The Lady Is a Thief (23 page)

 
   
“They could control the information flow
that way—and learn where they had leaks.” She dabbed at her eyes.

 
   
“Exactly.
He got a
job at a rare book dealer, and used that cover to handle the intercepts. He
also got to know one of the agents who bought many of the books—a literature
professor at a local university. When she came to auction, he always replaced
whatever book she purchased with one of the coded ones he created…and one day,
she brought in a coded one of her own to auction.” Jarod smiled. Even amidst
all the moves and countermoves, his father took the time to engage in a
whimsical courtship. “He took the book she'd put up for auction, replaced it
with another and tagged it with an isotope so they could track it. Later, he
translated her book.”

 
   
“I'm going to assume the message was
important.”

 
   
“It was. You see in all the books she'd
purchased, he included a second coded message. The first time it was an
introduction of sorts—a compliment to her beauty. Later, they were notes about
the classes she taught and her interest in Renaissance writing. He knew
everything about her—because he studied her—and he fell in love.” He glanced
sideways at her. Kit's mouth opened but no words came out. “Now, remember, it's
the cold war and consorting between agents happened—but also grounds for
treason. He was very circumspect in his letters, never revealing his identity.”

 
   
“And the one she sent back?” She latched
onto that critical fact.

 
   
“A thank you for all his kind thoughts, but
because of her work and her conflicted commitments, she didn't have much to
offer.” It was an opening, an access point his father could leverage. “He
waited a week and set up another book drop—this time, he didn't wait for her
superior's orders to come in, he'd already figured out most of the system. When
she bought the book, she received the information that he'd like to help her
with that conflict. He could fix it for her…but she had to trust him.”

 
   
Engaged in the story, Kit leaned forward and
stared at him.
“And?”

 
   
“And he walked into the director's office
and pitched to him the benefits of turning a foreign agent and helping her
defect. He cited all of her skills and qualifications and the fact that in
every book he'd intercepted from her over the last year—she left out key data
her superior's would have wanted—data she had to have access to.”

 
   
“She was sabotaging her own mission.”

 
   
“More or less.”
Jarod nodded. “At first, the director was reluctant. He required three tests of
loyalty.”

 
   
“And she passed them.” Kit sniffled, but her
confidence didn't waver.

 
   
“Yes she did—but the director decided it
would be better to turn her and send her back—that way she could provide
information to the agency. My father disliked the idea, and when the director
wouldn't change his mind, he told the other
agent that as
long as her cover remained intact—and she could safely return—
they were
going to ask her to.”

 
   
She sucked in a little breath and her
fingers tightened against his. “What did she do?”

 
   
“She sent a blatant lie in her next coded
message home. My father replaced it and then took the evidence to the director.
He told him the agent would rather die than go back, so she'd begun to dig her
own grave—if they wanted to take advantage of her skill set, they needed to
take her out of play.”

 
   
“And they did?”

 
   
Jarod laughed softly at the impatience
creeping into her voice. “Yes, it took a few more such messages and threats on
both sides, but eventually the director caved. My father sold her a book with a
single message in it—a date and location.” He lifted Kit's hand and kissed a
knuckle lightly.

 
   
“And?”
She tugged
her hand away and pinched him. Sadness still lingered in her gaze, but she
sounded more like herself.

 
   
“And, he met her for dinner at a little
French bistro in Washington D.C. By the end of their meal, he asked her to
marry him and she said yes. An hour before she walked into the agency to turn
herself in, they signed their marriage license.”

 
   
“
Oooh
.”
Kit breathed. “She's your mother?”

 
   
“Yes, she is.” He grinned. “The director was
furious and they demoted Dad. He nearly got tossed out entirely—but they both
knew the game and they knew how to make it work. But what my mother and the
director never understood—is from the moment he had her file, Dad fell in love
with her. He knew he was going to get her out and he just needed the time and
the leverage to do it.”

 
   
“That's so romantic.”

 
   
He laughed again. “That's what my mom says.”

 
   
“Doesn't your father think it's romantic?”
She demanded, her red-rimmed eyes sparkling.

 
   
“No. He considers it a success.” He grinned
and claimed her hand for another kiss. She laughed and leaned over to press a
kiss to his cheek.

 
   
“It's still romantic.”

 
   
“I'm sure it is. You can argue that point
with him when you meet them.” He gauged her reaction from the corner of his
eye. Her sweet mouth curved into a delighted smile.

 
   
“You want to introduce me to your parents?”

 
   
“I do.”

 
   
She was silent long enough to give him pause
and then she grinned. “You know that's worth a point, right?”

 
   
He sighed.
“Yes, darling.
It's worth a point. Eight-six, it is.”

 
   
“Eight?” She protested. “When did it become
eight?”

One
week later…

 
   
T
he
Viscount
duMonde
glared at
the news on his digital tablet. The return of
The
Fortunate Buddha
to
the temple in Thailand made the wires. The artifact's history and its recent
ties to a pair of murders in New York were listed in the sidebar. He flexed his
right hand, the bruise from his encounter at their airport still made his
fingers twitch. He picked up the wine glass with his left and drained the
contents. His waiter strolled over the moment he finished and set down a fresh
glass, clearing away the empty.

 
   
“Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”
The man's practiced tone edged on the patronizing, but his helpful expression
settled Louis' ire. He shook his head and waved the man away. He would spend
his afternoon getting drunk. The men he left to fetch the Buddha sat in a jail
in Bakersfield, California, and two were threatening to roll over on him. It
would cost, but they would be silenced.

 
   
Lady Hardwicke was in London. She flew home
after the funeral—and a stop in Thailand apparently. His stomach churned and a
burning sensation crept up through his chest. He took another swallow of the
wine. His ulcer seemed to be acting up. He gained nothing from going after her,
but teaching her to stay out of his business was a lesson she needed to learn.
A cough surprised him and he covered his mouth with a cloth napkin.

 
   
Another swig of wine and a second round of
coughing as the burn in his stomach turned into a fire in his chest. He stared
at the napkin as he lowered it.

 
   
Blood covered the cloth.

 
   
A fist wrapped around his heart and
squeezed. He coughed again and pitched out of the chair, pulling the table with
him. Shouts came from the wait staff, but the noise faded as the pain in his
chest became unbearable and the light winked out.

 
   
J
arod
wrapped the white coat around the bottle of wine and tucked both into a
backpack. He slid his arms through the straps and knelt down to tie his
sneaker. A mixed playlist of symphony and hard rock played via his ear buds—and
he strolled over to the bike rack to get the twelve-speed he'd locked up before
entering the restaurant. The Paris streets buzzed with activity in the
mid-afternoon.

 
   
The phone in his pocket buzzed and he tugged
it out and scanned the text message. After a week with his parents and a couple
of side trips, he'd sent Kit home to London while he paused to deal with
duMonde
. He had left a book in her bag—a racy historical
that had caught her eye at the airport—with a message in it. He knew she'd
ferret out the story from his parents, and his mother showed her exactly how to
read hidden messages.

 
   
So, he left a proposal for her in code.

 
   
The text was her answer.

 
   
Yes.

 
   
He laughed when the phone buzzed with a
second text message.

 
   
Ten-eleven, my point.
Did you seriously think I wouldn't find the ring in my own jewelry box?

 
   
He sent back
twelve-eleven—that's only the engagement ring.

 
   
Dad was right—this was how one defined
success.

THE END

From Decadent Publishing:

Always
a Marine: The Marine Cowboy

She
longs for a man who is honorable, loyal,
forthright
and served as a Marine.

From
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Publishing:

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Into the Spotlight

Destiny
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H
eather
Long lives in Texas with her family and their menagerie of animals. As a child,
Heather skipped picture books and enjoyed the Harlequin romance novels by Penny
Jordan and Nora Roberts that her grandmother read to her. Heather believes that
laughter is as important to life as breathing and that the Easter Bunny, the
Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus are very real. In the meanwhile, she is hard at
work on her next novel.

     
email
her at:
[email protected]

ALWAYS A MARINE

 
Once Her Man, Always Her Man

Retreat Hell! She
Just Got Here

 
Tell It
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