The Libra Affair
Daco
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2013 by Daco Auffenorde
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6657-7
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6657-8
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6658-5
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6658-5
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com; istockphoto.com/Murat Giray Kaya
Dedicated to my gracious mother, Katherine F. Smalley, for sharing her splendid pearls of wisdom.
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Saturday morning, coffee, a newspaper, and the companionship of my husband and children buzzing in and around, the hot topic of the day was Iran, nuclear war, China, trade imbalance, and espionage. The idea of what really goes on behind the scenes, what we, the public, never see inspired me to play the
what if
game and start imagining ways, albeit through extraordinary fictional means, of how we might achieve balance in the world; economically as well as individually. I thought that resorting to unsuspecting methods, by creating the appearance of a war to draw in the unwitting, just might work to rearrange the players and level the playing field between countries. And so,
The Libra Affair
sprang to life where the fate of the world hinged on the love of one man, willing to follow his one and only true love to the ends of the world, and one woman, who never believed she'd embrace love, because in the end, it's all about love that keeps us in balance.
Thank you to the fabulous Jennifer Lawler, Manager of Crimson Romance, for loving my story and allowing me to debut
The Libra Affair
with Crimson Romance. Thank you to the spectacular Jess Verdi, editor extraordinaire, for all the red valentines. You are both jewels in the world of publishing and will forever remain near and dear to my heart. And a big thank you to all of the staff behind the scenes at Crimson Romance who worked tirelessly to make
The Libra Affair
shine. I think we won the race!
I also owe a debt of gratitude to those who encouraged me to pursue my dreams, especially my parents, Dr. Larry L. Smalley and Katherine F. Smalley, who taught me that you can do anything you want ⦠you just have to do your best. I'm only sorry that my father didn't live long enough to enjoy my debut novel as he was robbed of his life by Alzheimer's disease. Many thanks to my husband, Michael, and children who indulged and inspired me to follow my path.
Thank you to my friends and early readers who contributed encouragement and support; Dr. Richard Stremski, a second father to me; Catherine Ottaviano; Dr. Alice Chenault; Sharon Burrell; Donnie Maleknia; Fatemeh Nazarieh; Dr. Farrah Ibrahim; Dr. Ching-hua Su; Jean Adhami; A.W. Lee; Monica Geis; Sonya Rye; Lara Lay; Kevin Lay; Eric Lay; Leslie Wainger; Noel Higgins; Dr. Jim Van Alstine; Lori Stephens; Dr. Chips Rosher; and all of my friends and relatives who gave me strength.
I invite you, as my reader, to review
The Libra Affair
on Amazon, Good Reads, or any other available review site, and thank you!
Daco
“But you kissed that guy.”
“It was a game. A stupid bar game.” Jordan's heart began to race, but she spoke in a calm, deliberate voice as she gripped the phone in her hand. “You were working, remember?” This was the hardest breakup speech she'd ever delivered, but it wasn't her choice. It was time for Jordan Jakes to go to work.
He struggled to speak. “Jordan, I â ”
“Ben,” she interrupted him, “let's not make this any more difficult than it has to be.” She knew he was trying to tell her that he loved her, but he was paralyzed by fear of rejection. It was better this way. If he actually said the words, she knew she'd drop to her knees and sob.
“I'm sorry.” His voice was soft, emotional. “I overreacted ⦠”
“A relationship is built on trust.” Her stomach clenched. “I can't be with someone who doesn't trust me.” As she said the words, she felt the sting of irony in her lie.
Why couldn't her target have been the typical lab coat scientist? Why'd he have to be Isle of Mann's perfect blend of Scotch and Nordic served with a twist of dark brown curls? And why'd he have to look at her that way with those melancholy eyes of his?
“That guy you saw going crazy, that wasn't me,” he tried even harder.
“I can't do this anymore.” Her heart was breaking and there was nothing in the world she could do about it.
That first night at the bar when he'd sauntered over to her like he didn't have a care in the world and asked, “What will you have?” the only answer that came to her mind was you. I want you ⦠forever. But that was a dream, a dream that lasted exactly one year, and now the dream was ending; she had accomplished exactly what she'd been sent to do. There was never going to be a forever, no matter how much she wanted it.
She was leaving him and it was time to make this final.
The bell hanging on the front door to the dry cleaners jingled. She'd worked as a clerk in this lousy job for the past year, too. But it was the perfect cover for her: no stress, no brainer, no suspicions.
“Can't we talk about it?” he said. “Over dinner? A bowl of beef barley?”
“No.” All Ben needed now was closure â to hear her say it was over and beyond repair. Not a dot, dot, dot.
“I don't want you to go,” he said.
She didn't want to go either, but when Chou, her Chinese handler, called a week ago and said, “It's time,” any fantasy of her sticking around vanished. It had taken the American Central Intelligence Agency and Jordan three long years to get into bed with the Chinese National Security Bureau, and now that the Chinese trusted her, a boyfriend who had been solicited as no more than a pawn in an international game of espionage and cold war could not stand in the way of accomplishing the rest of this mission.
The customer who'd just entered the dry cleaners moved toward the counter, only he stopped short of it and waited.
Without eyeing him directly, but glancing at his reflection on a metallic strip lining the corner of the wall, Jordan quickly ascertained by the man's lanky physique and cautious stride that Chou had arrived. She'd never actually seen the man's face, but there was no doubt in her mind â it was Chou.
“You know, it's over,” Jordan spoke into the receiver. She wouldn't allow this charade to continue a moment longer.
The front door to the shop opened again. Another man entered, young, thirtyish.
“What about your things?” Ben asked. “What should I â ?”
“I didn't leave anything.” It was the truth. Two nights ago after she staged their fight at the bar, Jordan had secretly returned to Ben's place. She removed her toothbrush, a spare change of clothes, and the photograph in the picture frame he kept at his bedside. With it gone â out of sight, out of mind â it must not have occurred to him that she'd taken it. The snapshot was her favorite, one that a stranger passing along the beach offered to take of them when they were in Nantucket last fall. But that wasn't why she'd taken it. No, she'd taken it because she couldn't leave any trace of herself.
The young man standing at the counter cleared his throat.
Jordan glanced at the men. “Be right with you,” she said and took a step closer to the wall where the telephone was attached. “I have customers,” she said to Ben.
“Ma'am?” The young man thumped a nervous fist on the countertop. “I don't mean to be rude, but I'm late for work and I'm in a bit of a hurry.”
“Wait,” Ben said. “I'll be at my NASA lab all day. The bar tonight. Let's meet. We can talk about this.”
“I'm sorry, Ben. It's over. I have to go.” Jordan hung up the receiver, telling herself that she would
not
look back. She stepped to the computer terminal and said, “Okay. Who was first?” as she pulled the pencil from the bun she had knotted her hair into that morning.
Chou nodded to the young man in a hurry. “Go ahead,” he said.
The young man tipped his head appreciatively and said to Jordan, “Frank Taylor, picking up.”
“Nothing to drop off?” she asked as she plugged his name into the computer. How many times had she said that line over the last year? Enough was how many.
Mr. Taylor shook his head no and tapped the counter relentlessly as if saying,
Get on with it, lady.
Another day, she might have told the jerk his cleaning wasn't ready and that he'd have to come back, but with Chou in her presence, she had no time for idle games.
She placed the hangers on a hook and told him, “It'll be twenty-one even,” glad to conclude her last transaction.
“Wait a minute,” he said as he combed through the contents. “Seems the pants are missing.” He looked at Jordan with a concerned expression. “My jeans.”
A sick feeling hit Jordan in the gut.
“Yeah,” he said, “a pair of Levi button-fly jeans. Pressed down the center.”
“Let me have another look,” Jordan said as she turned and started toward the rack. She knew exactly where his jeans were â she was wearing them.
“You know,” the young man called over to her, “they kind of look like the pair you're wearing.”
“Give me a second.”
“Hold on just a minute,” he said loudly. “Yeah. They're just like the ones you have on.”
This wasn't the time for confrontation â not with Chou standing there â so she said in a sympathetic voice, “I'm sorry, sir, you must be mistaken.”
“No, I'm not. I think I know my own pants.”
The service door to the drive-through opened and Jordan's coworker Jolie entered.
“It must be a mistake,” Jordan said. “I can't imagine such a thing.”
“Need some help?” Jolie asked, approaching the counter.
“I do,” said Mr. Taylor. “This chick's got my pants on.”
Jolie eyed Jordan. “Sir, I'm sure there's some mistake,” she said.
“I know my own pants,” he said. “And let me tell you, those are vintage jeans. I paid a small fortune for them.”
“Jordan?” Jolie said, looking for help.
Then Chou announced, “I'll come back.”
When the door closed, Jordan glanced at Mr. Taylor and said, “I can explain.”
The young man scoffed.
“Mr. Taylor,” Jordan said, “if these are your pants, then somehow they ended up in my cleaning. I have the same pair.” She glanced out the front window and tracked Chou as he made his way across the parking lot. She knew exactly where he was going and had less than five minutes to get herself over there.
