The Spy Is Cast (11 page)

Next step: ignore my
incredibly horny body and focus on the mission.

“Do you have anything
to write on?” I asked. “I’ve got a pile of information in my head,
and I want to get it on paper before I start to lose it.”

He jerked a thumb over
his shoulder. “My briefcase is behind the seat.”

I stretched over to
reach behind his seat and came up with a handsome leather portfolio
containing a pad of paper. “Can I use this?”

At his nod of assent,
I took out my pen, peering at the page in the dim light from the
dash. Kane reached over and turned on the interior dome light, and
I squinted at him in the sudden brightness. “Can you still see to
drive?”

He nodded, so I began
to sketch what I could remember of the house plan, noting security
camera positions and the places where I remembered seeing staff
members. I roughly blocked in the position of the server room. Too
bad I hadn’t seen the complete floor plans before entering the
house. An oversight like that was unlike Kane, and I reflected that
he must have been even more tired than I’d realized.

As if to confirm my
surmise, he yawned hugely, scrubbing his hand over his face. I
glanced over at him in sudden concern. “Do you want me to
drive?”

He drove for a few
more seconds and then sighed and pulled over, rubbing his eyes.
“I’m secure in my manhood. Go for it.” He shot me a sly look. “I
know you’re dying to anyway.”

I showed him my teeth.
“Out.”

We swapped sides, and
I kicked off my shoes and pulled the driver’s seat forward, tucking
my skirt between my legs so I could operate the pedals with some
degree of comfort and modesty. Out of the corner of my eye, I
caught Kane grinning as I accelerated with a rapturous “Oh,
yeah!”

A few minutes later,
he laid his head back and his face relaxed into sleep. Touched by
his trust, I got on with the enjoyable business of driving. Too bad
we were only half an hour away from Calgary.

I spent the
intervening time trying to explain to my body that there was a
difference between cover stories and real life, and that we weren’t
going to be getting laid tonight. Or any time soon, for that
matter.

Apparently I wasn’t
persuasive. By the time we reached the city limits, the score was
logic, zero; lust about a zillion.

Pulling up at the curb
near Kane’s condo, I spoke his name. He sat up, immediately
alert.

“Where should I park?”
I asked.

His brows drew
together, puzzled. “No need to park here. I’ll drop you off at your
hotel.”

“Later,” I agreed.
“I’m sorry, I know you’re tired, but I really need to see those
floor plans tonight while everything is still fresh in my mind. If
you want, I can just take them with me and work on them at the
hotel.”

“Right. You’ll have to
come up, then. I’m responsible for the plans, so I can’t lend them
out.”

I considered a raunchy
comment about an invitation to come up and see his floor plans, but
he was back to his usual air of calm professionalism. I wondered
how he could just turn it on and off like that. Maybe it came with
his training. I could use some of that.

I followed his
directions and parked the car in the slot he indicated. He got out
and came around to the driver’s side to open the door for me.

An unreadable
expression crossed his face. Caught in the act, I finished peeling
off one stocking, and hooked my thumbs under the top of the other.
“I’m just taking my stockings off. I’m not putting these shoes back
on, and I don’t want to tear the nylons walking across the parking
lot,” I explained.

“All right.” He
straightened and waited, looking away. I shoved the balled-up
stockings into my shoes and grabbed my purse. Pulling the slippery
skirt down between my legs, I swung out of the car. Such a relief
to not have to keep my knees together.

Kane maintained his
silence while I padded barefoot across the pavement beside him.
During the evening, I’d grown accustomed to the extra height of the
heels, and he seemed very tall when I gazed up at him
questioningly. “So what’s the next step?”

“Next step,” he
repeated. “Brain dump. Sleep. After that, we’ll figure out our
strategy.”

He keyed open the
exterior door, and we climbed two flights of stairs to the third
floor. Unlocking his door, he flipped the lights on and ushered me
in. I eyeballed the place, trying to conceal my curiosity.

The colour scheme was
taupe and dark wood, the walls a warm neutral hue. Recessed pot
lights created pools and washes of light. The main area was
sparsely furnished with a clean-lined black leather sofa and chair
and an expensive-looking stereo system. There was a small TV in the
corner, but it looked as though it had been placed as an
afterthought. Instead, the furniture arrangement focused on a stone
fireplace.

One picture in a
folding frame was propped on the mantel, but the walls were
otherwise completely barren. In the empty space that would normally
accommodate a dining table, a large punching bag hung suspended by
chains from the ceiling. A weight bench and weights occupied the
rest of the living room.

The only softness in
the room was a crocheted afghan folded casually over the back of
the sofa. I walked over to examine the blanket, smiling at the
artistry of its muted colours. The design and colour blocking were
masculine and contemporary.

I looked up so he
could see my smile. “Arnie?” I asked.

He nodded, grinning.
“When I got shot a couple of years ago, I couldn’t do much for the
first while. He spent a lot of time over here babysitting me. When
he wasn’t playing his guitar, he was working on this. Said it kept
his fingers nimble.”

I laughed. “It must
work. I’ve seen those fingers in action.”

He considered that
with a half-smile, but apparently decided not to pursue it. “I’ll
go and get the plans,” he said, and vanished down the hallway.

I wandered over to
examine the photo on the mantel. A jaunty young man smiled out of
the picture, his longish dark hair mussed. He wore a grass-stained
T-shirt, and a football was tucked under his arm. His square face
and grey eyes at first made me think I was looking at a photo of
Kane himself, minus twenty years or so, but the bones were a little
finer, the features more regular. I considered Kane’s strong face
striking. The young man in the photo was unarguably handsome.

I turned as Kane
returned with rolls of drawings under his arm. “Who’s this in the
picture?” I asked. “He looks a lot like you.”

His face softened into
a smile. “My younger brother, Daniel.”

“This picture has been
around for a while, then.”

He nodded slowly.
“That was taken in the ‘80’s. He died a few weeks later.”

A hollow opened in my
chest. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. What happened?”

Kane’s shoulders
straightened. “He saved a young woman who was being attacked by a
mugger. He was stabbed.”

I turned again to look
at the youthful face in the picture, trying to control the burning
behind my eyes. “How old was he?”

“Twenty-three.”

“What a waste,” I
whispered.

Kane’s voice was
steady behind me. “No. Not a waste. That young woman lived to get
married and have a family. The daughter just graduated from
university with a degree in music. She’s an incredibly talented
pianist. The son is married with a baby on the way. Never believe
that Daniel’s life was wasted.”

I took a deep breath,
composing myself before I turned back to him. “You kept in touch
with the woman?”

“No. I only met her
once. She came to Daniel’s funeral. But I… check up on them every
now and then. I think of them as Daniel’s family.” He shrugged.
“Mine, by extension, I guess. I just like to know that life goes
on.”

“Whether you want it
to or not,” I agreed quietly. “I guess I understand why you went
into law enforcement after you left the army.”

He shrugged again,
nodding. “Let’s have a look at these drawings.”

He spread them out on
the counter that separated the kitchen from the open living space.
I picked up my sketches and carried them over to compare.

“Can I write on
these?” I asked.

“Yes. They’re
copies.”

We perched on stools
and started to mark up the drawings. I worked on the main house,
while Kane filled in details on the rest of the buildings, noting
security cameras, lines of sight, and positions of security
staff.

Finally, I looked up
with a sigh, rubbing the back of my aching neck. “That’s all I can
remember. Now I need to sketch out the server room and security
monitoring centre.”

Kane looked over my
annotations. “This is excellent. You’ve done this before, haven’t
you?”

I nodded absently,
blocking in the layout of the server room on a separate piece of
paper. Kane’s quiet immobility made me glance up to meet his intent
gaze. Realizing what he’d really been asking, I backtracked
hurriedly. “I used to do tons of site measures when I was drafting.
After a while, observing this kind of detail just becomes second
nature.”

He nodded slowly.
“Just a civilian.”

“Yep. Well, and it
didn’t hurt that Harchman apparently thinks with his dick. And he’s
sadly under-endowed. He walked me right into the server room.”

Kane frowned. “Why
would he do that? Fuzzy Bunny runs a tight ship. They’re not known
for working with stupid people. That’s why they’re so
successful.”

“No idea. Maybe it’s
not Fuzzy Bunny’s network at all. But look at this.” I showed him
my sketches. “The server room is biometrically keyed to his
thumbprint. Here’s the entire security console layout. Oh, and he
runs guards and dogs through that forested area that surrounds the
grounds.”

I grimaced and added,
“Too bad you can’t get fingerprints from fabric. You could march
right through the security scanner into the server room if you
could lift some of the many full sets of prints he left on my
ass.”

Kane’s face darkened.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“No worries,” I
assured him. “A bit of groping doesn’t upset me much anymore. In
fact, it was a hell of a relief once I figured out that’s all he
was after.”

His brows drew
together in comprehension. “I guess it would be, under the
circumstances.”

I frowned down at the
plans again. “Let me walk you through this so we can call it a
night. I want to get these damn clothes and fake nails and makeup
off. And you must still be seriously jet-lagged.”

We went over the
plans, and Kane asked detailed questions that helped jog my memory.
By the time we were finished, he’d managed to get more information
out of me than I even knew I’d observed. Finally, he straightened
with a grunt, massaging his forehead. “Okay. I think I’ve got the
full picture now. Time to quit.”

I glanced at my watch.
“Yikes, it’s after two.” I studied his exhausted face, the lines
carved deep again by fatigue. “Where’s the phone book? I’ll just
call a cab so you can go straight to bed.”

He shook his head.
“No, I’ll take you back to the hotel. When you’re doing undercover
work, it’s the details that count.”

“I don’t see that it
makes much difference. So maybe the date didn’t go well. We had a
fight and I took a cab home.”

“Remember how I said
earlier I was secure in my manhood?” He gave me a tired grin. “I do
have some pride. My ego would appreciate it if you would at least
pretend the date went well.”

I laughed. “Okay,
Stud, take me home.”

As we got settled in
the car again, Kane glanced over at me. “I’d appreciate it if you
didn’t mention that you know where I live.”

“Okay,” I agreed
slowly. “Is that because you don’t want anybody to know where you
live, or because you don’t want anybody to know that I know where
you live?”

He paused, apparently
unravelling my convoluted question. “Both, actually.”

“Does this fall into
the category of ‘Don’t mention it unless asked directly’, or the
category of ‘Actively lie about it’?”

“Depends who’s
asking.”

I frowned at him. “If
you’re going to rely on my judgement, I need more information.”

He blew out a breath.
“I don’t give out my address on general principles. Even my team
doesn’t know where I live. Not that they couldn’t find out, or that
I’d object to them knowing, just that it hasn’t come up.
Need-to-know. There are a couple of reasons for that.”

He stopped the car at
a red light and eyed me seriously. “First, you can’t tell what you
don’t know. For example, if I got captured, I don’t know where my
team members live, or much about their personal lives at all. No
matter what inducements my captors might use, I wouldn’t be able to
give out that information.”

The light changed and
he accelerated smoothly again, his gaze focused straight ahead.
“Second, I have enemies. Anybody who has close contact with me
could be endangered if one of those enemies decides to get to me
through somebody I care about. By association, if you know where I
live, then that could make you a target.”

“Oh.” I thought that
through to its logical conclusion and wasn’t quite sure how to
react.

He scowled, and the
leather steering wheel creaked slightly under his grip. “That’s why
I was so reluctant to use this cover. We were seen being publicly
affectionate. If the wrong people saw us, that could put you in
danger.”

“Oh well, every
relationship comes with some baggage. Torture, death, you know. The
usual,” I joked.

“Not funny.”

“Tough audience.” When
he didn’t smile, I went on, “Anyway, it’s a little late to worry
about it at this stage. Getting back to the original question,
then, I’m thinking the answer is, don’t mention it to the good guys
unless necessary, and lie to the bad guys. Does anybody else know
where you live?”