Her Spy to Have (Spy Games Book 1) (7 page)

As he did, she rubbed the stiff muscles of his thigh and calf with strong fingers. He groaned again, this time with pleasure. It felt amazing.

He watched her face as she worked. Long lashes shielded her thoughts from him. A slight frown of concentration furrowed a vee between her brows. A thin sheen of perspiration coated her throat and upper chest, above the tank top and sports bra. His thoughts wandered in a far more dangerous direction. A little to the south.

She tucked her hand under the heel of his shoe and forced his leg upward, stretching the hamstring. “Any better?” she asked.

“Much.” He rested the back of his head on clasped hands, gazing up at her. “You’re full of all kinds of surprising talents. You could do this for a living.”

“Believe it or not, I like looking after children more than massaging men’s thighs.”

She let go of his foot. He planted it on the ground beside her, fencing her in between his bent knees. She sat back on her heels, but she didn’t stand up or push him away. He trailed the tips of his fingers up the length of her bare thigh to play with the hem of her shorts, telling himself he only wanted to see how far he could push her level of comfort.

He got no more reaction than he had the day before, when he’d admired her in that bikini, or this morning, when he’d kissed her. She showed no outrage or discomfort. No interest, either. She gave no outward indication she was bothered by him.

Not as much as he was by her.

Yet he didn’t believe she was unaffected. If she were, she wouldn’t bother hiding her responses so well.

“You can’t look after other people’s children forever, or keep traveling from country to country, taking low-end jobs,” he said, trying a different tactic. “Kids grow up and move on. What do you want to do with the rest of your life? Any burning desires?”

“Cheryl says you’re a government program officer, and that you travel a lot,” Isabelle countered. “Does your work make you happy? Does it matter to you what the pay is?”

Those were good questions. He wasn’t certain he had any answers. Being a program officer was part of his cover. It was what he told people he did, and in fact, he quite often carried out the duties assigned to the position. He liked his work with CSIS too, and while the money was good, it wasn’t the reason he’d accepted the job. Part of its appeal was in serving his country, although the thrill of the chase—and putting together pieces of a puzzle that led to an arrest and conviction—were what mattered the most. He also liked pushing limits.

But he wouldn’t do any of it for free. Bills had to be paid. A man had to eat. He could guarantee her father wasn’t moving stolen military property out of the goodness of his heart either.

He splayed his hand against the warmth of her thigh. He was going way too far now, but she had such smooth skin—soft—yet underneath, it was solid, sleek muscle. He wondered how she’d reacted when her employer in Thailand cornered her in the garden. If she’d been as cool about it as she’d been when he kissed her.

He didn’t like the mental comparison.

“Were you happy when I found you in Bangkok?” he asked.

It was a jerk thing to say. A spark of emotion flared in her eyes, then was gone. She lifted his hand from her thigh, not answering his question. Pressing her palms to his knees, she pushed to her feet.

“You are not finished stretching,
monsieur
.
Maintenant
. We’ve only got about fifteen minutes before I have to prepare breakfast.”

He had his tell. Her English was impeccable, and spoken like a native Anglophone, yet she became more French—and very brisk—when she was rattled. He’d noticed it in Bangkok, and again when she dealt with the children in the pool yesterday, particularly Kiefer. They knew when she meant business.

He blew out a loud sigh. “I was hoping you’d forget.” He held up a hand and she took it, steadying him as he stood. He tested the leg. The hamstring really did feel better. “Let’s get this over with.”

She was unsympathetic as she showed him how to hold a few simple yoga poses. “I won’t make you practice the breathing this time. We’ll work on that another day.”

As he made half-hearted attempts at the stretches, hoping no one in the house—meaning Peter—could see him, he watched her move through her own routine. Downward dog was one he recognized. From his angle and perspective, and level of appreciation, the pose was misnamed. It should have a much sexier label. While she made it look easy, there was no way his bulkier body would ever be as graceful at this as hers. He was equally certain no one was going to be seeing his ass in that same position.

He tried to distract himself from the sight of hers by tallying up what he knew about her to add to his case file. She was smart, athletic, and unmotivated by money. At least, so she claimed. She wasn’t easily intimidated, and would do what she believed necessary in order to survive. Bangkok had proved that to him.

Then he recalled what she’d said to him earlier. How she’d taken up running because it was something she could do with her father. In Bangkok, she’d told him that she and her father were no longer as close as they once were—that when he wanted to see her, he found her.

The light bulb came on. Satisfaction hummed through him. That didn’t mean they were estranged. Isabelle wasn’t reaching out to her father because she really didn’t know where he was.

Which meant Beausejour would be contacting her. But how?

* * *

Isabelle had scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit waiting on the kitchen table by the time Cheryl, Peter, and the children came downstairs.

Garrett had already gone for his shower. While the family ate, she ran upstairs to take hers.

The next few weeks would be long ones. She didn’t know for sure what he hoped to achieve with the kisses, light touches, and admiring glances, but her thoughts and emotions tangled into all sorts of complicated knots when it came to him. He interested her. Excited her.

Annoyed her.

She should avoid him.

Before she got in the shower, out of habit, she opened the laptop and went to etsy.com. She browsed a few items.

And there it was. The message from her father that she’d been waiting for, hidden in a site for handcrafted gold rings. Her breath caught as she clicked on the link and discovered that the ring she chose was only available through backorder. The world began to spin. She sank to the floor, resting her cheek on bent knees.

Backorder meant she couldn’t contact him unless there was an extreme emergency, which in turn, meant he’d gone into hiding. At least now she knew he was alive.

It didn’t lessen her fear that he might not be for much longer. Garrett was right when he’d said she couldn’t continue to live this way. The important question wasn’t whether or not she’d been happy in Bangkok, however. It was if she was happy now. She wasn’t. She had no choice other than to continue to wait for her father.

Peter had offered her this position for the summer, however. At best, she had another six weeks before the girls started school and Kiefer went back to daycare. If her father didn’t resurface by then, she’d have a limited amount of money in her pocket and nowhere to go.

Without her passport, she wouldn’t be going very far.

For a long time, she didn’t move. Then, she made her way to the shower. By the time she got dressed and returned to the kitchen, Garrett was alone at the breakfast table, drinking coffee. Cheryl and Peter had already left for the city. She could hear the children in the playroom, watching television.

Her chest tightened at the sight of him. It was important he not realize anything was wrong, for her father’s sake if not her own. He read her far too easily.

He held up a set of car keys.

“We’re taking the kids sightseeing today,” he said. “Peter tells me you don’t drive, which means I get to chauffeur.”

A girlfriend in South Africa had taught her how to drive an ancient field truck with a stick shift when they were thirteen or fourteen, but that was a long time ago, and besides, she didn’t know any Canadian rules of the road. She’d been putting off learning, hoping to hear from her father, not knowing for certain how long she’d be here. She had no real reason to procrastinate anymore. Her stay in Canada could be indefinite.

She tried to summon enthusiasm. “I’m planning to get my license. I’ve got a copy of the learner’s handbook and I’ve been studying it.”

She must have sounded defensive because the hint of a smile, understanding and sincere, seeped into his hazel eyes. “It’s not a criticism, Isabelle. I told Peter I’d give you a few lessons while I’m here.” The smile spread to his lips, taking on a slight tinge of mischief. “You know. As payback for the yoga instruction.”

“It’s so hard to resist such a kind, generous offer when you put it like that.” She slid into a chair and reached for the bowl of strawberries, a banana, and a slice of fresh bread, which she dropped in the toaster. The looks he gave her thawed a layer of the fear numbing her heart, making it difficult to remember this was no more than a game to him. “Where would you like to go sightseeing?”

They discussed a few options before settling on a drive to the beach. “We could go to the city another day,” Garrett suggested. “Maybe Cheryl will be able to join us, and you ladies can shop while the kids and I go bowling or to a movie.”

“I’m not much of a shopper.” Certainly not at the stores his sister would frequent. She had to save her money for the next emergency she didn’t doubt would be coming. She’d been left high and dry in Bangkok by one set of employers she’d trusted. That wasn’t happening again.

His raised eyebrows said he didn’t believe her about the shopping, but he let it pass. “What do you like to do for fun, then? Other than running. And yoga. You’ll never convince me anyone enjoys that, by the way. A lobotomy would be a better way to empty your head.”

The comparison made her laugh. Whether this was a game to him or not, Garrett was going out of his way to be charming. It was nice. She spent a lot of her time as an au pair trying not to intrude on her employers’ family life, and sometimes, it got lonely. She didn’t often have anyone to share a laugh with. Troubles, either.

She wished she could trust him.

“I don’t think the purpose of yoga is to empty your head quite so literally,” she said, “but for fun, I like to see how other people live.”

Garrett’s gaze latched onto hers. “Considering all the exotic places you’ve been, Nova Scotia must seem dull.”

“You’ve traveled a lot, too,” she pointed out, “so you should understand that Nova Scotia is as exotic as any other place in the world. It all depends on what you’re used to, and I’ve never seen the Atlantic Ocean before. Montreal’s the extent of my knowledge of Canada.” She finished her toast and drank the last of her juice. She’d love to know if the things Cheryl had told her about him and his work were the truth. She really wanted them to be. It had been too long since she’d had anyone she could confide in. “I notice you didn’t invite yourself along on this shopping trip you proposed. So what do you like to do for fun when you’re on vacation? Or are you always working?”

Holding the mug in both hands, he took a sip of his coffee. “I like to take beautiful women to the beach so they can see the Atlantic Ocean.”

Which told her nothing of value, although it did bring another smile to her face. “Then I guess this is your lucky day. There’ll be three of us, with a handsome young gentleman thrown in as a bonus.” She gathered her dirty dishes and carried them to the dishwasher. “Give me half an hour to pack a lunch and get the children ready.”

“You take care of the children. I’ll finish my coffee and make sandwiches.”

They were on the road within an hour.

The Mansfords had a minivan they used for family road trips. Isabelle found the sight of Garrett sitting behind its wheel, with three young children bickering among themselves in the back, ludicrous—and therefore, entertaining. On the surface, it was difficult to reconcile this man with the one who’d grabbed her wrist in Bangkok, foiling her attempt to sell her passport. There, he’d been all business. Here, he was much more approachable. Likeable. He made her smile. She was seeing two sides to him. She had no idea which one was real.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as he backed the van out of the driveway.

“A minivan doesn’t impress me as your usual type of transportation.”

“No?” An eyebrow went up. “What is my type, then?”

She pretended to give it some thought. “The gray car James Bond drives in the movie Casino Royale, perhaps.”

“An Aston Martin?”

“A spy car,” she corrected him. “What do Canadian spies drive?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Probably something more economical. And with better mileage. I hear in Toronto, they ride the Go trains.” He slid a sly glance at her from the corner of his eye. “In Bangkok, I bet they hire tuk-tuks.”

“Surely a spy would know better than that.” She couldn’t imagine him taking public transportation of any kind, let alone an unauthorized taxi. “What do government program officers drive?”

“Their sister’s minivan.”

“Kiefer keeps touching me with his foot,” Chelsea complained from the backseat.

From that point on their talk was limited to settling minor disputes and answering hundreds of questions.