by Diana Palmer
“Of course. But why wouldn’t you let one of your own people do it?”
His face was revealing. “The last hearty professional we sent to do that little task stumbled over his own feet and pitched headfirst into the table our target was occupying. In the process he overturned a carafe of scalding coffee, also on the target, who had to be taken to the hospital for treatment.”
“What if I do the same thing?” she worried.
He smiled gently. “You don’t have a clumsy bone in your body, Jodie. But even if you did, Cara knows you. She might suspect me, but she won’t suspect you.”
“When do I start?”
“I’ll let you know,” he promised. “In the meantime, keep your eyes and ears open, and don’t…”
Just as he spoke, there was a commotion outside the coffee shop. A young woman with long blond hair was trailing away a dark-haired little girl with a shocked face. Behind them, one of the men Jodie recognized from the drug bust—one of Alexander’s friends—was waving his arms and talking loudly in a language Jodie had never heard before, his expression furious.
The trio passed out of sight, but not before Jodie finally recognized the man Alexander had called Colby Lane.
“What in the world…?” she wondered.
“It’s a long story,” Alexander told her. “And I’m not at liberty to repeat it. Let’s just say that Colby has been rather suddenly introduced to a previously unknown member of his family.”
“Was he cursing—and in what language?” she persisted.
“You can’t curse in Apache,” he assured her. “It’s like Japanese—if you really want to tick somebody off in Japan, you say something about their mother’s belly button. But giving them the finger doesn’t have any meaning.”
“Really?” She was fascinated.
He chuckled. “Anyway, Native Americans—whose origins are also suspected to be Asian—don’t use curse words in their own language.”
“Mr. Lane looked very upset. And I thought I recognized that blond woman. She was transferred here from their Arizona office just a few weeks ago. She has a little girl, about the same age as Mr. Hunter’s daughter.”
“Let it lie,” Alexander advised. “We have problems of our own. I meant to mention that we’ve located one of Cara’s known associates serving as a waiter in a little coffeehouse off Alameda called ‘The Beat’…”
“I go there!” she exclaimed. “I go there a lot! You can get all sorts of fancy coffees and it’s like a retro ‘beatnik’ joint. They play bongos and wear all black and customers get up and read their poetry.” She flushed. “I actually did that myself, just last week.”
He was impressed. “You, getting up in front of people to read poetry? I didn’t know you still wrote poetry, Jodie.”
“It’s very personal stuff,” she said, uneasy.
He began to look arrogant. “About me?”
She glared at him. “At the time I wrote it, you were my least favorite person on the planet,” she informed him.
“Ouch!” He was thinking again. “But if they already know you there, it’s even less of a stretch if you show up when Cara does—assuming she even uses the café for her purposes. We’ll have to wait and see. I don’t expect her to arrange a rendezvous with a colleague just to suit me.”
“Nice of you,” she teased.
He chuckled. He reached across the table and linked her fingers with his. His green eyes probed hers for a long moment. “Those cuts are noticeable on your face,” he said quietly. “Do they hurt?”
“Not nearly as much as having you gunned down in front of me would have,” she replied.
His eyes began to glitter with feeling. His fingers contracted around hers. “Which is just how I felt when I saw those bullets slamming into the windshield of my car, with you at the wheel.”
Her breath caught. He’d never admitted so much in the past.
He laughed self-consciously and released her hand. “We’re getting morose. A miss is as good as a mile, and I still have paperwork to finish that I haven’t even started on.” He glanced at his watch. “I can’t promise anything, but we might see a movie this weekend.”
“That would be nice,” she said. “You’ll let me know…?”
He frowned. “I don’t like putting you in the line of fire a second time.”
“I go to the coffee shop all the time,” she reminded him. “I’m not risking anything.” Except my heart, again, she thought.
He sighed. “I suppose so. Just the same, don’t let down your guard. I hope you can tell if someone’s tailing you?”
“I get goose bumps on the back of my neck,” she assured him. “I’ll be careful. You do the same,” she added firmly.
He smiled gently. “I’ll do my best.”
Having settled down with a good book the following day after a sandwich and soup supper, it was a surprise to have Alexander phone her and ask her to go down to the coffee shop on the double.
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot with the equipment,” he said. “Get a cab and have it drop you off. I’ll reimburse you. Hurry, Jodie.”
“Okay. I’m on my way,” she promised, lounging in pajamas and a robe.
She dashed into the bedroom, threw on a long black velvet skirt, a black sweater, loafers, and ran a quick brush through her loosed hair before perching her little black beret on top of her head. She grabbed her coat and rushed out the door, barely pausing except to lock it. She was at the elevator before she remembered her purse, lying on the couch. She dashed back to get it, cursing her own lack of preparedness in an emergency.
Minutes later, she got out of the cab at the side door of The Beat coffeehouse.
Alexander waited by his company car while Jodie paid the cab. She joined him, careful to notice that she was unobserved.
He straightened at her approach. In the well-lit parking lot, she could see his eyes. They were troubled.
“I’m here,” she said, just for something to say. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’m not sure I want you to do anything,” he said honestly. “This is dangerous. Right now, she has no reason to suspect you. But if you bug her table for me, and she finds out that you did, your life could be in danger.”
“Hey, listen, you were the one who told me about the little boys being shot by her henchmen,” she reminded him. “I know the risk, Alexander. I’m willing to take it.”
“Your knees are knocking,” he murmured.
She laughed, a little unsteadily. “I guess they are. And my heart’s pounding. But I’m still willing to do it. Now what exactly do I do?”
He opened the passenger door for her. “Get in. I’ll brief you.”
“Is she here?” she asked when they were inside.
“Yes. She’s at the table nearest the kitchen door, at the left side of the stage. Here.” He handed her a fountain pen.
“No, thanks,” she said, waving it away. “I’ve got two in my purse…”
He opened her hand and placed the capped pen in it. She looked at it, surprised by its heaviness. “It’s a miniature receiver,” he told her. He produced a small black box with an antenna, and what looked like an earplug with a tiny wire sticking out the fat end. “The box is a receiver, linked to a tape recorder. The earplug is also a receiver, which we use when we’re in close quarters and don’t want to attract attention. Since the box has a range of several hundred feet, I’ll be able to hear what comes into the pen from my car.”
“Do you want me to accidentally leave the pen on her table?”
“I want you to accidentally drop it under her table,” he said. “If she sees it, the game’s up. We’re not the only people who deal in counterespionage.”
She sucked in her breath. She was getting the picture. Cara was no dummy. “Okay. I’ll lean over her table to say hello and make sure I put it where she won’t feel it with her foot. How will that do?”
“Yes. But you have to make sure she doesn’t see you do it.”
“I’ll be ve
ry careful.”
He was having second thoughts. She was brave, but courage wasn’t the only requirement for such an assignment. He remembered her driving through gunfire to save him. She could have died then. He’d thought about little else, and he hadn’t slept well. Jodie was like a silver thread that ran through his life. In recent weeks, he’d been considering, seriously, how hard it would be to go on without her. He wasn’t certain that he could.
“Why are you watching me like that?” she wanted to know, smiling curiously. “I’m not a dummy. I won’t let you down, honest.”
“It wasn’t that.” He closed her fingers around the pen. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“Very sure.”
“Okay.” He hesitated. “What are you going to give as an excuse for being there?”
She gave him a bright smile. “I phoned Johnny—the owner—earlier, just after you phoned me and told him I had a new poem, but I was a little nervous about getting up in front of a big crowd. He said there was only a small crowd and I’d do fine.”
“You improvise very well.”
“I’ve been observing you for years,” she teased. “But it’s true. I do have a poem to read, which should throw Cara off the track.”
He tugged her chin up and kissed her, hard. “You’re going to be fine.”
She smiled at him. “Which one of us are you supposed to be reassuring?”
“Both of us,” he said tenderly. He kissed her again. “Go to work.”
“What do I do when she leaves?”
“Get a cab back to your apartment. I’ll meet you there. If anything goes wrong,” he added firmly, “or if she acts suspicious, you stay in the coffeehouse and phone my cell number. Got that?” He handed her a card with his mobile phone number on it.
“I’ve got it.”
She opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night air. With a subdued wave, she turned, pulled her coat closer around her and walked purposefully toward the coffeehouse. What she didn’t tell Alexander was that her new poem was about him.
She didn’t look around noticeably as she made her way through the sparse crowd to the table where she usually sat on her evenings here. She held the pen carefully in her hand, behind a long fold of her coat. As she pulled out a chair at the table, her eyes swept the room and she spotted Cara at a table with another woman. She smiled and Cara frowned.
Uh-oh, she thought, but she pinned the smile firmly to her face and moved to Cara’s table.
“I thought it was you,” she said cheerily. “I didn’t know you ever came here! Brody never mentioned it to me.”
Cara gave her a very suspicious look. “This is not your normal evening entertainment, surely?”
“But I come here all the time,” Jodie replied honestly. “Johnny’s one of my fans.”
“Fans.” Cara turned the word over on her tongue as if she’d never heard it.
“Aficionados,” Jodie persisted. “I write poetry.”
“You?”
The other woman made it sound like an insult. The woman beside her, an even older woman with a face like plate steel, only looked.
Jodie felt a chill of fear and worked to hide it. Her palm sweated against the weight of the pen hidden in her hand. As she hesitated, Johnny came walking over in his apron.
“Hey, Jodie!” he greeted. “Now don’t worry, there’s only these two unfamiliar ladies in here, you know everybody else. You just get up there and give it your best. It’ll be great!”
“Johnny, you make me feel so much better,” she told the man.
“These ladies friends of yours?” he asked, noticing them—especially Cara—with interested dark eyes.
“Cara’s boyfriend is my boss at work,” Jodie said.
“Lucky boyfriend,” Johnny murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
Cara relaxed and smiled. “I am Cara Dominguez,” she introduced herself. “This is my amiga, Chiva.”
Johnny leaned over the table to shake hands and Jodie pretended to be overbalanced by him. In the process of righting herself and accepting his apology, she managed to let the pen drop under the table where it lay unnoticed several inches from either woman’s foot.
“Sorry, Jodie, meeting two such lovely ladies made me clumsy.” He chuckled.
She grinned at him. “No harm done. I’m not hurt.”
“Okay, then, you go get on that stage. Want your usual French Vanilla cappuccino?”
“You bet. Make it a large one, with a croissant, please.”
“It’ll be on the house,” he informed her. “That’s incentive for you.”
“Gee, thanks!” she exclaimed.
“My treat. Nice to meet you ladies.”
“It is for us the same,” Cara purred. She glanced at Jodie, much less suspicious now. “So you write poetry. I will enjoy listening to it.”
Jodie chuckled. “I’m not great, but people here are generally kind. Good to see you.”
Cara shrugged. The other woman said nothing.
Jodie pulled off her coat and went up onto the stage, trying to ignore her shaking knees. Meanwhile she prayed that Alexander could hear what the two women were saying. Because the minute she pulled the microphone closer, introduced herself, and pulled out the folded sheet of paper that contained her poem, Cara leaned toward the other woman and started speaking urgently.
Probably exchanging fashion tips, or some such thing, Jodie thought dismally, but she smiled at the crowd, unfolded the paper, and began to read.
Apparently her efforts weren’t too bad, because the small crowd paid attention to every line of the poem. And when she finished reading it, there was enthusiastic applause.
Cara and her friend, however, were much too intent on conversation to pay Jodie any attention. She went back to her seat, ate her croissant and drank her cappuccino with her back to the table where Cara and the other woman were sitting, just to make sure they knew she wasn’t watching them.
A few minutes later, Johnny came by her table and patted her on the back. “That was some good work, girl!” he exclaimed. “I’m sorry your friend didn’t seem to care enough to listen to it.”
“She’s not into poetry,” she confided.
“I guess not. She and that odd-looking friend of hers didn’t even finish their coffee.”
“They’re gone?” she asked without turning.
He nodded. “About five minutes ago, I guess. No great loss, if you ask me.”
“Thanks for the treat, Johnny, and for the encouragement,” she added.
“Um, I sure would like to have a copy of that poem.”
Her eyes widened. “You would? Honestly?”
He shrugged. “It was really good. I know this guy. He works for a small press. They publish poetry. I’d like to show it to him. If you don’t mind.”
“Mind!” She handed him the folded paper. “I don’t mind! Thanks, Johnny!”
“No problem. I’ll be in touch.” He turned, and then paused, digging into his apron pocket. “Say, is this yours? I’m afraid I may have stepped on it. It was under that table where your friend was sitting.”
“Yes, it’s mine,” she said, taking it from him. “Thanks a lot.”
He winced. “If I broke it, I’ll buy you a new one, okay?”
“It’s just a pen,” she said with determined carelessness. “No problem.”
“You wait, I’ll call you a cab.”
“That would be great!”
She settled back to wait, her head full of hopeful success, and not only for Alexander.
“Is it broken?” she asked Alexander when she was back at her apartment, and he was examining his listening device.
“I’ll have the lab guys check it out,” he told her.
“Could you hear anything?”
He grinned hugely. “Not only did I hear plenty, I taped it. We’ve got a lead we’d never have had without you. There’s just one bad thing.”
“Oh?”
“Cara
thinks your poetry stinks,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
“She can think what she likes, but Johnny’s showing it to a publisher friend of his. He thought it was wonderful.”
He searched her face. “So did I, Jodie.”
She felt a little nervous, but certainly he couldn’t have known that he was the subject of it, so she just thanked him offhandedly.
“Now I’m sure I’m cut out for espionage,” she murmured.
“You may be, but I don’t know if my nerves could take it.”
“You thought I’d mess up,” she guessed.
He shook his head, holding her hand firmly in his. “It wasn’t that. I don’t like having you at risk, Jodie. I don’t want you on the firing line ever again, even if you did save my skin last night.”
She searched his green eyes hungrily. “I wouldn’t want to live in a world that didn’t contain you, too,” she said. Then, backtracking out of embarrassment, she laughed and added, “I really couldn’t live without the aggravation.”
He laughed, as he was meant to. “Same here.” He checked his watch. “I don’t want to go,” he said unexpectedly, “but I’ve got to get back to my office and go through this tape. Tomorrow, I’ll be in conference with my drug unit. You pretend that nothing at all was amiss, except you saw Cara at your favorite evening haunt. Right?”
“Right,” she assured him.
“I’ll call you.”
“That’s what they all say,” she said dryly.
He paused at the door and looked at her. “Who?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who else is promising to call you?” he persisted.
“The president, for my advice on his foreign policy, of course,” she informed him.
He laughed warmly. “Incorrigible,” he said to himself, winked at her, and let himself out. “Lock it!” he called through it.
She snicked the lock audibly and heard him chuckle again. She leaned back against the door with a relieved sigh. It was over. She’d done what he asked her, and she hadn’t fouled it up. Most of all, he was pleased with her.
She was amazed at the smiles she got from him in recent weeks. He’d always been reserved, taciturn, with most other people. But he enjoyed her company and it showed.
