Authors: Aimee Laine
“Can I help?” Wyatt’s voice, deeper yet the same, licked at her ears.
“She’ll be okay in a sec … the heat and all.” Lily’s lie flowed like a lazy river. The wave of her hand added a small breeze across Charley’s face.
Wyatt.
Charley hadn’t imagined she’d ever get to see him again, let alone work with him. Her team seemed to think she’d be the perfect candidate for a simple project.
I’ll do it. Just tell me what and where. Anything. I’m your puppet. Don’t say any of that out loud. Argh!
“Oh Chaaaaarley!” Lily sang her name, adding a slight beat to the made up tune.
The sounds of life cleared, but Charley’s mental tsunami would burn into her psyche. With flush cheeks, she’d be the butt of jokes for the rest of the day.
She wished Wyatt would leave so she could get herself on her feet with some semblance of dignity. Yet, at the same time, she wanted him to hold her, touch her and kiss her like he had so long ago.
Lily’s hand ran over Charley’s face again, and the chill interrupted her thoughts. “Wake up, Charley.” Lily’s tone held a little more force.
Charley cracked one eye—enough to see Lily’s nose inches from hers, James at her shoulders, Cael at his and Wyatt above them all.
Heat raced back into her cheeks.
A squeeze of Lily’s hand, and Charley pulled herself out of James’s arms to sit on her own. She swayed an inch before she caught her balance again.
“Ma’am,” Wyatt said. “Should I get you a chair?”
Ma’am?
Her heart ached. “I’m okay.” One hand in James’s, another in Lily’s, Charley brought herself up to her full height.
Gone were the wisps of curls that infused his dark hair—he’d opted for a long military cut. His green eyes tugged and pulled at hers—same as before. Her fingers itched to find their way to muscles hidden under his dark suit. Soft warred with hard as small creases added to the corners of his eyes, reflecting age and wisdom.
They stood, the four of them focused on Wyatt. Charley took a deep breath, blew it out and counted.
She caught each of her companions’ gazes. “Shall we try this again?”
At their nod, she gave herself another single count.
“Let me apologize—”
“None needed. I’m told your group is very unique and moments of unusual activity should be expected.” Wyatt held his hands tight in front, his body still but not at rest.
“True. But it’s odd that I have the problems.” She held a hand to her heart.
Wyatt nodded. From behind her, Lily pressed a hand into Charley’s back.
“Let me introduce us,” Charley said. “My name is Charley Randall,”
and I want to marry you …
Her hands moved to her companions. “… and this is Lily Crane.” She moved on. “Cael Aldrige and James Henry.”
“Wyatt Moreland.” His hand reached and Charley snatched the opportunity to shake it, sliding her palm against his. “I’m a Senior Field Agent for the Counterintelligence and Foreign Law Enforcement Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Whoa! That’s a mouthful,” James said as Cael snickered and broke from his uber-professional mold.
Charley’s heart thudded against her chest as Wyatt smiled. It pounded harder when the grin reached the corners of his eyes. She wanted to jump up and down like a giddy school girl who’d found out the popular boy might, maybe, like her.
She kept the motion hidden. “And it’s you who’s asked us here?”
“Yes.” Wyatt’s ringless hand motioned toward the house. “Shall we? I think this conversation is better suited for a more private place.”
Cael nodded, his head inclined toward the house. “I agree.”
Wyatt took the lead, his long legs stepping wider than hers, gait controlled and firm. Charley itched to grab and hold on forever.
“You’ll get your chance,” Lily whispered into Charley’s ear before she moved in front. Lily’s two crossed fingers behind her back brought a curve to Charley’s lips.
The four of them followed, up six granite steps to the front entrance.
“Sheila McGowan. Please come in.” The woman offered each of them a handshake as they entered. Once through, she led the way through a short foyer. Her skirt zip-zipped as she scooted to the front while her heels clacked against the hardwoods.
Efficiency in motion.
“She’s a bit severe, don’t you think?” James snickered to Charley.
She stifled a laugh.
High ceilings overdramatized the foyer’s size. Antiques graced miniature shelves at random intervals. They followed Wyatt into a room dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun, through the two layers of glass, warmed, and the jewel tones in the paint and accessories accentuated it.
Sheila motioned them to sit. Charley found a spot on a Victorian chaise with Lily next to her. James slouched into a padded recliner, and Cael, in his standard-issue FBI uniform, positioned himself in a side armchair.
Wyatt sat opposite them, and like Cael’s, his posture remained stiff and controlled.
Sheila pulled folders from a briefcase she’d picked up from an antique buffet they’d passed.
“Ms. McGowan—” Charley began.
“Please, call me Sheila.”
Charley cocked her head.
Sheila laid her hands on the items in her lap, crossed and uncrossed her ankles.
Nerves?
“Sheila, then. You’ve gotten our attentions, mine in particular. However, I would very much like an explanation for why I’ve been asked to take on this project.”
Sheila broke her stare, turning to each of them and pointing toward folders within their reach. “Please, take a moment to look at the information I’ve provided. Ms. Randall? I think that which you are looking for is in there.”
Charley drew the government-issued, navy-blue folder from the table. As she opened her copy, Cael let out a low whistle. Mr. I’m-at-work had broken his facade again. Charley stifled her laugh but smiled; she’d rib him about it later.
She pointed to a photo. “Who’s this?”
“The page to its left will explain everything,” Sheila said.
“Okay, but I’d like to hear your perspective while I read it.” Charley’s tone bordered on exasperation, though it came from long suppressed emotional frustration.
“Sheila, if you’d please give Charley the rundown on the situation, that would help … considerably,” James said.
Charley knew he did it to soften Sheila as her own gruff response couldn’t.
Sheila stiffened. “Absolutely. I’m sorry. I was told Ms. Randall preferred to read and then ask her own questions.” Sheila proceeded with details in a clipped recitation.
Charley stood before she finished and ran her hands through her hair. She needed the movement to prevent another mental meltdown. Her group would ignore her as she paced the room, but she assumed Sheila and Wyatt would watch her every move.
Can he tell it’s me?
She’d kept the height but changed the hair. Gone were the enhancements she’d added before. Her eyes took on a golden brown.
“Ms. Randall …” Sheila began, but James signaled silence with a finger to his lips.
Charley’s need to move diminished. As she passed Wyatt on her first round, she noted the strength of his shoulders—how their width made her want to touch them, to run her hands along their plane. She drew her hands into fists at her sides and released. Repeated.
I’ll do it
for you. I won’t even ask questions.
She hustled away from Wyatt before she came to rest in her original spot.
“Okay. Now.” Charley’s hair fell from her clip.
Wyatt’s head shifted as his gaze stayed on her.
Recognition?
She shook the thought away. “What you’re asking isn’t a mind-boggling activity. It’s a search for information. Go in and get the details, get out. End of story. What isn’t written in your FAQs?” Charley pointed back toward the folders they held. “Please tell me why you need me for this.”
“Because we were told you can look and act the part.” Sheila’s eyes exclaimed their disbelief.
“Riiiiiight.” Charley leaned against the back of a chair. “Because I’m the only woman in the FBI who can pole dance?”
9
How she’d look the part, Wyatt didn’t know. He gauged her height at no more than five foot eight at best. As she’d walked, he’d watched. Long legs took strides twice the length he’d expected, and stirred memories he couldn’t find. Puzzles like her had pushed him to the FBI.
“Go on.” Charley jerked him from his thoughts.
The cadence of her voice drew him in. He couldn’t place her origin—a skill for which he’d become known in his eleven years; hers had a unique pace.
Sheila cleared her throat, but Wyatt retook control. “I’ll take it from here, Sheila.” He nodded.
She returned the same.
“We’ve managed to gather some intelligence already, through Candie.”
James smirked. “The skivvy-dressed blonde in the photo?”
“Yes.” Wyatt’s own grin snuck through, though he’d tried to refrain. Candie, as he knew, had a reputation as a busy-body. Luckily for him, he’d been in her circle when she blabbed. “She’s a dancer … in a club.”
“Where?” James asked.
“Montreal.”
“Out of your jurisdiction,” Charley said.
“Yes.” Wyatt stared into her eyes before shifting his own away.
Years of ingrained training had taught him not to stare, but he’d found it hard not to get caught in the gaze of a beautiful woman. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a shade of black like that of her curls; they fell from a band holding them away from her face. When lights shined and reflected against them, a silvery blue shimmered in the highlights.
Wyatt returned his thoughts to the project. “We need a private organization to go into the country and acquire a piece of information.”
“What she didn’t hear before or what she didn’t tell you, you mean?” Charley asked.
“Yes.” His boss had assured him about the team, but Wyatt’s doubts grew.
He knew the beauty of being privatized gave them flexibility. Overseas, across borders, and into places the government wasn’t allowed to step, they could go with immunity.
“Is she an operative?” Cael asked.
“No. Innocent bystander. About a month ago, she overheard a conversation. After a few too many drinks, she started sharing.”
“With whom?” Charley cocked her head.
“Me.” Wyatt mirrored her tilt. As he did, he remembered the same move—a habit of a girl’s in a relationship long since over.
“I think I got this now. You need us because this scenario plays out very close to, but across the border from, the great U S of A. You need me because of the way my mind works and my ability to … ah … dress appropriately.”
“Yes.” Wyatt shook his head. “I have to ask, Ms. Randall. I’m sure you’ve noted our subject’s height?”
“I have.”
“How do you propose we account for a four-inch difference?”
“We’ll handle that,” Lily said—quiet until that point.
Wyatt noted she’d jumped in before Charley, but Cael’s lips twitched.
Does he understand how they would?
“Why is this information critical?” Charley brought Wyatt’s gaze back to her.
“Our reasons for this mission are classified.”
“Then how am I supposed to know what else to learn?”
Wyatt coughed into his fist. “You have a photographic memory for both sight and sound, correct?” Charley nodded at him. “We’d like to keep you wired for both and have you tell us everything you see—what we won’t be able to.”
“A play by play?” Cael asked.
“Yes, in debrief, also.”
“And to be successful in this, I have to become a six-foot, blonde pole dancer at an American club in Montreal. There’s no other way?” Charley held her hands out, palms up. She’d shifted toward him, her elbows on her knees, the folder beneath them wrinkled.
“No. We’ve explored every avenue, including the engagement of Miss Candie by the United States, as she’s a U.S. citizen.”
“But, that would be downright stupid.” James’s comment came by way of a throat clearing, to which Wyatt nodded.
“While we’ve found her information credible and sound, to keep the element of surprise, we must exclude her from project participation.”
“You mean, she’ll spill the beans to the bad guys if she knows what she knows is worth knowing,” Lily said.
Wyatt nodded, but the smile that escaped came in response to Charley.
She’d bumped her shoulder into Lily’s and let out the smallest of laughs. Her smile brought up those old memories again—ones he couldn’t place. It would eat at him if he didn’t ask, but to do so would be just plain rude, as his mother always advised.
“Can we go in as customers? Investors? Hire her for a private dance inside the club?” Cael asked.
Wyatt smirked. Cael knew the answers to all his questions as he’d been briefed before their meeting, but Wyatt would humor him for the rest of the group’s sake. “We’ve thought of that. The problem lies in Candie’s status at the club. She is one of their more … ah … popular dancers. We actually need to get her out of the club first.”
“You’ve tracked her movements?” James asked.
“Yes, for about a month. We have her habits expertly noted. The issue we’ve run into is that the men Candie heard the information from will be back at the club tonight.”
“And you call us now?” James straightened like a whip-switch, fury emanating from him. The knuckles of his hand grew white with his hold on the chair.
“I apologize for the late notice, but we only learned their plans to return again this morning. This could be our best, and potentially only, opportunity to gather this intelligence.”
“It sounds simple enough, James.” Charley said.
The way she held herself, how her eyes met Wyatt’s, and the way she softened when they did rang those bells again.
Is she about to agree to this?
“While I’m not keen on learning to pole dance, I’m sure it can be accomplished. You’re aware of our fees?”
He’d been told to call, hire without question, pay whatever they asked, and get the job done. “I have been advised.”
“And that my team will accompany me?”
“Yes, with the exception of Mr. Aldrige.”
“What?” Charley stood. “This is my team! We do not separate for any project—including but not limited to government work—”
Nope, not going to agree.
“Ms. Randall, may I explain?”
She waited with a tap of her toe, her teeth ground together.
No documentation, organizational charts, contractor clearance or other material indicated she governed their team, but her tone conveyed the message well enough.
“Mr. Aldrige is a member of a government that has no authority or rule in the nation to our north. In order to remain under the radar, our group must remain small and tight knit. Therefore, they’ve asked that I be sent in his place.”
Charley’s shoulders relaxed, her hands unclenched. He’d have sworn she softened. Why and how, he didn’t know, but a sense of déjà vu pervaded his memories.
Why isn’t she pissed anymore?
“Ms. Randall?”
“Please … call me Charley.” She sat.
Surprised at the less formal request, Wyatt blinked. “Charley.” He shifted. “May I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.” She kicked back against the couch.
“Have we met before?”
• • •
He did notice
. Charley suppressed her smile and wondered how long it would take to figure her out. The mere thought of a revelation both intrigued and unnerved her.
She slumped into the couch. “We’ve done a lot of work for the government.”
Wyatt waved a dismissive hand. “That’s probably it. I’m sorry to pry.”
“It’s okay. You know …” She leaned forward again. “They say everyone has a twin … somewhere.” She kept her gaze locked on his, her purpose deliberately unclear.
How much did she want to reveal? How much could she?
While she’d acknowledged her photographic memory, knowledge of her other, more unique abilities remained in the hands of a select few.
“So.” Charley slapped her palms on her knees, prepared to stand. “Shall we get started?” She caught James’s, Lily’s and Cael’s eye, passed over Sheila and stopped on Wyatt. At his nod, she stood.
Is he surprised I’ve agreed?
“What do you need from us?” Sheila rose, clipboard in hand.
“At this point, just a space to learn.” With less than thirteen hours, Charley had a lot to accomplish. “Wyatt? Do you have a more private room for Lily and me?”
He nodded. “Sheila? Will you escort them to the study? We’ve got it all set up for you.”
Confidence. Love it.
“Wait. You have it ready-ready?”
Wyatt hesitated. “Ah …” He turned to Cael.
“I told him to go ahead.” Cael crossed his arms over his chest.
Bastard
. Charley smiled—that polite, you-are-so-in-the-dog-house grin. “Thank you. And will you please provide James with a rundown of the plan, the layout of the club, you know—the miscellaneous details?”
“Don’t you need that information?” Confusion reigned with the incline of Wyatt’s head and how he slid his hands into his pockets.
“I’ll get it on the plane. If I’m going to dance as Candie, I need to get ready.” Charley pointed to James and Cael and followed after Sheila with Lily in tow.
Charley caught the slight turn of Wyatt’s head as Sheila’s heels clipped through the bright room. Three doors and two hallways later, they entered the study. Books lined the walls at least ten feet high. Charley counted eight shelves from floor to ceiling and at least ten sets of them. Walnut or cherry, she couldn’t tell, but their beauty befit the home. Within the room, couches and comfortable seating held court. In the center, the pole.
“Can we move furniture?” Charley asked.
Sheila pushed at the back of a chair. “Absolutely. Whatever you want or need.”
“Thank you, Sheila.” Wyatt stood at the door, holding Charley’s bags in both hands. “I thought you’d need these.”
“Thanks, Wyatt.” Lily walked over, hefted the bags in one move and placed them in the opposite corner.
“Wow,” Wyatt said. “Those were heavy.”
“We girls aren’t as wimpy as we appear.” Charley added a wink in his direction.
Wyatt blinked, held his palms up and backed out the door.
“You told him.” Lily giggled. “He knows something.”
“I didn’t say a word.” Handsome, rugged, muscular and observant.
What else could a girl want?
Charley strolled around the room. Bronte, Roberts and Dickens—an eclectic mix of authors and writers graced the shelves. Whoever the owner, they had great taste. With one finger, she snuck one off the shelf, let it rest in her palm, the cover soft against her skin. She stroked the bound leather like one would a lover—of books.
“Charley?” Lily asked.
Charley slipped the book back in its place. “Yeah? Are we ready?”
“Yup.”
She noted the items Lily laid out along tables, over the backs of chairs and hooked carefully onto shelves.
“Props, girl. Props.” Lily smirked.
Charley rolled her eyes. “All of it?”
She hadn’t expected ten potential outfits, let alone the lack of material that went with them. She’d imagined skimpy, but not invisible.
“Oh my god, Lily!” Charley hissed. “What is that?”
“A costume.” Lily held it up, though she needed no more than a finger to show off the entire ensemble.
“That is not an outfit.” Charley shook her head. “No. No. No. No. No.”
“You’re a dancer, Charley, not an opera singer.” Lily went back to her pile of nothingness attire.
“How in the hell do I get myself in these situations?”
Oh yeah. Wyatt.
Charley paced and roamed. The room no longer held the same appeal—the books no longer invited.
“Because you are the best.” Lily stopped Charley with two hands on her upper arms. “The best. No one tops anything you’ve ever done.”
“You think I can pull this off?”
You think I can keep Wyatt this time?
“Seriously?” Lily ran a hand through her hair. “What can’t you do, Charley? Answer me that. What can’t you do?”
Charley shrugged. Cael couldn’t imprint upon his memory and neither could James—they had to experience the action or reaction first hand. Lily’s talent lay in the details, and though she could change form to suit, she couldn’t hold it as long as the rest of them.
“I can’t be a man?” Charley flicked her wrist.
“Neither can I. That doesn’t count.”
“But Cael can be a woman.” Charley stopped at Lily’s glare.
Charley had drawn the long straw so long ago, with both the physical as well as mental talent. James came closest to her in a male’s form.
“You going to teach me, Lil?”
Lily laughed. “Ha! These three DVDs—one of which is Candie—and that pole.” Lily pointed. “You only have to practice enough to know the moves. Once you see her—” She added a hip thrust and a hand flick, her pinky held up. “—the rest will fall into place.”
“Please tell me it’s not porn.” Charley eyed Lily.
Efficient, effective and fun, Lily had been known to throw in a practical joke or two when she could.
“Not this time.” Lily waved it away. “Technique. I have four memoirs by former dancers, former prostitutes, or current ones—”
Charley interrupted before Lily could continue. “What exactly do you think I’ll be doing?”
Lily laughed. “One never knows. One must be prepared. Be the one, Charley. Be her.”
“Let’s get this party started.”
“First things first.” Lily held up two outfits with less material than a string bikini. “Red or blue?”
• • •
Wyatt shuffled as he walked toward the study. He thought back to how quickly the team took in the information he’d given them. A few questions, a few statements, complete acknowledgement. It troubled him that they didn’t seem worried.
He shook off his unease, reminded himself that professionals became professional for a reason.
He slowed at the volume of the rock music pumping from within the room. The ping of cymbals and bass grew louder as he approached. Wyatt stopped, took a step backward, gave up and leaned a shoulder into the frame of the door. He shifted his back against the wall, drew up the papers in his hand and pretended to read on the off chance anyone caught him loitering outside the door.