His Spy at Night (Spy Games Book 3) (26 page)

A light went on in his head. She didn’t find him dull. She found him peaceful.

She wasn’t playing a game.

He didn’t know what to do about it.

* * *

At bedtime, Harry carried Lies’s backpack and his overnight bag up a steep flight of stairs with risers too small for his feet, giving him the awkward sensation of climbing a precarious ladder while juggling.

They had the second floor of the house to themselves. However, they’d been assigned separate quarters. He dropped Lies’s bag in a room at the farthest end of the hall. It had sloped walls and a skylight. His room was closer to the stairs. While smaller than hers, it boasted a sink and mirror for shaving and an extra-long, twin-sized bed.

Lies kissed him goodnight in the hall, which was a disappointment, but they hadn’t yet resolved any major issues between them.

He couldn’t sleep. Even though the bed’s mattress was comfortable the bedsprings creaked every time he rolled over. Not to mention, the thought of Lies only a few doors away left him restless. He missed her presence. The soft scent of her hair. The warm length of her limbs intertwined with his. The gentle sighs she made in her sleep.

Decisions had to be made. They’d both worked hard to get where they were. He could think of no way to mesh their two lives together. Did he let her go?

He had no choice in the matter. She’d be reassigned once she returned to Ottawa. In a few years he’d be transferred and the likelihood of them crossing paths again would further diminish.

The house fell silent except for the various grumblings of a centuries-old building. He’d finally dozed off when the opening and closing of his bedroom door jolted him awake. Lies, clad in a short nightie, darted across the cold room and crawled under the covers with him. He had to wrap an arm around her to keep them both from tumbling onto the floor.

“Your aunt and uncle wouldn’t approve,” was all he could think of to say.

“They aren’t ninety. Do you think they really expect us to sleep in separate rooms?”

Harry contemplated the single bed with its limited capacity. “Yes.”

She nestled against him, her hands pinned together between her cheek and his chest. She slid a bare foot up his calf. “Twin beds are all that’s available. We can be creative.”

“Elmer scares me.”

“He’s all talk.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re trained in hand-to-hand combat and can kill a man with the jab of your finger.”

She laughed softly. It rumbled through her body and transferred to his. “I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

He played with one of her ringlets, twisting it around his finger and rubbing it with his thumb. She pressed a kiss to the inside of his arm, an inch above the elbow. The gentle, intimate contact sent a stab of pure lust straight to an erection that had been nagging him since nine o’clock that morning when he’d picked her up at her flat. She buffed her thigh against him, causing both pleasure and an exquisite pain.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His chest expanded to three times its normal capacity. From the moment he’d met her in John Carmichael’s office he’d wanted her. Now she was his and he’d do what he had to—whatever she asked—in order to keep her. To hell with his career.

“I know,” he whispered back.

“How very confident of you.”

Along with humor, he could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Your aunt gave me one of your baby pictures and your uncle threatened to kill me and hide my body if I ever hurt you. I assumed that isn’t their typical welcome for guests—which means I’ve got to be someone special.”

She lifted her head to gaze at him in the semi-darkness. He could feel her eyes on him. “It wasn’t hard for them to figure out. I’ve never brought a man to meet them before.”

“No wonder. You’d have to be confident he’s not a flight risk. Please tell me your uncle’s not the friendliest member of the family. If he is I want you to teach me that lethal finger jab move before I meet your father.”

Her palm pressed against his cheek, pivoting his face in line with hers. “Do you want to meet my father?”

“And your mother, grandparents, siblings, pets, neighbors…whoever is important to you. I love you too.”

He’d never said those words aloud to another woman. They tripped off his tongue far easier than he’d expected, perhaps because they were so sincere. He did love her. Enough to acknowledge that she could love him even though she was leaving, and trust she’d be back.

Her thoughts had been following the same lines.

“Where do we go from here?” she asked.

“I can search for something in the private sector if it means we’ll have more time to spend together.”

“Can I make a suggestion?”

“Please do.”

She wriggled into a more comfortable position. His drifting fingers made the distracting discovery that she wore no panties beneath her nightie.

Forget about torture. She was trying to kill him.

“Ask John if you can keep me on as your personal assistant. In exchange, you accept postings in countries that are of interest to CSIS and where I can gather intelligence. Between you and John and your connections, you could make that happen.”

He tugged his mind off her missing panties and focused on her suggestion. It would give his own work a far different meaning. He wasn’t certain if such an arrangement would be good or bad for him, but he liked the idea far more than he would have expected considering how tired intrigue made him and how much he hated the dangerous games Lies enjoyed playing.

But he loved her and wanted her to be happy. She was never going to give up what was important to her. Including him.

And she wasn’t going to ask him to give up anything either.

The fact that she also loved him filled him with awe. She was beautiful, clever, brave, and dedicated. How had he ever gotten so lucky?

Because he’d taken a risk.

For her, he’d take more.

“Marry me,” he said.

“Someday.” The bed groaned under their combined weight as she moved to sit on top of him, her knees digging into his hips as she carefully balanced. “But we’ve got to get our stages in the right order. Let’s concentrate on building our relationship and planning our future. Once we’ve got those stages settled, we can work on trust and stability.”

“I trust you.” He hadn’t trusted himself. She was right to refuse to marry him. He still had to prove himself to her, although he doubted if that was what she meant. She knew what she wanted.

So did he. Finally.

He was willing to wait for some things but not others. He smoothed his palms up her thighs to caress the bare buttocks straddling him. “How quiet do you think we can be?”

“Given past experience with you and judging by these bedsprings? Not quiet enough.” She leaned forward and kissed him, the dark room a cocoon of intimacy around them. Her mouth hovered above his, her breath teasing his lips. “Do you want me to go back to my own bed?”

Never.

He’d talk to John. Between them, they’d pull a few strings. Then Lies, who’d shaken his world from the first moment he met her, could continue to turn it upside down.

He planned to enjoy every minute.

Epilogue

The shiny, plain gold band on Lies’s ring finger drew Harry’s attention from across the crowded room. He’d never grow tired of seeing it there or stop appreciating what it had gained him. After three years of pulling strings and planning vacations together, never knowing how long they’d be in the same place, he’d finally convinced her to marry him.

He’d placed that ring on her finger less than a week before their departure from Ottawa for Astana, Kazakhstan, where he was the northern Central Asian country’s newly minted Canadian ambassador. He and Lies had arrived in its capital city a day before the first major snowstorm of the season. He’d accepted this posting for her work, not his.

Espionage still created some issues between them. In the spring of the past year he’d gotten word from an old friend in the Netherlands that Bernard Vanderloord had been found dead in his Amsterdam home, cause unknown. It had been mentioned to him in passing, a piece of gossip based on a shared acquaintance with the deceased. He hadn’t asked Lies if she knew anything about it or if Canada was somehow involved. Some things were best left alone and he’d learned to let go.

He chose to believe karma had caught up with Vanderloord.

In contrast to the impressively bitter temperatures that had settled over Astana, the people here were warm and welcoming. The party the Canadian embassy was hosting tonight for local staff and their families was designed to help ease their way into Astana society. They’d been warned that even very young children were almost always included in social functions, so Lies had brought an assortment of Canadian candies to distribute as small party favors.

Her Russian, the local language of business, was progressing much faster than his. Right now she had a wide-eyed toddler on her hip and was also trying out a few words in Kazakh on him, much to the amusement of the child’s mother. She looked very beautiful and elegant, but in the wholesome, approachable way of the Dutch. The sleek, silver dress she wore fell to the toes of her matching high heels. The tangle of short blond ringlets she couldn’t seem to keep under control fascinated the child in her arms, far more so than her mangled attempt to converse.

Harry had finally talked her into marriage, but not yet convinced her it was time to start a family. Maybe the value the Kazakhs placed on it would have some influence. He was thirty-nine years old. She was thirty-one. He’d give it another year or so, and if she still refused to be swayed, he’d let the matter drop. She was enough for him. Children, although nice, weren’t a necessity. Her cousin Yasmin had two already, and while Lies adored them, she said she preferred handing them back to their mother.

He dragged his attention away from his bride. Roman Bayzhanov, his eager young translator, had said something to him. It was his son whom Lies was trying to charm.

“Your wife is very eager to explore the country,” Roman repeated, more slowly. His English, while good, was heavily accented and he must have thought Harry hadn’t understood him. “I’ve advised her it’s best to enjoy city life until the warm weather returns.”

Harry had to admire her dedication. She’d wasted no time. Since Canada had gone into serious trade business with Kazakhstan, the Prime Minister’s Office was interested in tracking Kazakhstan’s progress toward achieving international human rights standards. Her task was to meet with women from all levels of Kazakh society and gather the required information. She’d also provide her opinions and recommendations regarding the status and education of Kazakh women, and if Canada could—or should—offer support.

She’d conducted similar research in other countries he’d been posted to over the past few years, and with impressive and eye-opening results. He predicted that within the next decade she’d be working for the United Nations fulltime as an advocate of international women’s rights.

He could hardly wait. There’d be a measure of safety in such a position that currently didn’t exist. He’d never like that she sometimes risked her life, but had come to accept and even admire her unwavering dedication to a worthy cause.

She passed the child back to his mother.

Harry excused himself and went to her side. He slid an arm around her waist and whispered in her ear. “We’re still on our honeymoon, Mrs. Jordan. Another half hour, then we’re out of here.”

Her cheeks flushed with color, although not from embarrassment. She hadn’t taken his surname. Calling her
Mrs. Jordan
was code for what would follow later, when they were in bed and alone.

“Have I told you yet tonight how much I love you?” she asked.

“I can’t remember,” Harry lied. “You should tell me again.”

He’d never grow tired of hearing her say it, or saying it back. He’d once been so certain he’d wanted nothing to do with intrigue or spies. To be truthful, he didn’t. He’d be thrilled if—when—the UN made that call and Lies put CSIS behind her. Until then, she remained an intelligence officer masquerading as an embassy personal assistant.

And his spy at night.

THE END

Note to Readers

Thank you for choosing
His Spy at Night,
the third book in my
Spy Games
series. I hope you loved Harry and Lies. (Wow. Wasn’t her name appropriate? I swear I didn’t plan it.)

My usual disclaimer:

Canada prides itself on its freedom of information policies and public disclosure, and CSIS, Canada’s spy agency, isn’t exempt. If you read the actual
Canadian Security Intelligence Act
, however, you’ll note there’s a great deal of ambiguity to their mandate, and my characters have chosen to exploit it. They are spies, after all.

Next up is Dan and Alycia’s story in
Her Spy at Dawn
. I really didn’t start off with a story in mind for Dan in this series, but by the time I’d finished writing
Her Spy to Hold
, the second
Spy Games
book, I knew he was going to have one. Poor Dan…