His Spy at Night (Spy Games Book 3) (25 page)

“If you’d only learn to use the app I installed, this wouldn’t keep happening to you,” Lies said as he took the chair next to hers.

“I don’t know how I’ll manage without you.” He said it with such a straight face that only she understood he was joking.

Laughter broke out at a table nearby.

Bernard looked at Lies. “Oh? Are you going somewhere?”

“Lies has put in for a transfer,” Harry answered for her. He didn’t say to where.

“I’d meant to tell you but we got sidetracked,” Lies said, silently cursing Harry for giving away a piece of information CSIS hadn’t wanted Bernard have. “I’d applied for another temporary position in the Caribbean and it was approved. I leave at the end of next week.”

“What an…interesting opportunity for you,” Bernard said. “I thought you had your eye on Paris.”

“I do. But it isn’t going to happen any time soon and I want to see the world. The Caribbean will be fun in the meantime. I like the beach.”

Harry ordered a coffee. Even though both men remained civil, the undercurrents of hostility couldn’t have proved any more awkward.

“Regretfully, I have another appointment,” Bernard finally said. “Lies, it was a pleasure as usual. If I don’t see you before you leave, have a safe journey.” He patted the pocket with the wire inside it. “Stay in touch.”

Lies waited until she was certain he’d left the restaurant before rounding on Harry.

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “We were having lunch in public, not clandestine sex in a back alley.”

A slow flush built from his collar to turn his neck a brick red. “I really did have a lunch date who canceled. I didn’t know you were here. Why can’t people make phone calls anymore?”

He hadn’t followed her.

And this wasn’t disappointment she felt.

The lunch crowd in the restaurant had thinned, leaving them with empty tables on either side of theirs. Harry seemed in no hurry to escape her company, which she took as a good sign that perhaps there was hope yet, or at the very least, they could part on amicable terms. The world was a small place. There was a chance they might cross paths again in the future.

She propped her chin in her hand. “Bernard believes you’re stealing business secrets from him and selling them to foreign competitors. He thinks you used Dita and Alcine to collect them, and that you’re using me too.”

Harry blinked a few times, slowly. “You’re making that up.”

“I swear it’s the truth. And if anyone should feel insulted it’s me. He found a wire I’d planted, and instead of thinking a law enforcement agency had finally caught up with him, he jumped to the conclusion that I’m some dim-witted flunky of yours. Congratulations, James Bond. Or should I say Dr. Evil?”

“My God, Lies. You planted a wire in his house? This could have ended so badly. You know he’s been linked to the Russian mafia. People connected to him have disappeared.”

“You’re the one who should be worried,” she said. “He thinks you’re encroaching on his turf. That never ends well for the competition.”

Harry’s shock hadn’t faded enough for him to appreciate the warning. “I’ve never had anyone accuse me of criminal behavior before.”

“He’s accusing you of doing what he would do. That’s how his mind works. Mind you, people are incredibly complex. Do you know he seemed genuinely concerned about me? That was so sweet.”

“Adorable,” Harry growled.

She stopped baiting him and turned serious. “I know it’s difficult to stand back and watch him go free, but sooner or later, Bernard will get what he deserves. Right now he’s counting on terrorist organizations being the highest priority for law enforcement agencies worldwide and he’s cashing in on it. He’s gotten away with too much for too long and he’s continually upping the risks. That’s the biggest thrill of the game for people like him. Money’s the draw, but the thrill is what keeps him invested. Eventually though, if CSIS doesn’t tag him with everything we have on him, Interpol, or the CIA, or some other international organization is going to stumble onto the same intel we have and put the pieces together. Canada has its agenda. They’ll each have theirs too.” And if those Russian mafia connections Harry loved to point out ever decided that Bernard’s arrest would be an inconvenience to them, then jail became the least of his worries.

“I don’t give a damn about anyone’s agenda or what happens to Vanderloord,” Harry said. “I want you to be safe.”

Flutters tickled the insides of her lungs as the gold flecks in his eyes roamed her face. She couldn’t say for certain how he really felt about her, but at least it wasn’t indifference. Heat smoldered between them. If she were to salvage anything with him, even if it turned out to be only friendship, now was the time.

“And I wish you’d trust me. I love what I do, and yes, I like the high stakes, but that doesn’t make me careless. I was recruited before I finished university. I received the same training as all of my peers. I have a team leader who tracks my progress on cases and helps me assess risks. I’m held accountable for my decisions.” She reached for his hand. “You said you don’t know me. Spend the weekend with me and I’ll prove that you do.”

His eyes filled with the temptation to grab what she offered. Reluctance won out. “Sex isn’t going to change anything. That’s not what I meant when I said I don’t know you.”

“I know what you meant and it won’t be that kind of weekend. Not that I’d say no if you do change your mind, but it would be difficult to pull off at my aunt and uncle’s farm. They wouldn’t be shocked to discover we’re sleeping together. They just wouldn’t want to hear any proof of it.”

He flipped his palm over and slid his fingers between hers, holding her hand despite the fact they were in public and the room wasn’t completely empty of people who might know him as the Canadian trade commissioner.

She took that as a positive sign.

“You’d introduce me to your family?” he asked.

“Yes. Yasmin’s parents. If you really want to know everything about me, this is your best chance. All you’d have to do is ask them a question and they’d show me no mercy.”

The flutters in her chest became steel-toe-booted kicks. If she’d guessed wrong—if he’d never want her for anything more than a sex partner—his answer would tell her.

The grip on her fingers tightened. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

* * *

Harry couldn’t find a parking spot outside of Lies’s flat on Saturday morning so he called her to meet him on the street.

He didn’t know what she had planned. The weekend could turn out to be a new way for her to torture him. But he didn’t think so. She genuinely seemed to want to work out a new, and deeper, relationship with him.

He wanted that too. But how long could it last? He was a career diplomat whereas she was a spy. Neither of them was willing to give up their work. There would be no bridging that gaping chasm.

What if she woke up some morning and realized she’d made a mistake?

It had happened to him before. The possibility of a reoccurrence terrified him because it would be different with Lies. He wouldn’t walk away as unscathed. Whatever game she had planned, he wasn’t playing. Not when he had no hope in hell of winning. The stakes were too high and any advantage was hers.

This weekend was about getting her out of his head.

She appeared at the door, blond curls bouncing. She wore boots, jeans, a heavy wool sweater, and carried a backpack. He’d seen her in various states of dress—and undress—and in different personae. She took his breath in them all.

He got out of the car and confiscated her backpack, stowing it in the trunk while she buckled herself into the passenger seat.

“Onward Jeeves,” she said when he joined her, her cheeky tone making him smile in spite of his best intentions not to allow her to affect him.

The drive passed quickly, with none of the awkward stretches of silence he’d prepared himself for. When Lies had something to say she said it, but overall, didn’t waste time on meaningless prattle.

She didn’t waste it on teasing him either. He missed that more than he liked.

The Wiersma farm had been built in the early 1800s near a little village in Friesland on the outskirts of Bolsward. A narrow road led past a tidy churchyard, over a small bridge, and through a gate. Harry had to stop so Lies could get out and unlatch it, then close it behind the car once he drove through. Beyond the gate, and alongside a narrow canal that cut through a series of fields, stood a windmill, its blades lazily turning. They arrived in time for morning coffee, when the workers took a break and came in from the barns and fields.

The house and the original barn, now a converted machine shed, shared a single roof of clay tiles. Lies’s uncle, Elmer Wiersma, met the car as Harry drew into the carport between the house and the garage. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall, all of it muscle from the physical demands of his business. A moment later, her aunt Ola was at the front door.

Harry saw at once that Lies’s cousin Yasmin got her coloring from her mother, but took after her father for her height and her looks. Lies, too, looked like Elmer.

There was no doubting how the Wiersmas felt about their Canadian niece. That she was adored became obvious from their wide smiles of welcome, then the curiosity on their faces when Lies introduced him to them.

He shouldn’t be here. They were making assumptions about his place in her life. But he really did want to know more about her and he hadn’t been able to resist the lure she’d dangled under his nose.

The front door opened onto a long hall that separated the converted machine shed from the house. They left their bags at the foot of a staircase at the end of the hall and returned to a door that led to a large kitchen and family room. Coffee brewed cheerfully on a pristine countertop. Plants spilled over the broad ledge of the front window. The kitchen table paraded an enormous centerpiece of bright, fresh-cut flowers. A television occupied one wall at the far end of the room. An enormous coffee table, surrounded by eight heavy wooden armchairs with padded seats, swallowed the center of the family room space.

Lies had stopped at the kitchen and was chatting with her aunt in Frisian. Elmer waved Harry through to the armchairs surrounding the coffee table and told him to have a seat.

“So you are Lies’s boss?” Elmer asked, squeezing his intimidating frame into one sturdy, padded chair. Blue eyes, fiercer than Lies’s, scrutinized Harry. “What do you do?”

The Dutch cared little for status and titles so Harry didn’t bother with his. They reserved their respect for hard work. “I facilitate trade between contractors in Canada and the Netherlands.”

“And what is Lies’s job?”

Lies appeared, carrying two cups of coffee balanced on saucers. She set one on the table in front of Elmer and passed the other to Harry.

“I’m his personal assistant. I do whatever he tells me to,” she said, all innocence. “I helped him move a sofa the other night.”

Harry had been taking a sip of his coffee and it went down the wrong way. He coughed, clearing his chest.

“She does what you tell her to?” Elmer shot his niece a skeptical look even as he addressed Harry. “Are you certain? Her father always said instructions are suggestions to her. She prefers to do things her own way.”

Harry met Lies’s eyes. Hers were dancing. He couldn’t help but respond to it in kind. “On the contrary. I find she takes direction exceptionally well.”

After coffee, Lies and Harry borrowed bicycles from her aunt and uncle and took a tour of the village and surrounding area. She showed him the places she liked most from her childhood visits. She knew quite a few of the local people and had a smile and a word for them all.

She smiled a lot. He’d noticed it before, particularly when she was trying to prod a reaction from him, but had never thought happiness might be a natural and genuine part of her personality. To find that it was lit his insides. A woman who smiled all the time was hard to resist.

They had lunch at a café on a dock next to one of the province’s many lakes. A sailboat cruised past on the rippling waters. A hardy windsurfer in a black and red wetsuit braved the cold wind.

“Well?” Lies asked. “You’ve met my favorite aunt and uncle. Yasmin too. I’ve shown you where I grew up. What do you think?”

She sounded like a young girl, anxious for approval while pretending not to care how much it meant to her. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink from the fresh air, bringing out the blue of her eyes, and her blond hair was a jumble. He would have dug his fingers into it and kissed her if they’d been alone. Her vulnerability in this moment touched his heart.

The village was quiet and dull. Her relatives were honest, dependable people—the type he valued too—and it was obvious how much she loved them. She didn’t need more excitement around her. Life already crackled from every pore she possessed. She had it to spare.

“I think it suits you,” Harry said slowly.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” She tucked her paper napkin under her plate on the white plastic table so it wouldn’t blow away. “I love my work, but when I want to get away from it, when I need to recharge, I either come here or to my family’s farm in Ontario so I can relax and be myself.”