His Spy at Night (Spy Games Book 3) (7 page)

The bell rang at two minutes to seven and Lies let Harry in. He’d changed into a sport jacket and jeans and looked very handsome. Casual, too. She took the bottle of wine he handed her and examined the label while she got over the shock.

“It’s Canadian,” she said.

His grin of smug satisfaction that he’d surprised her gave her insides an odd little rush. When he smiled he wasn’t nearly as stuffy.

“I always give out Canadian wines,” he said. “We have several excellent wineries and our embassy is here to help promote Canadian businesses internationally.”

Lies, recovering, shook her head in mock despair. This sounded more like the Harry she’d come to know. “Congratulations. You’ve discovered your super power. You turn social engagements into business transactions.”

Harry’s grin deepened. “And you thought I was a snob.”

“That was your word, not mine.”

“But you thought it.”

“OK, yes I did,” Lies admitted, entranced by that smile. This side of Harry was rare. “And I take it back. You aren’t a snob. You’re a workaholic.”

“I prefer to think I’m dedicated. I like to give everything I do one hundred percent of my effort.”

The rush in her stomach spread to her toes before reality dug in its heels. Anyone else she’d accuse of flirting with her. Harry, however, meant just what he said.

He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. The sleeves of his white cotton shirt had been rolled to the elbow. “Something smells good.”

“I promised you steak.”

While she finished putting dinner on the table, he uncorked the wine and poured it in glasses. A few minutes later, they were seated across from each other. Harry sliced into his steak. It cut like butter, she was pleased to see. It had been a while since she’d cooked one for anyone else and she’d worried.

“What do you know about a nuclear physicist who died in London a few weeks ago?” he asked.

So much for polite dinner conversation. Of all the things she’d thought he’d bring up, this item hadn’t entered the picture. She wasn’t sure how much of what she knew was safe to disclose. It depended a great deal on why Harry was suddenly interested. CSIS believed the CIA, or possibly the Israeli Mossad, had targeted the physicist because of his involvement in the development of nuclear weapons. CSIS also believed he’d been helping arm countries that hadn’t signed the international Non-Proliferation Treaty.

She set down her knife and fork, laying them carefully along the edge of her plate, then picked up her drink. She eyed him over its rim. “Why do you ask?”

She listened with vigilant attention to details and a growing concern as Harry relayed to her the conversation he’d had with his friend in the Dutch
Kernfysische dienst
. Aircraft parts from Canada, and headed to Russia through the Netherlands, was a serious problem on several levels. The Dutch had initiated trade sanctions against Russia, and overall, relations with Russia remained uneasy throughout Europe. Canada didn’t want to find itself caught in the middle, even inadvertently. The trail left by those aircraft parts could lead as easily to Canada as from it, and Bernard Vanderloord, a Canadian national, appeared to be at the hub. Harry, as defense trade commissioner, had a real problem unfolding and she couldn’t help him with it other than to relay his information back to her director. CSIS wasn’t planning to shut Vanderloord down and she couldn’t tell him.

Dan owed her more chocolate.

“No one will blame you if you want to ask for a reassignment and go home,” Harry said.

The comment interrupted Lies’s train of thought. She’d been frowning at her plate as she’d processed everything he’d told her and what it could mean. “Why on earth would I want to go home?”

“You don’t need to be caught up in this. Whatever’s going on, it’s more dangerous than I led John to believe.”

Harry was worried about her. That was both sweet and exasperating. She hadn’t gotten her job by being pretty. Or thanks to her rich, fictitious daddy.

“I’m an intelligence officer. There’s always going to be an element of danger to the work I do,” she replied. “It’s part of the game.”

“Game?” Harry echoed. His eyebrows rode up his forehead to express incredulity at her choice of words.

“Of course.” Treating each case as a game was a disassociation tactic they’d been taught in training and she was good at it. “Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.”

“What happens if you lose a game where the stakes are higher than you expected?”

“If the stakes are high for me, then they’re going to be astronomical for the other team. I make sure the odds are in my favor.”

“They can’t always be.”

“And that’s what keeps the game exciting.” Lies picked at her salad, stirring it around with her fork. “I know you don’t get it, Harry. That’s why you’re on a different career path from me. But I love what I do. And don’t expect me to believe that the stakes aren’t high in your line of work too.”

“Mine don’t end up with me dead.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “That’s melodramatic. I stand a greater chance of dying in a plane crash.”

“Tell that to the guy who disappeared while delivering aircraft parts to Russia.”

“Transactions of that sort are rarely a secret. There are too many players. My own mother doesn’t know what I do. That’s the whole ‘spy’ part of it.”

“You’ve never been caught in the act?”

Michael’s face crowded into her thoughts. He hadn’t trusted her from the very beginning, but she’d figured that out before she’d gotten in too deep. And he’d never associated her with CSIS. He’d expected her to run to the police and been led to believe that she’d been too scared to do it.

“No,” she said. “If you don’t have your target’s trust then you aren’t going to learn anything of real value anyway. On the other hand, if you’ve earned a high level of trust you aren’t likely to lose it. I’ll try to earn Vanderloord’s trust. I either will or I won’t. He, however, will never have mine and that gives me the advantage.”

Harry’s brown eyes continued to radiate doubt. “Vanderloord’s been operating a long time. I doubt if he’s trusted anyone in years.”

“I’m not after the keys to his safe, Harry. I don’t need to catch him red-handed with stolen aircraft parts in the back of his truck either. I have to figure out how his network operates so it can be dismantled. I’ll pay attention to where he goes and the people he talks to. He has his sights on you and I want to know why. Since I have access to you, and to the same information you do at the embassy, I’m already two steps closer to what he wants than he is.”

“What about the dead nuclear physicist?”

“Who’s to say he didn’t really die of a pre-existing, undiagnosed heart condition?” Lies countered. If the defense minister was somehow involved in that, her boss would have a stroke.

Harry attacked his steak with his fork and knife. “I don’t like any of this. I should never have gone to John.”

Lies longed to ask if it would make any difference to him if she were a man, but she already knew the answer, so why start a fight?

“When will I meet Vanderloord?” she asked instead.

The small living area of the flat had darkened with the slow, dwindling twilight. Landscape lighting in the rooftop garden next door flickered on, illuminating manicured shrubs, as well as the table where Lies and Harry were sitting.

He swallowed a bite of steak. “Wednesday night. There’s a theater opening that embassy staff have been invited to. I believe a few of the performers are Canadian and they’re hoping a large Canadian presence will help with promotion.”

A night at the theater was on par with a trip to the dentist. “Don’t you people ever get invited to anything fun?”

“The Dutch aren’t as enthusiastic about truck pulls as you are,” Harry replied. “But the next soccer match tickets are yours.” He shifted the subject. “What do you do for entertainment? Give me an example. Tell me about your weekend.”

“I helped my cousin paint her living room.” And OK yes, she spotted the irony.

So did Harry. His mouth twitched at the corners. “How disappointing that I don’t have fun social engagements like that on my calendar.”

“There was dancing involved.” She twirled a finger. “Oh, yes. And a criminal element.”

“I’d be disappointed if there weren’t. Let’s hear the details.”

She told him about Baart and the restaurant, although she left out Yasmin’s part in it.

“You could tell he was involved in criminal activity simply by looking around?” Harry sounded skeptical. “Isn’t that called jumping to conclusions?”

“I’m a trained observer, specializing in money laundering.” It was why she was here, she could have reminded him. “When a restaurant’s tables are busy, but no one touches the cash register all evening except to take money out, something is definitely wrong.”

“Fair enough, although I doubt it would stand up in court. How does the dancing fit in?”

“There’s a nightclub next door to the restaurant.”

“Of course there is. Did they need their walls painted too?”

Lies laughed. He had a good sense of humor, quiet and dry, if one listened for it.

They finished their dinner and the bottle of wine. Harry helped her clear the table, carrying the dishes to the kitchen sink. She started the coffeemaker, amazed he hadn’t yet made up some excuse to leave.

She turned around and bumped into him. “Whoops. The kitchen’s a bit small.”

He didn’t move. “On Wednesday, how are you planning to meet Vanderloord? Do you want me to introduce you?”

“There are dozens of ways for me to meet him on my own. I can bump into him by accident, like this…” She smiled at Harry, who was still standing too close, and gestured between them, but he didn’t back off. “Or I could follow him to the men’s room and offer to buy him a drink. Maybe ask him if he has a spare fifty euros so I can show him a good time.”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Be careful, Lies.”

“Relax. I’ll start a conversation the way any normal person would in a similar situation. I’ll ask him what he thinks of the performance and we can take it from there.”

“I’ll introduce you. I want to know what’s going on.”

She liked that Harry was a gentleman throwback to another generation. It set him apart. She enjoyed having him pull out her chair and open doors for her too. Every woman liked being made to feel special.

But not when it came to her job.

“This isn’t embassy business,” she reminded him.

He was undeterred, brushing off her objections as if she hadn’t spoken. “We’re going back to Plan A. I’m pursuing you. It gives me an excuse to stay close so I can help if you need it.”

“I’ve already got Plan B established. No one at the embassy is going to believe your sudden interest in me.”

“No?” The look he gave her made the already small room shrink to a mere postage-stamp size. He tugged at one of her curls, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m single and I like beautiful women as much as the next man.”

He was playing her game with her in order to get his own way. She could hardly complain about the tactics he used, but she preferred honesty from him. While not completely predictable, he was one hundred percent dependable. She trusted him because of it.

And that gave him the advantage, because he certainly did not trust her in return.

All she could do to retaliate was call his bluff. She stepped in close, placing her hand on his chest. It was solid, like he was, and warm beneath the crisp cotton fabric of his shirt. Her palm prickled with heat. He was only an inch or so taller than she. If she’d been wearing heels, she’d have at least one advantage over him. She met his gaze and read interest. Her breathing quickened, leaving her head spinning. He really did find her attractive. There was an advantage for her in that too.

He had the most beautiful mouth, the lower lip slightly fuller than the top. It was generous and firm, the color of raspberries in early August. She’d have one little taste. Then he’d call a halt, conceding Plan A was ridiculous.

She pressed her mouth to his, nipping that full lower lip between both of hers and gently tugging. She stroked it with the tip of her tongue. He tasted delicious. Her heart began pounding. A sizzle of heat shot through her belly. Caution kicked up a ruckus inside her head, letting her know in no uncertain terms that she’d made an error in judgment. In this one area, he wasn’t trustworthy.

Not in the least.

Rather than draw back to neutral territory and regroup, as she should, she threw herself on a landmine. She slid her arms around his neck. His hands came to rest on her back, crushing her breasts to his ribs. A knee nudged her thighs apart. His tongue brushed against hers and her legs threatened to collapse. Harry, far from passive, could kiss.

The coffeemaker coughed, spitting the last of the hot water through the filter to signal the end of its cycle, interrupting the moment. Harry’s hands slid down her back to her hips. He lifted his head, his expression as steady and serious as always.

He had nerves of steel.

“I’ll introduce you to Vanderloord during intermission,” he said, as if the matter were settled. Lies, bemused, couldn’t find the right words to argue. He’d proven his point. Her mind was a blank. He eased her aside, his fingers gently biting into her skin before they released her, and slid past her to get to the counter. “You see to the coffee. I’ll carry the pastries.”