Chapter Two
“You’re looking at the elevator again,” Stacy snapped.
Her head whipping around guiltily, Lauren automatically responded, “No, I’m not.” She flushed and then backtracked. “Well, I was looking in the direction of the elevator, but I wasn’t intending to look at the elevator. I was just thinking and, you know, generally looking, and my gaze happened to land on the elevator while I was...” When Stacy just stared at her, Lauren looked back with her most innocent expression. “What?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t have a thing for the mail boy,” Stacy told her with a smirk. “You went bright red when he walked by your desk yesterday, and he didn’t even look at you.”
Lauren flushed again, with anger this time. She desperately wanted to protest that Calvin did indeed glance at her with those beautiful eyes. As quick and sideways as that look had been, it’d brought back all the arousal and excitement of the previous day’s kiss. If she told Stacy any of that, however, Lauren knew she’d regret it.
“He’s not a boy,” she said instead. “He’s probably close to thirty.”
“Ew.” The corners of Stacy’s mouth pulled down in disgust. “Thirty and he’s still a mail clerk? I bet he still lives in his parents’ basement too. What a loser.”
Her back teeth squeaked with the effort of holding back the words, but Lauren managed to let the other woman’s comment pass with just a noncommittal sound. She was rewarded when Stacy dropped the subject.
“Do you have those catalog proofs yet?” Stacy asked.
Shaking her head, Lauren told her, “The printer’s having e-mail issues, so hard copies of the proofs are coming over by courier. They should be here—” she glanced at her watch “—ten minutes ago, actually. I’ll go check to see if Megan at the front desk signed for them.”
She hopped up and grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk. On the way back, maybe she could make a detour to the basement and give tall, dark, and scruffy her phone number. If he wanted to kiss her as a thank-you for that number, who was she to turn down a little mail-room make-out session?
Keeping her pace to a sedate walk rather than the exuberant skip that was dying to break out, Lauren made it to the elevator and punched the down button. The doors slid open immediately, and she grinned. Even the elevator wanted her to get some hairy-man lovin’.
As she stepped out onto the ground floor and headed toward the main reception desk, Lauren saw two men in dark suits talking to Megan. Her steps slowed as she eyed the men curiously. She didn’t recognize them and wondered if they were new clients. Neither carried a computer bag or a briefcase, however, and their expressions were a little...grim.
As she approached the side of the reception desk, she gave them a smile. Neither man smiled back.
“Excuse me,” Megan told the men before turning toward Lauren. “Looking for this?” She offered Lauren a large envelope.
“You’re a mind reader, Meg,” Lauren told her, grinning. “Thanks. Want to go out and grab a drink tonight after work?”
“Make it multiple drinks, and I’m in.”
Smiling, Lauren turned away. As she headed back toward the elevator, she heard Megan say, “Let’s see...yes, here he is. Calvin Scott. He works in the mail room.”
“Print off that ID photo. Please.” The way the man asked turned the request into a command. “Where can we find him?”
“The mail room’s in the basement,” Megan told them. “Did you want me to page him?”
“No,” one of the men said. “We’ll go to him.”
The last hints of her smile dropping away, Lauren felt her stomach compress into a tight ball. What did those men want with Calvin? Her steps sped up, and she switched her path, heading to the door to the stairs rather than the elevator. Although she didn’t know Calvin well at all, she thought he deserved a warning before those two rather scary-looking guys descended on him.
Hitting the release bar on the door, she hurried into the stairwell and clattered down to the basement door. She was glad she had her boots on today. Even though they had a high heel, it was thicker than those on most of her shoes and much more practical when it came to running down stairs.
She reached for the door, but it opened before she could touch it. With a startled yelp, she jerked back before the door could hit her.
“What’s wrong?” Calvin asked.
Pressing her hand to her chest, as if she could physically keep her heart from leaping out of it, Lauren took an unsteady breath. “You scared me!”
“I heard you rushing down the stairs,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“There are two guys at the front desk who are looking for you,” she explained, feeling a little silly now that she was actually telling him. Those guys were probably harmless, and here she was, creeping down the back stairs to warn him he had visitors. He was going to think she was an idiot.
Watching the way his eyes went still and hard, Lauren revised that thought. Maybe the men weren’t so harmless, after all.
“Come on,” he told her. “Up.”
The urgency in his voice cut off any questions Lauren was going to ask—like how he could’ve heard her on the stairs from the mail room down the hall. Instead, she turned and started back up the stairs. Calvin was behind her, not touching but close enough to urge her on, faster and faster, until she was running. At the ground-floor landing, she reached for the door.
“No!” Calvin clipped out, and she yanked her hand back. “Keep going. They’ll be watching the doors.”
“There were only two of them,” Lauren said, confused, although she started climbing stairs again.
“Two that you saw.” His voice was grim.
Glancing over her shoulder, she circled around to the next flight of stairs and asked, “Who are these guys, anyway?”
“Long story,” he said, laying a gentle but urgent hand on her back. “They’re assholes. I’ll tell you later. Right now—climb stairs.”
On the landing of the seventh floor, Lauren was panting. “So what’s the plan?” she asked, hoping it wouldn’t involve fifteen more floors.
“I’m thinking,” he said.
“Which means,” she puffed, “you...don’t really...have a plan.”
“Not yet. Exactly.”
“I do,” she said as they reached the eighth floor. “Meet me in the ladies’ bathroom.” She shoved open the door and stepped into the hall. Although she wanted to run, Lauren knew that would look completely suspicious, so she settled for a brisk walk.
“Hi, Mike,” she said as she passed one of the tech support people. He gave her a nod in return. His eyes passed over her face without seeming to notice anything was wrong, which was a relief. Lauren was afraid everyone could see the way her heart was knocking against her ribs.
She was still carrying the envelope of proofs, so she swung by Stacy’s desk. “Here it is,” she said, placing it next to the other woman’s elbow.
Stacy eyed her curiously. “You look like you’ve been running. Oh gross. Were you making out with that mail guy down there?”
“Of course not!” she said. I wish I had been making out with Calvin. That would’ve been a lot more fun than jogging several flights with him. “I took the stairs. I’m trying to lose some weight.”
“Uh-huh.” Giving her another up-and-down glance, Stacy nodded. “Probably a good idea.”
Holding back an outraged protest, Lauren just plastered on a smile. She had more important things to deal with than Stacy’s bitchy comments. “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Stacy was already pulling out the proofs. “Sure,” she said absently.
As she passed her own workstation, Lauren palmed the small scissors from the cup of writing utensils she kept on the corner of her desk. Struggling to look relaxed and normal and not totally freaked out, she headed toward the women’s bathroom.
Looking around casually—or as casually as she could manage—she didn’t see Calvin anywhere. Had he continued climbing stairs instead of following her onto the eighth floor? A rush of disappointment surprised her. Shouldn’t she be glad she was out of the situation? Those men were probably dangerous—or perhaps Calvin was the dangerous one. Maybe he was an escaped convict or one of those guys who kept killing his wives or a mob boss in hiding or something even worse.
She shoved open the door to the bathroom, happy to find it unoccupied. She checked beneath the partitions to make sure the four stalls were vacant. The place was empty.
At first she paced, but the clunk of her boot heels against the tile floor made her jump, which made her feel stupid for scaring herself, so she leaned against the sink, her fingernails tapping against the counter’s edge. Glancing at her watch, Lauren wondered how long she should wait before giving up and returning to her desk and her normal workday.
“Why am I waiting anyway?” she muttered. “Haven’t I already decided Calvin is probably a dangerous felon and I’d be nuts to get involved with this whole—oh!”
The door swung open and Calvin slipped in.
“This is your plan?” he asked, with one of his beard-concealed smirks. “A pit stop?”
Once she saw him, any plan of abandoning him to the mercies of the suited visitors went out the window.
“Here.” She held out the scissors.
“Thanks?” Accepting them gingerly, he raised an eyebrow. “Kind of a small weapon, isn’t it? Easily concealed, I guess.”
“Your beard,” she said impatiently, gesturing at the wild tangle of hair that covered the lower part of his face. “Get rid of it. They have your ID picture.”
Lauren half-expected another joke but he just nodded.
“You might want to do it in one of the stalls,” she suggested with a shaky smile. “You don’t want to terrify some poor woman who needs to pee.”
“Nope. Wouldn’t want to do that.” There was definitely some humor lurking underneath his words, but Lauren didn’t have time to laugh.
“Leave your hair. I’ll do it when I get back.” She moved past him toward the door. He reached out as if to grab her arm but pulled his hand back at the last second. Lauren paused, looking at him expectantly.
“You’re leaving?” He didn’t sound amused anymore.
“I have to get something. I’ll be right back.”
After a moment, he gave her a slow nod. “Be careful.”
“‘Careful’ is my middle name,” she said and yanked open the bathroom door with a grimace. Of all the middle names, ‘careful’ was a really prissy one to pick. Shaking the thought away, she headed toward Rick Spaulding’s office. Although she knew he was at a trade show for the rest of the week, she still knocked tentatively when she reached his door.
When no one answered, she entered quickly. Rick never locked his office, since he was always forgetting things—important things, like his wallet or cell phone or laptop. He’d call from whatever sales conference he was at and have someone overnight the forgotten item to his hotel. Lauren also knew Rick was messy, spilling food and coffee and any number of things on a regular basis, so he normally kept a change of clothes in his office.
She looked behind his door and there it hung—Rick’s extra suit, complete with shirt and tie, tucked neatly into a garment bag. As a bonus, a spare computer bag was slung over the hook next to it. Lauren grabbed the garment bag and folded it over twice before stuffing it into the computer bag.
Giving the door a little nudge so it closed almost completely, she moved to his desk and checked the drawers. In the bottom left one, she found her prize—a shaving kit. Cramming that on top of the suit and zipping the bag closed, she swung the strap over her shoulder.
Opening the door a few inches, Lauren peeked out to check for anyone walking by or looking in the direction of Rick’s office, but everything seemed quiet. It was the lunch hour, so most people were either in the break room or out of the building altogether. She hurried down the hall, the pilfered computer bag and her purse bumping against her side.
When she reached the bathroom, she felt dizzy with relief. Shoving the door open, she started to greet Calvin but snapped her mouth closed when she saw a woman who was definitely not Calvin washing her hands at the sink.
“Hi, Anne,” Lauren said weakly, forcing a smile. She resisted the urge to check beneath the stall partitions for Calvin’s big, booted, unquestionably male feet.
“Hey, Lauren.” Anne smiled at her in the mirror as she reached for a paper towel. “Megan tells me it’s girls’ night out tonight.”
What? Oh right. Get it together, Lauren! “Can you come?” she asked as eagerly as she could muster.
“Sure!” Anne didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. “It’ll be fun. We haven’t gone out in a while. I think Molly and Dee are coming too.”
“Great.” Holding the smile was getting difficult. Lauren’s teeth were beginning to dry out. “First round of shots is on me.” She couldn’t stand it anymore and headed for the stalls, ducking into the first one.
“Shots? It’s going to be one of those nights, then?” Anne laughed as Lauren latched the stall door.
Closing her eyes, Lauren silently begged Anne to leave. “Of course,” she said. Please go, please go, please go. “With all of us there? How could it not?”
“Can’t wait.” There was a small silence and then the wonderful sound of the door opening. “See you!”
“Bye,” Lauren said weakly, her ears straining to hear the soft thud of the door coming to rest against the jamb. When the door closed and there was silence, she waited a few seconds and then breathed, “Thank the blessed bathroom gods.”
“Fucking amen.”
Lauren jumped a foot. “Calvin, if you want me to live through this whole ordeal, you have to quit trying to give me a heart attack, okay?”
He gave an affirmative grunt as she opened her stall door. Glancing beneath the doors, she couldn’t see any feet. The voice sounded as if it had come from the farthest stall down, so she checked that door. It was latched.
“Let me in,” she told him. “I’m not crawling under the door.” A sound that might’ve been a chuckle was followed by the click of the door latch releasing. She slipped inside and relocked the door as Calvin sat on top of the toilet tank and continued cutting chunks of hair from his beard.
She had to laugh.
“What?”
“It’s just...” Biting back another laugh, Lauren shook her head. “You look so mangy right now, like moths have gotten to your face.”
“Nice.”
“Don’t be mad,” she teased, hanging the bag on the hook inside the door. “I brought you a present.”
“A laptop?”
“I’m not that nice.” Unzipping the bag, she took out the shaving kit and offered it to him. “For your moth problem. And—” she pulled the suit out and hung it on the door “—new clothes. Well, not exactly new. Newly cleaned, though. Plus, you’re kind of in the beggar’s position of that whole beggars-can’t-be-choosers thing.”
With most of Calvin’s beard hacked off, Lauren didn’t have to guess whether he was smiling or not. She stared at the curve of his lips. It was a nice mouth...a really nice mouth. His bottom lip was so full and sexy, it made her want to bite it.
The thought shocked her and she twisted her head away, determined to keep her gaze away from that tempting mouth. That presented a problem, since now, with his face more revealed than she’d ever seen it, there was no safe place to rest her eyes. From his strong chin up to his hairline, he was mouth-wateringly gorgeous.
Get a hold of yourself, lust-bucket. Lauren ordered her tongue back in her mouth and her stomach to quit doing that warm melty thing.
“Sit there, and I’ll do your hair,” she told him, holding a hand out for the scissors without looking directly at him. With that face in front of her, she only had so much control over her starved libido.
He shifted to sit on the toilet lid obediently while she dug a comb out of her purse and then hung her bag on the overloaded door hook. She climbed up to his recently vacated perch and immediately realized her mistake as his back pressed between her knees. Closing her eyes for a second, Lauren struggled for composure. It wasn’t happening. She gave up and settled for semi-functionality.
Even that threatened to abandon her when she ran a hand through his hair. It was long and unruly, but silky-soft, with enough curl to circle her fingers as if it was trying to hold her to him. Her fingertips brushed across his scalp, touching raised, uneven ridges. Scars maybe? The feel of them reminded her of how little she really knew about this man. Clearing her throat, she gathered his hair at his nape and ruthlessly hacked off the long strands.
“Here.” She handed him the fistful of hair. “Want to braid that and keep it?”
He snorted, standing up so he could lift the toilet lid and throw the hair in. “No thanks.” Sitting down again, he reached back to flush the toilet.
“Just in case you’re worried, I really do know what I’m doing,” she babbled, trying to keep her thoughts off the soft strands beneath her fingers as she began to snip away in earnest. “I cut all my friends’ hair in high school. I was actually planning to go to cosmetology school, but my parents insisted on a four-year college. It worked out for the best, I suppose. There are some people whose heads I’d really rather not touch.”
“I’m not worried.”
She’d actually been settling down a little until he spoke. That voice of his sent a shiver through her. Lauren swallowed.
“Um...that’s good. That you’re not...well, worried.” Okay, time to stop talking before you sound like an even bigger idiot.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the blades of the scissors cutting through strands of hair. She combed a section, trapping it between her fingers and pulling it straight, sliding her hand out until just the uneven ends protruded from the line of her fingers. As she snipped, Lauren wished his hair was wet and debated having him stick his head beneath one of the faucets. Without towels or a blow-dryer, though, Calvin would stay pretty damp, and that had to look more suspicious than a not-so-stellar haircut.
“Okay, turn around,” she told him. He obeyed, straddling the seat, and she extended strands on both sides of his head, checking to see if they were the same length. For a bathroom-stall emergency haircut, it wasn’t half bad. “Hang on.” She hopped off the tank and grabbed her purse, dropping the comb back in and pulling out a travel-size bottle of hair gel.
Calvin had turned back around and was watching her suspiciously. “You’re not putting that shit in my hair,” he said, holding up defensive hands as she approached.
“Don’t be a baby,” she mocked, squeezing some gel onto her palm and rubbing her hands together. “Guys use hair products all the time.”
Although he relented enough to allow her to run her fingers through his newly trimmed hair, he still looked unconvinced as she fussed with the short strands, teasing them into an artfully mussed arrangement.
“There,” she said with satisfaction, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Now, how are you going to shave without someone walking in? Should I lock the main door so you can use one of the sinks?”
“No,” he said, gingerly touching his hair. “That’ll just draw attention if someone tries to come in. I’ll shave in here.”
Lauren made a face. “With toilet water?”
He smirked. “I’ll use the water in the tank. It’s clean enough. As you said, I’m a beggar in all this.”
“Even beggars shouldn’t have to shave with toilet water,” she told him with a grimace. “While you do that, I’m going to go plead sick. Stacy’s going to be suspicious after I’ve been in the bathroom this long anyway.”
She unlatched the door and snagged her purse off the hook. Before she could slip out, Calvin caught her wrist.
“Thank you,” he said, his gaze serious enough to melt her knees. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
Lauren shrugged, a little embarrassed by those intent eyes. She couldn’t explain why she’d felt compelled to help him. It was probably a stupid idea thought up by her sex-starved body. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ll be back—don’t leave without me.” As crazy as it was, this whole thing was starting to feel exciting rather than scary.
Okay, so maybe exciting as well as scary. She just knew once Calvin left the building, she wouldn’t see him again, and she wanted to stretch out this adventure for as long as possible. “Please?”
He studied her face and then nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Shooting him a quick smile, she slipped out of the stall.
* * *
“You do look pale,” her boss, Corrine, told her, frowning. “Are you okay getting home?”
Lauren nodded, feeling a pang of guilt at the deception. Corrine was being so nice about it. “I’ll be fine. I just gave the proofs to Stacy, so they just need—”
“Home,” Corrine insisted, “before you make everyone else sick. Go. Now.”
Giving her boss a weak smile, she headed for the door. “Thanks, Corrine. Hopefully I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“Don’t hurry back,” Corrine insisted, making shooing motions with her hands. “You’re never sick. If this bug can catch you, the rest of us are doomed. Go home, eat soup, watch trashy daytime TV and don’t come back until you’re better.”
“I will,” Lauren promised, resisting the urge to offer a theatrical cough. She didn’t have a pretend cough anyway—she had the pretend flu. Almost free, she told herself. Don’t ruin things now.
Closing the door of her boss’s office, she headed back in the direction of the bathroom. As she passed the elevators, the mild ding sound brought her head around, and she almost froze as the two men in suits walked out of the opening doors. Somehow, she forced her feet to keep moving.
“Shit,” she mouthed silently, trying to see where the men were headed without making it obvious she was watching them. Unfortunately, they seemed to be right behind her. Restraining her urge to take off running, she focused on a point down the hall, carefully looking straight ahead.
She couldn’t hear anything behind her, which was somehow so much creepier than hearing their footsteps or voices or something other than the following silence. The women’s bathroom door was in sight, growing gradually closer.
Don’t pick right now to come out, she begged Calvin mentally. Once the thought of him popping out right in front of the two suited men seized hold of her brain, it refused to let go, replaying the nightmare scenario over and over on an insanity-inducing loop.
By the time her hand closed around the restroom door handle, Lauren was panting as if she’d dashed through the hallway like she’d been dying to do. She shoved the door open and slipped inside, using her body to try to block as much of the view into the bathroom as possible.
Unable to resist, she allowed her head to turn as she entered. The men were just a few feet behind her, close enough to make her jump back a step.
“Excuse me,” one of the men said, reaching toward her right before the door swung closed, separating Lauren from the two guys who seemed infinitely scarier this time than when she’d seen them at the front desk talking with Megan. She stared at the closed door for several frozen seconds before turning toward the stalls.
A man stood in front of her.
Clapping a hand over her mouth to hold back a shriek, she flinched back toward the door.
“Lauren,” he said, so quietly she could barely hear him. She blinked, shaking off her startle. Of course it was Calvin. Who else would be in the women’s bathroom? She took a second look at the man in front of her and swallowed.
He looked...good. Too good. The suit fit surprisingly well, although it strained slightly across the shoulders and rode a couple inches too high at his ankles. That was unfortunate, since it exposed more of his black combat boots. His face, though...
It was scarily perfect. He was almost too good-looking to actually exist. No wonder he’d grown that shaggy beard—it was probably the only way he could walk around and not be assaulted by hordes of horny women.
“Sorry,” she whispered as quietly as she could while still actually making a sound. Lauren jerked her head toward the door. “They’re right outside.”
He nodded and then pointed at the ceiling. Lauren looked up at the tiles. They were the large, easy-to-push-up kind set in a grid.
“Men’s bathroom is right next door,” she breathed, and he nodded again, climbing up to stand on the counter surrounding the sinks, the computer bag still hanging at his side. As he reached up to slide a tile out of place, Lauren ducked into a stall and flushed, hoping to cover any stray sounds Calvin might make.
She needn’t have worried. When she returned to the sinks, he’d already boosted himself up into the ceiling soffit and replaced the tile. She washed her hands for a while and then listened for any noises from the adjoining bathroom while she pulled out a paper towel. Nothing.
With a deep breath to gather her courage, she pulled open the door and stepped out of the bathroom, right in front of the two waiting men. Lauren put on her most innocent expression.
“Can I help you?” she asked, looking from one dour face to the other.
“Do you know this man?” the taller of the two asked, thrusting the printout of Calvin’s photo in front of her gaze.
She examined the picture with put-on curiosity. Calvin’s beard and wild hair already looked foreign, even though she’d only seen the trimmed-up version for a few frantic seconds.
“Um...he looks kind of familiar,” she said, meeting first one man’s gaze and then the other. “I know I’ve seen him somewhere. Is he one of the janitors?”
“He works in the mail room,” the shorter man said.
Keeping her smile intact, she shrugged. “I must’ve passed him in the hall at one point or another. This is a big place.” She smiled and moved to step around them, but they shifted to keep her pinned into place.
“Are you sure you haven’t talked to this man?” the taller one pressed.
“Not that I remember.” Amiability didn’t seem to be working with these two sourpusses, so Lauren allowed her smile to fade and suspicion to creep into her expression. “Who is he? In fact, who are you? Should I even be talking to you?” She shifted to the side, trying to keep them turned away from the men’s bathroom door.
Both of the suits pulled out black leather wallets, flipping them open to show her their identification cards. Lauren leaned close to the taller man’s to read his, barely controlling her start of horrified surprise when she read “National Security Administration” at the top of the card.
“NSA?” She glanced at the shorter man’s card, matching except for the name. The taller man’s last name was Porter, and the shorter man was Reed. “So what is this guy? Some kind of spy? A terrorist?” Even as she said it, Lauren’s mind rejected the idea. Calvin was too sweet—and too good a kisser—to be a terrorist. She bit her bottom lip. Wasn’t he?
“We are not at liberty to say,” the shorter man said sharply. “All we can tell you is it’s vital that you tell us what you know.”
Forcing a casual smile, Lauren hoped desperately her lips weren’t shaking. “I can’t be much help, I’m afraid. Please excuse me—I need to leave. I’m not feeling well.” Turning around, Lauren held her breath as she walked away from the men, expecting at any second to feel the hard grip of a hand on her shoulder or worse, to hear a shout of discovery as they caught Calvin emerging from the bathroom.
The entire length of the hallway, she felt their eyes on her back. Although she tried to walk casually, it was difficult when every muscle in her body was pulled taut. She pressed the down button on the elevator and then took a step back, not allowing herself to jab the button ten times in a panicked freak-out.
After what felt like hours, the doors slid open and she stepped inside, turning toward the floor buttons. A man followed her in and she almost shrieked, biting off the sound at the last second when she realized it was Calvin. The doors closed behind him, and Lauren grinned, giddy with relief. Looking at him, she knew any notion of Calvin being a terrorist—or a bad guy of any kind—was ridiculous.
“Going down?” she asked, hitting the ground-level button. He lifted an eyebrow.
“Don’t get cocky until we’re out of the building,” he warned, although a smile tugged at those gorgeous full lips.
“I’m not cocky,” she told him, unable to stop grinning at him. “I’m freaked out of my mind.”
All humor disappeared from his face. “Christ. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved,” he said.
Lauren shook her head. “You didn’t—I was the one running down to warn you. Besides, it’s kind of fun.”
“Fun? What?”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Sure. I mean, fun in an I-might-pee-my-pants-in-terror kind of way, but it’s still exciting.”
His laugh was more of a groan as he pulled a pair of glasses out of his pocket and slid them on. Lauren recognized those blue frames.
“Did you steal Marilyn’s reading glasses?” she asked, staring, not sure whether to be impressed or horrified.
“Tall, dyed red hair, smells like Old Spice?”
“That’s Marilyn.”
“Then yes.”
Lauren nodded and then snorted a laugh. “I don’t know why she wears men’s cologne. We’ve tried buying her perfume, but she never uses it.” After a pause, she asked, “Doesn’t wearing those things mess up your vision?”
“Completely,” he said as the doors slid open, revealing the main lobby. “Everything’s blurry. I’m feeling seasick.”
She choked back a laugh as she stepped into the lobby. Megan was on the phone but gave her a small wave, her eyes passing over Calvin with great interest. Lauren shook off an instinctual rush of possession toward the man walking next to her. Now was definitely not the time for that.
Another grim-looking man in a suit was hovering by the main doors, and Lauren’s heart took off at a gallop.
“How do I act?” she muttered in Calvin’s direction. Although her voice was low, he seemed to understand her with no problem.
“Give me orders,” he told her quietly. “I’m your assistant.”
Swallowing hard, she forced her pace to a brisk walk. “What do you mean, you forgot the proofs?” she demanded. Although a faint tremor marred her words, she was moderately proud of her haughty tone. It was very Stacy-like.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Hayes.” At the unfamiliar, whiny voice, she shot a startled look at Calvin. Catching herself, she forced her gaze forward.
“Sorry is not going to fix this problem,” she snapped. They were just a few steps away from the main doors and the man guarding them. “What am I going to tell the client...um, Norman Bate...man?” She struggled to keep her face impassive, although she groaned inwardly. Norman Bateman? Really? That was the best she could do? “Mr. Bateman is expecting to see those proofs at today’s meeting.”
The man in the suit was watching them, and Lauren gave him her best glare. “Well?” she demanded. “Are you getting the door or not?”
The man didn’t move, and Calvin hurried to push open the door and hold it for her, keeping his face tilted away from the agent.
“Rude.” She tsked, giving the man a reprimanding look as she swept through the open door and into the Florida sunshine, slightly warmer than normal for November. She headed for the parking garage next door, her heartbeat pattering in her ears.
“Norman Bateman?” Calvin mocked under his breath.
“Shut it,” she muttered. “I’ve never been good at improv. Be grateful I added the ‘man.’” Lauren spotted her blue compact car right where she’d parked it on the ground floor and started digging in her purse for her keys. “Need a ride somewhere?”
“Just for a few blocks, in case someone’s watching,” he said as she pulled out her key fob and pushed the unlock button. “It’d look strange if you got in your car and I just started walking.”
“Right.” She pulled open the driver’s-side door and sank into her seat, while Calvin tossed his pilfered computer bag into the back and then squeezed into the passenger seat, pulling his door closed with a firm thump. When they were both inside the car, Lauren began to shake.
“Seat belt,” she reminded him, trying to steady her hand enough to click her own seat belt into place.
“Christ. Here,” Calvin grunted, taking the seat belt from her and buckling her in.
“Thank you,” she told him, somehow managing to jam the key into the ignition and turn on the car.
“You okay?” he asked mildly, looking at her over the tops of the glasses.
She faced forward but could still feel his eyes on her profile. It wasn’t helping her concentration.
“No. Not really. I have to drive now, though, so if you could focus those laser-beam eyeballs of yours somewhere else for a while, that would really help.”
With an amenable grunt, he turned his head away, and Lauren backed out of the parking space. Once she was on the street, the grip on her heart eased a little, and she let out a shaky breath.
“Okay,” she said. “Where to?”
“Take a right up here,” he told her, pulling off Marilyn’s glasses. “You can drop me off at the library.”
She shot him a sideways look. “The library?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“A better question is why?” Despite her words, she turned right where he’d indicated.
“Free computer use and internet,” he said. “I need to let some people know the shit’s hit the fan, and I’m not sure if my phone is secure.”
“What is going on?” Lauren asked. “You did promise me an explanation.”
He gave a short shake of his head. “The less you know, the better. I’ve put you in enough fucking danger already.”
A small surge of annoyance tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. “The less I know isn’t better. I hate not knowing things.”
“Drop me off up here,” Calvin told her, pointing.
“But the library’s still two blocks away.”
“I’ll walk.”
Pulling up to the curb, Lauren nibbled on her lower lip. “Why don’t you just come to my house?” she offered. “You can use my computer.”
“Because the fuckers will trace it back to you.” Calvin unbuckled his seat belt. “I’ve already—”
“I know,” she interrupted with a sigh. “You’ve already put me in enough danger. I got it the first time.”
“Right.” He looked at her for a few seconds and then reached for the door handle.
Lauren caught his other hand. He glanced at her, startled. “Good luck,” she said. “If you get this whole NSA thing sorted out and aren’t an actual terrorist and feel like giving me a call, I wouldn’t hate that.”
He smiled and leaned in to give her a hard, short kiss. “I will,” he promised as he pulled away.
“Or call me if you need help.” She didn’t hold out much hope for that one, since he just shook his head and gave her a look.
“Goodbye, Lauren,” he told her quietly, his gaze holding her for a few more seconds before he got out of the car.
“Wait,” she told him, rolling down the passenger-side window. “You need my phone number.”
He just shook his head. “I’ll find you.” Turning around, he made his way into the lunch-hour crowd of people on the sidewalk and disappeared.