“So what’s the problem then? Why aren’t you negotiating terms yet?”
He debated telling her that he didn’t believe her, but he’d rather wait and see what she’d do to try and convince him.
The bottom line was that she’d compromised him. The instant Henri discovered MI6 had Joshua on their radar, he would become a liability. Henri would send a hit man to eliminate the problem, the way he’d eliminated Allard.
Which meant Joshua was on a time limit to figure out what to do about Lindy and her alleged deal.
Henri was expecting delivery of the White Star immediately, which didn’t leave Joshua much room to maneuver. But he couldn’t hand over the amulet with Lindy on his tail, and given this turn of events, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
Rubbing his temples to soothe the ache starting there, he stared at a car that sped past, tires chewing up the street and echoing off the buildings. There had to be some way to work this situation to his benefit. But he couldn’t figure out how until he knew what he wanted the outcome to be.
Lindy’s investigation meant someone would be served up to MI6. Did he want to risk his life and freedom to protect Henri’s interests? Of all the questions he’d been faced with tonight, he actually had an answer for this one.
No.
While Joshua had learned much under Henri’s tutelage, they were business associates. Friendly ones, true, but Joshua felt no loyalty to Henri, expected none in return.
Fortunately, problem-solving and cleaning up messy situations happened to be Joshua’s specialty.
This situation was a mess. The timing was bad, and he was more vulnerable than Henri at the moment. But there would be a way to turn things around to his advantage.
Joshua just had to find it.
LINDY COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time she’d hung on to a man’s every word—had she ever hung on to a man’s every word?
She didn’t think so, but she was hanging now.
Perhaps it was being in such close proximity to an extremely attractive man. Every time one of them moved, they touched—their shoulders, their hips, their thighs. Slight touches with electrifying effects. She found it hard to stay focused.
Perhaps she was challenged because she had no idea what question would pop out of Joshua’s mouth next, or how she would reply. She’d come to New York City to conduct surveillance and figure out how to get close to this man, but she hadn’t expected chemistry. She was flying by the seat of her pants, as the Americans would say.
Or maybe she could credit her unprofessional reaction to the fact that so much hinged on gaining Joshua’s cooperation. Her entire career had gotten tangled up with getting close enough to Renouf to bring him in.
But whatever the reason for her hyperawareness of this man, Lindy found the experience invigorating.
Challenges always invigorated her.
“What’s it going to take to convince you to cooperate?” she asked. “Another show of faith? Or do you want more proof—shall I ring one of my superiors so you can chat?”
She could just imagine what Malcolm Trent, her direct superior, would have to say to this fellow.
“I don’t want to talk with your superiors.”
With his chin braced on clasped hands, Joshua inclined his head enough to face her. A fluorescent bulb behind pitted plastic cast his features in a glow that did nothing to diminish his startling good looks. His gaze captured hers, and that hum she’d felt since their kiss, an awareness that had ebbed and flowed on her internal tide, surged yet again.
“Joshua, I understand I’ve placed you in an awkward position—”
“Only if I’m the man you’re looking for.”
Inclining her head, she conceded the point even though she knew MI6 only had an infinitesimal percentage of this man’s career on paper. No one got to be as accomplished in the field as Joshua Benedict without years of experience.
She knew that firsthand.
“Talk to me. What’s it going to take to get you to deal?”
“I still need…convincing.”
Convincing. Well, she hadn’t expected this man to roll over, had she? To tell the truth, she’d have been disappointed if he’d proven an easy mark. But she hadn’t expected him to look quite so yummy when he was wheedling, either.
“Convincing, hmm?” She willed her thoughts to behave. “About my integrity? About my agency’s intentions?”
“That my future’s in good hands.”
There were several places Lindy could take that statement, but with his deep voice resounding in the late-night quiet and his gaze steady, the only place she wanted to take it would place their attraction square on the table.
Lindy had always been a risk taker, so she sidled around and leaned toward him until they were face to face, so close she could make out the stubble on his cheeks, a shadow that contrasted with his hair.
The move threw sex between them as surely as if she’d flashed a neon sign. And the arrogant man only held her gaze, searching for something. The truth, perhaps, because he didn’t strike her as needing reassurances.
“I told you what we’re offering. Don’t you believe me?” The least she could do was shoot for earnest here, or as earnest as she could for someone who was lying through her teeth.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you…of course, I’m not saying I do believe you.”
“Of course.”
A smile appeared, twitching as if he was trying to hold it back. A good sign. He had such an attractive mouth, one that made it difficult not to remember his kiss.
She suspected his thoughts must be traveling a similar path because he closed the distance between them. Suddenly she could catch the scent of his aftershave on the night air—that hint of spicy fragrance and masculine ambrosia.
“To accept your deal, I’d have to trust your abilities, Lindy. And your agency’s.” His voice was low and sexy, drawing attention to their proximity.
“We’ve been watching you for six months, and I followed you to New York. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“It’s the reason I’m sitting here.”
Absurdly, she wanted him to admit he was sitting here because he was as tempted by her as she was by him. It was a ridiculous thought that had no place in her head while she was working. Yet with his confident statement ringing in her ears and the brush of his warm breath on her lips, her reactions were physical, distracting, real.
“You’ll have plenty of chances to take my measure, Joshua. I plan to stick to you like glue.”
“You can try.”
There was emphasis on try again, but she deemed it time to move past try. His mouth hovered against hers, a prelude to a kiss.
She was through trying to tempt him.
He seemed to be waiting, taking her measure, perhaps, or seeing what she’d do next. Sliding her hands into his lapels, she dragged him into their kiss, rewarded when his breath caught audibly.
It was odd at first. She’d kissed all sorts of men before, but lovers, never strangers, and never one of the bad guys.
But now she kissed him.
Lindy had always found control a liberating thing, and that feeling apparently ran to kissing bad guys, too. Slanting her mouth across his, she coaxed his lips wide with her tongue, savored the erotic taste of moist warm breath, felt challenged to make him respond.
He’d kissed her in the museum hallway as cover, but she kissed him now because she couldn’t resist. All this awareness happening between them was simply too delicious to ignore, too intense. She liked that she had this unexpected attraction to add weight to her cause. Almost as much as she liked kissing Joshua Benedict.
Almost as much as she liked him kissing her back.
Remembering the cathedral, Lindy wondered if she shouldn’t light her own candle.
Attraction this strong could only mean trouble.
And he proved the notion by raising a hand to touch her. She wanted him to go for the kill, to reach for her breasts, wh
ich were within easy range. Could he tell her nipples had gone all peaky or did her dress hide the evidence?
He dragged his fingers up her throat, a touch that felt more intimate than a bolder touch might have. Especially when he arched her neck so he could deepen their kiss.
Thrusting his tongue inside her mouth for a warm stroke, he took the lead with an assurance that rolled her insides as if they were as gooey as that first melting bite of a fresh-from-the-oven brownie.
She sank against him, caught up in the feel of his hands on her, the power of their clashing breaths and tangling tongues. Who knew they’d be so hot together? The thought had certainly never occurred to her, not even when she’d been caught staring at him.
But all questions about reactions vanished beneath the thrill of the moment, the fire of their kiss. Lindy sensed the instant he was about to lose his control, felt the gathering of his muscles before his arms came around her with whipcord strength. Suddenly, she came up hard against him, feeling the difference between close and closer.
He surrounded her with his broad chest and strong arms. Her breasts crushed against his chest so she could feel the steady thumping of his heart. Sliding her arms around him, she hung on, unable to resist the warm, solid feel of him, the way his body seemed to tuck around her in all the right places.
It was a moment that chased away all thoughts, all distractions. Indeed, how could work claim even a shred of her reason when excitement pulsed through her like a tide, when that soft place between her thighs grew warm?
Lindy arched against him and was rewarded when Joshua ground out a sound from low in his throat, a sound that assured her he was as caught up as she.
The night fell away, the city along with it, and not until a bus screeched to a halt directly in front of them did Lindy become aware of anything but the way her body sparked to life in contact with this man’s.
The bus doors hissed open with a whoosh, and Joshua and Lindy broke apart. She blinked stupidly as he disentangled himself and stood. He stared down at her, his dark gaze a caress, then he flashed a grin that was all satisfied male.
“I want to see what you’re made of, Lindy Gardner. If you can keep up with me, I might actually consider your deal.”
With that he turned and hopped onto the bus, leaving her staring at that cute bum as he strode up the stairs.
The doors shut with a whoosh. Joshua paid the fare and headed down the aisle as the bus lurched into motion again. Lindy watched it roll down the street in a gleam of red taillights, and she laughed, a sound that resounded through the late-night street.
“I’VE MADE CONTACT with our target,” Lindy said when the familiar image of her boss appeared on the high-definition notebook display.
Malcolm gave a curt nod, a gesture she knew translated into approval. “Care to share the details?”
“Not just yet.”
“Brief me.”
“We’re playing cat and mouse.”
“Care to define that? Just enough to assure me you’re the cat.”
“Meow.”
As her direct superior, Malcolm Trent ran Lindy’s life, and had since she’d completed her SIS training nearly a decade ago. On approach to his fiftieth birthday, he was a stoic man with black hair, who somehow managed to look younger than his age.
How he’d avoided graying while maneuvering the often-treacherous shoals between the Joint Intelligence Committee, the Ministry of Defence, the Government Communications Headquarters and outside agencies like Interpol was a mystery of incredible genetics as far as Lindy was concerned. Then again, Malcolm was good at his job with a knack for diplomacy. That knack had shot him up the ranks of SIS with impressive speed.
They shared a solid relationship, not always pleasant, but based on mutual respect, with a bit of indulgence on Malcolm’s part, as he’d been responsible for recruiting her from the police force in her hometown.
Lindy shamelessly admitted to taking advantage of that indulgence sometimes. Like now when she didn’t admit to hedging her bets with Joshua Benedict. The boundaries could be liquid in her line of work—one of the reasons she liked her job. Malcolm set the parameters. She did what she felt necessary to accomplish her mission objective.
Bottom line: Malcolm wanted Renouf.
“He acquired the White Star,” she said.
“You got a confirm on that?”
She shook her head. “But I’d bet my Man U tickets. Everything adds up. The thief whom we believe stole the White Star from the auction house rented a security box in a local bank. He winds up a floater in the East River and the bank’s security guard is arrested for drunken and disorderly conduct, where the NYPD find an amulet in his possession. Suddenly our target shows up and the amulet disappears from the precinct property room. What would you surmise?”
“Sounds like you’ve been tailing him closely.”
“Closely, but not too closely. Didn’t want to scare him off. You said it yourself—he’s our only lead to the target.”
“Think he’ll take the bait?”
“I’m letting him put me through my paces. He wants to see what I’m made of.”
“Sure that’s the best way to handle him?”
Here was a place she could have admitted Joshua had thrown her a curve, too, but Lindy didn’t want to be directly responsible for Malcolm’s first gray hair. “Trust me. I’m playing him exactly the way he needs to be played. Let me do my job, so you’re free to do yours. Speaking of, you look tired. MOD giving you grief?”
“Afghanistan.”
That was all he had to say. The Ministry of Defence relied upon the intel from SIS to protect and serve, and with the rumor of ties between the United Kingdom and a new, potentially well-funded terrorist cell harbored in Afghanistan, the MOD had been applying pressure to produce the information needed to assess the threat.
“Anything I can do?”
“Bring me enough to build a case against Renouf. That’ll make folks around here smile again. For a while at least.” He forced his own smile.
Lindy nodded. Malcolm was right—catching Henri Renouf would soothe frazzled tempers. When British relics disappeared, more than art enthusiasts noticed. People took the thefts personally. The recovery of any artifacts, or bringing the man who’d funded the thefts to justice, would throw good light on their agency at a time when the public needed reassurance.
With political events shifting and terrorism breeding in some of the most unexpected global cubbies, a climate of uncertainty existed everywhere. There would be media attention on bringing in a man who’d eluded international capture for as long as Renouf had. He was exactly the sort of example the intelligence community needed right now to reassure the public that justice did indeed prevail.
Which was precisely why ending Renouf’s reign had become Lindy’s personal crusade.
He was also her example, a way to force a move up SIS ranks. For ten years, she’d been confined to the field. A series of lateral moves with more responsibility and freedom had kept her from running her own ops. Lindy had a theory about why.
Her field expertise was a double-edged blade.
Malcolm and his cronies relied on using her extensive connections to hunt down the bad guys. They relied on her to train new agents to become effective team players.
They relied on her to make them look good.
Lindy was good. Too good. And she loved working in the field. But field work consumed her life. She had no time for relationships. No time to spend with the friends who’d hung in there with her unpredictable schedule all these years. So few knew she was an agent of the Crown—with the covert nature of her work it was safer that way.
But as the years passed, safe was proving a damn isolated existence. She couldn’t have a relationship with a man that involved more than a few dates. Hell, with the amount of time she spent away, she couldn’t even own a cat. She’d bought a corn plant, and frequently came home to find it looking droopy and sad from lack of attention.
Lindy believed her work worth the sacrifice, a reasonable trade-off for the life she led. But the work needed to keep being worth it. She wanted the challenge of running her own ops.
With the capture of Renouf, the spotlight would spin toward the agency and politicians who supported their funding, whose gazes would then swing to the woman who’d made the case.
Lindy didn’t want glory; she wanted leverage.
Henri Renouf was the best-case scenario to get it.
“Our target wants to play hide-and-seek,” she told Malcolm. “I expect he’s checking out of the Piazza as we speak. He’ll be on his way to parts unknown before the sun rises on this Yankee jungle. Trust me.”
“He wants you to chase him?”
She nodded.
Malcolm frowned. “This one’s awfully slippery, Lindy. You want me to assign you someone?”
She considered that. Malcolm was more right about Joshua than he knew. “No. As long as I have access to our resources, I’ll be fine. His game is all about earning respect. I’ve got to impress the man—on my own.”
“Can you?”
“Meow.”
Malcolm rolled his eyes, and the screen went blank.
Logging off their secure channel, she ran protocol to erase all traces of the transmission. She reached for her phone and keyed in a number from the open telephone book on the desk.
“Good morning,” a cheery voice said. “Piazza Hotel.”
“Joshua Benedict’s room, please.” She buried all traces of Britain beneath her most practiced American accent.
There was a hesitation on the other end, and Lindy glanced at her notebook display.
Two o’clock in the morning.
Definitely outside the realm of polite behavior. “He asked me to make sure he was up to catch his flight,” she explained. “But he’s not picking up his cell phone. I’m afraid he’s still asleep. Could you call him for me? He either won’t pick up, which means he’s on his way to the airport. Or he will pick up and be quite grateful.”
Lindy knew the switchboard operator wouldn’t ring a guest’s room at this wee hour, but with any luck she would check on the guest’s status.
Into Temptation Page 5
