Her Spy to Have (Spy Games Book 1) (8 page)

Garrett chose the back roads rather than the highway. “We’re sightseeing,” he said when Kiefer, unhappy about having to sit in his car seat, rebelled over the length of the drive.

To distract the children, Isabelle taught them to sing a Dutch lullaby she’d learned in Amsterdam. She didn’t speak the language very well, but she loved the sound of the words—Slaap kindje slaap, daar buiten loopt een schaap. Een schaap met witte voetjes, die drinkt zijn melk zo zoetjes. Slaap kindje slaap, daar buiten loopt een schaap.

An hour later, they followed a long, winding road along the coastline to Martinique Beach. When they got to the provincial park area, they drove through protected wetlands before finding a parking spot close to the change rooms. Isabelle held Kiefer’s hand as they walked along the boardwalk to the stairs that led through the grassy dunes to the beach.

They dropped their picnic basket, towels, and blankets near the base of the dunes. The children headed straight for the water, the girls shrieking when they got wet above the knees because it was cold, but it didn’t stop them from playing in the waves. Kiefer, however, plunged in with a splash. Garrett stayed close to his side to keep him from going into water deeper than the bottom of his shorts. It was too easy for a small child, especially one who loved the water, to be knocked down by the surf and drawn out with the pull of the tide.

Seawater foamed around Isabelle’s ankles, numbing her feet. A stiff breeze blew steadily in from offshore, whipping her hair across her face. She hugged her arms across her chest and shivered in the lightweight summer dress she’d donned over her bikini. She hadn’t expected the beach to be so cold in July.

“You swim on that side of me, along the edge of the beach where it’s shallow,” Garrett was saying to Kiefer, pointing to his right, “not on this side, out to where the sharks will eat you.” He jabbed a finger to his left, where nothing but whitecaps and a yawning blue ocean touched the horizon.

Isabelle clicked her tongue in disapproval. “I’ll let Cheryl know who to blame if he has nightmares tonight.”

“This kid doesn’t get nightmares. He gives them.” Garrett took his eyes off Kiefer’s bobbing crown for a few seconds long enough to take note she was shivering. He straightened, pulled off his gray sweatshirt, and tossed it to her. Underneath, he wore a white T-shirt tucked into black board shorts. “Here. Put this on. You can keep it dry for me.”

She tugged it over her head, too cold to refuse such a simple, kind gesture. It was warm from his skin, and smelled good, like spice-scented cologne. It was like donning an embrace.

“Why don’t you go sit on the blankets, out of the wind?” he suggested.

She hesitated. She was being paid to look after the children and he was supposed to be on vacation. “I don’t want to impose on you.”

“My nieces and nephew aren’t an imposition. I like playing with them. I don’t see them often enough.”

The children were enjoying themselves. So was Garrett. She was in their way, interfering in family time. She walked up the beach to the blankets, spread one out on the sand, and sat down where she could keep an eye on the children, just in case, and also be alone to think.

She needed to come up with a plan. She watched Garrett, playing in the water with the children. Soon she might have no choice but to trust him. She needed to know more about him first. Who—what—he was. She couldn’t come right out and ask. If he was CSIS, he’d only lie to her. She huddled deeper into his sweatshirt, digging her toes into the sun-heated sand.

She’d have to find out who he was on her own.

Chapter Five

Although she hid it well, Isabelle had been preoccupied all day. She’d been miles away, her attention only dragged back by the children or a direct question from him.

As they dusted sand off little bodies in the parking lot and fastened the kids in their seats, Garrett wondered what might be the cause. If it had been something he’d said or done. While he conceded he’d done plenty—far more than he should have—he didn’t think he was the main reason behind her distraction. She’d been unfazed by their kiss. There’d been nothing unusual about her behavior after they finished stretching that morning, either. The only time Isabelle had been alone all day was when she’d gone to her room to get dressed. It was possible she’d made a phone call, or gone online. If she’d gotten a message from her father, or news of some kind, it hadn’t been good.

Garrett knew she suspected what he was. Earlier, she’d turned the conversation to spies—but she’d been fishing for information long before that.

Suspicions were one thing. All he had to do was make sure she didn’t find out for certain.

He took the highway home from the beach rather than the back roads this time. Kiefer, the chief troublemaker, soon fell asleep in his car seat. The girls chattered with each other, occasionally firing a question into the front for the adults to answer.

After they got home and unloaded the van, he excused himself.

“I have a few emails to respond to,” he said, and abandoned Isabelle with the children.

Upstairs, in his suite, he checked to see what her recent online activities had been. She’d read the CSIS Act. How…boring. Bet that put her to sleep. Then he frowned at his computer screen. For a woman who didn’t like to shop, she spent a lot of time in online stores. She’d been on one site at 7:36 a.m. She appeared to appreciate handcrafted gold jewelry, the stuff that was one-of-a-kind, yet he couldn’t recall her ever wearing a single item of it. He hadn’t seen any jewelry when he’d gone through her belongings, either. The belly ring appeared to be all she possessed.

He dug a little deeper into her browser history, but found nothing unusual. She’d clicked a link for one of the cheaper rings, but it was on backorder and she hadn’t lingered, or tried finding one similar to purchase, instead.

I’m not much of a shopper.

He flipped the screen closed and drummed his fingertips on the laptop. Maybe she just liked to look, but he didn’t think so. If there was a hidden message, however, he wasn’t getting it.

He didn’t get anything about her.

He heard voices outside and went to the window. Two of Peter’s teenage nephews, who lived on the farm, had come over to use the pool to cool off after their work in the fields. Beth, Chelsea, and Kiefer were begging Isabelle to let them swim too, never mind that they’d spent the better part of their day in the ocean already. Isabelle was laughing at something one of the older boys, Chris, was saying to Beth. The wind caught the skirt of her pretty yellow sundress, lifting it enough to show plenty of tanned thigh, and Garrett watched the boys’ gazes shift to her legs, just for a second.

It seemed the pool wasn’t the only attraction around here for sweaty, teenage boys.

Isabelle left Chris and his brother Max in charge of their younger cousins while she walked toward the house, no doubt to get towels.

Garrett turned away from the window. While he knew Chris and Max well, and they were really nice guys, they weren’t little children. At seventeen, Chris was already taller than Garrett. He should probably go down and make sure she wasn’t uncomfortable having them here.

The pain in his leg tweaked as he headed for the door of his suite, reminding him of how her fingers had felt on his skin as she’d worked the muscle. The memory of the way she’d tasted as he’d kissed her, pressed against the wall in this very hallway, came back all on its own. He paused at the head of the stairs. Maybe he had been the cause of her preoccupation today after all, a possibility that raised an unpalatable question: How far was he willing to go to get information from her?

Touching her—kissing her—weren’t part of the job. Those were things he’d done on his own, for pleasure, because he’d wanted to. Isabelle, on the other hand, wasn’t in the best position to be able to tell him she’d rather he didn’t. Her last employers had let her go without pay for this very reason. She had no reason to think that wouldn’t happen to her again.

Somewhere below, he heard a door close. She’d likely gotten whatever she’d come for and gone back outside. He changed his mind about joining her at the pool. He hadn’t been planning to go outside for her peace of mind, but for his. If she could handle Khao San Road late at night, she could manage the harmless attentions of two teenage boys.

Later on, when they both had a few free minutes, he’d talk to her alone, only this time, he’d come on less strong. He’d make arrangements for them to go running together again, and for giving her driving lessons. He’d ignore all that smooth skin. Those wide eyes. The full lips. He’d work on building a friendship.

He got his chance not long after dinner.

Once the dishes were cleared and the children settled in the family room, tired out from a long day and waiting for bedtime, Isabelle said she had a book she wanted to finish and went upstairs.

Peter lounged on one leather sofa, his socked feet propped on a cushion. He still wore a dress shirt and trousers from work, but he’d ditched the tie and jacket. Garrett sat in a recliner in front of the television, comfortable in his T-shirt and shorts. Cartoons were on, and he was collecting ideas for Christmas presents based on Beth’s reactions to the commercials. Chelsea sprawled across Garrett’s lap, her thumb in her mouth and a finger twirling a rust-colored curl. Her eyelids kept drooping, then popping open, as she fought to stay awake. Cheryl was in Peter’s office at the front of the house, the door open in case someone needed her, working on some papers she’d brought home.

Garrett leaned over the armrest of his chair and prodded Peter’s shoulder. “Hey. Your son’s asleep on the floor.”

“So he is.” Peter sat up. “Kiefer, come on, bud. Get up. It’s time for bed. Cheryl!” he called to his wife. “Grab a kid.”

A half hour later, all three children had brushed their teeth and were in their pajamas. Despite loud protests that they weren’t sleepy, Kiefer and Chelsea passed out seconds after their heads hit the pillows. Beth had a book Cheryl was reading to her.

Garrett and Peter met on the second-floor landing outside Kiefer’s bedroom.

“I’m going to go watch the news upstairs,” Garrett said.

“And I’m going to go book family seats for that one-way space trip to Mars,” Peter replied. “Since we’re exchanging alibis.”

“Funny.”

His brother-in-law, normally so easygoing, lowered his voice. He shot a glance loaded with significance at the third floor. “Seriously, Garrett. About Isabelle. You might be able to get away with a lot more than most people when it comes to nosing around in someone’s business, but we have privacy laws in this country—harassment ones, too—and I’m an elected official. I’ve got to be seen following the rules. Try to remember that, okay?”

Which was why Peter should never have interfered in the first place, Garrett longed to point out, but didn’t. If Isabelle had gone off to some third party home where her employers were totally ignorant of his investigation, as he’d planned, there’d be no problem for them. Now Peter wouldn’t have ignorance to use as a defense. While it might not create problems for him with the public since any official reports would be whitewashed anyway, it well could in private, among the other elected members of Parliament.

“I’ll remember,” Garrett said.

He climbed the stairs to the third floor. He walked past his door and approached Isabelle’s. He listened outside for a few seconds, but heard no sounds within. He rapped on the door with one knuckle, not wanting Peter or Cheryl, only a level below, to hear. He got no response, so he knocked louder.

Still nothing.

She couldn’t have fallen asleep. It was barely past eight o’clock. The sun hadn’t yet set. He inched the door open. Maybe she’d taken her book to read in the bath.

When he peered into the suite, the bathroom door was open and the room was obviously empty. The bedroom door through the sitting area was also wide open. That room, too, was empty.

“Isabelle?” he called softly, still mindful of Peter and Cheryl.

No answer. The television was off. Her book and laptop both sat closed on the coffee table.

Where could she be?

There was nothing else up here but a linen closet, and an attic that took up the other half of the third floor. Garrett went out in the hall. He rattled the attic door, but it was locked. Cheryl didn’t want the children playing in there and accidently trapping themselves in.

That left only one place.

He shook his head, half impressed, one hundred percent intrigued. He’d known she was bold and had shaky ethics. The big question now was whether she was snooping or stealing. In all fairness he’d searched her room first, so he couldn’t cast stones. Since all of his files were password protected, if she were snooping there’d be no real harm done. Stealing was a different matter, but he didn’t think that was on her agenda.

He opened the door to his suite. She was curled in a ball on the sofa with her hands clasped under her cheek, her breathing even and deep, as if she were sound asleep. Pink flip-flops, with flowers that fit between the toes instead of thongs, peeked out from beneath the edge of the sofa.

He didn’t believe she was sleeping. Not for a second. But, wow, he admired her boldness and ingenuity, although maybe not the insult to his intelligence.

He didn’t try to wake her. Instead, he strode over to his laptop bag. She’d searched through it, he could tell at a glance. He always kept the flap in a particular position so he’d know. His laptop was inside, but he didn’t bother to check if she’d tried to use it. If so, she’d have wasted her time.