Topaz Dreams (8 page)
Authors: Marilyn Campbell
Over the years, Miss Preston's mental radar had been
sensitized to detect anyone projecting more than normal curiosity about
Mr. Underwood. He had been investigated by enough government agencies
to make alphabet soup: IRS, SEC, FDA, CIA, FBI, and HUD, to name only a
few. Recently, even the Escondido Police Department had tried to link
him to some little man's death. It was from that kind of badgering that
she had to protect him. Gordon Underwood was a genius. Her duty was to
keep him from being annoyed by all the jealous people who constantly
tried to find a way to lower him to their cretinous level.
The end
of Miss Preston's allotted time approached. "Would you like me to run
their pictures through the computer and see if I can come up with
anything?"
"No. Transmit all four of the freeze-frames to me right
now. I want to run the check myself. Put both of the video tapes in my
safe for the moment. I'll have King fly down to pick them up tomorrow.
What did L.A. tell the woman?"
"What she believes to be the truth. That you're in Nevada on foundation business this week."
"Good. Has Nevada been contacted?"
"No
one unexpected has shown up yet today, but I told your girl there
someone may turn up with or without a legitimate excuse to see you.
Either way, I instructed her to say you got called back to San
Francisco on an emergency last night"
"Fine. Let me know as soon as
you hear anything from her. If they both show up there, Ill have to
figure out what to do about them."
Underwood started to hang up when
he had an afterthought. "Oh. Miss Preston. Good work." He pushed the
disconnect button, cutting off what he supposed were her words of
appreciation for his praise. Occasionally, one had to pay compliments,
but one should not have to be subjected to the gushing foolishness that
followed.
forced her eyes to remain open, staring at the face too close to hers
to make out any features except the tightly closed eyelids. This was
much worse than if he had hit her. The lips crushing hers held her face
as immobile as the rest of her trapped body. What was most humiliating
about her position was not that she had lost the struggle so quickly,
but that he was prompting a response from her that she had no intention
of giving. She could not give in to the temptation to close her own
eyes and let the warmth spread through her. She would not part her
trembling lips to give him the entry he was silently demanding.
As
suddenly as the kiss began it ended. The man on top of her continued to
hold her in place, but he lifted his head far enough away for her to
see him clearly. He had the oddest look on his handsome face, like
surprise. Was he surprised that she had not welcomed and returned his
kiss, or surprised at his own actions? Steve did not get a chance to
analyze the expression before it was wiped clean. This time she forced
herself to hold her tongue until he spoke first. When he finally did,
however, she wished he had remained silent.
"I trust I did not hurt you. That was not my intention," he said.
That
voice! It was like nothing she had ever heard before, perhaps because
it was more a matter of feeling than hearing. The deep masculine sound
had a resonant quality to it that reminded her of the physical
vibration she felt when the bass on the stereo was turned up too high.
His speech had a hint of a brogue, but not quite Irish. Steve was
unable to stop the shiver that passed through her when he spoke again.
"I
was concerned that if you continued your attack you might injure
yourself. If you promise to remain calm, I will release you."
Steve
recovered sufficiently from the humming affect his voice had on her to
be furious with his words. Who the hell was he? How dare he kiss her
like that and not offer an apology or an explanation? She opened her
mouth to vent her anger and lost her chance.
His mouth covered hers
again, gentler than before, but just as domineering. Steve felt his
tongue push between her teeth and was about to clamp down on it when
astonishment stopped her. If his voice had been unusual, the feel of
his tongue in her mouth was completely unreal. Rather than the smooth,
slick appendage she expected, it was rough against the sensitive roof
of her mouth, firm as it slid along her own tongue.
He did not
invade but stroked and tasted every part of her mouth, as if it were a
totally new experience for him and he did not want to miss any of it.
Suddenly he emitted a groan that she felt all the way to her toes. No,
it was not quite a groan she realized through a fog of sensation. It
was like a ... a purr.
"You were angry. You are not angry any
longer," he analyzed aloud. "I leave it to you to decide whether we
have a conversation or more kissing. The kissing seems to calm your
anger and you do taste very ... interesting."
He cocked his head a
little and gave her the briefest excuse for a smile, one that displayed
his straight pearly whites for only an instant. This man was harder to
read than most. His eyes gave away nothing of what he was thinking.
"Why,
you—" Steve cut herself off as his face closed in on her again. "No,
wait, please." She had to figure a way out of this and his kisses
seemed to drain her brain. He had just taught her an entirely new way
of subduing an opponent. "Look, this may all be very entertaining to
you, but I—I landed on something hard. My back is killing me. Please
let me up now."
In another quicksilver move he rolled over,
reversing their positions. Steve found her arms trapped between them as
he held her firmly against him, using only one arm. Her legs were
spread wide and locked in place by his. She felt like she had been
placed in a vise, an extremely embarrassing one at that. This position
was even worse. She was centered so intimately against him that she
could feel the pulse of his hardened manhood. A frustrated whimper
escaped her before she could stop it.
His free hand slipped beneath
the back of her shirt and a moment later both her gun and handcuffs
were tossed out of her reach. Steve started to object when his hand
returned to the small of her back where the tools of her trade had made
bruising indentations. Lightly, his fingertips touched the spots then
moved in small circles, leaving tiny trails of heat that made the
desert sun seem cool.
Steve's mind and body were at war. She should
be struggling, fighting, doing something other than permitting this
stranger to touch her. But her natural honesty made her admit that
being completely at this man's mercy was possibly the most pleasurable
thing that had happened to her in some time.
His hand abandoned her
back for a moment and moved to her face. Ever so softly he stroked her
hair. When his fingertips applied a gentle pressure against her temple,
Steve felt her eyelids lower of their own accord. The next moment she
gave up the fight; her mind surrendered along with her body. The little
voice in her head had never failed her before, and now it was insisting
that this man posed no threat to her.
She relaxed a little more and
tried not to flinch when his fingers moved from her face to slip into
the back pocket of her jeans. The weight of his hand in her pocket
thrust her harder against him, but as Steve watched him, she had the
impression he was either ignoring his aroused condition or completely
oblivious to it. She, on the other hand, was finding it exceedingly
difficult to think of much else. The only evidence he gave that he was
not totally at ease was a slight catch in his throat when he spoke
again—or did she imagine it?
Smoothly, he removed her ID folder from
her pocket and read, "Stephanie Barbanell, Private Investigator. You
are a law enforcement officer?" She made no response. He studied her
ID, quickly comparing her picture with her face.
Steve felt the leather being slipped back into her pocket, and determined not to notice that his hand remained there.
"Look,
I have no gun. You've already proven you're faster and stronger than I
am. I'm obviously not in any position to take advantage of you. You
know who and what I am now, so how about letting me up for a little
reciprocal show and tell?"
"Show and tell?"
He actually sounded
like he did not understand the expression, but then he must be teasing
her. Considering what they already knew about each other's bodies,
there may have been something to show, but not much left to tell.
Her
close-mouthed adversary hesitated a moment before slowly releasing the
iron grip he had on her upper body and untangling their legs. With a
ridiculous amount of chivalry, he helped her to her feet, retaining her
hand as he bowed slightly. "My name is Falcon. At your service."
Steve
could not hold back the silly bubble of laughter. Was she supposed to
pretend they had not been rolling around on the ground for the last
five minutes? Well, to hell with him! She could act like all that
touchy-feely stuff meant nothing to her, too.
"You find my name humorous, Stephanie?" Falcon continued to hold her hand, obviously not ready to give her complete freedom yet.
"First
of all, nobody calls me Stephanie. I'm Steve. What's Falcon? Some sort
of code name? Let's see some ID now, okay?" When he started to pull her
along with him, away from the van, she rebelled. "Hey! Hold on! My gun!"
"We are only walking over there. My identification is in my bag. You said you wanted to see it."
Reluctantly,
Steve went along, automatically calculating how many seconds it would
take her to run back, grab her gun, and jump in the van. He would have
to let go of her hand when he reached inside his bag. If she was
balanced and ready to bolt, she might make it. Suddenly another thought
intruded. What if this was only a ploy to get her further from the van
while he retrieved a weapon from his bag? She would be turned away,
running, her back an easy target. If that was the case, though, why
wouldn't he have already....
Too late! He tightened the grip on her
hand, as if he sensed her intention, and opened his bag with his other
hand. Steve's breath came out in a soft puff of relief as he handed her
his wallet and released her at the same time.
The ID looked real
enough. He was the man in the photo: A. Falcon, Interpol. Steve studied
it for a long moment. It was certainly possible. He had made her think
he was a pro from the beginning, but Lou's assurance that he was not a
Fed had left her wondering.
"What does the A stand for, Falcon?"
"I prefer to be called Falcon, Steve."
"Touche. Where are you from? I haven't been able to place the accent."
"Wales," he answered without hesitation.
That
explained the almost Irish brogue. "Okay, say I believe you are with
Interpol. Why are we tripping over each other? What are you doing here
in the States?"
"I am here to retrieve a valuable item stolen from
my... country. Also, we believe an abduction has occurred by the same
person who has the item."
"You're working on the Nesterman case,
too?" Steve wanted to bite her tongue. Where was her head? She could
hardly withdraw her admission, but perhaps it would encourage some
openness on his part. "So, you are after Underwood. Whatever Nesterman
was working on must be pretty high-powered to get Interpol involved. Or
was it the item you mentioned? An antique or artifact maybe?"
Falcon
nodded. "The man named Underwood has a ring that does not belong to
him. If I can track him, I will find the ring. And you? You are looking
for Underwood in hopes of finding .. .Nesterman." It was more of a
conclusion than a question.
"Yeah. Well, the bottom line is, we're
after the same man, and the way Underwood's operation works, it won't
take him long to figure out something's up. When he does, he'll crawl
further under his rock. Why the hell did you have to show up in two
different places at the same time as me? Why didn't you do something
about your appearance?"
"What is wrong with my appearance?"
"If
you're fishing for compliments, forget it! You've got to realize two
women working for the same man, even in different offices, might just
talk to each other! If so, they would be abnormal if they didn't
mention seeing a man who took their breath away. Geez! You're even
wearing all black again! Doesn't Interpol teach their agents anything
about low profile? Meanwhile, since we showed up at the same time, you
probably blew my cover as well, intentionally or not. Damn! Those were
two of my best routines, too. Well, I suppose we can always hope those
secretaries don't have daily conversations and no one's expecting us
here."
Steve relaxed her stance, paced for a moment, and turned back
to Falcon. "I'm not giving up yet. Maybe I can get away with one more
disguise since my agency has already arranged to mess up Underwood's
phones." The Interpol agent had stood quite still for her lecture, not
arguing, not defending himself in any way. She figured he would comply
with her orders now that he understood.
Using her most authoritative
voice, she finally said, "Okay. Listen up. I'll go in as planned since
I've got the cover. You stay here. I'll let you know when I come back
if Underwood's in there and you can go right ahead with whatever you
were planning before I interrupted you—whatever that was you were doing
out here. They have a camera outside the shack, but they couldn't
possibly have seen our little dance from this distance."
"No."
His
refusal stopped her just as she started back for the van. She spun
around to face him again with her hands on her hips, and braced herself
for a different kind of fight with this insufferable man. "No? You're
not going in there ahead of me, and I'm sure as hell not planning on
showing up with you in tow again! You're too easy to spot."
"I do not object if you come along with me, but I will not remain here. I must get as close as possible to do what I do best."
Steve
sighed loudly. "And what, pray tell, do you do best?" She held on to
her superior attitude, but her thoughts flew back to the way his kisses
had momentarily scrambled her common sense. The blush that warmed her
cheeks must have given her away because he flashed her another
half-smile before replying in a serious tone.
"I track. Since you
are trying to locate Underwood as well, would it not be reasonable to
combine our efforts rather than get in each other's way? You have
already pointed out a serious oversight on my part. Perhaps you could
prevent me from making any further mistakes of that type, and I might
be of assistance to you in some way."
"Oh? How do you figure that? I don't work with partners if I can avoid it."
"You
admitted I am stronger and faster than you. You are good, but I am
better. You may need help in that way, but I also have other talents
that could be useful."
Steve was almost surprised to find herself
seriously considering his offer that they work together. She had a lot
more questions to ask him before she would trust him, but they were not
accomplishing anything, standing here arguing. If he was truly an
Interpol agent, she could verify it with Dokes later. In the meantime,
it might be better to keep this guy close enough to see what he was
really up to, and working separately only guaranteed they would
continue stepping on each other's toes. They could both end up losers
that way.
"All right. We'll work together for now, but we've got to
do something to make you less recognizable. What have you got in your
bag?"
"I have another set of clothing identical to what I am wearing."
"Swell. Let's see what I've got in the van."
Wordlessly,
he followed her, carrying his tote. She retrieved her gun and
handcuffs, then climbed into the van. A moment later she reappeared,
carrying her bag of tricks. Steve rifled through her belongings,
searching for a simple yet effective disguise for Falcon.
"Take off
your shirt and put this on." She held out a large white, vee-necked tee
shirt. As he stripped off the black shirt and made the trade, Steve
knew she was staring, but could not seem to ignore the visual treat he
offered. His skin was a golden tan stretched smooth over squared
shoulders and firmly muscled arms. The nipples on his bare chest
hardened beneath her gaze, and she found herself making fists with her
hands to keep them from grazing that smooth expanse. He looked like a
Greek statue.
sensitized to detect anyone projecting more than normal curiosity about
Mr. Underwood. He had been investigated by enough government agencies
to make alphabet soup: IRS, SEC, FDA, CIA, FBI, and HUD, to name only a
few. Recently, even the Escondido Police Department had tried to link
him to some little man's death. It was from that kind of badgering that
she had to protect him. Gordon Underwood was a genius. Her duty was to
keep him from being annoyed by all the jealous people who constantly
tried to find a way to lower him to their cretinous level.
The end
of Miss Preston's allotted time approached. "Would you like me to run
their pictures through the computer and see if I can come up with
anything?"
"No. Transmit all four of the freeze-frames to me right
now. I want to run the check myself. Put both of the video tapes in my
safe for the moment. I'll have King fly down to pick them up tomorrow.
What did L.A. tell the woman?"
"What she believes to be the truth. That you're in Nevada on foundation business this week."
"Good. Has Nevada been contacted?"
"No
one unexpected has shown up yet today, but I told your girl there
someone may turn up with or without a legitimate excuse to see you.
Either way, I instructed her to say you got called back to San
Francisco on an emergency last night"
"Fine. Let me know as soon as
you hear anything from her. If they both show up there, Ill have to
figure out what to do about them."
Underwood started to hang up when
he had an afterthought. "Oh. Miss Preston. Good work." He pushed the
disconnect button, cutting off what he supposed were her words of
appreciation for his praise. Occasionally, one had to pay compliments,
but one should not have to be subjected to the gushing foolishness that
followed.
Chapter Five
Even a sheet of paper is lighter when two people lift it.—Korean proverb
Steveforced her eyes to remain open, staring at the face too close to hers
to make out any features except the tightly closed eyelids. This was
much worse than if he had hit her. The lips crushing hers held her face
as immobile as the rest of her trapped body. What was most humiliating
about her position was not that she had lost the struggle so quickly,
but that he was prompting a response from her that she had no intention
of giving. She could not give in to the temptation to close her own
eyes and let the warmth spread through her. She would not part her
trembling lips to give him the entry he was silently demanding.
As
suddenly as the kiss began it ended. The man on top of her continued to
hold her in place, but he lifted his head far enough away for her to
see him clearly. He had the oddest look on his handsome face, like
surprise. Was he surprised that she had not welcomed and returned his
kiss, or surprised at his own actions? Steve did not get a chance to
analyze the expression before it was wiped clean. This time she forced
herself to hold her tongue until he spoke first. When he finally did,
however, she wished he had remained silent.
"I trust I did not hurt you. That was not my intention," he said.
That
voice! It was like nothing she had ever heard before, perhaps because
it was more a matter of feeling than hearing. The deep masculine sound
had a resonant quality to it that reminded her of the physical
vibration she felt when the bass on the stereo was turned up too high.
His speech had a hint of a brogue, but not quite Irish. Steve was
unable to stop the shiver that passed through her when he spoke again.
"I
was concerned that if you continued your attack you might injure
yourself. If you promise to remain calm, I will release you."
Steve
recovered sufficiently from the humming affect his voice had on her to
be furious with his words. Who the hell was he? How dare he kiss her
like that and not offer an apology or an explanation? She opened her
mouth to vent her anger and lost her chance.
His mouth covered hers
again, gentler than before, but just as domineering. Steve felt his
tongue push between her teeth and was about to clamp down on it when
astonishment stopped her. If his voice had been unusual, the feel of
his tongue in her mouth was completely unreal. Rather than the smooth,
slick appendage she expected, it was rough against the sensitive roof
of her mouth, firm as it slid along her own tongue.
He did not
invade but stroked and tasted every part of her mouth, as if it were a
totally new experience for him and he did not want to miss any of it.
Suddenly he emitted a groan that she felt all the way to her toes. No,
it was not quite a groan she realized through a fog of sensation. It
was like a ... a purr.
"You were angry. You are not angry any
longer," he analyzed aloud. "I leave it to you to decide whether we
have a conversation or more kissing. The kissing seems to calm your
anger and you do taste very ... interesting."
He cocked his head a
little and gave her the briefest excuse for a smile, one that displayed
his straight pearly whites for only an instant. This man was harder to
read than most. His eyes gave away nothing of what he was thinking.
"Why,
you—" Steve cut herself off as his face closed in on her again. "No,
wait, please." She had to figure a way out of this and his kisses
seemed to drain her brain. He had just taught her an entirely new way
of subduing an opponent. "Look, this may all be very entertaining to
you, but I—I landed on something hard. My back is killing me. Please
let me up now."
In another quicksilver move he rolled over,
reversing their positions. Steve found her arms trapped between them as
he held her firmly against him, using only one arm. Her legs were
spread wide and locked in place by his. She felt like she had been
placed in a vise, an extremely embarrassing one at that. This position
was even worse. She was centered so intimately against him that she
could feel the pulse of his hardened manhood. A frustrated whimper
escaped her before she could stop it.
His free hand slipped beneath
the back of her shirt and a moment later both her gun and handcuffs
were tossed out of her reach. Steve started to object when his hand
returned to the small of her back where the tools of her trade had made
bruising indentations. Lightly, his fingertips touched the spots then
moved in small circles, leaving tiny trails of heat that made the
desert sun seem cool.
Steve's mind and body were at war. She should
be struggling, fighting, doing something other than permitting this
stranger to touch her. But her natural honesty made her admit that
being completely at this man's mercy was possibly the most pleasurable
thing that had happened to her in some time.
His hand abandoned her
back for a moment and moved to her face. Ever so softly he stroked her
hair. When his fingertips applied a gentle pressure against her temple,
Steve felt her eyelids lower of their own accord. The next moment she
gave up the fight; her mind surrendered along with her body. The little
voice in her head had never failed her before, and now it was insisting
that this man posed no threat to her.
She relaxed a little more and
tried not to flinch when his fingers moved from her face to slip into
the back pocket of her jeans. The weight of his hand in her pocket
thrust her harder against him, but as Steve watched him, she had the
impression he was either ignoring his aroused condition or completely
oblivious to it. She, on the other hand, was finding it exceedingly
difficult to think of much else. The only evidence he gave that he was
not totally at ease was a slight catch in his throat when he spoke
again—or did she imagine it?
Smoothly, he removed her ID folder from
her pocket and read, "Stephanie Barbanell, Private Investigator. You
are a law enforcement officer?" She made no response. He studied her
ID, quickly comparing her picture with her face.
Steve felt the leather being slipped back into her pocket, and determined not to notice that his hand remained there.
"Look,
I have no gun. You've already proven you're faster and stronger than I
am. I'm obviously not in any position to take advantage of you. You
know who and what I am now, so how about letting me up for a little
reciprocal show and tell?"
"Show and tell?"
He actually sounded
like he did not understand the expression, but then he must be teasing
her. Considering what they already knew about each other's bodies,
there may have been something to show, but not much left to tell.
Her
close-mouthed adversary hesitated a moment before slowly releasing the
iron grip he had on her upper body and untangling their legs. With a
ridiculous amount of chivalry, he helped her to her feet, retaining her
hand as he bowed slightly. "My name is Falcon. At your service."
Steve
could not hold back the silly bubble of laughter. Was she supposed to
pretend they had not been rolling around on the ground for the last
five minutes? Well, to hell with him! She could act like all that
touchy-feely stuff meant nothing to her, too.
"You find my name humorous, Stephanie?" Falcon continued to hold her hand, obviously not ready to give her complete freedom yet.
"First
of all, nobody calls me Stephanie. I'm Steve. What's Falcon? Some sort
of code name? Let's see some ID now, okay?" When he started to pull her
along with him, away from the van, she rebelled. "Hey! Hold on! My gun!"
"We are only walking over there. My identification is in my bag. You said you wanted to see it."
Reluctantly,
Steve went along, automatically calculating how many seconds it would
take her to run back, grab her gun, and jump in the van. He would have
to let go of her hand when he reached inside his bag. If she was
balanced and ready to bolt, she might make it. Suddenly another thought
intruded. What if this was only a ploy to get her further from the van
while he retrieved a weapon from his bag? She would be turned away,
running, her back an easy target. If that was the case, though, why
wouldn't he have already....
Too late! He tightened the grip on her
hand, as if he sensed her intention, and opened his bag with his other
hand. Steve's breath came out in a soft puff of relief as he handed her
his wallet and released her at the same time.
The ID looked real
enough. He was the man in the photo: A. Falcon, Interpol. Steve studied
it for a long moment. It was certainly possible. He had made her think
he was a pro from the beginning, but Lou's assurance that he was not a
Fed had left her wondering.
"What does the A stand for, Falcon?"
"I prefer to be called Falcon, Steve."
"Touche. Where are you from? I haven't been able to place the accent."
"Wales," he answered without hesitation.
That
explained the almost Irish brogue. "Okay, say I believe you are with
Interpol. Why are we tripping over each other? What are you doing here
in the States?"
"I am here to retrieve a valuable item stolen from
my... country. Also, we believe an abduction has occurred by the same
person who has the item."
"You're working on the Nesterman case,
too?" Steve wanted to bite her tongue. Where was her head? She could
hardly withdraw her admission, but perhaps it would encourage some
openness on his part. "So, you are after Underwood. Whatever Nesterman
was working on must be pretty high-powered to get Interpol involved. Or
was it the item you mentioned? An antique or artifact maybe?"
Falcon
nodded. "The man named Underwood has a ring that does not belong to
him. If I can track him, I will find the ring. And you? You are looking
for Underwood in hopes of finding .. .Nesterman." It was more of a
conclusion than a question.
"Yeah. Well, the bottom line is, we're
after the same man, and the way Underwood's operation works, it won't
take him long to figure out something's up. When he does, he'll crawl
further under his rock. Why the hell did you have to show up in two
different places at the same time as me? Why didn't you do something
about your appearance?"
"What is wrong with my appearance?"
"If
you're fishing for compliments, forget it! You've got to realize two
women working for the same man, even in different offices, might just
talk to each other! If so, they would be abnormal if they didn't
mention seeing a man who took their breath away. Geez! You're even
wearing all black again! Doesn't Interpol teach their agents anything
about low profile? Meanwhile, since we showed up at the same time, you
probably blew my cover as well, intentionally or not. Damn! Those were
two of my best routines, too. Well, I suppose we can always hope those
secretaries don't have daily conversations and no one's expecting us
here."
Steve relaxed her stance, paced for a moment, and turned back
to Falcon. "I'm not giving up yet. Maybe I can get away with one more
disguise since my agency has already arranged to mess up Underwood's
phones." The Interpol agent had stood quite still for her lecture, not
arguing, not defending himself in any way. She figured he would comply
with her orders now that he understood.
Using her most authoritative
voice, she finally said, "Okay. Listen up. I'll go in as planned since
I've got the cover. You stay here. I'll let you know when I come back
if Underwood's in there and you can go right ahead with whatever you
were planning before I interrupted you—whatever that was you were doing
out here. They have a camera outside the shack, but they couldn't
possibly have seen our little dance from this distance."
"No."
His
refusal stopped her just as she started back for the van. She spun
around to face him again with her hands on her hips, and braced herself
for a different kind of fight with this insufferable man. "No? You're
not going in there ahead of me, and I'm sure as hell not planning on
showing up with you in tow again! You're too easy to spot."
"I do not object if you come along with me, but I will not remain here. I must get as close as possible to do what I do best."
Steve
sighed loudly. "And what, pray tell, do you do best?" She held on to
her superior attitude, but her thoughts flew back to the way his kisses
had momentarily scrambled her common sense. The blush that warmed her
cheeks must have given her away because he flashed her another
half-smile before replying in a serious tone.
"I track. Since you
are trying to locate Underwood as well, would it not be reasonable to
combine our efforts rather than get in each other's way? You have
already pointed out a serious oversight on my part. Perhaps you could
prevent me from making any further mistakes of that type, and I might
be of assistance to you in some way."
"Oh? How do you figure that? I don't work with partners if I can avoid it."
"You
admitted I am stronger and faster than you. You are good, but I am
better. You may need help in that way, but I also have other talents
that could be useful."
Steve was almost surprised to find herself
seriously considering his offer that they work together. She had a lot
more questions to ask him before she would trust him, but they were not
accomplishing anything, standing here arguing. If he was truly an
Interpol agent, she could verify it with Dokes later. In the meantime,
it might be better to keep this guy close enough to see what he was
really up to, and working separately only guaranteed they would
continue stepping on each other's toes. They could both end up losers
that way.
"All right. We'll work together for now, but we've got to
do something to make you less recognizable. What have you got in your
bag?"
"I have another set of clothing identical to what I am wearing."
"Swell. Let's see what I've got in the van."
Wordlessly,
he followed her, carrying his tote. She retrieved her gun and
handcuffs, then climbed into the van. A moment later she reappeared,
carrying her bag of tricks. Steve rifled through her belongings,
searching for a simple yet effective disguise for Falcon.
"Take off
your shirt and put this on." She held out a large white, vee-necked tee
shirt. As he stripped off the black shirt and made the trade, Steve
knew she was staring, but could not seem to ignore the visual treat he
offered. His skin was a golden tan stretched smooth over squared
shoulders and firmly muscled arms. The nipples on his bare chest
hardened beneath her gaze, and she found herself making fists with her
hands to keep them from grazing that smooth expanse. He looked like a
Greek statue.
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