Her Spy to Have (Spy Games Book 1) (24 page)

It was a Saturday night. The low-ceilinged tavern where Isabelle worked was crowded and noisy. The band at the front was partway through their second set. Garrett paid the cover charge at the door, then found a place to stand near the bar where he could watch her as she waited on tables.

At first glance, and if one didn’t look closely, they would see a woman of average appearance. Straight brown hair worn in a no-nonsense ponytail. Brown eyes. Warm, pale-olive skin. It was the second, more careful look that held a man’s attention. She had a way of moving—a tilt of her head, a subtle sway to her hips as she passed between the long tables—that was captivating. When people spoke to her, she listened to them with serious, undivided attention.

He liked the short kilt she wore, although he was fairly certain no Scottish clansman had ever sported anything even remotely similar.

So far, she hadn’t seen him.

His work had taken longer than he’d expected. He’d called her many times over the past five months, but they’d never discussed the last thing he’d said to her before leaving her at the airport. Their conversations had been brief and centered on the little things happening in their lives. She told him about her classes and work. She’d spent Christmas with her grandparents in Quebec. He’d kept his talk about India vague, mentioning little things about his relief work in Jammu and Kashmir but nothing specific. He knew more about her father’s case than she did, although he hadn’t told her anything about it. She understood that he couldn’t discuss it with her and so she didn’t ask questions.

Marc Beausejour’s arrest had turned out to be somewhat of a coup. He possessed several different identities and had traveled to Canada on numerous occasions over the years. It was shocking how easily altered passport photos could fool sophisticated facial recognition software, and the way the human eye will automatically see the person holding the document as matching the image. Security personnel examined hundreds of terrible passport photos in the run of a day. Garrett should have figured out something wasn’t right when Isabelle had mentioned leaving with her father soon after her mother’s funeral. It wasn’t that simple for a single parent to take a small child out of the country. At least, it shouldn’t have been.

It was going to take months of working with Interpol and other agencies for CSIS to unravel the extent of Beausejour’s involvement in espionage and organized crime. The one thing Garrett had learned was that Beausejour had indeed sold stolen weapons systems to a dealer in Thailand, who’d then sold them to another dealer in India, and so on. The chain started in Canada and was long and complex, but in all the instances Garrett had explored, it led back to Isabelle’s father. The Minister of Defence had turned out to be an old classmate and remained under a quiet, unofficial CSIS watch.

Garrett ordered a beer, the cold glass sweaty in the stifling room. It was the first of May in Nova Scotia, warm enough through the day for the outside deck to be open to customers, but still too cool at night to attract many patrons. It had been almost a year to the day since he’d first met Isabelle.

He’d missed her birthday. He knew Cheryl had taken her out for lunch because he’d asked her to. He had a gift for her in his pocket.

Isabelle started for the bar with an empty tray tucked under her arm and saw him. She stopped. Her eyes met his over the crowd. He read confusion, followed by a smile of such pure pleasure it set his heart on fire. He’d worried for nothing over how she’d react after all this time.

Within seconds, she was at his side. It was typical of her, however, that she did nothing to draw too much attention to them. She placed a hand on his arm, her fingers tightening, but that was it. He received no welcoming kiss. No outward show of excitement that anyone but him would discern. The look in her eyes was enough, however, at least for the moment.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You always ask me that question. My answer’s always going to be the same.” He bent his head and whispered in her ear. “I came for you.”

She swayed toward him, then checked herself. “You could have picked a better time and place.”

He’d spent five days in Ottawa being debriefed. The minute he’d been dismissed, he’d taken the first available plane to Halifax. He wasn’t waiting any longer to see her. “My flight just got in. I dropped my bags at the hotel and came straight here. I have a month to make up for bad timing.” He didn’t really. He had case files to study for his next assignment, but he could do that here as easily as anywhere. “When are you off?”

“Not for another hour.”

“I’ll wait.”

The minutes dragged. Finally, Isabelle headed through a set of swinging doors bearing a sign that read STAFF ONLY. She returned moments later, wearing a tight zippered sweater over the brief Nova Scotia tartan. With those knee socks and ponytail, she looked like a schoolgirl. She was now twenty-five. He’d turned thirty-two three months ago. He couldn’t decide if she were the embodiment of some secret fantasy, or if she made him feel old.

Both, he decided.

As soon as they were outside in the empty, poorly lit courtyard that led to the tavern, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He stumbled against the side of the stone-faced building and held her tight, returning her kisses with a matching hunger. She slid a knee between his thighs, pressing closer.

“How far away is your hotel?” she demanded.

Too far, which was probably for the best. For the moment.

Garrett grasped her elbows and set her away from him so he could think again. He took hold of her hand. “Not just yet. First, we need to talk.” He’d planned to sit on one of the many secluded benches along the boardwalk on the harbor front, but it was well past midnight, with a raw wind blowing off the water, and she wasn’t dressed for it. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

They walked a few blocks to a restaurant. Inside, except for the bored staff, it was deserted. They were shown to a small booth at the back with a half-burned candle in a jar on the table.

Now that they were alone, he scarcely knew where to begin. Five months was a long time apart. Perhaps they should have gone to his hotel after all, and done their talking later.

“How were your exams?” he asked.

She made a face. “Boring.”

He had to fight to keep from smiling. Isabelle wasn’t an exceptional student. She did well enough, but only because she was bright. She had no enthusiasm for it. He was glad. It made the offer he was going to extend to her easier to make.

“You enjoy working with people. It so happens that my next position involves humanitarian relief. How would you like to go to Sierra Leone with me?”

Interest sparked in her eyes, followed by caution. “Would you be allowed to take me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I haven’t, no.” She looked at her fingers, lacing and unlacing them on a pristine white tablecloth washed in the glow of candlelight. “But we both know my father is going to be convicted.”

He didn’t deny it. She had no true idea yet of the extent of his crimes. “Why don’t you tell me what you think it will mean for you if he is?” He probed a little deeper. “For us?”

“You have security clearances to think of. I can’t possibly be good for your career.”

“I disagree. I think you’d be excellent for it.” He picked up her hand and held it in both of his. “You speak a number of different languages. You’ve traveled extensively and you enjoy it. You’re good in a crisis. I think you’d enjoy relief work. I also think you’d do well in fundraising. Those are all skills I could find a use for.”

A waiter came to the table. Garrett ordered two glasses of sauvignon blanc, which arrived a few minutes later.

“You want me to work for you?” Isabelle asked once they were alone again. She sounded disappointed.

“I want you to work
with
me,” he corrected her. “But the pay will be terrible. It’s more in a volunteer capacity.” He reached in his pocket and withdrew a small, oblong box. “I missed your birthday. I have a gift for you.”

She opened it, tugging off the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside was a silver whistle. She held it up, a question in her eyes.

“It’s a dog whistle,” he explained. “I thought that might be more effective against coyotes than a lifeguard whistle the next time we go running at the farm. I’ve been training,” he added. “I wanted to do something with you that I knew you’d enjoy.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

His heart hammered inside his chest. He needed to know what she was thinking. “Do you want to be with me, Isabelle?” he asked. “Do you want to travel with me, and go running with me, and plan a life together with me? Or have I been reading you all wrong?”

Her fingers clenched tightly around the whistle. A hint of tears sparkled in her eyes. She was so beautiful.

“You haven’t been reading me wrong. I want those things more than anything. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to have them with
me
.”

He traced a finger along the curve of her cheek, swallowing hard. “I told you I’ll always come for you. But I’d far rather take you with me.”

“Cheryl and Peter have paid a lot of money toward my education. I can’t just walk away from that.” She must have seen the guilt on his face. Understanding dawned on hers. “
You
paid for it.”

“And it was money well spent. At least now you know for certain what you don’t want to do with your life.” He withdrew a second box from his pocket. “I have another gift. This one isn’t for your birthday. It’s for mine. I chose my own. I hope you don’t mind.”

She opened the box. Inside was a square-cut, pink diamond solitaire that flashed in the candlelight. “It will look beautiful on you.”

He laughed. “The ring’s not my gift. I was hoping you would be.” He took the ring from the box and held it between his fingers. “I love you. You don’t have to say yes right away. You can take some time to think about it. But I’m hoping the next time I leave, you’ll be with me. As my—”

“Yes,” Isabelle interrupted, cutting him off. “I haven’t needed to think about it since the night I called your bluff. I wanted you more than anything then, and I want you now.
Je t’aime
. I love you too, and I’m afraid if I wait to say yes, you’ll change your mind.” She set the box on the table and stared at it, biting her lip. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I’m not changing my mind.” He reached for her hand and slid the ring into place. “I know things aren’t going to be easy, especially in the next few months. I’m not directly involved in your father’s investigation anymore, but if I uncover something that connects back to him, I’ll have to report it. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Will you be able to go with me once I’m allowed to visit him?”

“Absolutely.”

She curled her fingers around one of his. “Then let’s get out of here. We have a wedding to plan.” She smiled into his eyes. This time, he had no difficulty reading what was in hers. “And a wedding night to practice for.”

Garrett left money on the table for the two untouched glasses of wine. Out on the dark, narrow street, a loud group of drunken college students stumbled toward them. He put a protective arm around Isabelle, buffering her against them as they swarmed past.

Isabelle slid both her arms around his waist. She looked up at him, her face serious in the light from the restaurant’s sign. “Do you remember how we first met in Khao San?”

“It’s hard to forget. It’s not every day you catch a girl selling a passport like a pro behind a shrimp cart.” He didn’t like remembering it, either. So many things could have gone wrong for her.

“I was so scared,” she confessed. “I had no one to turn to. And then there you were, and I haven’t been scared since. At least not for myself. Thanks to you, I have my grandparents back in my life. Cheryl and Peter treat me like one of the family. You can’t imagine how much that means to me.” She reached up to kiss him. “I know you’ve tried hard not to come between me and my father, and you haven’t. He did that all on his own. If he chooses to be a part of my life again, and I hope someday he will, he’ll have to do it on my terms, not his. And my terms include you. I won’t keep secrets from you. I won’t do anything that might hurt your career. If he wants to speak to me, he’ll have to pick up the phone and call me. If he wants to see me, it will be with your knowledge.”

She had nothing to prove to him. He didn’t need reassurances from her. “I don’t want to be your jailor, Isabelle. You aren’t my prisoner. I want to be your husband. That means trusting you, and I do.”

“But after everything, and all that you know about me, how can you possibly?” she asked.

“How can I not? The nature of my work means I can’t always be honest with you. I can’t tell you everything. So you’re going to have to trust me, too. I’m not going to ask that of you if I’m not willing to offer you the same thing. Besides,” he held her a little tighter, wrapping his jacket around her for added warmth, “there’s no reason not to trust you. You’re very loyal. For instance, the bartender at your work. The blond guy who couldn’t take his eyes off you all evening. He’s asked you out, hasn’t he?”

“I never accepted.” She smiled up at him. “He isn’t you.”

He refused to feel jealous. “I rest my case.”