Athena Force 7-12

by Carla Cassidy, Evelyn Vaughn, Harper Allen, Ruth Wind, Cindy Dees

  “Tell us about the Athena Academy.”

  “Hey, Tanner, is it serious?”

  “Is there a connection between tonight’s actions and the unrest in Berzhaan?”

  At this last question, Kim stopped dead on the sidewalk. “Uh, yeah.” She tapped her forehead in frustration. “You might have picked that up since they told us that at the television station!”

  “Don’t worry about them,” Lex said, his good hand at the small of her back.

  She ducked into the back seat of an unmarked sedan that screamed GOVERNMENT CAR in every detail: the navy blue color, the crisp new smell inside, a blandness so overt as to be suspicious.

  It was warm and dry. That was what mattered.

  The young marine driving turned around to make sure they were settled. “Anything I can get you two before we head out?”

  “Can I get my bag from the hotel?”

  “We already took care of that for you, ma’am. It might not get to Mr. Tanner’s place till morning, but you’ll have your things.”

  “I really wanted my toothbrush.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lex said, “I’ve got spares.”

  Dryly, she said, “Of course you do.”

  As the car pulled away from the hospital and the crowd of reporters, both Lex and Kim fell back against the seat, heads back. Kim closed her eyes. “Even my eyelashes hurt,” she said.

  “I bet.” He touched her hand, and it wasn’t threatening. It was…nice. She didn’t move hers away. “I bet you’re starving, too, aren’t you?”

  “The doctor gave me a banana.” She paused, dug up the rest of the words from some deep well. “Chocolate bar, too.”

  “Gosh, all of that?” His thumb moved on her inner palm, slow and comforting.

  His hand was large and competent, not clammy. Kim let her index finger explore the hair on his wrist. “Yeah, it wasn’t really enough,” she admitted. “I could eat a cow.”

  “I probably have some steaks in the freezer. Wouldn’t take long to thaw them out.”

  Kim groaned. “Oh, God, Luthor! Who could cook at a time like this? We’re both exhausted. Fast food will do. There’s a McD’s right there, have the guy stop.”

  “Fast food, Valenti?” He gave her a mocking shake of the head. “Forget it. I don’t put that stuff in my body.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What, you eat organically or something?”

  He nodded. “Since 2000.”

  “Does that mean you chant and do yoga and wear hemp underwear?”

  His chuckle was ragged. Loose and sexy. His thumb moved over her palm. “You want to see my underwear?”

  “Not today.” Her stomach growled. “Okay, Mr. Perfect World, make the man stop for me so I can get a chemical burger for my poor belly.”

  “We’re almost at my apartment. Trust me—I have much better food there.” His fingers looped through hers. “Fast food is one of my geeky issues, all right? We’re all allowed.”

  Kim turned her head to look at him in disbelief. Yep. Same guy. Same chiseled profile. Strong jaw. Gorgeous cheekbones. He had a bullet wound in his hand and had saved the airport from a terrorist bomb. “Fast food,” she echoed. “You don’t eat fast food.”

  He took a breath, turned his head to look back at her. Both of them sprawled with their heads against the seat, and when he looked at her, his face really was very close. Light flashed over the bridge of his nose, flickered over his irises, shadowed now with the minklike eyelashes. “My mother is an activist. She pounded it into my head.”

  “Ah. Your mother did it.” She rolled her eyes. “That makes it all better.”

  “Watch it, Valenti.”

  “Or what?” Her nostrils quivered with suppressed laughter. “You’ll slap me?”

  His mouth was only inches from her own. She felt his breath brush her lips when he said, “I’ll kiss you again.”

  “I kissed you, remember?”

  He didn’t move anything except his index finger, which swirled around and around the heart of her palm. A light swirling movement that might have been annoying if it hadn’t been so arousing. “So you did,” he agreed.

  She turned her head away.

  The apartment was in a prewar-era building, six brick stories. Kim was dismayed, but let go of a sigh of relief when she saw the elevators.

  “What’s that about?” Lex asked.

  “My ankle is honestly killing me. I didn’t want to climb any stairs.”

  It was a beautiful building, garnished with art deco touches throughout—fan-shaped light covers in the hallways, ornate giltwork on the elevator sculpted into women and serpents. “Pretty tony stuff for an FBI agent,” she said, following him into the box. The doors slid shut.

  “It belonged to my grandmother,” Lex said. “She knew I loved the place.”

  “Nice.” She was trying to keep her weary brain out of the gutter, trying not to like everything about him so damned much. His hands, lean and long, looked capable and strong. Prickles of gold and reddish hair bristled on his chin, and she thought she’d like to watch him shave. It was even more intriguing that some of the details of his life didn’t sync with the profile of a rough-and-ready bomb expert.

  Like the apartment itself. It smelled cool and, faintly, of the curry he’d said he loved. In her experience, men were at best minimalists when it came to decorating. It was lucky when there weren’t dirty socks piled up in armchairs and six years of bacterial growth in the toilets.

  This was not minimalist at all. There were overstuffed armchairs with textured upholstery rivets in swirls around the arms, and big ottomans, and a couch that looked as if it could comfortably seat twelve, piled high with pillows in green and gold. It had obviously been furnished by a woman, but there were manly touches, too, things Lex must have added—large vintage travel photos of cars, boats, planes. A newspaper framed with headlines about D-day. “God, that’s a beauty,” she said, leaning forward to look at it.

  “Yeah, I found it at a Goodwill. Ain’t that something? C’mon in the kitchen, sweetheart. I’ll get you a beer.”

  “Oh, yeah. I would sell my soul for a beer,” she breathed.

  “Not necessary. I’ll just give you one.” He tossed his keys on the counter of the kitchen, flicked on the overhead light. “Dark okay?”

  “I don’t care.”

  He pulled out a couple of brown bottles and opened them with a church key. Kim looked around. The floors were made of very tiny tiles, a little old and discolored in places, but mostly very well kept. “This is fantastic.”

  “Thanks.” He lifted his bottle with his left hand and took a long, serious swallow. Kim remembered he’d had a hell of a day, too. It showed in the hollows beneath his eyes. “She did a lot of work before she died, but I’ve done a lot, too. Some of the stuff is remodeled back to the original styles, but some of it is the real thing. Notice the bathroom, will you? I’m too beat to give you the grand tour tonight.”

  “I’m too tired to appreciate it.”

  He stood up. “Food, though. We need food.”

  “Lex, really, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to let you go to bed without supper.” He stuck his head in the fridge. “Ah, here we go.” He slapped a container of cracked olives and a brick of cheese on the counter. “This’ll tide us over while I make an omelet. Faster than steak. How does that sound?”

  “You can’t cook with that hand.”

  “Honey, if you weren’t here, I’d do it. You may as well let me give you some of it, too. Open the olives. I can’t do that part. And you’re going to have to slice the cheese.”

  She whisked the lid off the plastic container. The smell of honest-to-goodness Italian olives made her groan. She put one in her mouth and closed her eyes at the burst of flavor. “Oh, the real thing.”

  “Yeah, you’re an Italian girl, aren’t you?” He grinned. “My Nana, she’s the one who had this apartment, she was Sicilian. It’s her buddy’s grand
daughter who runs the deli around the corner.”

  “That’s where you got that nose.”

  “The deli?” He shoved the cheese, a knife and a plastic cutting board toward her.

  “Ha. The grandmother.” She picked up the knife. “Thin?”

  A nod. He took out other things: a carton of organic eggs, goat cheese, tomatoes with green vine still attached. “It’s weird that you eat organically, Mr. Luthor. It’s just so not in keeping with your tough-guy image.”

  He quirked a dark brow. “Do you know what they do to chickens?”

  She grinned. “I’m not sure whether I should answer yes or no. If I say yes, and I know but still use regular eggs, I’m a bit of a slime, huh?”

  “Nah.” He put a blue bowl down on the tiny tiles of the counter. “But I’d recommend never mentioning it in front of my mother.”

  “Oh, shit!” She slapped her forehead. “I need to call my mother.”

  “It’s two in the morning!”

  “Three on the East Coast. But if she saw me on television jumping a terrorist, she won’t sleep until she hears from me.” She pulled out her cell phone and punched in the speed dial #1, and put the phone to her ear.

  “Aw, that’s cute, Valenti. Momma’s #1.”

  She flipped him off and ducked her head away as her mother said in her ear, “Kim?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Totally fine.”

  “What were you thinking? You don’t have to be a cowboy! You could have been killed.”

  Kim ran a thumbnail along the seam of her jeans and let her mother say all the things she needed to say, all the stuff that she needed to get out because the worry had made her crazy. When she paused, Kim said, “Are you done?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” She took a breath. “Who’s the good lookin’ man you were at the hospital with?”

  “How’d you know about that?”

  “It was on television. Not ten minutes ago. CNN.”

  “We were on CNN?” Kim scowled, pointed over Lex’s shoulder to the television sitting on a counter in the corner. “There was video at the hospital?”

  “I just said that!” A murmur in the background. “Your father says he looks Italian.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s part Sicilian, but don’t get your hopes up. These Chicago Sicilians are all connected to the mob, I hear. He’ll probably cut off my feet or something.” She looked at Lex and pressed her finger to her lips.

  He mimed zipping his mouth shut and turned on the television.

  “Mom,” Kim said, “Kiss Dad for me. I’ve been up for way, way too long.”

  “Call when you get home, baby.”

  “Will do.” She flipped the phone closed and set it on the counter. “How much cheese?”

  “A couple of ounces. A little extra to nibble.”

  Kim followed orders, and when he got to the eggs, she held out her hand. “You want me to do it?”

  He grinned. “Nope.” With a flourish, he took an egg from the carton and cracked it smartly against the edge of a red ceramic bowl, then deftly opened it with one hand.

  “Nice.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a slither of black fur slide around the corner. “Hey! A cat!”

  “That’s Velvet.”

  “Very original.”

  “He came with the apartment.”

  “Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” Kim called softly, holding out her hand. The cat was enormous, all black with yellow eyes, and his body was covered with thick shiny fur. He settled in the doorway and looked at her. “He’s a very Egyptian cat, isn’t he?”

  Lex glanced at the cat. “Huh. So he is. I never thought about it, but you’re right—he should be guarding a pyramid.”

  “Will he mind if I pet him?”

  “No,” Lex said. “He just likes you to chase him around some.”

  “Ah. How very like a man.” She made quiet, coaxing noises, little girl noises, and approached the cat. He arched his back, trotted away, came back, rubbed her leg. “Hey, guy.” He started to purr.

  “Don’t get any ideas, now,” Lex said, stirring eggs vigorously with a fork. “He sleeps with me. Non-negotiable.”

  Kim laughed. “I had you pegged all wrong. I figured you to be a big-dog, bloody-steak kind of guy.”

  “Pretty cliché,” he said, and added with a wink, “Baby.” He jerked his head toward the stove. “I need your help for a sec.”

  Kim let the cat go and moved to the stove. “What?”

  Their bodies were very close. His aggressive, beautiful nose and lush mouth were right in front of her. His right hand was still clasped in the sling close to his chest, but his other hand came up around her neck. “I just wanted to kiss you again,” he said.

  “Easy,” Kim said.

  “Right.”

  The first time, Kim had been buzzing from adrenaline. This time she decided the buzz was from exhaustion. She got lost for a minute, tasting the plumpness of that lower lip, the suggestion of tongue just behind it. She drifted into it, their heads moving, their bodies still.

  He lifted his head. “Nice.”

  “We really shouldn’t be messing around like this. We’re too tired. The situation is too charged.”

  He raised his eyebrows, nodded. “You’re right,” he said, sounding as if he meant the opposite. “Now, would you put that skillet on the stove for me, darlin’?”

  “Skillet?” she repeated. “You mean the frying pan?”

  “Don’t get smart with me.”

  She moved the pan and stepped back, watching as he poured the eggs into the pan and swirled them around. His elbow and forearm were stringed with muscle, and she liked his competence in the kitchen. She liked him.

  Brilliant, Valenti, said a voice in her head. An FBI bomb expert. Great life expectancy there. She’d be far better off with Scott, fellow cryptologist, or even Marc. Models didn’t ordinarily get blown up in the line of duty.

  How had she gone so far over her head with this guy without even noticing? She didn’t let herself get tangled in men. She steered clear of anyone who might snare her.

  And look at her. Mooning over this man.

  An FBI bomb expert who was part Italian.

  Who kissed exactly the way she’d always imagined Brad Pitt might, that lower lip so lusciously plump.

  An FBI bomb expert with the life expectancy of a street cat, who was part Italian, who kissed like a gigolo, with eyes like neon sapphires, who cooked.

  “I had a cat at Athena Academy,” she said to distract herself.

  “Yeah?”

  She stuck her hands in her back pockets. “His name was Hop-A-Long because he lost a leg to a coyote when he was a kitten. Arthur, my mentor, saved him by banging the coyote on the head.”

  “Did the coyote die?”

  “No. He dropped the kitten and ran away.”

  With a circular gesture, he sprinkled goat cheese over the surface of the firming eggs. “Cat’s name should have been Lucky.”

  “He was a lifesaver for me.” She stepped forward with the spatula from the counter and handed it to him. “I was pretty lonely when I first went there.”

  Gracefully, Lex flipped thin egg over the filling. “Hold that thought a minute. This is ready.”

  “Want me to lift the pan?”

  “Please. This is tricky.”

  Together, they managed to get the omelet on the plates, and settled in to eat. Lex poured big glasses of milk. “Dig in, honey,” he said.

  When he sat down, she saw that he had massive circles under his eyes. “Thank you, Lex,” she said. “It was very nice of you to cook. Did they give you drugs at the hospital, too?”

  He nodded, displayed a bottle. “Will you open it? Childproof.”

  She did, and took out her own envelope. They popped their pills.

  “So you were lonely at school?” he prompted.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot.” She took a bite of omelet and it was very good. “Mmm. Very nice.”

  “Thanks. The cat. Being lonely.”
>
  Kim looked at him. Unusual that a man really did want to know something about a woman, rather than just wanting to tell all about himself. “Well, I have a big, close family—not just brothers and sisters, but cousins, aunts, uncles, everybody in the neighborhood, who know me, and my whole family—my whole history.”

  He smiled and nodded appreciatively.

  “And then I landed in this exclusive boarding school, and I was really happy to be there, but I was pretty young for my age, and they all seemed so glamorous and together and tough.” She made a soft noise. “I was very, very lonely, and Hop-A-Long helped.”

  “D’you have a pet now?”

  “It wouldn’t be fair—I’m not at home enough.” Her hunger took over and she fell into eating the perfectly cooked omelet. In companionable, exhausted silence, they ate.

  Dangerous, Kim thought. His kitchen, with the art deco designs in the tiles. His scent of cloves and man, which was surely the perfume of a devil or a demon. “My grandma,” she said, spearing a piece of egg on her fork, “would say Sicilians are all dogs who eat out of their pans.”

  He chuckled. “Would she?”

  “I gather this is some evil mark of culture, but I never quite got it. Why Italians would hate other Italians.”

  He drank his milk, nodded.

  “And anyway,” Kim said, “it’s no secret that Nana fell in love with Johnny Bacino when she was sixteen. He was practically right off the boat from Sicily and he broke her heart.” She lifted a shoulder. “So, forever after, Sicilians were dogs.”

  “Tough woman.”

  “She’s that.”

  “Mom’s mom or dad’s mom?”

  “My dad’s.” She took another bite of omelet. “This is the best omelet I’ve ever eaten, Lex.”

  “Way better than McD’s, huh?”

  She nodded. “My mom isn’t Italian. She’s Irish. My dad met her in Vietnam, brought her home.”

  “A nurse, right?”

  For a second, Kim hesitated. It seemed she was talking an awful lot. It wasn’t really like her. But what did it hurt? It wasn’t as if she was telling state secrets. “Yeah, a nurse. She works oncology now.”

  “Vietnam to cancer. She’ll get her wings in heaven, all right.”

  “My father wanted her to stay home, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She caused wars in Baltimore’s Little Italy, I can tell you. So independent and fierce, she made everybody mad.”