Claimed by the Secret Agent (12 page)

T
hey exited the motorway at Baupaume to tank up and buy a map. Grant located a sidewalk café still open where they ordered coffee and a late supper. Marie unfolded the map and studied it as they took a break. “It’s the middle of tourist season, and we don’t have reservations. Paris will be mobbed.”

“Not a problem. The teams keep a safe house just off of Rue Saint Jacques. I don’t know of any ongoing ops in Paris right now, but if anyone’s using it, they’ll have to share—Mercier’s orders.”

He leaned close to look at the map so that his face was only inches from hers. “It’s supposed to be on the left bank near the Sorbonne.” He tapped the map. “Here.”

“I hope it has two bedrooms.”

He didn’t reply to that at all. He just kept studying the map.

Marie wondered if she had hurt his feelings. So far he hadn’t done a thing to offend her. She had come on to him or he would never have had sex with her. And that certainly hadn’t been offensive in any way. It was herself she didn’t trust in the same bedroom with him, but she hadn’t made it sound that way.

“If you’re too tired, I’ll drive,” he said when they approached the car.

“Now you’re spoiling your grand gesture. Give me the keys.”

They rode in silence, Marie concentrating on the road, Grant napping in the passenger seat. Or was he pouting? She’d never seen a man pout before, so she wasn’t sure. It seemed out of character for a guy like him. He was usually right up front about everything, sometimes a little too frank.

Whatever he was doing, it lasted until they reached Paris. When she exited onto Rue de la Chappelle, he woke up. “That was quick.”

“No, it wasn’t!” She gritted her teeth as she dodged in and out of traffic, maneuvering a vehicle larger than most of the others on the streets.

The close calls made her glad she wasn’t driving her own car. It was smaller and a lot easier to handle, but she couldn’t imagine getting out of town without a few dents in whatever she was driving.

“I should have stayed on the autoroute around the city and exited from the south.”

“Why didn’t you?” Grant asked.

She gave a nervous little laugh as she navigated an unexpected roundabout. “Considering how little I saw of Amsterdam, I thought this might be my only chance to see the city sights. What a joke! I can’t take my eyes off the street for a second!”

“If you pass anything interesting, I’ll describe it to you.” Grant seemed perfectly composed, not the least bit nervous about her driving. He had to be faking that, Marie thought. She was a wreck already, and they still had three-fourths of the city to get through. “You conned me into driving, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a dry little laugh.

The map in her head was clear enough, but she made a number of wrong turns simply because she couldn’t find an opening in traffic to change lanes. Lanes were a joke here anyway. She cursed under her breath and banged the steering wheel when a taxi cut her off and zoomed past.

“Finally!” she huffed when she made it to Rue Saint Jacques.

“Go left,” Grant ordered, and quickly located the building and chose a spot to park the car. Marie followed directions and didn’t even think about protesting. She was too exhausted.

Grant got out, purposely didn’t open her door for her and grabbed their bags out of the back. He watched Marie as she joined him on the sidewalk. She had just about reached her limit of endurance. It wouldn’t do for him to mention that, however. Miss Independence would get her back up again. He suppressed the tug of sympathy he felt and led the way to the door of the apartment building.

An elderly woman hurried to greet them when he rang. She welcomed them in French, introduced herself as Madame Gautier and guided them to a door off the main hall.

“A moment, please. I have something for you.” She went inside and returned with a basket. “A small repast, compliments of Monsieur Mercier.” She glanced up the stairs, reached into the pocket of her apron and gave him a key. “Room 304. There is no lift.”

Grant thanked her and handed the basket to Marie. They doggedly climbed the couple of flights of stairs which were steep and rather close.

As soon as they entered the room, Marie collapsed on the chaise longue by the window, kicked off her shoes and announced, “I have to sleep.”

“How about a glass of wine?” Grant asked, noticing the neck of the bottle peeking out of the basket. Their little repast at the café had been on the light side, and he was starved. He silently thanked Mercier for providing something, anything. He would even eat escargot if that was what was in their care package.

Marie had already stretched out and closed her eyes. He shrugged, picked up the basket where she’d dropped it and fixed himself a bite of supper. Ham and cheese, a squishy pear, gooey pastry and a so-so Bordeaux composed his first Parisian meal.

He sat at the tiny little corner table and watched Marie sleep as he ate and sipped the wine. She lay on her side, one hand curled under her face. Her hair was mussed, her clothes wrinkled and her feet bare.

Band-Aids covered the small cuts on her soles. He
should check those tomorrow and make sure they were healing properly. If she would let him. Even her toes were cute. The nails were still shiny with pearly pink polish despite her ordeal.

How could anyone be more opposite than their outward appearance? She looked innocent, wide-eyed and dainty, a real lightweight in all respects. Incredibly cute in jeans and a ball cap. When dressed to the hilt, as she probably was at those embassy parties, he imagined she would qualify as glitzy, high-class arm candy any man would kill to escort. And yet, Grant now sensed a deep strength in Marie, a real core of steel, fearlessness and pure dedication. That was what attracted him most.

But she was beautiful, he thought with a smile. And sexy. Maybe she thought that was all he saw in her, but she was so wrong. Making love that soon after meeting had only reinforced her thinking that, and he knew he shouldn’t have done it. Refusing her had just been beyond him.

He wondered how she saw him, and the temptation to check that out was almost overpowering.
Cheating,
his conscience warned yet again. Not fair to her to have that edge when he tried to win her over.

Nope, he decided, he would do this the right way. She had told him honestly what she considered his worst fault, and he had taken that to heart.

He had already stopped babying her. God, that was so hard to do. She made him want to wrap her up and never let anything ugly touch her ever again. The need to protect was a little too firmly ingrained in his psyche, and he had to watch that or he’d lose her for sure.

She wanted respect for her brain power and her abilities. Grant didn’t imagine she had experienced much of that considering the way she looked and the pretense she’d had to employ to do her undercover work. It was high time someone showed confidence in her as an agent and as a woman. That was something unique he could offer her that she’d appreciate. Maybe she could even learn to love a man who saw the real her. That is, if he could convince her that he did.

With a last long look at her curled up so enticingly on that old fainting couch, he poured himself a second glass of wine, toasted her silently and went into the bedroom to sleep alone.

“Get up, slugabed. We have work to do,” Marie ordered, shaking Grant’s shoulder.

She had slept soundly, which continued to surprise her. Her old friend insomnia must have allowed Grant to take its place since he’d come into her life. Why was it that he gave her such a feeling of security, especially in view of their circumstances?

She ought to be on edge every minute considering that plus the unsettling attraction she felt for him. Didn’t make sense.

And she should have gotten fully dressed before waking him. When she woke up after several hours’ sleep, she had removed her wrinkled slacks and shirt and donned the knit shirt and shorts she usually slept in to finish out the night in comfort.

“What time is it?” he asked, sitting up in bed, immediately alert. He ran a hand through his hair and it
spiked. That and the trace of morning beard gave him a thoroughly disreputable appearance. Now why did that make her smile?

“Seven. Sun’s up.” She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with him as she had done before. He looked so deliciously rumpled, his muscles flexing as he stretched. Her gaze landed on his chest.
Oh, man.

She wished he didn’t excite her the way he did, the way no guy ever had. She had thought she was immune to this need she had only read about before she met him.

Maybe it was because he didn’t push it. All he had to do to make her want him was to
be.
She truly liked Grant, and she wanted him so fiercely she was probably attributing qualities to him that didn’t even exist. Yet he really was so radically different from the only men she had known well in her life, her stepfather and her ex-fiancé.

She realized she might have on those old rose-colored glasses she had sworn she would never wear. Looking at a lover through those could prove disastrous.

Not that she loved him, of course. It was pure sexual attraction. Couldn’t be more to it than that, could there? Surely not in this short a time.

His questioning smile interrupted her tumbling thoughts, almost making her dizzy.

“What?” she asked, feeling breathless.

“You might want to hop up and get out of here before I uncover.” He looked down at the sheet draped just below his naval. His bare naval. Then he looked pointedly at her breasts, which were peaking beneath the T-shirt minus bra. “Unless you’d like to stay,” he added, the smile widening.

“Oh.” He obviously slept nude. Marie jumped up and headed for the door. “I’ll…just go and…make coffee or something.”

She heard his chuckle as she closed the door behind her. Oddly enough, it didn’t upset her that he knew she wanted him. The fact that he hadn’t taken advantage of that gave her a warm feeling inside.

He could have had her without a word, and they both knew it, but he kept his promise to her. That smacked of respect, didn’t it?

Wasn’t respect what she wanted most from a man? Wasn’t that the most important thing? She sighed loud and long, shaking her head. Maybe it wasn’t what she wanted most right at this moment, but coffee would have to suffice for now.

“That coffee smells good,” Grant commented as he came out of the bedroom. He stretched and groaned. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Like a baby.” Marie poured him a cup, determined to ignore the fact that they were both half-dressed. At least he had put on his shorts and shirt. No, she would not focus on how those fit. Or look at his legs. She and Grant were just two agents, intent on their mission. That’s all they could be and she accepted that. Might as well be pleasant about it. Pleasant, but professional.

“Sorry I was so grumpy last night…and before, too.”

He took a chair at the table and sipped the hot brew. “Well, I guess you were due. I’ll bet you’ve been Miss Cheery Pollyanna for months on the job, haven’t you?”

She laughed, relieved that he wasn’t bringing up
her earlier reaction to him. “Right. And it is wearing, believe me. It’s good to drop it for a while. Thanks for understanding.”

“No problem. We all need a break from nice sometimes.”

She sat down with her own coffee and let herself enjoy a moment of camaraderie. Good. They were playing it casual, merely friendly. This could work. “You’re okay, Tyndal.”

“So are you, Beauclair,” he said, plucking a leftover sweet roll out of the basket he’d left there last night and offering it to her. “Any ideas how we should approach our subject?”

She bit into the roll and thought about it for a minute, then nodded. “I think I should call Bahktar when we get his number. Advise him that Shapur’s unavailable and that I have what he wants. I’ll persuade him to meet with me to hand it over. Then I’ll see if I can find out where they stashed Cynthia. If he knows.”

Marie licked her finger and waited for his response. His jaw tightened. His eyebrows rose as he broke eye contact and shifted in his chair. She’d bet he was about to explode with a protest and was ready for it.

But he said nothing. Instead, he got up, took his cell phone out of his pocket and made a call.

Marie listened as he spoke a few words to Mercier. Not a word about her, surprisingly. Mostly he just listened while Mercier did the talking. Grant clicked the phone shut, put it away and looked her dead in the eye. “Okay, we have Bahktar’s cell number, the one Shapur called from the clinic.”

She finished her coffee. “I’ll get ready, then make the call.”

It was too early in the day, but she didn’t want to give Grant a lot of time to think about it or he might change his mind about going along with her plan.

“Remember, it will have to be somewhere with lots of people around,” he said. His lips firmed and he shook his head. He paced for a minute, then stopped and looked at her. “Are you sure you want to do this, Marie? I have a feeling this guy is not one we want to monkey around with.”

“Sit for a minute.” She motioned him back to his chair, hoping he’d calm down, stay reasonable and listen. “Look, I’ve thought it out,” she told him. “A stranger calling him, one who knows he’s involved in this, won’t go down well in any case. If it’s a woman, he won’t like it, but he’s not as likely to run.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Well, females probably rate very low in his estimation, hardly worth thinking about unless they have something he wants. Considering this plan of his, he must not like them much in the first place.”

“Yeah.” Grant huffed with disgust. “And considering the culture that spawned him, he probably thinks you’re all subhuman.”

“Right,” Marie agreed. “So it will never enter his mind that I’m an agent. If he knows I have the number he needs, he’ll see me. And if I play it right, he might give us a clue where Cynthia is being held.”

“As you said,
if
he knows,” Grant qualified. “It’s possible he left all those details up to Shapur and the
goons the doctor hired. Why would Shapur have told him where she was?”