Lying and Kissing (2 page)

And when none of that worked, I thought about Luka. Dark, dark fantasies about a man who took without asking permission. Hidden under the covers, with the lights off, I’d twist the sheets into sweaty hillocks in my fists and thrash and grind and bite my lip to stop from crying out and waking Nancy. Then, afterwards, I’d want to die with shame at the things I’d been imagining. Wasn’t I supposed to want sex on a white-sands beach with a guy who respected me? Not...
this.

And then things got completely out of control.

Then I started dreaming about him.

I’m running through a frozen forest, running to stay warm. It’s beyond cold, the air so clear that everything looks ultra-sharp. Every last little bit of heat seems to have bled out into space and what’s left is a deadly wasteland.

If I stay here, I’ll die.

I’m in bare feet and a long white dress, the hem of it soaked through. Freezing snow is up to my ankles. I stagger and slip but I can’t stop. Because behind me is—

I can feel him watching me. Huge and dressed all in black, almost filling the path behind me. He radiates heat—I can feel it licking at the back of my neck, melting the snow I’ve kicked up in my wake. His warmth feels so good….

But I know that he’ll be my downfall. So I run even harder.

And suddenly, he’s in front of me, so close that I can’t pull up in time. I slam into his chest and it’s like sun-warm rock against my breasts, almost too hot to touch. I try to push myself away, but his arms have closed around me, trapping me there.

I look up into his eyes: frozen blue orbs that pin me there and make me melt inside. His eyes say,
you want this.

And I scream
no I don’t
so loudly it almost drowns out the throb in my groin.

The ground collapses and we’re falling, falling. Down into the earth and into a world of darkness and hard metal, sparks and fire. I land on my back and he’s immediately on top of me, his lips pressing to mine. At the first kiss, I feel the heat sluicing down through me, burning its way through the ice that’s gradually filled me in the three years since the accident.

I open my mouth to take a shuddering breath and his tongue slips into my mouth, silencing me. And despite my mind fighting it, I can feel my body starting to thaw, a wave of energy waking my slumbering body and making my nipples stiffen against his chest. Between my thighs, I’m aching for him.

He grips my white dress in one massive hand and shreds it, leaving me nude. He’s naked too and I have a glimpse of a thick, erect cock before he’s on top of me again, pushing my legs apart. He pins my wrists. I struggle as he tells me I want it. I struggle even as I know he’s right.

And then I feel him, big and unstoppable, pressing for entrance and—

I woke up with the covers twisted around me and my panties damp.

And then, the next night, it happened again.

When the dreams came, they held back the nightmares. If I was dreaming of Luka, I wasn’t dreaming of snow and screaming and the sensation of falling.

But I wasn’t sure which one disturbed me more.

***

This was my life. I rode the bus to CIA headquarters every morning, I listened to people’s private conversations for eight hours, and I fantasized about a man I’d never met. I rode the bus home again and read books and went to sleep. I had no social life, let alone a love life, because, ever since that day three years ago, I didn’t seem to be able to connect to anyone. My life ticked away one day at a time and none of it felt remotely real or meaningful. The only real thing, to me, was Luka’s voice.

Three years ago, I’d frozen inside, to shield me from the pain. I felt numb and utterly alone. The closest thing I had to a friend or a parent was Roberta, who I knew would never let me even get close to field work.

That was my life.

And then, the next day, my life changed completely.

I kept my eyes on my screen when he walked in, but then I pretended to glance at the clock so that I could sneak a split-second glance at him. I looked back at my screen and then closed my eyes and studied the mental snapshot.

He was in his late fifties, with a charcoal-gray suit and a white shirt that was soft at the creases, not hard and sharp. Hazel eyes, whites a little bloodshot. He had an expensive-looking red tie on with an ornamental tie clip. I was too far away to read the lettering but it looked as if it might have been from a college. Definitely not anyone I’d seen before. I wondered if he was from a level up, or even a level above that.

I have a photographic memory. It’s not as much fun as it sounds. There are some things I’d rather forget.

“Arianna Scott?” he asked, like a teacher summoning a student.

I slowly stood up. Roberta was standing next to the guy, arms folded in that particular way that means she’s really mad.

The guy studied me for a moment and then nodded to himself.
What? What does that mean?

“Follow me,” he told us. No
please.
The fact he could speak that way to Roberta immediately placed him several branches up the tree diagram. Up where the cool stuff happens. I felt my heart shift up a gear.

It took two elevators and a walk to get to his office, and every step took us further from the geeky, airless cave where we toiled all day and closer to the CIA you see in the movies. When I saw the sign on the door -
Adam Kinlen, Director, Special Activities Division
, my heart started full-on racing.

There was a window that looked out over a big, open-plan office. People were busy at screens that showed world maps, fingerprints, and photos. Some of them had headsets on, talking to field agents thousands of miles away. It was the real thing.

Roberta and I sat. Adam folded his hands behind his back and stood staring out over his empire, either unaware or uncaring that Roberta was glaring at him.

“Roberta speaks very highly of you, Arianna.” he told me without turning around. “Hard worker, excellent Russian skills and outstanding retention.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “I’ve got a photographic memory. It’s easy for me.”

He turned around at that. “
Really?”
He sounded genuinely interested and enthusiastic. I was starting to like him. “Close your eyes,” he said.

I closed my eyes.

“What’s on my desk?” he asked.

I wondered if it was a trick question, because that was easy. “There’s a half-full glass of water, a sandwich that looks like pastrami on rye, your computer, your phone, a memo with a yellow post-it note stuck to it and a classified report on the French Prime Minister. The report has a coffee stain in the bottom-left corner. It starts off, “
We believe that he and his secretary—”

“That’s enough!” Adam said quickly.

I opened my eyes. Adam strode across the room, grabbed the report and shoved it into a desk drawer. Roberta was smirking.

Adam gave me a look that was halfway between irritated and impressed. “Roberta also tells me you’re eager to get out of support and into some field work.”

I glanced at Roberta. She gave me a look that very clearly said
no.

I looked through the window at the busy people doing real intelligence work. I thought of another four hours of transcription that afternoon.

I nodded.

“Good,” said Adam. “I think you’re wasted in support.” And he gave me a smile that made my whole heart lift. I mean, not in
that
way. He was old enough to be my dad, if my dad had still been alive. But it felt as if he really believed in me. “I want you to help us on a little op. You can play the violin, right?”

I blinked. It had come so completely out of left field that it took me a few seconds to answer. “Yes,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, I haven’t for a while….”

“You’ll have a few days to practice,” he said. “You’re twenty-two, correct?”

I nodded.

“I want to go on record as not liking this,” said Roberta. “Arianna’s not a field agent.”

“She went through basic training,” Adam told her.

“There’s a reason they call it
basic.”

“Ultimately, it’s up to Arianna,” said Adam. He grinned at me. “Would you like to try? If it goes well, we can look at gradually moving you over to field work.”

It sounded too good to be true. It was exactly what I’d wanted. I glanced at Roberta and got the
no
look again. I looked at Adam and he was a hundred and ten percent
yes.

I nodded. “I want to try,” I said firmly. “What would I have to do?”

Adam’s smile grew even wider. “Let’s get you some coffee while we talk.” Then he glanced at Roberta. “You can go.”

I didn’t dare look at Roberta as she walked out. I felt...
disloyal?
But that was crazy. This was good for my career. She’d want me to progress, right?

“So,” said Adam. “Luka Malakov.”

Oh shit.

My face must have betrayed something because Adam frowned. “You look like you know him.”

I shook my head, then nodded. “I just remember the name from transcribing his calls,” I said weakly.
You know, like that one I listened to fifty-seven times.

Adam nodded sagely. “Do you know anything about him?”

I shook my head and braced myself. I’d been curious all this time but, suddenly, I didn’t want to know. I expected it to be bad.

It was worse.

“He’s an arms dealer,” said Adam. “Started out in the Russian mob, just like his dad, Vasiliy. Together, they’ve made millions—maybe billions—selling guns. Vasiliy’s getting old, so he mostly stays cooped up in a fortified mansion while Luka handles all the day-to-day running of things.” Adam looked right at me. “Luka keeps everyone in line. And very, very afraid.”

My stomach flipped over. I’d been fantasizing about this guy.

“We believe Luka is setting up a big deal to bring guns into the US. We need to find out who the buyer is.”