Conard County Spy (14 page)

The pain, of course. How could she have forgotten that he was suffering so much? Because he didn't mention it, of course. He didn't wander around this place groaning and grimacing.

He pulled a bottle out of his breast pocket. Without asking, she took it from him and opened it, tipping one out. “Just one? This must be one of the things that isn't easy with a single hand.”

“At least they didn't give me childproof caps. I can use my teeth if necessary.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Not usually.” He swallowed the pill with some of the water left from dinner, then held up his damaged hand. “I can't close it completely yet. No fine motor coordination at all. But for opening a pill bottle? Adequate. It'll even shift a car.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Very.”

She put her chin in her hand and simply gazed at him. While he didn't say a whole lot, what little she had seen and learned about him suggested that he was a remarkable man in many ways. An extraordinary amount of patience, an endurance that she thought might be almost superhuman. Yeah, he took a half dose of meds from time to time, but she suspected his description of the pain wasn't hyperbole. He didn't at all seem like a man prone to exaggeration.

“What?” he asked finally as if her unwavering stare bothered him.

“I'm staring,” she said without removing her gaze.

“Yup.”

“Sorry. I like looking at you.”

“Me?” That seemed to astonish him.

“You,” she said. “I realize you're probably used to passing unnoticed. You have that kind of appearance. How many times have you been mistaken for someone's long-lost friend or relative?”

His eyes danced just a little. “Occasionally.”

“I bet. You have one of those faces. Must be very useful to you. But...as far as I'm concerned, you don't blend into the woodwork at all. You're very attractive. But I think I let you know that.”

At that his lips quivered as if he were trying hard not to smile. “Just a bit.”

“I am not,” she said deliberately, “a desperate spinster.”

At that his eyes widened and the laugh escaped him. “Not a chance,” he retorted. “I'm just surprised you're not married to the handsomest guy around here, trailing a kid or two on your apron strings.”

She waved her free hand, her chin still propped on the other. “I'm a little pickier than that. My taste for adventure gets in the way. I may settle down someday, but it's not going to be with anyone ordinary.”

“So it has to be someone willing to jaunt around the world with you?”

“At the least. Or willing to go hiking off-trail in the deep woods. I'm not looking for someone extraordinary, just someone with a few surprises and a taste for trying new things.”

He didn't answer, but now his gaze seemed locked with hers. Then, almost as if he needed to put the space back, he said, “Ashley's arrival was a little worrisome.”

Well, heck, she thought. He'd done it again. “Yeah,” she agreed. “The fact that she got here without warning. Could your guy do that?”

“Depends.”

“Everything depends.” Giving up, she rose and carried her own plate to the sink. At least cleaning up gave her something to do. It wasn't enough, but it was all she had right now.

“Julie?”

She had bent to put the plates in the dishwasher. “Yeah?”

“I'm sorry.”

That brought her upright. “For what?” she asked, facing him.

“That I'm not your extraordinary-ordinary guy.”

With her hip, she closed the dishwasher. “I don't remember asking you to be. You ever heard of this thing called dating, Trace?”

He nodded, looking wary.

“Dating is the process whereby people try each other on. You know, like shoes or a pair of pants that catches your eye. How can you be sure one way or the other if you don't slip them on?”

Smiling, she sashayed into the living room and sat on the couch. She'd had the pleasure of taking the spy by surprise again.

* * *

Trace remained at the bar, staring into the now-dark kitchen. When all this had blown up on Friday morning, he'd had one singular problem: an assassin on his tail. Now he had two problems, one of them a sassy schoolteacher who was gorgeous beyond words and seemed intent on “trying him on.”

He couldn't understand that at all. Was she getting high on the danger of the situation? Because there was certainly nothing about him that demanded this kind of attention. As far as he could tell, he was trouble of the worst kind, and crippled besides. What could any woman see in that? Even for a fling?

His mind had run the race circuit of possibilities so many times he was sure there was a groove in the track. Not good. If he got locked in, he could miss something. Already he was planning tomorrow's attempt on the files he needed, figuring out various ways to give himself permissions. He'd had to do that over the years when he'd required information they seemed reluctant to give him. He operated a lot in a relative vacuum, which sometimes had to be pierced for his safety and the safety of those who worked for him.

How else could he discover if someone might be a double agent? How else could he gather background information on an asset that might already be in the files?

Which brought him back to his racetrack. Sighing, he turned on the stool and looked at Julie. She seemed pleased with herself, as if she knew she had rattled him.

Well, she had. He had absolutely no idea what to do in a situation like this. She was interested. So was he. And if he were just any other guy, there'd be no question. But he was a guy with death stalking him.

Somehow he suspected that reminding her of that wasn't going to have an impact. It's not as if she didn't already know. But every time he tried to place a safe distance between them, she punctured it. Apparently she didn't like vacuums any more than he did.

“How's your hand?” she asked.

“Hurting. One pill reduces it to a tolerable level.”

“That really stinks,” she said bluntly. “I find it hard to believe they can't do any more for you than that.”

“Well, they could amputate it.”

Now he had the dubious pleasure of knocking her off balance the way she kept doing to him. He waited, wondering how she'd react.

Her response was subdued. “They suggested that?”

“It's still on the table if the pain doesn't subside. I can't go through the rest of my life half doped.”

“If you have a life,” she retorted.

God, he loved her fire. Everything about Julie was up-front and bold. “I'm going to have a life if I have to rip it out of this tiger.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Murder?”

“Self-defense. Does that shock you?”

She shook her head. “Actually, no. It's the only response when someone wants to kill you. Unless you can take them down another way.”

“Well, I hope I can.”

“With one arm?”

“It may not be able to grip small things, that hand, but it can still do a lot of damage.” He flexed it, feeling a sharp new wave of fiery pain, but the pill caused it to subside quickly.

“You're not afraid of pain, are you?” she said.

“No. I'm not. I'm not crazy—I don't like it, but sometimes you just have to deal with it. Fearing it only makes it worse.”

She tucked her legs under her and folded her arms. “There are probably a lot of things in life you could say that about. Fear is a prison.”

“It's also good protection.”

She tilted her head, studying him again. “I won't say that's not true. Fear's a good warning. A heightened response to a threat. But it can also paralyze you.” Then she said, “I was afraid to open the door earlier when Ashley came over. I was so relieved when I caught sight of her hair. I'm not sure I could have opened it if I hadn't seen that.”

He was surprised by her admission. “I think you would have.”

Her smile was crooked. “So sure?”

“You took me and all my troubles on to protect a friend. If you thought it would protect me in some way, you'd have opened the door. Yeah, I'm sure.”

She'd drawn the curtains on the living room window, but they barely muffled the sounds of the raging storm. The TV, on low volume, occasionally offered static along with the voice of a weatherman who was beginning to sound less excited and a whole lot more exhausted.

Trace indicated the TV with a jerk of his chin. “That guy local?”

“Pretty much. I only subscribe to what would be called local channels. Basic service. Why?”

“Just wondering. He doesn't seem to have anyone to spell him.”

“I could change to a different station.”

“For what? More of the same?” He shook his head and stood. “Do you mind if I use your computer? I want to make sure I can still access my VPN.” Just an excuse to do something rather than think about problems that had no solutions, like a killer. Like Julie. Of course he'd be able to access his VPN. But maybe he could use it as a diversion, explain it better to Julie.

“That's the program that will make it look like you're logging in from somewhere else? Be my guest.”

Hers was a standard desktop, a couple of years old. He sat in her chair to face it, aware that she had moved to the nearer end of the couch. “No laptop?” he asked.

“On my salary? One computer is enough. If I need a laptop for some project, I can borrow one from the school, but I stopped buying them. More expensive and less durable. Why? Do you need one?”

“No. I just wondered. I thought everyone was on laptops and tablets these days.” With a touch of a button he booted up the system.

“I'm a holdout, I guess. Even my kindergartners know their way around a tablet. Next year, a lot of them will be using them some of the time in class.”

He glanced at her as he waited for the boot-up to complete. “So you're a back-to-the-basics sort of teacher?”

“That depends. But it seems to me that you ought to be able to write and do simple arithmetic before you turn it over to a machine.”

“I agree. So what kind of internet service do you have?”

“Broadband, believe it or not. The county and city had to fight with the provider, but we've finally climbed out of the Dark Ages. Of course, taxpayer money helped pay for some of the improvements.”

“Of course. Hey, here's an interesting tidbit if you don't already know it. Landlines, like your old phone here? They never got built in most of Africa. Too expensive. So in a very short space of time, they went from having to hike ten or twenty miles to talk to a relative to being able to do everything on a smartphone. Cell towers got built instead of phone lines. As for electricity...there are places where one house will have a generator and people will stand in line to charge their cell phones. It's their window on the world and it's speeding up development.”

Her eyes brightened. “I think that's a story my students would love to hear.”

“I still get a charge out of it.” He turned his attention to her computer again and checked her upload and download speeds. Even in this storm they were adequate for his purposes. But when he tried to log in to his VPN account, he cussed.

“What?” she asked.

“They canceled my VPN account,” he said. He closed down the browser immediately, wiping the screen of the “invalid login” message. What if they had been waiting for him to log in? “Hell.”

He hit the button, shutting down her computer instantly. “If I just broke your computer, I'll replace it.” Eventually. If he lived long enough.

“Trace? Would they know where you tried to log in from?”

“I don't think I was there long enough for a trap to work. Anyway, this VPN provider doesn't record that info. They don't record
anything.
Damn! I wonder if my timeline just got shortened.”

He stared at her blank monitor, trying to get handle on this. He hadn't shared his VPN information with anyone. In theory, the agency didn't even know he had it. In theory. It might just be a mess-up because of the storm, but he couldn't afford to take the chance. On the other hand, part of the VPN security he'd purchased was a guarantee that they wouldn't record the ISP he used to enter their tunnel. He'd made sure of that, and given the business the VPN company was in, and given he'd chosen one based in another country, there was little likelihood his account could have been diddled with in some way, other than to shut it down.

He blew a long breath. No, probably no information had been recorded.

“What now?” Julie asked.

He glanced at her and didn't like the pinching around her eyes. He'd like to erase that tension for her. “I've got to get a new account.”

“But you can't use your cards.”

“No.”

“Well, then, use mine.” Without another word she popped up. She retrieved her wallet from a backpack beside the door. “I've got plenty of plastic. Let's go.”

But still he hesitated, thinking it all through again. Somehow they had learned about his VPN account. That wasn't necessarily good. All the agency's communications ran on its own VPN on secure government servers, but the fact that they'd figured out he had his own on a different service meant someone was too damn interested in him. He used his credit cards mainly to pay necessary bills when he was out of country, like the storage room he maintained for his few odds and ends, and his car payment. And the annual charge on his VPN.

So someone had been delving into his background, which left him all but certain he was more than a blood offering. Somebody else, someone in the agency, wanted to settle some kind of score with him. Or maybe they had just been looking for some vulnerability to pass along to the guy who was after him.

The picture, far from getting clearer, seemed to be getting cloudier. He sat there blindly staring at the computer, and now a gold credit card sat beside the keyboard. He needed to be sure he wouldn't put Julie at more risk.