Special Ops Affair (11 page)

Odie stopped abruptly and slowly turned. Jag put his arm around her, his hand on her waist, no doubt ready to propel her away in a hurry if he needed to.

“Why did you go to see him?” the reporter asked, approaching them.

He came to a stop a few feet away. Odie didn’t want to stay and talk to him, but this called for damage control.

“He’s an old friend of the family,” she said. Thank God it was the truth. “He knew my father.”

The reporter gave her a plastic smile. “I spoke with Heather Darby again. She said her husband went to see the colonel before he was killed. Any idea why he’d do that?”

“Why are you covering Frasier Darby’s murder?” Jag asked.

“I’m sorry…who are you?”

“Another friend,” he retorted.

Odie leaned against him and put her hand on his chest to make it look good. The reporter noticed and looked from Jag to her. She didn’t think he was falling for it.

“Is he your partner?”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

That got Jag to turn his head, but it wasn’t too obvious.

“You don’t work with each other?”

“He came with me to look into Frasier’s death.”

“Isn’t it more accurate to say Cullen sent you?”

Odie grunted her dismissal. “How would he do that with the media so hot for a new story about him?”

“I thought his company went out of business and he moved to some little mountain town to raise a family and sell mountaineering gear or something like that.”

“That’s true,” Odie said.

“Or is that what you want everyone to think? Did he resurrect his company?”

“No.”

“What would I find if I went to Roaring Creek and visited his shop?”

“Lots of mountain gear and small-town hospitality.”

Odie saw him digest her sarcasm. “Where does he go when he’s not selling ice picks and snow shoes?”

“Home to his wife and little girl.”

The reporter sneered.

“Are you that desperate for a story? It would be a waste of airfare.”

“What about you? Last I heard you moved from D.C. Do you live in Roaring Creek?”

“Who told you I moved?”

“Didn’t you?”

“You think I’m going to tell you where I live?”

He’d never trace her to Roaring Creek. Odie stepped closer. She had to stop this man now or this would get out of control.

“The only story you’re going to get is the one about Darby’s murder. There’s nothing going on, no secret mission, no cloak-and-dagger fascination, Jag and I are just here on personal time, trying to help out a friend.”

The reporter laughed mockingly. “Personal time. Yeah, you two look like you’re getting real cozy, but I’m not an idiot. I know you went to see Heather for a reason, and it has to do with her husband’s murder. Someone with your background starts checking out the death of a nobody engineer, it makes me wonder if he isn’t such a nobody after all.”

“Frasier’s brother was on the same mission as Odie’s husband when they were both killed,” Jag intervened. “That’s how she knew the Darbys.”

She could have kissed him again. He didn’t have much to say but when he did it was well placed and clever. Though it was a risk giving even that much away, they had to make the reporter believe there wasn’t anything to break open.

“You questioned Heather. She told me you said you couldn’t tell her why Frasier came to you for help. She said you were investigating his murder.”

Crap.

Crap, crap, crap!

“Why did Frasier go to you for help?”

“We can’t divulge that,” Jag said. “I believe that’s what we told Heather, too, right, sweetheart?”

She looked from him and then the reporter. “Yes, darling, that’s absolutely correct.”

“Who is Calan Friese?”

“I wish we knew,” Odie said. “Heather told us he came to her apartment after we left and asked why we were there.”

“Do you think he’s behind Darby’s murder?”

“We don’t know anything for certain. Beyond that, we can’t comment.”

The reporter studied them, taking in what she’d said. Then he asked Odie, “Are you working on behalf of the government?”

“No.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Jag said, “we were on our way to breakfast.”

“What are you doing now?” the reporter asked, stopping them. “For a living, I mean.”

“I’m retired.”

“You’re pretty young to be retired. McQueen must have taken real good care of you.”

She didn’t comment on that.

He took her in with his eyes. “It makes more sense that you’d continue doing the same work you were doing for McQueen. Whatever happened to his company? Security Consulting Services, I think it was called. SCS?”

“It’s no longer a company. Cullen closed it and moved to Roaring Creek.”

“Is he really running a mountaineering company? He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be satisfied with something so…dull.”

“What’s so hard to believe about that? People age, they settle down. His marriage proposal was on national television.”

He contemplated her and she thought she’d made some progress.

“Come on, Jag.” She hooked her arm with his and they headed for one of the hotel restaurants off the atrium. She wasn’t hungry now, though.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said.

“I can’t believe he saw us at Roth’s.”

Remembering how ga-ga she’d gotten over him when they’d left Roth’s, she berated herself. She’d forgotten all about the reporter. She hadn’t even thought to check.

“Me, either.” She exchanged a little glance with Jag. They both knew damn well why neither of them had been aware of their surroundings.

Now she had her side pressed against him and it felt delicious.

There she went again. A reporter had just questioned her—seen her go to Roth’s house—and all she could think of was sex with Jag.

A hostess seated them and Jag ordered for them both. She was too upset to concentrate on anything.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Yeah, but you don’t worry about anything.” He didn’t. He was always so calm. It was enviable.

“Cullen’s going to blow a gasket.”

“Yeah, he will.”

Odie propped her chin on her hand and stared at the crowd of people in the restaurant. Waiters and waitresses hurried between tables. Couples chatted, families made too much noise.

How could he be so accepting of what would come? She didn’t want Cullen to blow a gasket.

Their food arrived. Odie looked down with regret at her cheese-and-sausage omelet and the crispy potatoes on the side that were done exactly the way she loved them.

“Eat,” Jag commanded.

She sent him a sullen look before picking up her fork and poking at her omelet. She cut a piece and moved it aside. Her stomach was upset.

Across the table, Jag shoveled a forkful of eggs Benedict into his mouth, chewed and swallowed and went for another bite. He sipped his coffee and caught her lack of interest in her plate.

Putting his cup down, he repeated, “Eat.”

Reluctantly, she slipped her fork under the bite of eggs and put it into her mouth. She swallowed and lifted her cup of coffee. That was better.

She drank her coffee for a while.

Cullen was a good friend and the best boss she’d ever had. She didn’t like the idea of letting him down. She’d already let him down enough. It didn’t mean she was weak. This was all just too personal for her, not like any other mission. It wasn’t business as usual.

“Odie.”

His deep voice drew her up from her abyss a little. His tone held the hint of a teasing warning.

“Eat,” he said again.

She looked at his eyes, amazed at how much she was beginning to like their green color and the way he let her see more every once in a while.

With a small smile, she tried a few more bites and made it halfway through her order. She even got some potatoes down.

Jag paid and they left the restaurant. She thought they were headed for the elevators until Jag put his hand on her back and steered her toward the exit.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked.

“Be tourists for the day.”

She looked at him.

“That reporter is waiting outside—don’t you think he isn’t.”

“I know.” She hung her head. When Cullen found out about this, her job was finished. He’d turn his back on her and deny any association.

“I’ll take care of you, Odie. Don’t worry.”

That sounded so sweet. Did he mean it?

“How would you do that?”

“I’m going to get your mind off everything. We need a break anyway.”

He’d already begun to take her mind off everything but him. She watched him walk beside her, admiring his tall frame and impressive chest in a golf shirt that matched his eyes. He had on those holey jeans, too. What a combination.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“We can’t do anything until the reporter goes away. So, let’s bore him with a trip to the National Mall.”

Outside, she spotted the reporter. He and his cameraman were in a black sedan across the street, watching them.

“Can’t we give him rat poison or something?”

He grinned. “That’s my girl.” He flagged a cab down and got in after her.

She stared out the window.

“He doesn’t know enough, Odie,” Jag said, putting his arm behind her on the seat. She turned to look at him, getting cozy in his arms. “So we went to see Frasier’s wife. So we went to the colonel’s house. They’re close to the family. That’s not a headline. It won’t even make the evening news.”

“He’ll write something up.”

“In the local paper. And it would be a boring story. The most he has is a mention of you knowing Frasier.”

“What if he doesn’t stop trying to follow us?”

“He can try all he wants.”

Odie relaxed, her shoulders loosening a little. He was right. They hadn’t paid attention before, but they would now.

The cab let them out and they crossed the street on the way to the Lincoln Memorial. Odie saw the reporter get out of another cab. He’d let his cameraman go but he wore a camera around his neck now. She faced forward before he saw her notice him.

Jag took her hand and she relaxed even more. Why not enjoy this while she could? It didn’t mean she had to fall madly in love with him.

They walked among a throng of other people down a sidewalk. At the wide, steep stairs that led to the memorial, she stopped to look east across the reflecting pool at the Washington Monument in the distance. She’d been here many times before but each time revived her sense of purpose. She upheld what these monuments stood for, in a behind-the-scenes sort of way. She’d grown up learning the principles of freedom, and the cost of holding on to it. The Lincoln Memorial was her favorite, for all it meant to her. Humanity. Moral values. Unity. Freedom. Things that terrorists wanted to destroy.

She climbed the stairs with Jag. Inside the towering structure, she turned in a circle, taking in the words on the walls and Lincoln’s giant stone figure.

“You look like him,” she joked.

“I don’t have a beard.” He looked at her as if he thought she was serious.

She stopped herself from laughing. “No, I mean the stony part.”

He moved toward her. “I prefer strong and silent.” He glanced suggestively up at Lincoln.

Backing away, she laughed. He caught her in two strides.

Sliding his arm around her waist, he brought her against him. She wondered where the reporter was. Close by, she guessed, since Jag was putting on a show.

Or was he?

The way he looked at her made her uncertain. The chemistry between them was bubbling hotter.

Putting her hands on his chest, she slid them up and over his shoulders. She had to admit she was taking advantage of this.

“Odie,” he warned in a deep voice. “Stop playing around.”

“You started it.”

“I’ll end it, too. And not the way you might think.”

“Sounds more like a promise than a threat.”

Tourists milled around the open space of the memorial. Cameras clicked. Voices clashed and laughter rang. Children yelled and cried. But it all went into the distant background when Jag put his hands around her waist, holding her snugly against him.

“Now who’s playing around?”

“I’m not playing,” he said, and sank his fingers into her hair. Odie tipped her head back and found herself staring into fiery green eyes.

No, he wasn’t playing. And neither was she. Never before had she wanted a man to kiss her as much as she wanted Jag to right now. Not like this, with such quicksilver intensity. With Sage the attraction had taken more time to grow. At least she didn’t remember it coming on this fast.

He angled his head a little as he brought his face closer. She could feel his breath. She closed her eyes when he came the rest of the way. The warm press of his mouth was different than on the day they’d had lunch at the Spicy Bowl. Urgency hovered on the brink of no control. If he deepened the kiss, they’d both be in trouble.

She pulled back first, aware once again of the swarm of people. He moved his arms from around her waist and held out his hand to her.

“Let’s go to one of the museums.”

She’d combust before this day was over. But she gave him her hand and they left the Lincoln Memorial. Outside, there was no sign of the reporter. No doubt he’d seen Jag kiss her and believed it was the real deal.

It was, and that gave Odie the wherewithal to endure the rest of the day with Jag without finding a cab and going back to their room so they could make love, instead of spending hours wandering through a museum.

By the time the cab pulled to a stop in front of their hotel, Odie was steaming hot. The reporter was long gone and she’d stopped worrying about being seen. She was more worried about how much she wanted to be alone with Jag.

He opened the cab door and extended his hand to her. Like all the other times, she gave hers to him. He helped her out of the car. She never let men do this for her, but somehow Jag doing it was appealing. She no longer thought of him as an operative. He was so different from her perception of one that it was impossible to keep him in the same league.

They entered the hotel and made their way around the tropical atrium, passing the checkout counter and stopping at the elevators.