Even the secured files are old news. The worst part of it is that I will have to fill out a report to get a new computer. Until then, I’ll have to make do with my agency-issue cell phone, which has almost the same capabilities and securities as my laptop.
I survey the mess again, trying to figure out what else might have been taken. And, more importantly, who would have taken it. The calla lily is on the floor. It’s been stepped on. The rose lies next to it, untouched.
“What happened?”
I jump at the sound of someone behind me. I’d left the door open, and Mr. Drunk American, Lincoln, is standing at the doorway surveying the mess.
Crap. “Hi,” I say, as I try to think of a cover story.
“Did they get your agency laptop?” he asks.
I look at him sideways. Did he say “agency”? That’s how we refer to the CIA. “What did you just say?”
He steps in the room without waiting for an invitation, and starts sifting through my stuff. Now that we’re both sober, he looks older. Come to think of it, he’s dressed a lot better now, too. He has on a white button-up shirt and a pair of navy pants.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m looking to see what intel they have. Did they get your key?”
“My what?” I’m so confused. Why is he talking like he’s in the CIA? These are shop terms that agents and handlers use. He’s supposed to be the drunk American I almost had casual sex with last night.
“Stop asking me stupid questions and think, Jessica.”
When he says my real name, I absolutely know I’ve missed the memo. I do as he says, thinking hard. What did I miss? There was another agent at Intelex when I went to break in. “Are you the other agent’s handler?” I ask.
He stalks over to the opposite side of the room and reaches down, picking up the rose he’d given me last night. “No, Jessica. I’m your handler.”
“Sims is my handler,” I argue. “You were just…”
He smiles and blushes. “I was what?”
“You were drunk. You…we almost had sex.”
“I wasn’t drunk, I was acting drunk as a cover, and yes, we did almost have sex. You jumped me, though, if I remember correctly. I must admit I was a little bummed when you ran out.” He smiles coyly, making me blush. I think back to our brief encounter and can’t help but see him with his shirt off, lying on his back, waiting for me to take him. My insides warm at the memory.
He clears his throat and my eyes snap back to his face. “Did you get the assignment email?” he asks.
As my head clears, things start snapping into place. There was a second email. I couldn’t open it though.
“You didn’t give me the key,” I say.
“I gave you my number, do you still have it?”
We dig through the mess until we find my purse. It’s been dumped out, and the small scrap of paper with his “phone number” is missing.
I pull out my phone and open the mission email and the encryption key box pops up. “What’s the code?” I ask.
He rattles out a long list of letters and numbers from memory and I type them into my phone. Sure enough, the key is correct. The email unlocks.
This mission email explains that I am going to be going on a fake mission for Agent Sims who they suspect is a mole. I am to find out who his target is, and bring that information back to await further instruction.
“Fuck!”
I run out of the room, down the hall, and down one flight of stairs to Sims’s room, ready to crash through the door and smash his brains in. But when I get there, the door is wide open and he’s gone. I left his room less than twenty minutes ago. He wasn’t sleeping after we had sex—he was waiting for me to leave. Asshole.
Lincoln has caught up to me and stands behind me.
“He’s gone,” I say.
Lincoln puts a hand on my shoulder. “Of course he is. And now he’s got your computer and the key. Once he gets inside, he’ll find out that we suspect him, if he doesn’t already know. What’s his target?” he asks.
“He had me breaking into Intelex with Geoffrey Pinot’s access,” I say.
Lincoln runs his hand along the back of his neck as he sucks in a breath. As agents, we are trained to hide our emotions. If he’s reacting to what I just told him, that means this is really bad.
“This is really bad,” he says. “When Sims requested the mission in Paris, Langley ran through a list of possible targets he could be after. This is, by far, the worst.”
“What’s the big deal?” I ask. “He created a computer program that can shut down websites, but the French have it, and they’re our allies so surely they know how to stop it.”
“Jessica, that was Sims’s decoy mission. Geoffrey Pinot is a computer genius. His knowledge in IT is why NATO chose him to develop a storage unit for classified secrets. Sims isn’t after a computer program, he’s after ally military secrets stored at Intelex. Where is Geoffrey now?” Lincoln asks.
“I left him at his office. He’s probably still there filling out some sort of police report or something.”
“You need to get back there, Jessica,” he says. “Now that the French know someone is after the secrets, they’ll beef up security at Intelex. The only way left open for Sims will be to go straight to the source. They’ll target Mr. Pinot. Because if anyone has another way in, it’s him. You have to be there to stop them.”
Chapter Eight
I’m pretty sure the security guards saw me so I can’t go back to Intelex. I change into jeans and a T-shirt and grab a light coat. After packing a bag with my passport and gun, I call Geoffrey.
“Allo,” he says. I’m almost surprised he answers.
“Geoffrey,” I say.
“Lori? Is that you? What the hell is going on?”
“Geoffrey, you’re in danger. Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
“You just broke into my office and disarmed me like some sort of ninja, and you think I’m going to go meet up with you?” He pauses a moment, then sighs. “Fine, tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.”
“I’ll be in front of Notre Dame in twenty minutes,” I say.
“I’ll see you there.” He hangs up. I check the time. It’s eleven thirty. I can just make it. I jog down the Boulevard St. Michelle toward the river. The night is mild and the tourists are out enjoying the Paris nightlife. I weave in and out of the clusters of visitors, pushing them aside. One of them calls out after me, “Hey!” I don’t stop—I have to get to him. I’ve already screwed up the beginning of this mission. My only hope of redemption is to protect Geoffrey. That’s what I will do.
At the river, the immense structure of Notre Dame announces itself, towering over a square. I cross over to L’Ile de la Cité, the island in the Seine that holds the ancient church. The square is filled with tourists who’ve gathered to appreciate the beauty of the church’s double spires and amazing gargoyles fantastically lit up.
I stick to the shadows and keep moving, heading across the island to the bridge on the other side. By the time I make it across the bridge, it’s 11:46. I find a good vantage point from which to watch. Any minute now…
Flashing lights speed towards the island from all directions as the Parisian police descend on the square in front of Notre Dame.
They block off all entrances and exits to the island and begin their manhunt. That should keep them busy for a while. I walk away from the river a few blocks before switching on my phone again. I pull up the last phone number dialed and turn on my locator app. Any time I call someone from my phone, it sends a tag to the receiving phone. The app pulls up a map of the area and locates Geoffrey. He’s gone home. Stupid, but why would he know any better?
I haul ass, praying as I run that I’m not too late.
Chapter Nine
Rather than waste time with the elevator, I take the stairs of Geoffrey’s building three at a time, making it up to his floor in record time. I listen at the door of his apartm
ent for any sign that he might have company, but it’s quiet on the other side.
I pull out my lock picking tools. Most locks in Paris are antique and hardly pose a challenge. Geoffrey’s is no different. The mechanism in the lock twists and pulls in the bolt. I ease the door open, and liberate my gun from its holster. Tuning into the noises of my surroundings I creep into his apartment searching for any sign, even the smallest hint, of a struggle.
The front hall is dark, but light comes in from the living room. I head towards the light. Geoffrey sits at a desk off to one side, crouched over his computer. He need only turn his head a fraction and he will be looking at me. But the hallway is dark, so I have the advantage. I consider just announcing myself, but after he held a gun to me and then tried to turn me over to the police, I want to make sure he really is alone and unarmed before saying hello.
I drop behind the couch and move behind him, scanning the room as I go. There is no one else here. At least I’ve made it before Agent Sims. I holster my gun and cross the room, staying low to the ground until I’m a few feet away, directly behind him. His handgun is on his desk next to his mouse. The second he realizes I’m here he will reach for it. I need to get to him before he gets to the gun.
I cross the distance in a fraction of a second, but he sees my reflection in the window and makes it to his gun first. I grab the barrel, twisting it up just as it goes off. The bullet hits the ceiling and I disarm him, taking his arm and twisting it so that he is forced facedown onto the floor. I jump on top of him and he struggles, but he’s not going anywhere. He might be big and strong, but he is not a fighter. His muscles are no match for my training.
“What do you want?” he asks me in French as he continues to struggle.
“To keep you safe,” I reply in English.
“Lori?” His struggling lessens. “You were supposed to go to Notre Dame.”
“Yeah, I know. I saw the party you had waiting for me there. I decided to skip it.”
“Please, what do you want?”
“I told you. I want to keep you safe.” I put the gun down out of his reach and flip him over. I straddle him, holding his arms at his sides.
He’s scared, but he also looks sad, betrayed. “Then why do you keep on breaking in and attacking me?”
It’s a valid question. One I might ask as well. “It’s complicated,” I say.
“I’m smart. I’ll try and keep up.”
Even though I’m the one holding him down, he demands that I explain it all. I’m not sure I can. I’m definitely not supposed to, but I’m starting to care less about these agency rules, and more about my charge. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve internalized my mission to protect him, or because of something more, and that terrifies me.
“I broke into your apartment because the last time I saw you, you pointed a gun at me. I had to make sure you weren’t going to shoot me.”
He relaxes a little bit more. “But why were you breaking into my office?”
“I broke into your office because I was sent to steal something.”
His jaw tightens. “So you admit you were going to steal from me? How can I trust that you want to keep me safe?” With no warning at all, he twists underneath me and pushes up from the ground, bucking me onto the floor. Damn it.
I scramble after him as he runs for his bedroom. I’m fast, but he has a head start. As I reach him he is digging around in his nightstand. I jump on him, putting him in a chokehold and locking his arms at his sides with my legs. He manages to stay on his feet, straightening up and pivoting back into a wall, crushing me.
I don’t let go. Instead, I tighten my hold around his neck. He leans forward, and then throws himself back against the wall again.
All the air is forced from my lungs. I cough, but hold on. He’s losing steam. He moves forward again for one more rush at the wall, but he staggers. I’ve cut off the flow of oxygen to his head, and he’s near passing out. He readies himself to slam into the wall again, and I release his arms from my legs so that I can save myself the final blow. We fall back, and I catch him and lower him to the ground. He’s not fully out, but can no longer stand.
“But I invited you into my home,” he says. His voice is weak. I realize I’ve hurt him, and not just physically. “Lori, we had a connection. You wanted to make love. If you’d had a condom, we would have had sex that night. Is that what you do for your employer? Have sex with strangers and steal their secrets?”
How do I tell him that he’s wrong? He’s taken the facts, boiled them all down, and come to a conclusion that is absolutely wrong. My employer teaches me to read people, give them what they think they want so that they give me what I really want. If, during the course of events, I have great sex with a man as gorgeous as him, I see nothing wrong with that.
“I told you, it’s complicated,” I say. A soft rustling noise in the other room makes me freeze and cover his mouth with my hand. The only sound in the apartment comes from a ticking clock and quietly humming refrigerator.
“Mmmf,” he says, I take my hand off his mouth to let him finish. “A moi!” he shouts, the French cry for help. I cover his mouth again.
“Geoffrey, you need to stay quiet. I told you, I’m here to protect you. If you call attention to us, I will need to knock you out. Do you think you can keep quiet?”
He shakes his head. At least he’s honest.
The floorboard behind me creaks and I react a second too late. A whoosh is followed by what feels like a bee sting in my ass. Geoffrey takes advantage of my distraction and twists up from the floor, pulling my gun from its holster and firing.
My head clouds, the world blurs…and then goes dark.
Chapter Ten
“Lori. Please. Wake up. Please. I need your help. S’il tu plait.” Someone is cradling me in their lap as they gently slap my face.
“No,” I mumble. “Just let me sleep five more minutes.”
“Shit,” a sexy male French voice says. I force my eyes open and look into Geoffrey’s face.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Lori? Oh, thank God you’re okay.” He kisses my forehead.
It’s still dark outside, and the air is chilly. I shiver and he wraps his other arm around me, pulling me close.
“Geoffrey? Where did they take us? Are you hurt?”
“No. I’m fine. They didn’t take us anywhere. I did,” he says.
As the rest of my senses come into focus, I can feel the cold, hard ground beneath us. We sit below the street on the walkway that goes along the river. He’s managed to find a place in the shadows underneath a bridge. The city is quieter now. The streetlights illuminate the closed shops. The Eiffel Tower shines dull and lifeless in the distance.
“We’re just down the street from my building. I’m sorry, it’s as far as I could run.”
I think back to the moments before I blacked out. I remember seeing a flash of the person who shot me with something. I rub my butt cheek, recalling the sting. It was the woman, the other agent. She had been sent to get me, or Geoffrey, but she’d used a dart gun, doping me rather than killing me. Why?
“What happened to her?” I ask.
“I shot her. I…I don’t know. Do you think I killed her?” Geoffrey’s voice trembles. His dark hair is disheveled and his eyes are bloodshot. He clings to me, shaking.
He’s not trained for this sort of thing. I’ve never shot anyone before, but at least I know one day I probably will. I know it’s coming, and I’m fully prepared for it. Geoffrey may own a gun, but he never intended to use it. I slide my hand up his neck to his face, cupping it. “You did what you had to do,” I say.
He nods, trying to convince himself I’m right. I push myself up, attempting to stand, but whatever drug that woman shot me with is still in my system. My head spins and I have to sit back down. I just need another minute to get the world to stop spinning, and then I can figure out what our next move is. We can’t hide under this bridge forever.
We need t
o get to a safe place. Unfortunately, the only safe houses I know of in Paris are connected to Sims and his bogus mission. I need to call Lincoln. He’ll be able to find us a hideout. But as soon as I turn on my phone, Sims will track my location, and if Lincoln doesn’t have a safe house ready for me, or worse, if Lincoln doesn’t answer his phone at all, I’ll need to find a place to wait.
“Do you have a car, Geoffrey?” I ask.
He nods. “It’s in the garage at Intelex.”
Crap. “They’ll be watching for us there.”
“I have a motorcycle. But I keep it in my friend’s garage way out in the suburbs.”
“Perfect,” I say, as I pull my phone out of my bag. “Can you help me up? We need to get a taxi.”
I wait until we are safe in the cab before turning on my phone. It rings only once before Lincoln answers. “Jessica.”
“I have Geoffrey, but they’re already after him. We need a safe house, do you have one?”
“Dammit. This all happened too fast. I’m working on it, but I don’t have one yet. I need time.”
“We don’t really have time. The longer I have my phone on the easier we are to track. Please.”
“The only thing we know for sure is that he isn’t working alone, which means I don’t know who I can trust right now. I’ll see what I can pull together. Call me back at o-four-hundred.”
“Done.” I hang up the phone and check the time: two in the morning. When had it gotten so late?
Chapter Eleven
Geoffrey’s friends live in Neuilly-sur-Seine, one of the wealthiest suburbs of Paris. The houses along their street are obscenely huge, and the lawns are sprawling by Paris standards. The street is quiet and their house is dark, but all the houses are, being that it’s two-thirty in the morning.
Agent of Desire (Jessica Booker) Page 4
