Her Spy to Hold (Spy Games Book 2) (4 page)

This joke, she got. And it was funny. “So that’s where all our tax dollars go—buying you people fancy spy equipment. Do those convert into a telephone too?”

His proud grin was too cute for words. “Even better. These babies can be used as a blunt instrument. Since you work with weapons systems, you should be able to appreciate their versatility. No stealing the idea, though. I’m betting it’s patented.”

She clutched the neck of her robe. “I’m going to sleep so much better knowing how well protected I am.”

In fact, quite the opposite was true. She had reservations about letting him stay. While it would be nice to have another person in the house, this particular man wasn’t the best choice. He was easygoing, true enough. He seemed fun as well.

He was also a whole lot of…man.

Irina had earned one of her masters’ degrees and her PhD by the time she was twenty-one. That meant in high school and university, she’d been far too young to socialize after hours with her classmates. These days she couldn’t remember a conversation with any colleagues that didn’t include strings of code, or computer simulations involving hydrodynamic, radiation, and neutronic effects.

Kale didn’t look at her the same way they did. She felt a bit like that smoked meat on rye sandwich. She was book smart and people stupid, and so out of her comfort zone right now, she was about to make a complete fool of herself. His being here was part of his job.

Best not forget that
.

“So…it’s OK if I stay here, then?” he asked.

“Make yourself at home.” She reached for the thermos and sandwiches and carried them to the table, then got him a plate and a coffee mug from the cupboard. “I’d stay up and keep you company,” she added, “but I have to go to work in the morning.”

He picked up a sandwich and unwrapped it. “Understood. I’ll follow you to your office when you leave, then head back to the city and get some sleep. I’ll meet up with you again around five o’clock in the parking lot. Tomorrow’s Friday. You won’t be working late, will you?”

The way he phrased the question made it sound as if only losers worked late at the end of the week.

“No,” she said. “I have plans.”

“Really? Anything good?”

He looked so surprised it was insulting. She had a life.

“I’m having dinner and drinks with a friend. I might spend the night.” The friend was a woman, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You and your friend won’t even notice me,” he assured her. “I’ll have to stay in the car though. The black eye’s a little limiting in public. It draws too much attention.” He took a bite of the sandwich and chewed before swallowing. An expression of bliss lit up his face. “Man, this is good.”

Her head was spinning again. She hadn’t really thought about what it would mean to be followed. The loss of privacy wasn’t an issue, but having him discover she didn’t have much of a private life to watch was going to be tough on the ego. “I don’t want to be any more of an inconvenience than necessary. If it’s easier for you, I can stay home.”

“That would definitely be easier. But this isn’t about me. Carry on as usual.”

With a man like Kale Martin following her around?

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, and fled to her bedroom.

She closed the door and leaned against it. Except for work and this latest development, her life was boring. Exceedingly so. Maybe he’d judge her for it, maybe not. Her suspicions leaned toward yes.

How could he not?

Chapter Three

The dinner date wasn’t a man. At least, not one who was close to her. If she’d had a significant other in her life, he’d be the one spending the night here with her to make sure she was safe.

If Irina were his, he wouldn’t be leaving the job to another man. No way in hell.

Kale prowled silently around her house, checking out her belongings, trying to understand what made her tick. For a scientist, she had a definite girly side. Her living room looked like the inside of a dollhouse, all frilly and pink, right down to the matching sofa and loveseat. It was as if a cotton candy machine had exploded in here. He couldn’t find any crochet materials, or craft tools of any kind, so he suspected the lace doilies on the coffee and end tables had been a gift from some ancient aunt, or maybe a grandmother.

The bookshelves filling one entire wall were another revelation. Scientific textbooks—dozens of them—dog-eared and battered, were crammed together with books on the occult.

Like that wasn’t freaky.

Two thick tomes on computer coding had her name on the spines. He tugged one off the shelf and flipped through the pages. Intellectually, he was no slouch. He’d graduated near the top of his class. As well as a talent for languages, he had a master’s degree in Western studies. But he was an arts major and these books were beyond him. He put the tome back.

She fascinated him.

Frustrated him, too. He’d done his best to be friendly. He’d made a few jokes. He’d complimented her cooking, which hadn’t been difficult. Those sandwiches were amazing. Over the protests of his man genes he hadn’t stared at her either, exhibiting amazing restraint on his part, because her flannel pajamas and robe hadn’t hidden a whole lot. Even though she was on the small side, the woman had curves. She was pretty and smart, definitely out of the ordinary, and he was attracted.

He, on the other hand, scared the hell out of her.

He should leave well enough alone.

He spent the rest of the night alternating between peering from behind the curtains with his binoculars and taking short catnaps on the pink sofa. He didn’t mind shiftwork and often worked odd hours, but it always took a few days to acclimatize.

The coffee, while as good as the sandwiches, was no match for his circadian rhythm. He woke to find the sun streaming through the living room windows and Irina hovering in the archway leading to the dining room attached to the kitchen. She was fully dressed and had her car keys in her hand, and was staring at him with an expression of uncertainty on her face as if she couldn’t quite make up her mind what to do.

Since she was already dressed and had been staring at him, he didn’t feel too bad about taking a slow, visual inventory of her in return. He liked the high heels. They showed off a great pair of legs. The narrow skirt wasn’t nearly as prim as she no doubt intended. And she wore a snug white T-shirt under a short-sleeved red jacket that had to be her version of Friday office casual. The thick knot of light brown hair at the back of her head and its stray wisps of curls whispered
sexy
.

Not simply
sexy.
Sexy as hell
.

Hopefully, he hadn’t been talking in his sleep, because he’d been dreaming about her. Naughty things, too.

She was blushing as if she were reading his thoughts. Or, maybe he had been talking in his sleep, after all. He scrubbed a hand across his chin. Stubble scratched at his fingers. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven-thirty. I need to be at the office by eight.” She hesitated. “Would you like me to make you breakfast?”

She was like two different people. As Dr. Glasov she might be all prickly about her fancy reputation, but at home, her Irina persona seemed to have missed the whole feminist movement.

Maybe she was just exceedingly polite.

He swung his feet to the floor and sat up. “Thanks, but I’ll grab something at home. Let’s get you to work. Mind if we use your car? I’ll pick you up later.”

Her office was fifteen minutes away. He’d hoped to be able to get a sense of her workplace and coworkers, but she worked from one of the hangars at the international airport. It had direct access to the runway, so security was tight. He could get inside if he wanted to because of his government clearances, but since his status on Irina’s case was unofficial, he didn’t want to try. It would be the equivalent of waving a big red flag with
CSIS
emblazoned across it.

He’d have to be more creative.

The parking lot outside of her building required parking passes for staff use, but if he sat in Irina’s car and looked as if he were waiting for her, no one would bother him. That was why he’d asked if he could use it. The commissionaires who acted as security guards in these places tended to notice a lot, but at the same time, weren’t uptight vigilantes about it. Unless he gave them a reason to think he was up to no good, they’d leave him alone.

The black eye was going to be a problem however. The swelling was gone but the colors could light up a runway. The commissionaires would definitely notice him and wonder what he was up to. They’d give his description to the Port Authority at the airport terminal. The Port Authority would be able to track him straight back to CSIS in a matter of days, if not hours. The director would lynch him.

That meant he’d continue to use Irina’s car, but he had to come up with a plan as to why he was there every day waiting for her.

By midmorning, he had one. And it was a beauty.

When five o’clock rolled around he had her car parked in the fire lane next to her building, the most conspicuous place he could find, watching everyone who came and went. He was more interested in the people entering at the end of the day than the ones who were leaving, but they didn’t need to know that. He stared at them all. They all stared back.

At ten after five Irina exited through the main doors, her jacket draped over one arm, the laptop bag hanging from her shoulder and thumping against her hip. She wasn’t alone.

The stout, pepper-haired male accompanying her might be older by a good fifteen years, possibly twenty, but Kale had no trouble identifying the guy’s interest in her—and it wasn’t for her brain. He stood too close as they talked. He made a point of touching her arm. His gaze dropped from her eyes to the twin swells beneath her tight little T-shirt, not so often as to be overt, but often enough.

It was equally obvious that Irina was all about business. Whoever her dinner date was, this wasn’t it. Kale sighed. She had no clue. The pop-ups on her computer could very well be coming from someone in her office and she’d never figure out who it was. Not without an electronic trail she could follow.

It was time to put his plan into action.

He opened the car door and got out. He walked over to the main door where she and her companion were talking. She stopped in mid-sentence at the sight of him. The sun caught the surprise in her eyes, highlighting their unusual, pale shade of green.

“Hey, babe,” he said. He draped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her. Before she could recover and demand to know what he was up to, he stuck out a hand to the coworker. “Kale Martin. Friend of Irina’s.” He laid extra emphasis on the word
friend
.

“George O’Brien.” He pumped Kale’s hand up and down, his grip firm, his round face curious. Disappointment lurked in the flat line of his mouth. Speculation narrowed his eyes. “Irina never mentioned she was seeing someone.”

Kale gave her shoulders a squeeze, then released her. “She likes to keep her personal life separate from work. Don’t you, babe?”

“Yes. We have that in common.”

She sounded more bemused than annoyed. She was smart, quickly determining this was part of his cover—which it was. But not entirely. He’d had no reason to kiss her, or call her babe, other than that he’d enjoyed doing both.

Her colleague wasn’t yet ready to call it a day. “So, Mr. Martin. What do you do?”

Kale had answered this particular double-edged question too many times to take any offense. Everyone assumed because he was big, he was dumb. Most days, it suited his purposes.

“I’m a substitute teacher. Kinesiology.”

To an academic that translated as an unemployed gym teacher, and O’Brien couldn’t hide his condescension. “I would have guessed you were a boxer.”

“Because of this, you mean?” Kale touched his eye and laughed. “I got this out at Lawrencetown. I was kite surfing and lost control of my board.”

“Kite surfing, huh? Sounds like fun.” O’Brien turned to Irina. “I’ll see you Monday. Don’t forget we have that progress meeting at nine.” With a wave of his hand, he moved off.

Once he was out of earshot, Dr. Glasov faced Kale. A stray strand of hair had crept loose of its knot and she tucked it behind one ear. Her eyes had cooled to green, tempered steel. “I have to work with these people. I’d rather not be called ‘babe’.”

She never mentioned the kiss. He’d have thought that would be the greater transgression. Good to know that it wasn’t. “‘Dr. Babe’ has a nice ring to it,” he said, just to mess with her. “Next time I’ll give that a try.”

The steel in her eyes melted. A grudging smile stretched to her lips, and just like that, she was Irina again.

She was such a fascinating contradiction. As a professional, she had a high opinion of herself. Justifiably so, according to CSIS. But as a woman…

“I sound like a snob, don’t I?”

“Little bit. Yeah.”

“You took me by surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before,” she confessed.

“What, babe? Or snob?”

Her smile deepened. The sun brought out the faint sprinkle of freckles on her nose. Kale felt a hot jab of pure lust, straight to the groin.