “Very well.” I pulled my mobile from my pocket to call and give my regrets.

  “You should go and enjoy yourself, though.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head and tapping the screen to reach recent calls.

  “But, I’m…fine.”

  “Fine,” I said at the same time she did.

  “Lennox,” she said, standing and walking over to me. “This isn’t necessary. I won’t repeat how I feel since I’ve said it too many times already, but I’m an adult who is perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”