His Spy at Night (Spy Games Book 3) (8 page)

She was filling two mugs with the dark, steaming brew before it struck her that this was her home, not his, and they weren’t at the office pretending he was her boss, and she didn’t have to do everything he said.

Her scattered thoughts finally returned. If he’d been at all smug about his victory she’d be fuming right now. But Harry, true to his nature, didn’t seem to realize he’d won anything of significance. He’d only stated what, to him, was a practical solution to a problem that weighed on his mind.

Meaning they were back to Plan A.

Again, she found herself in a position that forced her to pick her battles. And again, when she got down to it, it wasn’t worth fighting. She’d been the one to assure him there was no danger. Plan A and Plan B were both his to begin with, and could be easily adapted.

So what did it matter which one they used?

* * *

For the sake of politeness, and so Harry wouldn’t give away how much that kiss had scrambled his brain, he’d stayed long enough to drink his coffee. What they’d talked about he couldn’t recall, only that Lies had been subdued and probably plotting how best to use the incident against him.

He’d tossed and turned the rest of the night, unable to sleep as he’d contemplated where he went wrong. Probably when he’d developed an uncontrollable urge to touch one of those intriguing blond ringlets to see if it was as silky as it appeared. Up until they’d entered the kitchen Harry could have sworn he’d been holding his own.

Wednesday night, as he fastened his black cummerbund and knotted his thistle bowtie in preparation for the theater, he was still on edge. Vanderloord was a handsome man. Harry was not. He couldn’t help but wonder how Lies might compare them. Whereas Vanderloord was tall, fair-haired, and spent a great deal of time at the gym to stave off signs of aging, Harry was stocky, dark-headed, and willing to let time take its toll. He preferred healthy living to turning back time. He was average at best.

Despite that, he’d never had difficulty with women. They didn’t throw themselves at his feet, but they didn’t run away screaming either. Alcine had been beautiful, even more so than Lies, if one examined the two women critically and judged solely on appearance.

Yet he’d found Alcine as dull as she’d deemed him. She’d enjoyed going to social functions with him, and he’d appreciated her knack for putting people at ease, but any spark there’d been between them had fizzled a long time ago. The only difference was that he’d felt no need to tell her so to her face. At least when she’d figured out that Vanderloord was more interested in Harry than her she’d been decent enough to warn him before fleeing back to Italy.

He fastened his cufflinks. There were no sparks with Lies either. These were violent explosions. He was attracted to her, but he pitied the man who became involved with her for real. If it were him, he’d never be able to dismiss her sharing such a kiss with another man as part of her job, whereas she seemed to take it in stride.

There had to be better ways for Lies to approach Vanderloord than by feigning attraction. She was playing with fire.

So was Harry. He had to pretend he was pretending to be attracted to her. She made him feel tired.

And also alive.

He donned his tuxedo jacket and headed off to the theater.

When he got there, Lies had already arrived.

His eyes immediately singled her out from the throng waiting in the reception area for the doors to open and the performance to start. The dress she wore was stunning, long and black and formfitting. Two bands of fabric cupped her shoulders to hold it in place. It was cut very low in front and high at the thighs, and tiny threads of silver shimmered all over the front skirt panel when she moved. The mass of blond ringlets had been pinned up, emphasizing the blueness of her eyes and the angle of her cheekbones.

Harry pretended not to see the people trying to attract his attention as he cut through the crowd to her side.

Awareness flashed in her eyes when she saw who had joined her, heartening him, before her expression smoothed and the mask dropped into place. Their game was that he was attracted to her but she didn’t share his feelings—not really such a hard thing to pull off, considering how close it was to the truth.

The game became hardest for him when they were alone together. For the past two days he’d made certain they weren’t and she’d been unusually cooperative about it.

He didn’t recognize the older couple she spoke with. She introduced them to him. They were Canadians, parents of one of the performers, and here on vacation. Harry chatted politely with them, the whole time very conscious of Lies. He couldn’t fault her professionalism in public. She preferred to torment him in private.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched Bernard Vanderloord descend the few steps from the foyer to the reception area and disappear into the crowd. It became that much more difficult to remember he wasn’t to interfere. Even before Alcine and the Albanian ambassador’s wife, he’d disliked Vanderloord for the same reason most people appeared to enjoy his company. He was too polished. Too smooth. He had secrets behind that veneer.

As long as Lies did nothing rash, Harry would do his best to keep his nose out of her investigation. He’d allow her to do her job. But he wasn’t going to be left in a position of guilt if something happened to her that he could have prevented.

The lights in the room flickered, signaling the performance was about to begin, and the doors opened wide. People trickled toward them in a wave that turned into a tide. Harry extended an elbow to Lies. Their tickets had them seated in the same row, although not together.

The play was good. His mind wasn’t on it however. He couldn’t have sworn to the plot. He stood at intermission and waited in the aisle for Lies so he could accompany her to the reception area.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“I’m having a lovely time.” Her smile underscored a blatant insincerity. “I haven’t forgotten about those soccer tickets you promised me.”

He had to fight to hide his amusement so as not to encourage her. “Let’s head to the bar.”

She wore high heels, giving her an inch of height over him, which was good. Anyone looking for him would see her first. Vanderloord, who rarely missed an opportunity to speak with him, couldn’t possibly miss that they were together.

The queue at the bar stretched the length of the room but moved quickly.

Harry quietly drew Lies’s attention to her objective. “There he is. Third person on the right, holding the glass with the lime.” Vanderloord had seen them too. Harry caught the arrested stillness to him before he returned his focus to his companions and their conversation. “Stay here while I get our drinks. He won’t approach me until we’re together. It would be rude for me to walk away and abandon you with a man you don’t know, so it gives him a guaranteed audience.”

“Club soda for me, please,” she said.

He took that as acquiescence.

As he made his way through the queue his plan slowly unraveled. Intermission was only twenty minutes long and a number of other people also wanted to speak with him. Also, he’d overestimated Lies’s willingness to follow his lead. He should have known she wasn’t about to pass up her first opportunity to meet her objective. When the people Vanderloord had been speaking with moved on and she saw that he was alone, and Harry had been sidelined, she took matters into her own hands.

Harry watched in helpless frustration as she walked over to Vanderloord and introduced herself.

Chapter Five

Awareness chased up Lies’s spine, then settled between her shoulder blades in a subliminal message that she was being watched. A quick, side-eyed glance Harry’s way said she was right and that he was annoyed.

So was she.

Not, however, with him, but herself. This inexplicable attraction toward someone who was hardly her type had caught her unawares, but when it came to mixing business with pleasure, she really had learned her lesson. Kissing Harry had crossed a line and created a complication she’d need to address before it got out of hand. Therefore, rule number one moving forward was going to be simple—no kissing anyone even remotely connected to any investigation, no matter how attractive or intriguing she might find them.

Bernard Vanderloord proved to be a little of both.

If Lies hadn’t known he was forty-seven years old, she’d have placed him a full decade younger. He had a commanding presence and a hint of ruthlessness to him, no doubt about that. He was broad-chested and tall, an inch or two over six feet, with the long, lean limbs his Dutch countrymen made famous. He wore his bleached blond hair short and heavily gelled. He had a wide mouth, angular cheeks and a sharply bladed nose. His eyes were a clear, brilliant blue in a lightly-tanned face.

Right now those sharp eyes, which said he missed very little, were fixated on her in a manner both bold and assessing. This was a man who pursued his goals with single-minded focus. She couldn’t wait to find out more about him. He’d make an excellent diversion from Harry.

“Good evening,” she said, extending her hand. “We haven’t met. My name is Marlies Wiersma and I’m new with the Canadian embassy. I couldn’t help noticing that you speak English. Mr. Jordan suggested I introduce myself to as many Canadians as possible this evening, and from your accent, either you’re from Canada or you grew up there.”

“Bernard Vanderloord. You have a good ear,” he congratulated her. “My parents moved to Canada when I was a small child.” He held her hand a few seconds too long, although not long enough to be awkward, more as if he’d already sized her up and found something puzzling about her. He was good. “Wiersma,” he echoed, repeating her surname with its proper pronunciation. “I’m going to guess that your background is Frisian.”

If what Harry said about the Albanian diplomat’s wife was true, Vanderloord preferred bored wives on the lookout for a distraction. When the diplomat’s wife developed too many expectations, he’d cut her loose.

Lies could play at being bored, self-absorbed, and uninterested in long-term commitments. “It is,” she said in reply to Vanderloord’s comment regarding her background. “I still have family in the Netherlands, although I was born in Ontario.”

“Is that what attracted you to work with the embassy here?”

Lies laughed. “Heavens, no. The Netherlands is like home to me. I might as well have stayed in Canada. I was offered this position temporarily because I speak both Dutch and Frisian. Hopefully I’ll only be here a few months until something more exciting comes along. I’d requested Paris, but I don’t know enough French.” Harry, or someone else, could tell him she’d gotten this position through her diplomat father. She didn’t need to give everything away right off the bat. And she’d lied about not speaking French because it might come in handy. Most CSIS agents were fluent in Canada’s second official language. She prattled on. “What brought you back to the Netherlands? Do you have family here too?”

“No family, I’m afraid. My business is based here.” He was quick to change the subject. “How are you enjoying the performance?”

She’d seen none of it. All she’d been aware of was Harry sitting close by and the problem he posed. She threw his name out to see how Vanderloord would react to it. “Harry assures me it’s very good.”

Amusement softened the harsh lines of Vanderloord’s mouth. “I take it the theater isn’t a passion of yours?”

“I’m more of a Tiësto fan,” she confessed cheerfully, naming a famous Dutch DJ she did, in fact, like very much.

Vanderloord placed a hand to his chest as if feigning a heart attack. “Electronic dance music. Thank you for making me feel every one of my years.”

He was testing her to see how she’d react to the difference in age between them and she accepted it as an invitation to flirt. “Age is a state of mind. I like to dance. It doesn’t have to be to electronic music, although the energy behind it is very contagious.” She widened her eyes, exaggerating her enthusiasm. “You should try it sometime.”

A laugh muscle flinched in his cheek. “Who says I’ve never tried it?”

“Have you?”

“No. I value my hearing more than you obviously do.”

His amusement with her had shifted to interest, exactly the reaction she’d hoped for from him, but she was careful not to pursue her flirting any further than this. She didn’t know enough about him yet and would hate to make a misstep so early in the game. Besides, he’d have to work for it if he planned to use her to get to Harry. Let him think it was his idea, not hers.

They chatted for a few more minutes before they both moved on to other guests.

She was disentangling herself from a retired civil servant with a penchant for touching when Harry finally rejoined her. While he was far too circumspect to give away his feelings in public, his displeasure was evident in his coolness toward her as he handed over the club soda she’d requested.

He had the exact opposite effect on her than the one he’d intended. Her skin flushed with warmth under his silent censure. Her heart, steady throughout her conversation with Vanderloord, chose now to exhibit erratic behavior. The advantage continued to go to Harry.

She couldn’t have that.

The lights flickered, indicating the show was about to recommence, saving her from having to engage him in small talk. She took a long sip of her drink, then discarded it on a nearby side table before preceding him into the theater.