Suddenly a Spy (2 page)

He didn’t have control over the actions of an
old girlfriend. But something about the woman set off warning bells
in Veronica’s head. She had a nagging suspicion this woman was just
the tip of the iceberg when it came to things Rick had neglected to
mention. That was a road Veronica wasn’t ready to travel again.

Almost mechanically, she followed him up to
their room. Something about the honeymoon suite had lost its
appeal. She walked straight to the champagne chilling on a table
set for two. Wasting no time on ceremony, she popped it open and
poured herself a glass, tossing it back so quickly a little hiccup
escaped. Rick eyed her warily as she poured herself another glass
and turned to face him.

“Choose your next words very carefully,” she
warned.

“Baby…,” he paused briefly, obviously running
his options through his mind. “I haven’t seen her in a long time. I
have no idea why she chose today of all days to show up.”

“Who was she?”

“I can’t tell you,” his eyes came to rest on
hers. He seemed to be asking her for something, but it was
something Veronica wasn’t sure she could give.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. That answer doesn’t work for me. Try
again.”

“But I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“I can’t,” he reiterated. “I know how you
feel about honesty, and I promise I’ve never lied, but there are
pieces of my past I just can’t share with you.”

“No!” Rage swirled through her like a gale
force wind. “You do not get to tell me on our wedding day that you
haven’t given me the whole truth. I think I could take just about
anything but that.”

“Ronnie, I’m not Seth,” he took a step
towards her, stopping short when she looked ready to back away—or
throw something at him.

“I thought I could believe that,” she blinked
back the tears that threatened. “Who was she?”

“I can’t tell you,” a deep sigh escaped his
lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“Was she a lover?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Veronica licked her lips. Honesty was
good. She supposed. “Did you love her?”

“No,” there was something close to derision
in his voice.

“Who’s Marko?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Are you in danger?”

“Most likely,” he admitted.

“Am I?”

“Not if I can help it,” he promised.

“And you’re not about to tell me what’s going
on?” she tried one more time.

“Nope,” he gave her a crooked grin. She
polished off her second glass of champagne and poured another.

“What am I going to do with you?” She shook
her head.

“I have a few ideas.”

“Not likely.”

“Do I get some of the champagne?”

“No.”

“You’re a cold, hard woman—you know
that?”

“You lied to me,” she reminded him.

“Only by omission and only because I had to,”
he countered, edging a little closer to her.

“But it’s still a lie. You know how I feel
about that… how many years I lost to him… stupid, pathological
liar.”

“I’m not Seth,” he moved another step
closer.

“I don’t think I could survive it if you
were,” Veronica’s breath deepened and she closed her eyes for a
moment. “He very nearly broke me.”

“But he didn’t break you, and I’m not him,”
Rick moved in quickly then, catching her in his arms before she
could dart away. “And I’m so sorry she spoiled your day, and I love
you.”

“You’d better,” her eyes flashed as his mouth
took hers hungrily. Veronica was a little surprised by her body’s
instant reaction to him. Maybe it was the champagne, but Lord help
her, she wanted to sink her fingers greedily into his hair as her
body melted against his. She wanted to lose herself in this kiss
before he scooped her into his arms and laid her on their bed, his
lips tracing fiery trails across her body. She could do what she
had to in the morning. It would probably mean the end of their
tender young marriage, but at least they’d have tonight.

Warning bells went off in her head, breaking
through the haze of alcohol and lust. She was dangerously close to
seeing her plans to make him sleep on the couch skitter right out
of her mind.

Maybe he wasn’t the man who’d once hurt her,
but he had kept something from her – something big – and refused to
let her in even now. Veronica had been the trusting wife once and
had ended up a laughingstock for her trouble.

That thought shattered the last vestiges of
longing. He wasn’t going to win this easily. She would not be
steered by libido. She pulled back with a seductive smile, her
finger skimming his jaw line.

“Oh I do love you darlin’,” his voice took on
a guttural quality she’d never heard before.

“Do ya’ now?” she mimicked his accent,
bringing her heel down on his foot with all the force she could
muster.

He yowled, letting loose a string of curses
that were new to her.

“What’s with the accent?” she demanded. “You
don’t have an accent.”

“That was not nice of you at all,” he sat on
the edge of the bed, taking his shoe off to rub his bruised toes.
His voice was once again as nondescript as any Midwesterner.

“Lying to me wasn’t nice,” she countered.

“You don’t know the whole story.”

“Fine. Then tell me the whole story. I’m
listening.”

“I can’t.”

She took a shoe off and hurled it at him, her
aim dead-on.

“Would ya’ stop that?”

“Ha! There it is again. You have an accent.
Who are you?”

“I’m your husband… how many glasses of that
champagne did you drink?”

“I’m not amused,” she took her other shoe off
and took aim again.

“Alright now,” he held his hands up in
surrender. “Those bloody heels are lethal. Look…do you remember the
day we first met?”

“Yes,” she lowered the weapon slightly. “What
about it?”

“The cherry trees were in bloom and the sun
was shining. You were sitting in the park, reading
The Scarlett
Letter
. You wore blue jeans and a black sweater and your hair
was piled on top of your head. Sissy was watching the ducks.”

“I remember,” she softened a bit. “…the first
thing you said to me. You quoted a line from the book. Not many
people quote Hawthorne. It was my favorite line, too.”

“Yes, well, something about you sitting there
seemed very true. I knew it in my gut—I walked away from everything
I was then… just for the chance to know you. You have got to
believe that no matter what else I am, I love you.”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore,” she
felt the fight drain out of her.

“Have a drink with me?” he walked over to the
bar, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey.

“Sure,” she sighed, sinking into the nearest
chair. Her wedding dress puffed up around her, giving her the
appearance of swimming in a cloud.

“Would you like help getting out of that
thing?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Okay, yeah, I would. But I was trying to be
nice. I’ll behave—promise.”

Ronnie opened her mouth to retort that she
was fine, but the truth was she really wanted out of the dress.

She stood, accepting the drink he handed her
before offering her back to him. He carefully unbuttoned the row of
delicate clasps down the back of her dress.

“I have to admit I’d kind of envisioned doing
this with my teeth.”

She responded by regally arching an eyebrow
and walking off.

When she returned, her pale pink silk
nightgown shimmered against alabaster skin. Her makeup was gone and
her hair had been swept into a clip. She reclaimed her drink and
her chair.

“Will you at least tell me where the accent
came from?” she cocked her head to study the man she thought she
knew so well.

“It’s Scottish.”

“You’re Scottish?”

“My mother was. My father was an American
photojournalist. I split my time between the two of them growing
up.”

“Why do you hide the accent?”

“You like it?” he gave her a devilish
grin.

She rolled her eyes, not willing to admit to
him that it made her want to do dirty things to him.

“I’ve found I blend in better without the
accent.”

“It slips when you’re angry,” she noted. “Or
otherwise worked up.”

“Aye, that it does,” his eyes spoke volumes
as they raked across her.

She slammed the rest of her drink and held
her glass out to him for more. “So tell me about your parents. I
was under the impression they had both passed away years ago.”

“They did,” he nodded. “I told you—I haven’t
lied. Only omitted certain facts.”

“I’m sorry, about your parents, I mean,” she
wanted to reach out to him. Instead she took another drink.

“S’okay,” he shrugged.

“Are you really an analyst? You said you
haven’t lied. Bad guys don’t usually hunt down desk jockeys.”

“I am an analyst… now.”

He left the room, his words hanging in the
air for Veronica to take in. Had he really walked away from his
entire life just to date her? She could almost picture him in the
other room, getting out of his tux. She closed her eyes, allowing
her mind to take a merry little romp with that one.

When her eyelashes fluttered open again, the
first rays of dawn were playing across Rick’s golden skin. Veronica
took a deep breath, savoring the clean, crisp scent she always
associated with him. Her head was pounding; her mouth
cotton-filled. She didn’t remember actually going to bed; she hoped
she hadn’t done anything too stupid.

Either way, there was nothing she could do
about it now. She didn’t have much time before he was awake and her
chance would be over, so she quietly slipped out of the bed.

He slept like a rock as Veronica riffled
through her suitcase for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She
shimmied into her clothes and ran a brush through her hair before
grabbing her purse and darting out of the room. Her heart began to
race once the door closed behind her. She’d have to move quickly
before he discovered her absence.

The second she stepped onto the street, she
pulled out her phone.

“Why on earth are you calling me at dawn,
today of all days?” the tired voice was highly irritated with
her.

“Come on Jeff, stop complaining and roll the
bimbo out the door. I need you to meet me at my place.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“Nope.”

“And a bagel,” Veronica quickly added.

“What’s so important it has to be now?” Jeff
seemed a little more alert and Veronica knew she’d won.

“I’ll tell you when you get there. But hurry,
I don’t have long.”

“Are you okay?” His big brother instincts
kicked in, and he was fully awake in an instant.

“I think so; just hurry,” Veronica hung the
phone up and ducked into the coffee shop on the corner for the
promised breakfast.

“I don’t know… should I get the whip cream or
not?” the woman at the counter asked the man standing next to
her.

“I don’t care… sure, get the whipped cream,”
he shrugged.

“I really shouldn’t, though. It’s so bad for
me,” she fretted and Veronica bit her lip in frustration.

“Then don’t get the whipped cream.”

“You think I don’t need the whipped
cream.”

“I think I want my bagel.”

“It’s always about you, isn’t it?”

“Ma’am?” the kid behind the counter began
hesitantly, hoping to steer the conversation back to whipped
cream.

“She’ll take a skosh of whipped cream and
don’t even think about asking if she wants cream cheese,” Veronica
answered for the woman.

“Excuse me?” she turned on Veronica in a
huff.

“Yes?” Veronica leveled a look on the woman
that silenced her immediately. The man glanced apologetically at
Veronica, earning him a glare from his companion.

“That’ll be $10.50,” the clerk took
Veronica’s advice and didn’t ask about the cream cheese.

“Did you get my coupon?” the woman frowned
and peered over at the cash register.

“Yes ma’am,” the long-suffering youth cast a
nervous glance at Veronica.

“Are you sure? That seems awfully high.”

“Oh for the love of Pete,” Veronica threw her
hands up. “I’ll buy your damn bagels. Just go away. Here, I have
fifty bucks for you, kid, if you can get me a small nonfat mocha—no
whipped cream—a small coffee, and a cinnamon bagel. Keep the
change.”

“How rude,” the woman scowled openly at
Veronica.

“Just go away already,” Veronica rolled her
eyes. “You got a free coffee out of the deal. Please?”

Veronica had no idea how long she had before
Rick woke up and found her missing. Would he know what she was up
to, or would he wait around for her to come back? She couldn’t be
sure, and that uncertainty spurred her onto heights of impatience
she normally wouldn’t have scaled.

“Thanks,” she grabbed her order from the
counter and sailed out the door. Hailing a cab with two cups of
coffee and a bagel wasn’t easy, but Veronica managed. It wasn’t far
to the condo she and Rick closed on only last week. Boxes still
lined the walls of the living room.

To her surprise, she wasn’t greeted by their
boisterous dogs. She wondered idly if the dog walker had been a
little late to arrive. That wouldn’t work at all. She didn’t want
anyone walking in and overhearing her conversation with Jeff.
Besides, Ronnie liked Courtney—she didn’t want to lose a dog walker
and friend in one fell swoop because of Jeff. She’d been
systematically keeping those two apart for exactly that reason.

As she moved through the stark rooms, she was
drawn by the sound of laughter on her back patio. Frustration
bubbled up; she’d know that laugh anywhere.

Chapter Three

“There you are,” Jeff smiled cheerily as he
stood to give her a hug. She was vaguely aware of the dogs giving
her the greeting she’d missed at the front door. Mostly, her
attention was on the smirk her husband wasn’t trying very hard to
hide.