“I have to wear this again tomorrow night, so don’t rip it off, okay?”

Cameron sat up and gave Tess the sweetest smile. “I have never in my life ripped clothes off a woman. Undressing is foreplay. Why miss out on that?”

His hand traveled up her leg, beneath the silken skirt and rested for a moment on her hip. One teasing finger slipped beneath the strap at the side of her thong. His lazy gaze never left hers.

Tess saw right into his mind in that instant as if he had opened up to her on purpose, an offering of trust, a gift. She saw raw anticipation. She saw all that he imagined they would do together. She saw need that stretched beyond the night. Tantalizing. And erotic.

Slowly he removed his hand from beneath the dress, caressing her leg as he began to lift the hem. When he drew it over her head and carefully laid it aside, Tess shivered with eagerness….

Dear Reader,

Here’s what happens when an idealistic, by-the-book agent with little experience meets a seasoned operative who has battled burnout, the bad guys and also the bureaucracy that put him in place. Cameron lost the last round, but has a second chance on all fronts if he chooses to accept the challenge.

The ability to adapt to the situation plays a crucial role in an undercover operative’s work. He or she often has to assume a persona that doesn’t quite fit. Is it possible, in the acting out of the part, to discover hidden corners of the personality that conceal unexpected traits? Tess and Cameron will find out. Surprises are in store as the op brings out the best and worst of both.

Perhaps The Big Reveal is just as well for two people falling head over heels against all the rules and their better judgment. Love will lay it all on the line in The Agent’s Proposition.

Join the ride. It’s bound to be wild!

The Agent’s Proposition
Lyn Stone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LYN STONE

is a former artist who developed an early and avid interest in criminology while helping her husband study for his degree. His subsequent career in counterintelligence and his contacts in the field provided a built-in source for research in writing suspense. Their long and happy marriage provided firsthand knowledge of happily-ever-afters.

This book is dedicated to my good friend

Shauna Keenon, one courageous lady.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Prologue

McLean, Virginia

“Sir, why in the world would you want to hire this man for our team?” Tess Bradshaw demanded. “Look at this last performance appraisal!” She thumped the page for emphasis as she read aloud. “Employs unorthodox methods, ignores rules and regulations. I can see why the CIA branded him a rogue and forced him to resign.”

Jack Mercier shrugged. “We need him, at least temporarily. So convince him to come on board.”

Tess tossed the page on the desk, sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, shaking her head as she did. “Does he have any special abilities?”

Each of the agents on the SEXTANT and COMPASS teams had some edge that made them and the units special, like a photographic mind, a phenomenal ear for languages or psychic skills. Tess was an empath. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Cochran’s lack of an edge, since her own wasn’t all that well honed yet. She was still amazed to find herself a member of a civilian special ops team specializing in counterintelligence.

“He’s a good hacker and extremely proficient at physically following up on what he finds. He’s excellent at infiltrating, adapting and anticipating. Also speaks three languages fluently. Not unusual for our teams, but remarkable enough.”

“Are we after the same group who threatened the Bulk Power System eighteen months ago? Could it be Al Qaeda?”

“Maybe. We do know they have detailed schematics for our power facilities. But this threat is virtually identical to the last one, when they cut the power for almost all the eastern seaboard. Cyber Security managed to override their control within a few hours, but this new threat is more sophisticated.”

“All the agencies are on this, I bet.”

“Working all fronts. The NSA tracked the origin of the e-mails to a general location but is unable to pinpoint the actual source. Maybe Cochran can zero in on it. He did last time and was ready to apprehend. The Company jumped the gun and botched his efforts, then shifted the blame to Cochran. I hope this chance for redemption will prompt Cochran to join us, at least for this op.”

“What if he’s bitter, or just not interested?” she asked.

“Then you will have failed your mission, Agent Bradshaw. Get him interested. We have only a week before the lights go out.” He handed her another file with the details of the earlier case and added a smaller folder of travel documents. “You’ll find him on Tybee Island on the Georgia coast.” He tapped the new folder with one finger. “His passport, credentials and a badge. Don’t let go of these unless he agrees to do this.”

“I’ll convince him,” she declared. Orders were orders. “Where will he be going on the op?”

Mercier stood up, her signal that the briefing was over. “The French Riviera. Better buy yourself a new bikini and some sunscreen when you land in Savannah.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re going with him.”

Chapter 1

Tybee Island, Georgia

Cameron Cochran lounged on the deck of the Lucky Duck, his thirty-one-foot Morgan powerboat. Café Loco looked too busy for him to go over there for beer, and he was down to his last one.

He propped his bare feet on the rail and rubbed the surviving cold bottle of Dos Equis across the middle of his chest to cool off. It was damned hot for early October, even for Georgia.

In another few weeks he planned to knock off for the year. The fishing business was slow anyway. He hadn’t had the boat out of the creek and in open water for three days. A good many of the neighboring slips were empty today, but most of them advertised, did tours, catered to tourists. He took only small groups of two or three who seriously liked to fish.

Tomorrow’s client was late in coming by with the deposit, and he had a good mind to go ahead and leave. Might as well finish the beer. He took a swig and sighed.

Life was good here. He still had that feeling something was missing, though. Maybe the high he got when all his senses were revved and the safety was off. Maybe a little passion for what he was doing. Maybe a little passion, period.

Cameron grunted at the maudlin thought and took another swallow, enjoying the cool brew. He had it made. What fool wouldn’t love to be doing what he was doing, bunking on a sweet little craft and fishing for a living?

Most nights he didn’t even bother going to the house. It was just a place to keep the stuff he didn’t have room for on the Duck.

A tapping sound caught his attention. Ah, that must be tomorrow’s fare, strutting down the dock in high heels and a skirt. He’d bet this one wouldn’t be baiting any hooks. She looked cute, though, in a tightly wound, bean-counter kind of way. The bigger outfits must be sending him the ones they didn’t want to fool with.

She had her little beige suit coat draped over one arm, and perspiration molded her bright blue slip top to her skin. Damp strands of dark blond hair had escaped the prim little bun and clung to her temples.

“Are you Cameron Cochran?” she asked, shielding her brow with her hand.

“Ms. Bradshaw.” He knew who she was. He recognized her voice from the phone call a few hours earlier. She had left a message, asking to meet with him at 2:00 p.m. It was almost three-thirty. “You’re late.”

“My flight was delayed. Weather,” she explained with an impatient shake of her head. “May I, uh, come on the boat?” She stood near the edge of the dock, eyeing the gentle lap of waves against the pilings. She looked worried.

“Take your shoes off,” he ordered. Reluctantly, he set down his beer and got up to help her board. Probably couldn’t make it by herself since her skirt was so slim-fitting. He finally just grabbed her by the waist and hefted her over and onto the deck.

She brushed his hands off as if he’d been handling fish. Cameron smiled down at her, enjoying himself. She was a pretty little thing and obviously way out of her comfort zone.

He stood back, hands on his hips. “Okay, here’s the deal. We’ll leave around six in the morning and go out about twenty miles. Depending on what we find, we should get a few sea bass, flounder, snapper or mackerel. If you feel adventurous, we could try for barracuda.”

“I didn’t come to fish,” she announced, straightening her skirt.

He glanced pointedly around the marina and back at her. “Well, honey, this is a fishing boat, and that’s about all I do. You want a tour, there’re boats for that.”

She held out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Agent Tess Bradshaw, and I work for SEXTANT. Our director, Special Agent Jack Mercier, sent me to offer you a position with our team. I know you worked for the CIA, so I’m sure you know who we are.”

Cameron froze, pinning her with a glare. She drew up to her full height of about five-four and glared back. “Look, I know that was direct, but I saw no point in engaging in a lot of small talk before delivering the offer. The pay is good, and you’ll have a chance to get at that hacker again. No interference this time and Mercier will have your file completely wiped of all the accusations made against you before you left the Company.”

“Get off my boat,” Cameron growled. All the bitterness he thought he’d conquered flooded back.

“Wait, please!”

“For what? I’m done.”

She cleared her throat and stepped away when he would have lifted her back onto the dock. “I could lose my job if you say no.”

“Good. You’ll be better off.” He reached for her again, but she dodged him.

“Listen to me, will you?” Wide-eyed, probably afraid of him, she backed up to the far rail, dropped her shoes and held on with both hands. “We need you. Your country needs you. There’s another threat to the B.P.S. The mitigating effort’s not working. They want money, or they’ll strike.”

He so didn’t want to get into this again. “One more hour and I would have had the man. The Company rushed in, screwed my mission, then blamed me when it failed.”

“Mercier knows that.”

Cameron didn’t care. “If they need a standby scapegoat this time, they can damn well find somebody else.”

“You got a raw deal. Mercier will rectify that if you’ll only help us out with this one mission. It’s one you worked on for nearly a year! Here’s your opportunity to make it happen your way. Take it, Cochran.”

“Tell him to fix my record, get me an official apology in writing and I’ll think about it.” Cameron would think, as promised, but he wouldn’t do. Her expression said she guessed as much. Smart cookie.

He sat back down in his chair and picked up his beer.

The persistent little devil didn’t budge. “We know where he is. He has been traced to a general area but has moved too much within it to be pinpointed precisely,” she told him. “Intel says he’s contacted the Department of Energy with a demand for millions. You know the government policy on extortion, so it’s only a matter of time….”

Cameron swiped his forehead with the side of his bottle, now too warm to do any good. “You have a location, so go in and throw a wide net.”

He hated the prickle of anticipation he was feeling. And the itch to participate, damn it. He wanted to so badly, he could taste it, despite the bitterness. Or maybe because of that. Would he ever have another chance like this to clear his name?

She held his gaze, probably knew she had him already, even as she spoke. “The evidence would disappear in a blink if we used a traditional approach. That’s what happened last time, right? Mercier says you’d be lead on the mission and we do things your way. And if you want employment with our team after we succeed, he will seriously consider it.”

Was it possible somebody actually believed he was innocent? Enough to hire him? In any case, they sure knew how to tempt him. “What’s with the we? Who else is on it?”

She dropped her gaze to her feet, then looked up at him through her lashes and frowned. “Me.”

Cameron laughed out loud. He stopped suddenly and sighed. “Who goes if I refuse? Just you?”

She shrugged and nodded.

Okay, there was his justification for sticking his head back in the noose. Damn it, he couldn’t let her try to handle this on her own. Young as she looked, she couldn’t have much experience.

This could prove really dangerous if it involved a serious criminal element and not just some greedy hacker testing his skills.

Her carefully blank expression and lack of any telling body language indicated she could be lying about taking this on by herself. But what if she wasn’t? Intel personnel had to be stretched pretty thin across the board these days with so many cuts in funding. They might send her out alone, thinking there would be little chance of physical danger involved.

“Please reconsider,” she said. “I know how much that last op cost you. Think about it, Cochran. Here’s your chance to turn that around.”

She couldn’t know all he had lost. That wouldn’t be in his record for her to read. Some things couldn’t be turned around no matter what he did. Like Brenda.

She had deserted him the minute she found out he’d been forced to leave the Company. Losing her was probably the only stroke of good fortune associated with his fall from grace, but at the time he hadn’t seen it that way. He had needed love and support. He had gotten a halfhearted apology and his ring back.

Even that was more than his family had offered. His dad, still disgruntled about Cameron’s career choice, had muttered a pointed “I told you so” and extended a grudging job offer. Cameron’s polite refusal had nearly cut all ties with his parents, but he could not see himself as an accountant making his bones in order to inherit Daddy’s firm eventually. This was his life, damn it.

Now even his mother thought he was a bum and wore a look of despair every time he visited. They lived less than ten miles away, and he, an only child and the black sheep, rarely saw either of them. His weekly call to check on their health and say hello was both bittersweet and excruciating.

Yeah, he had lost, all right, but he still had his self-respect and his independence. He made a fair living and answered to nobody. Could he give that up on the off chance he could prove he was a good agent? Even if he succeeded, who was left to care?

Who was he kidding? He cared. He damn well cared.

The sudden leap of hope made him furious with himself. And with her, for causing it. He hated the reminder of what he had once been and what he was now. How many times had he dreamed of being called back, being needed to do what no other agent could, and of saying a nonchalant “no thanks” to the ones who had betrayed him?

Now he faced a decision, welcome revenge or a chance at redemption. What if he took the chance and failed? What if, again, they engineered his failure?

She watched him, her expression hopeful.

Even if he wanted to say yes, what could he do with his hands tied? “I can’t leave the country. The authorities lifted my papers and warned me not to.”

“Taken care of. Passport, badge and credentials, Everything you’ll need. You also get your CRYPTO clearance back. C’mon, you get carte blanche.”

Cameron put down the warm beer again and stood up. So much for his sense of self-preservation. He needed to ditch his pride and do this. Had to, and not just to keep her out of trouble, he admitted. There might never be another opportunity for him to set things straight. “I’ll need a few days to make arrangements for my business here.”

“I’m sorry, but this has a short fuse. We have to leave today. I’ll do whatever I can to help you get ready.” She was obviously grateful and relieved he was in, but the offer sounded a little stiff in spite of that. He suspected she hadn’t agreed with her boss’s orders to recruit him. She sure deserved a solid A for effort, though. She had set the hook and reeled him in.

That uptight attitude had to loosen up a little if they were going to get along at all. He grabbed the shirt hanging over the arm of his chair and pulled it on, then stepped into his deck shoes. “My car’s up at the café. Let’s go.”

“Where?” she asked. “You’re not planning to drive anywhere, are you?” She glanced pointedly at the discarded beer bottle. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Half a beer doesn’t affect me.” He beckoned her to his side of the deck and lifted her onto the dock. She yelped a little when he almost dropped her on purpose.

“I’m driving!” she declared when he joined her.

“Suit yourself.”

He led the way up to the parking lot and waited for her as she paid her fare and sent the waiting cab on its way back to town. When she rejoined him, he ushered her into the café and hailed Bobby Ray, who was sitting at the bar, sucking down a draft. “Hey, take over for me for a couple of weeks, will you?”

“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Bobby Ray muttered.

Cameron tossed him the keys to the boat. “Hire a mate. Don’t take her out by yourself. Tomorrow’s still open. Take care of the Duck for me, or I’ll wring your skinny neck.”

Bobby Ray nodded and pocketed the keys. He never said much. Clients probably didn’t enjoy his company, but he was careful on the water and damn good at finding fish.

“Are you sure you can trust him?” she asked as they were leaving the café. “He looks sort of…disreputable.”

He did at that. Scrawny, dressed like a bum, rarely shaved, missing a few teeth. But he was a good man. Cameron inclined his head and took her arm to guide the little agent to his car. “We’re a disreputable lot, and that’s a fact, ma’am, but we look out for each other. And I have really good insurance.”

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“It’s a Southern thing, sign of respect.”

“You don’t know me. How do you know I deserve respect?” she snapped.

“Call me an optimist.” He stopped beside the Chevy, opened the passenger door and got in. The window was already down, so he reached out and handed her the key. “Here you go.”

She took the key ring and stared at it, frowning.

“So, you driving or what?” he asked, prompting her to get a move on. If they had a short fuse on this like she said, they needed to get busy.

She hurried around the rust-spotted hood and got in. After a cursory assessment of the interior, she remarked, “There aren’t any seat belts.”

“Or air-conditioning. She’s an old car. We have to go only about two miles, though. You’ll be safe enough.”

She stuck the key in the ignition and twisted it. Cameron smiled at the deafening rumble. Who needed a muffler to go two miles? He rarely drove anywhere but to the house and back.

“Hit the main drag and hang a right.”

There were no more comments about his ride, and he gave her points for that. He had bought the clunker from Bobby Ray for a couple of hundred when the boy had needed money.

“Are we going to your house?” she asked, shifting gears rather expertly.

“Yep. Turn right here. Third house on the left.” He pointed to a small clapboard cottage with blue shutters.

“Cute,” Bradshaw commented as she parked in the shell-scattered driveway. “I’ll just wait in the car.”

“Come on in. You know you’re curious.” He shot her a daring grin. As long as he was committed to doing this, he might as well make up his mind to enjoy it.

Without further argument, she got out of the car and followed him inside.

“Make yourself comfortable while I pack.”

“All right,” she said, perching on the edge of the old sofa, elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped. She surveyed the room with a critical eye. “Is this where you grew up?”

“Nope. Savannah. This was my granddaddy’s place. Now mine.”

“Does your family still live in Savannah?”

“Yeah. If you want something cold to drink, there’s tea in the fridge. Help yourself.” He left her there.

“So this is your retirement home?” she called out from the living room.

“I don’t have a retirement,” he snapped, wishing the bitter words back the instant they were out.

“That could change if this works out. You could move back to the D.C. area.”

He didn’t answer, because he didn’t know what to say. Pride wouldn’t let him admit to her that he wished he could get his old life back, square things with his superiors and regain his father’s respect. Until she made the offer, he hadn’t realized how desperately he wanted that. Yeah, he would go and he would succeed this time no matter what it took.

Half the country could suffer a power outage if he didn’t. A shutdown across the power grid could cause deaths and seriously impact critical infrastructures. The economy, in rough shape now, would tank completely. Clearing his name meant a lot to him, all right. And, of course, there was little Agent Bradshaw, who might run into trouble and get herself hurt or worse if he refused.

Enough analyzing. He had made a decision and that was that. He had never been one for second-guessing himself. Fully committed was the only way he knew to approach things. Full steam ahead.

Packing was simple enough. She had said the source of this threat was not in country, so he ought to prepare for any contingency. He included his tux and accoutrements, his best suit and the expensive casual things he hadn’t used since his last undercover gig in London. He added the forbidden laptop. Had they really thought he’d abide by that directive?

On the off chance that Bradshaw wasn’t providing equipment for him, he tossed in a pack of disposable wrist restraints, a penlight, his knife and his Kevlar vest. The Glock went in the bag next, along with his .38 caliber backup.

He didn’t bother to change clothes, since she was in such a hurry. So was he, now that he’d agreed to do this.

She was sipping a glass of tea without ice when he reentered the living room. “Come on. Make it quick.”

“You’re in a rush all of a sudden,” she said as they walked to the car.

“Might as well get this show on the road. By the way, where are we going?” he asked.

“France. The Riviera.”

“That covers a good bit of ground.”

“Saint Tropez. Are you familiar with it?”

“Oh, yeah. Interesting beaches,” he replied with a suggestive smile, knowing full well she’d start picturing all the sunbathers nude. Some of them would be, maybe most of them. How would Miss Prim and Proper react to that reality? He had to admit he wouldn’t mind seeing her try to blend in with the locals on one of those beaches.

She seemed a little too “by the book” to be working for such an offbeat agency. The bunch at SEXTANT were supposed to have psychic leanings, at least according to the scuttlebutt at the Company. The agents had joked about it.

Cameron hadn’t joked. He had been raised in Savannah, where psychics lived on every corner and were nothing to laugh at. He was no fortune-teller or mind reader, but he had experienced a few premonitions himself, so he didn’t discount things of that nature. The government had been implementing special programs exploring psychic phenomena for decades. Maybe they had come up with something useful, after all.

However, he figured if Bradshaw were able to read his mind, she wouldn’t have had to ask so many questions.

Also, she wouldn’t be so worried about whether she could trust him to do what he’d agreed to do. She would also know the Cochran agenda stretched past protecting the power grid and establishing his innocence. Now that he’d made the decision to take this on, his former ultimate goal had returned with renewed determination.

Cameron wanted the guy he had almost caught, but that was just the first step. Somebody else was calling the shots. He was sure of it. An insider, an American, a traitor.

He looked at Agent Bradshaw more objectively than he had before and tried to judge how she might react to a life-threatening situation. She must be pretty well trained and fairly intelligent to get where she was in the business, but she looked so damned innocent and untried.

He hoped she would be able to handle what was coming, because traitors, when cornered, could potentially prove lethal. They had nothing left to lose by fighting to the death.

Then again, now that he thought about it, neither did he.

Chapter 2

Tess evaluated what she knew about Cochran. He looked a darn sight different in person than in his official photo. What had not been captured by the camera was the laid-back sexuality, which sort of drew you in if you weren’t careful. Like a spell or something…

Cochran scared her a little. Not physically, but he threatened her self-confidence when it came to judging men. He probably wasn’t what he seemed, so what was he?

The photo in the file showed a perfectly groomed, rather handsome government agent wearing a gray suit, a short haircut and a stern expression. In person, at first meeting, he’d been a half-naked, wildly attractive sea captain with a killer tan and a sun-bleached mane that needed a trim. That lazy grin, combined with his intense green-eyed appraisal of her, had raised the hairs on her arms. Still did.

He made eye contact readily enough, but she was the one uncomfortable with it, not him. And she couldn’t read a thing he was thinking.

Maybe this was the real Cochran. Maybe getting fired had changed him. It was impossible to know who she was dealing with here, and that bothered her a lot.

The Company had confiscated his computers and fearing he would retaliate against them by using his expertise, had ordered him not to replace them. She would bet he’d gotten around the directive in short order and really hoped he had. Technology changed so rapidly, he’d be well behind the curve now if he hadn’t kept up.

She noted he hadn’t bothered to change out of his shorts, Café Loco shirt and deck shoes. Once she’d told him about the private jet waiting for them, he had seemed eager get on with it.

They were in the air now, and Cochran had been on her cell phone with Mercier for the last half hour, working out the specifics of their deal and details on the case.

Tess felt a little out of the loop, but she was glad her first mission had been accomplished. When she’d made the call for Cochran, Mercier had congratulated her and wished her well on her first real assignment in the field. She had been on backup for three others since he had hired her, and apparently he now trusted her to go secondary on this one.

Six years ago Tess had felt confident enough in her skill, and admittedly curious enough, to volunteer for a small study in parapsychology sponsored by the University of Virginia where she was enrolled. She learned later that the study was actually a renamed and privately funded continuation of the CIA’s Star Gate Project, which had been officially launched in the 1970s.

The study primarily involved remote viewing, which could aid in producing intelligence data. But her particular skills must have been recorded, because four years later she had been recruited.

She had qualified her skill when describing it to Mercier, but he had seemed satisfied that she would be a valuable member of the team and had hired her.

This was her first time out without a fellow SEXTANT agent in the lead on a case. Tess wished she knew Cochran better than she did. She didn’t like not knowing exactly who had her back.

There was the sexual attraction, which she would have to deal with, too. She had felt something like it before, but that had come to no good in a great big hurry.

Brian had been her first and only, the perfect choice—or so she had thought at the time. Early on Tess had decided to wait for love to have sex. She had to make her own rules, and that one had seemed prudent at the time. As a result, she’d reached her sophomore year in college virtually untouched.

He had been so attentive, so persuasive and so handsome. She hadn’t even tried to read his thoughts, thinking that would be intrusive and somehow taking advantage of him. She should have asked herself why a great-looking, popular jock like him, with so many other choices available, would attach himself to a bookish little mouse like her.

Maybe in the back of her mind, she had questioned it. But she hadn’t wanted to analyze the way she felt or look any deeper into his intentions. Starry-eyed and infatuated, she had accepted all his words of undying love as absolute devotion. Until the day after she’d given in to it completely. He had told everyone, leaving her humiliated.

She looked up as Cameron returned to the seat beside her and handed her back the phone. “I got all the details of the investigation so far. Mercier’s arranging for a yacht we can stay on, a repo that’s small enough we can crew it, but big enough to impress.”

“A boat? Jack’s putting us on a boat? Why?”

“Because I suggested it. Our target is moving. Could be on water, so we ought to be prepared for that. He agreed it was a good idea.”

Tess hated boats. She had quailed at boarding Cochran’s back on Tybee. But she wasn’t about to reveal her nearly phobic fear to Cochran. That was no way to begin.

He pinned her again with that intense scrutiny, as if he were trying to read her thoughts.

She knew that look. Was he psychic? She couldn’t read him. That had bothered her when they met, but she hadn’t worried too much. She could read some people, but they had to be open to it, either willing to let her or clueless about her trying. He didn’t strike her as either willing or clueless.

“You don’t like boats,” he stated, guessing. Or maybe he knew.

“I don’t have any experience with them, that’s all. You’ll have to teach me what to do.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll be an old salt in no time.”

That remained to be seen. “Why can’t we stay in one of the hotels?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because once we find this dude, we have to get him into international waters to arrest him.”

“No, we don’t. The French police will cooperate with us. They have before. Jack has influence, and jurisdiction shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“Yeah, they’ll hold whomever we catch, maybe even let us interrogate him, but under their collective thumb. Trust me, we won’t have the time to cut through bureaucracy. We need to get this guy and find out who he’s working for immediately. His boss might have a backup hacker and go right ahead with his plan.”

“His boss?”

“He’s not working this alone. Also, if we don’t have our perp isolated, who do you think he’ll contact the minute he gets to a phone or a computer?” He stared straight into her eyes. “Get over the boat thing. I know what I’m doing.”

“I hope you do.” This was just another battle she would have to fight in order to be who she wanted to be. She had won others, like conquering her strong resistance to confrontation and her aversion to physical contact. She admitted she still overcompensated to some degree, but for the most part, she was well over those hurdles and felt pretty good about herself.

She had overcome her childhood, or rather her lack of one. Her parents had been reared in a commune until they rebelled and ran away at seventeen. Their awkward attempts at entering the establishment had thrust a lot of responsibility onto the daughter they’d had too early in their lives.

Impulse had governed them and probably always would, but not Tess, who had a firm grip on reality, knew how to map her success and conquer her fears. So, she wasn’t about to quail at riding in a stupid boat.

“Nice plane,” he commented, looking around as if he hadn’t noticed before. “Not exactly Air Force One, but nice. Does it have a shower?”

“Back there,” she replied, pointing, hoping he would fit into the little enclosure. He was a large man, well over six feet tall and well muscled, almost bulked like a weight lifter. Deep-sea fishing must provide a great workout.

She jerked her gaze away from his legs, bare from just above his knees to below his ankles. He had great legs. She cleared her throat, hoping he hadn’t noticed her noticing. “Your bag—”

“I know where it is. I stowed it.” He got up and smiled down at her. “I’ll just go and clean up a little.”

Tess nodded, wondering if he would be in there long enough for her to snoop. Had he brought a weapon? A computer? Anything else she should know about?

“Will we have to go through customs?” he asked, as if he’d read her mind. Again.

“No. Mercier called ahead. He…knows people,” she stammered. “Do you have a weapon?”

“Two, which I wouldn’t want confiscated, and I don’t like anyone touching my laptop.”

Tess dropped her gaze, knowing it might reflect the guilt she felt about her plan to search his things. “You’re not supposed to have a computer.”

He laughed at that, and the sound of his laughter stroked every cell in her body as he left her to take his shower.

Damn, the man rattled her. She had to get over it and get her composure back. Her uncanny instincts didn’t work when she was this unnerved, and they had to work.

At least she had gotten him on board the mission and had accomplished her initial goal. She had to relinquish control of the op to him now, and that would be the most difficult aspect of the job.

Tess liked being in charge, but she had to admit this was not the time, any more than on the last two missions. Gaining experience had to take precedence. She had lied a little bit, indicating that Mercier would have sent her on alone if Cochran had refused to join her, but he didn’t have to know that.

She leaned back in her seat and tried to relax, regroup and unwind. All she could think about was that wicked smile of his, which mocked even as it dared, judged even as it flattered. What a puzzle Cochran was. Cameron. Would they progress to a first-name basis? Did she even want to?

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the two of them working in tandem, as partners, maybe even friends. Could she unbend enough to manage a friendship? Certainly never more than that, she warned herself, no matter how heart-stopping he looked or how powerful that spell of his turned out to be.

His touch, innocent at it had been the few times they had made contact, had alarmed and upset her. She couldn’t allow herself to backslide and become the scared little rabbit she had been growing up.

All those stories her mom had told about the evils of free love and rampant sex in the commune hadn’t helped Tess develop well socially. They had created yet another fear to be conquered. Next time she would be the one to initiate contact. She would do the touching, she decided, and she wouldn’t let it shake her, either. Not one little bit.

It could work with guys. It could work with boats. It was only a matter of employing systematic desensitization and cognitive restructuring of thoughts and misconceptions. She knew how to get over these things.

He returned to his seat half an hour later. Transformed. Tess was speechless. And more rattled than ever. His suit was a tropical beige, jet-set expensive, as were his Italian loafers and the dark brown V-necked pullover. Cashmere, she was certain. The Rolex watch, signet ring and diamond ear stud must have set him back a fortune, too.

“What’s the matter? Did I miss a spot?” He stroked his chin with two fingers.

“N-no. You look…fine.” Oh, man. Too fine, she thought with a sigh.

He raked her with an assessing look. “Your turn. Did you bring anything less…austere? I’m afraid you look just like an agent should, and we can’t have that.”

His southern accent had disappeared, and his speech sounded more like that of a newscaster. How’d he do that?

Tess was still trying to come to grips with the change in his appearance as she shook her head. All she could think of were her plain, low-heeled pumps—in beige, which went with everything—and her neat little suits from JC Penney. She frowned down at the Timex ticking away on her wrist. She felt…positively plebeian.

“Well, don’t worry about it,” he said. “We can fix that after we land.”

“Fix what?” she muttered.

“You,” he said, then shrugged. “Your wardrobe. The hair. Makeup. You’ll need to get in step for when we hit the clubs, maybe even the casinos.”

“Casinos?”

“Yeah, we’ll check the clubs in Saint-Tropez first, but the casinos are where we’re probably going to find him.”

“How would you know that?”

Cochran smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Because I know who we’re after, and he loves to gamble.”

Tess thought he was blowing smoke. Yet he radiated confidence like a space heater. Her doubt must be showing, because he continued without waiting for her to comment.

“Mercier related the message letter for letter when I asked, and I recognized the signature misspellings. There’s also a cadence and tone to it that are familiar. This guy’s wordy. And English is not his first language. This is the same man they used before to hack in. Now the brains behind the operation has him making the demands, so he’s not running the show. I intercepted some of the messages last time. This all but proves we’re also working against the original mastermind. That’s the guy we want, so we have to get junior first.”

Tess was impressed in spite of herself. “Fine. Now if we only had a name, we’d be in business.”

“Oh, I have that. I’ll also know him when I see him. Zahi Selim, an Egyptian ex-patriot. Young, around twenty-five or twenty-six. His family cut him loose when his behavior got too extreme, even for them. His father’s in the export business, textiles, and owns a number of European properties in major cities. Sort of like Fayed. You know, the father of Princess Di’s boyfriend?”

“The one killed in the crash with her? You mean, this Selim guy we’re looking for is a playboy?”

“And was working it big-time until Daddy cut him off and he ran out of money. Hopefully he’ll be returning to his former habits if he got an advance on this job. I almost had enough on him in London and reported what I had. My superior ordered him arrested without giving me prior notice. I had argued against it, but he didn’t listen.”

“Ah,” Tess said. “And they had to let him go. Not enough proof to hold him. Now he’s at it again.”

Cochran sighed and relaxed in his seat, tapping his long fingers on the armrests. Nerves or controlled anger? “My objections to his arrest were misconstrued.”

Tess regarded his expression, a mixture of disgust and resignation. “But you know him by sight? What if he recognizes you?”

“He won’t. I tracked him down and kept tabs on him, hoping for rock-solid proof of his involvement, but we never actually met. Mercier said he’d send a photo taken when Selim was in custody in London so you can see what he looks like.” Cochran frowned. “He’s a ballsy little son of a bitch. I’ll give him that. Smart, too, in some ways.”

“So how do we approach him?” Tess asked, getting excited now about a quick resolution to the op.

“We don’t. You do. He’s a sucker for fast women. Rich women willing to finance his habit. I want you to befriend him and entice him to come on board the yacht for a ride up the coast, supposedly to Monaco, where you two can gamble. Maybe offer him a little private action on the way.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble. Why don’t we just grab him? That would be simpler, wouldn’t it?”

“Risky. If he put up a fight, our grab might be misconstrued as an assault, or worse. If we render him unconscious, how would that look at the marina?”

“We could take him to the airport and back on the jet,” she suggested.

He shrugged. “Same thing. How would we get him out on the tarmac and onto the plane without being observed? I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I want an arrest for kidnapping added to my less than stellar record. Mercier could straighten it out eventually, I know, but our boy would be out of our hands for the duration. Better if he comes along willingly.”

“I see your point,” she agreed.

“Fine. We’ll need to get the location of his computer first. You’ll get him to take you home with him if you can, and you’ll pinpoint where it is. Then we’ll have located our proof. Next, once you’ve enticed him onto the yacht and we’re out to sea, we’ll get some answers.” He looked over at her with a smile. “Then maybe I’ll dump the little bastard overboard and see how the sharks like garbage.”

Tess smiled and shook her head. “You’d never do that.”

“Don’t think so?” He looked entirely too serious.

“Would you?”

He shrugged. “Depends on how cooperative he is and how I feel at the time.”

“Stop yanking my chain, Cochran. You’re treating me like a trainee agent, and I’m definitely not that. I’ve been around the block a time or two.”

“Fine, so take your hair down, show a little cleavage and let’s see your sexy look.”

Tess jerked upright in her seat and glared. “What?”

“So I can see if you have what it takes to persuade our boy to ride the seas with you. Looks like you might need a little work.”

“Go straight to hell!” she gasped, clutching her chest with one hand and the armrest with the other.

He closed his eyes and blew out a deep breath. “Well. A lotta work.”

Tess had never wanted to slap a man so badly before in her life. Instead, she stood up and marched to the back of the plane, into the bathroom, and slammed the door.

She leaned against the tiny sink and tried to calm down. When she could breathe normally, she raised her eyes to look in the mirror, attempting to assess her features objectively.

Could she entice with these looks? Would any man in his right mind follow her onto a boat?

Not unless she stole his wallet. Cochran was right. She needed a lotta work.

She let down her hair and fluffed it, letting a slightly wavy lock fall over one eye. Sexy? Maybe a little if she ditched the outfit and went back in there stark naked. Or maybe not.

Cochran was seriously impacting her self-image. Her image frowned back at her.

“I can do this!” she said in a desperate whisper.

Half an hour later she pranced back into the main cabin, copying the exaggerated runway strut of models she’d seen on television, and posed, hand on her hip, to get his reaction.

His lips pursed and his left eyebrow quirked up as he looked her over. His gaze traveled over her like a laser, burning her confidence to ashes as it tracked from her hair, over her skimpiest, half-buttoned sweater, over her straight-leg Kleins, right down to her strappy little sandals and back again. Then he looked away without so much as a comment.

What was he thinking?

“Well?” she demanded, resting both hands on her hips.

He smiled up at her. “The look is adequate, but I think the attitude will have to change. Sit down.”

She plopped into the seat across the aisle from him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Face it. I’m no femme fatale. Not in my genes.”

“Hey, the jeans are great. Could be a little tighter, but the cut is right and the color’s good. The sweater’s way too cutesy, though, even left open like that. And you’ll need a push-up.”

“Bra? You’re telling me what kind of bra to wear?” Tess was incensed. And red. She could feel her face burning. “So I’m a thirty-four B. Sue me!”

“Look,” he began with a studied blink and a sigh that screamed impatience. “Don’t take this personally. I’m trying to be helpful here. Sexy is in the attitude, and yours is too…uptight.”

She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “As opposed to down and loose?”

He grinned and nodded. “Finally the aha! moment. See, you’re halfway there, just knowing that. Now all you have to do is loosen up.”

Loosen up? Damn, if he said that again, she’d smack him!

She jumped up, paced down the aisle, turned and paced back, fists clenched. He made her feel like a weird old prude with ice water in her veins! And she wasn’t! She was not!

Furious beyond words, Tess leaned over, grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him soundly on the mouth. She could be sexy. She’d show him just how sexy she could be when she put her mind to it.

But her mind strayed dangerously when her lips met his, and her fury was the last thing on it.

Chapter 3

Cameron almost jumped back in shock, but the feel and taste of her lips registered quickly enough to prevent that. Instead, he leaned into the kiss and deepened it immediately.

Damn, the girl must have been around the block to kiss this way. He grasped her waist, pulled her down on his lap and let the good times roll.

He had kissed a lot of women, but even in her anger, this one had a sweetness, a freshness and an eagerness he had seldom enjoyed. Yeah, he could work with her, with this. Man, oh, man.

As suddenly as that she jerked her head back and stared at him, wide-eyed. With shock?

“Hey, you kissed me,” he reminded her, adding a quizzical smile to put her at ease.

She jumped off his lap as if he’d bitten her. “Well, it won’t happen again!” she announced as she backed into the seat across the aisle and sat down with a plop. “That was just…just to…well, show you.”

“Well, you sure got my attention, I’ll give you that.” He crossed his legs to hide his erection. If the kiss had scared her that much, he didn’t want her to run and lock herself in the back cabin.

“I can be sexy,” she declared, crossing her arms over her chest and slinging one jeans-clad leg over the other.

Cameron nodded. “Yes, you can. I’m convinced.”

“Don’t you patronize me! I hate it when men patronize me,” she snapped.

Damn. “Okay, make me some ground rules here. I’m just a guy, and we pretty much take things at face value unless we’re told otherwise. So, you can kiss me, but I can’t kiss you back?”

“Exactly,” she said with a firm nod, still keeping her eyes averted. Then she shook her head. “No. There won’t be any more kissing. Understand? No kissing. At all.”

“Okay, got it. Then I’m guessing sex is out of the question?”

“This is not funny!”

He shook his head. “And I’m not laughing. Not one giggle. Any more rules I should know about?” He thought he heard her laugh, looked over and saw that she was shaking with laughter, biting her lips shut and shaking. “Oh, so you can laugh, but I can’t. Okay, I’ll write that down.”

“Shut up!” she said, letting go and laughing out loud. “This is so absurd. I honestly don’t know why I kissed you. I apologize.”

“As well you should,” he said, straight-faced. “I hate being harassed, and you should know better.”

Her laugh calmed to a smile, an apologetic one. “I shouldn’t have reacted to your merely pointing out the obvious. I’m just a little sensitive about my shortcomings. From now on, I promise to take whatever advice you have for me.”

“Shortcomings?” he asked, seeing that, despite the smile, she was dead serious about how she saw herself. “Not being a sexpot is no shortcoming, Tess. Mind if I call you Tess?”

“No, but I thought…”

“None of what I said was intended as criticism. You have a natural appeal that’s fantastic.”

She blushed again. “Thanks for saying that, but—”

“But we need blatant, in-your-face sexy, though, to hook this guy, because that’s the type he goes for.”

She looked thoughtful. “And if I can manage that?”

Good. She was on board, being reasonable. “As I said, I want you to find out where he’s based so we can retrieve his computers for evidence later. Flatter him. Get him to show you where he lives. Or maybe just tell you where he lives. In either case, do whatever you need to do to have him go with you on the boat.”

“Whatever I need to do? I’m not having sex with him,” she declared. “That’s out of the question.”

“No,” he agreed, “but you can sort of promise it if that’s what it takes.” Cameron watched her frown. “Can’t you?”

She nodded but shifted uncomfortably in her seat, arms crossed over her breasts, an attitude of self-protection. “I guess so.”

“Nobody expects the ultimate sacrifice, Tess,” he assured her. “I’ll be close by. If he gets too frisky for comfort, you can always deck him and we’ll go to Plan B.”

She granted him a sidewise glare. “But it would be better if I simply wriggled away and played it coy.”

“Exactly. Undercover work requires acting ability. Just consider this a role,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “If this is what it takes, why on earth didn’t Mercier send one of the others? Look at me!” She gave herself an impatient wave and sighed.

Cameron knew instinctively that flattery wouldn’t work with Tess. She would see right through that, so he opted for honesty. “I’m sure he sent you because you’re a solid, no-nonsense agent with good credentials and he figured you’d get the job done.”

She scoffed. “Little did he know…”

Cameron smiled. “Hey, you got me on board, so he was right about that. The next part is to catch the guy, and we’ll do that, too. However, the method of apprehending him is all my idea, not Mercier’s. I do believe it will work, Tess. I know you can do it.”

“Wish I had your confidence,” she replied, but he could see she was a little more willing, considering it possible. She lifted her hands in a small gesture of resignation. “Okay, so I’ll give it my best shot, whatever that’s worth.” She relaxed a little, uncrossed her arms and turned sideways in her seat to face him. “So, fake promise, push-up bra, flashier clothes. What else?”

“Killer heels. A little bling. Clingy dress. Heavy on the makeup. We’ll practice your expressions after the makeover.”

“Sleepy eyes, pouty lips, shoulders back, chest out,” she mused, deepening her voice to a throaty growl.

Cameron grinned when she made an exaggerated pout. “By jove, I think she’s got it!”

“Henry Higgins, you ain’t,” she said with a roll of her eyes and a snort.

Good. She was loosening up at last, giving him a little trust, acknowledging that he had experience in adopting a fake persona to get a job done. Maybe he was underestimating her ability to adapt. “You’ll be great,” he promised.

“And just what will you be doing during my great performance?”

“Bodyguarding. No beautiful, wealthy woman in her right mind would go trolling in Saint-Tropez without protection. You’ll convince him I’m only a hireling. Soon as you get him on board, I’ll hop on to captain your little yacht while you two party. You keep him busy drinking, gambling or whatever while I take us well down the coast. Then we pounce, get the info we need and that’s that.”

“Then what do we do with him?” she asked as she got up and went forward to the small fridge. “And don’t say ‘Toss him over the side.’” She returned with two sodas and handed him one.

“I’ll arrange with your boss to have someone meet us at sea and transport him back to the States. You and I will return to Saint-Tropez, or wherever he’s based, and collect his computer and whatever other evidence we find.” He popped the top on his can and offered her a toast. “Here’s to a faultless bust.”

She clinked his can with hers. “Without incident.”

They fell silent then, each lost in thought. Cameron felt they had a pretty good shot at nabbing this guy and at least delaying the threatened blackout. But what about the stateside conspirator, undoubtedly the brains of the enterprise? If the pip-squeak didn’t give him up, they’d still have the problem, probably sooner than later.

He cast a look over at Tess and saw her worried expression. Was she thinking the same thing, or were her concerns still centered on her ability to seduce? He remembered the kiss and smiled. She had it in her, all right.

Cameron stood and looked down at her. “Hey, you’re not beating yourself up over kissing me, are you?”

She glanced up and shrugged. “Yes, well, I am sorry about that. Really.”

He leaned down and caught her lips with his, his hand clasping her neck as he deepened the kiss. Then, reluctantly, he released her. “There. Now we’re even.”

Tess kept stealing looks at him that next hour. After blowing her mind with that kiss, he had calmly walked up front and rifled through the cabinet for something to eat. Obviously it hadn’t meant anything. To him, anyway.

To her, it meant she was in serious danger of risking the entire mission. How the devil was she supposed to concentrate on what she was hired to do? The man was a walking sex bomb, causing a buzz in her brain and body that seriously interfered with her thought processes.

Why on earth didn’t she react to his touch the way she always had with others? With Brian, she had practically forced herself to respond, to keep from shying away from him. Her ready response to this man actually scared her a little, because it came so naturally.

She watched furtively as he returned to his seat, opened a bag of chips and settled down to work on his computer. Way too cool. No, make that way too hot, she thought with a sigh.

It wasn’t that she had anything against sex, but she truly believed it ought to mean something other than pure gratification. He was making her want that very thing. She felt no better than all those licentious free-love advocates her mom had described. These impulses were something to fight, not embrace. Especially given what she’d been sent to do.

“You ought to get some sleep,” he said as he plinked away on the keys of his laptop and studied the screen.

Yeah, right. Her nerves were tingling like crazy, and her thoughts were all over the place. “I can’t sleep. What are you doing?”

“Reviewing the case notes I saved.”

“Weren’t they classified?” she asked.

“They’re not the official report, just my personal observations. You might want to read through these before you meet him.”

“If you need to go online, my laptop is on satellite.”

“Mine, too, but thanks,” he said, still not looking at her. “We’re flying into Nice, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I wonder why he’s based in Tropez, where there’s not much action. Not in the way of gambling, anyway. Nice or Monaco, where the big casinos are, would make more sense.”

She shrugged. “Maybe he’s kicked his habit. It’s been a couple of years.”

“He would need money for it and probably got an advance on this job. Let’s hope so, anyway. He’ll be easier to find if he’s still gambling.”

“So you don’t think his motive is political?”

Cameron smiled and shook his head. “Not a chance. Gaming is his first love, testing his smarts. Maybe he’s an addict, maybe not, but he loves it. He wouldn’t do it online, at least not exclusively, because he also loves the casino scene and the flashy women he meets there. All that takes money, a lot of it.”

“And he knew where to get it.”

“That’s why he’s in this, then and now. You can bet he has a state-of-the-art computer set up somewhere to play with. The hacking is also a game to him, and he thrives on games.”

She toyed with a strand of her hair, twisting it around her finger. “With women, too, you think?”

“Of course. He likes to believe he’s God’s gift to the female gender, handsome, charming and clever as all get out.”

“Is he?” she asked with a worried little frown.

“Pretty much. You’ll see. So don’t underestimate him.”

“Did you?” She actually smiled, a not-so-subtle taunt.

Cameron shrugged. “Maybe, but I’d have had him if I could have gone in alone and caught him before he erased the evidence. He was fast, I’ll give him that. Less than three minutes’ warning as they busted down his door. Before they got to him, his computers were clean as a school library system.”

“They thought you warned him?”

“Yes, well, to be fair, sometimes operatives do get sympathetic feelings for the subjects when they delve that deeply into their lives and see the reasons behind the behavior.”

“You like this guy?” Her look accused.

“I know him. I get why he does it. He’s young, kind of clueless in some respects, and I think he was used, but no, I don’t like him.” Cameron sighed. “He’s a spoiled, selfish brat who resents anyone in authority, and he believes he’s a genius.”

“So you don’t think he’s a hardened terrorist out to destroy a country.”

“Not my call. I reel ’em in. Somebody else guts them.”

She sighed and sat back, patting the armrests with her palms. “Well, he’s a pretty big fish, and I’m not familiar with the fishing gear.”

“Don’t worry. I’m the gear. You’re the bait.” Cameron smiled at the analogy. “Trust me, sweetie, you’ll be the juciest worm on the hook.”

She let it go at that and began studying the notes on his computer. Cameron busied himself working out the details of transforming her. He looked forward to seeing her reactions and instructing her in what to do. She was a lot less predictable than he’d first imagined. His thoughts kept returning to her kiss. And his.

If they ever got to the point of equal involvement, he wondered what would happen next. He knew it would lead to sex if she let it, but what then? It had been a long time since he’d been interested in what then.

The girl was unique, not his type and definitely out of bounds. He knew he’d better keep things on a professional level. There was too much at stake not to do that. A little slap and tickle between temporary partners wasn’t all that unusual, but it was typically only stress relief or just plain fun. Tess was so far above that, he couldn’t even imagine her approving, much less participating. It would have to mean something a whole lot deeper, and he didn’t do deeper. Not after that struggle getting over Brenda.

Resignation replaced his anticipation. Business only, then. No more kissing, one-sided or not. That sure lent a boatload of urgency to the mission. He’d do what he needed to do, get it over with and go home. Forget her and the job. Fish. Drink beer. Shoot the breeze at the bar and fish some more.

Maybe he ought to get to know her better, though. It only made sense to get a firm grasp on who he was working with and how she thought. Right?

He did understand her enough to know she’d expect tit for tat, so he turned to her. “Since we’ve teamed up for this, do you have any questions about me you’d like to ask?”

“Like what?” She looked wary.

“Oh, I dunno.” Cameron leaned on the armrest and cocked his head to one side. “Personal stuff. For instance, how did you get into this business, anyway?”

She smiled. “Okay, how did you get into this business, anyway?”

“Majored in international studies and minored in criminal justice at Georgia. Joined the army and did three years. When I got out, Savannah seemed too small town. I applied to the Company and moved to D.C. How about you? I heard that those special teams are formed by invitation only.”

She looked thoughtful. “They are. I was recruited.”

“Because you had some kind of special talent? I heard that each of your agents is required to have something unique, an edge that would be useful in counterintelligence beyond the obvious skills required.”

“You heard all that, did you?” Her smile was provocative.

“You know how the intel grapevine works. The CIA had a big study going on for years that involved paranormal activities. Rumor has it that didn’t stop when the funding did. So what’s your trick?”

Her gaze met his, and she said nothing for a full minute. Then she answered. “I read people fairly well, that’s all.”

“Minds, that sort of thing?” he asked, pressing her.

“Mostly I pick up visual clues, expressions, body language and so forth.”

“Fascinating. How did you study for that?”

She frowned and looked away. “That’s getting really personal.”

“Hey, working together as closely as we will is personal. Trust is necessary. It pays to know your partner as well as you can.”

“I suppose you have a point. As long as you reciprocate, I guess it won’t matter. After all, we’ll probably never even see one another when the mission’s over. Unless you go to work for us.” She had leaned back against the headrest and spoke as if she were talking to herself. “And if you do, we’ll need to be…acquainted. All right then.”

Cameron realized how hard it must be for her to share information about herself, but she was doing it, anyway, because she thought he was right.

Her voice was totally unemotional. “During my early childhood, I began to acquire the knack for it, mostly out of self-preservation. When my mom crossed her arms over her chest and her lips tightened so much they almost disappeared and her eyes narrowed, that meant Dad had it coming. When he’d pace like a caged tiger, stopping only to throw back his head and grit his teeth, I ran to hide.”

“They were abusive?” he asked, guessing.

“Oh, no, not at all. My parents never struck me or unleashed their anger directly at me, but I watched their arguments from a place of safety. Under the dining-room table was my favorite place. Anyway, that was the beginning of my fascination with physical clues to what people were thinking and planning to do.”

Cameron sighed. “I guess we take inspiration wherever we find it.”

She offered a little lopsided smile to that but still didn’t look at him as she continued. “Later, when I could choose my own books from the library, I studied everything I could find on the subject. Nuances of behavior became things to watch for. So did breathing patterns and variations in facial muscles. By the time I reached high school, I was convinced I’d become an expert.”

“Had all those teachers pegged, did you?”

“Absolutely. Excelled on the debate team, too. Knew when I had ’em on the run. I began to concentrate on eyes in particular and grew amazed at what you could glean from a person’s actual thoughts, some as clear as if they spoke them out loud.”

He felt a little uneasy. Could she read his thoughts? “Can you read me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light and conversational, afraid she wouldn’t answer truthfully.

She shook her head. “No, so don’t worry. Some is the key word. Very few, in fact, and then only some of the time.”

“I see. Well, every little bit helps on the job, I bet.”

“You’re up,” she said, turning her head to look at him. “And I am a very good lie detector when I switch it on.”

“I’m guessing you just did. What would you like to know?”

“Your parents, are they deceased?”

He laughed and sat back, aping her former position and looking straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of him. “Nope. They’re still kicking around Savannah. Don’t see much of them, though. They weren’t too thrilled with my choice of occupations. Dad wanted me to go into business with him. Mom wanted me to marry and settle down on the next block and give her grandbabies.”

“No wife, no kids, no siblings,” she said. And she knew that because she’d read his record. He wished he had the same advantage.

“Just me, the black sheep who strayed from the fold and is too proud to listen to any more ‘I told you sos’ than I have to. Our family get-togethers are usually brief and real predictable.”

“Same here. My mom and dad grew up in an isolated commune left over from the seventies. Genuine California hippies, protests, free love, drugs, you name it. They ran away from that, all the way across the country, when they were seventeen and expecting me. They thought they’d invented monogamy.”

“Joined the good ol’ establishment, huh?”

She huffed a wry little laugh. “Not exactly. They didn’t know how. I give them an A for effort, though. They had trouble holding down jobs for any length of time but they stayed off dope and were faithful to each other, as far as I know. Home schooling in the commune was hit or miss, so they said, but they did manage to get their GEDs and Dad went to trade school.”

“That’s remarkable, don’t you think?”

“They certainly are remarkable, all right. Don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“What do they do now?” he asked, astounded that she had opened up to him this way and fearing he’d have to keep doing the same. She had a way about her that made it too easy to share, and before he knew it, she’d learn more about him than anybody else in the world knew.

He felt he’d already told her more than he was comfortable with. But the more he learned about Tess’s life, the more he wanted to know.

“Dad’s an electrician, and Mom works for a florist.”

“I bet they’re proud of you,” Cameron said, feeling proud of her himself for all she had accomplished. He knew she had to have put herself through college.

“I don’t know if they are or not. They don’t get what I’m all about, that’s for sure. My mom calls me a changeling.”

“Stranger in the nest. I guess we have something in common, then. That’s good, don’t you think?”

“It’s a little weird,” she said, nodding. “Do you miss what you used to do?”

“I like what I do now. Work for myself. Stress free. Great location,” he replied, wondering if she realized he hadn’t really answered the question.

She looked at him and smiled knowingly. “Why don’t you take a nap, Cochran? You don’t want to talk anymore.”

Good guess. That’s what that was. Or maybe she was adept at mind reading. There were those rumors about the SEXTANT and COMPASS teams. He’d have to watch himself if he didn’t want her to really know him.

Chapter 4

Cameron followed Tess’s lead as they retrieved their bags from the back of the plane and made their way down to the tarmac. He stopped for a moment and drew in a deep draught of the night air after leaving the stuffiness of the plane’s cabin.

He loved the Riviera. Everything was close to the water, and every town, burg and beach was usually teeming with people there to have a good time. The entire coastline had a laid-back party atmosphere.

The level of sophistication was like no other, though a great deal of it was pretense. Everybody liked to think they were rich whether they were or not, and this was certainly a prime place to do that. He found the people watching great entertainment.

They hopped a shuttle to the main terminal and whisked through customs, belongings intact, as soon as they identified themselves. Mercier had cleared the way.

“We’ll get started in the morning, when the shops open,” he said as he headed for the bank on the upper level to exchange their funds for euros.

“I hope we’ll be able to get a car at this hour,” she said as he waited for the exchange to be completed.

“We’ll taxi. It’s not far to the marina. We’ll shop in the morning, then sail on down to Saint-Tropez.”

He noted how she paled at the mention of sailing. This could be a problem, he realized. He didn’t relish the idea of her barfing every few minutes and being miserable the whole time. Maybe he could fix that.

In short order, they were on their way to the marina and the Jezebel, a sixty-footer with a fifteen foot beam and a top speed of thirty-two knots. Mercier had promised it was air-conditioned and roomy enough to impress. Cameron got excited just thinking about it and couldn’t wait to board her.

The marina was lit up like Times Square at Christmas, he noticed as the taxi dropped them off at the boardwalk. He had to exhibit a little false cool to keep from rushing to slip twenty-two.

Tess was busy gaping at the surrounding scenery while he was zeroed in on the boats. And there she was! He stopped just to take her in. She was long and lean as a spearhead honed out of white granite. “What a beauty!” he exclaimed in an almost reverent whisper.

“What did you say? What? The boat? Which one is it?” Tess asked.

“Which one is she?” he corrected. “There she is,” he said, pointing. “Just look at her!”

“Humph. You sound like you’re in love, Cochran. It’s only a boat.”

“But what a boat! Man, I’d give my eyeteeth to own her. C’mon, let’s go.” He didn’t wait. Couldn’t.

He lifted his bag and Tess’s over the rail and stepped onto the aft deck, loving the feel of it beneath his feet. He went up to check the fuel level first, then viewed the controls to make certain the boat was adequate for their needs. “Who am I kidding?” he asked himself. “This baby has everything. State of the art.”

“Good grief. You sound like a kid who just got his first bike,” she said. When he turned, he saw her exploring the saloon.

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