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Quinn and James’s adventures?
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Quinn and James’s adventures?
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“Don’t move,” the voice said from directly behind her.
The library book nearly jumped from Quinn Ellington’s hand. Standing alone in the stacks, she’d been so absorbed in its pages she hadn’t perceived her stalker’s movements. While she chided herself for being caught unawares, she was pacified by the knowledge that had she not immediately recognized the voice, its owner would be doubled over and gasping for air after ramming her elbow into his gut.
Two arms slid around her waist and cinched her tight. She smiled and said, “Now why would I do a stupid thing like that?”
Chills raced through her when James Anderson pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, “Then I’ve got you right where I want you.” He kissed the ear before he lessened his hold on her and straightened. “Ready to go?”
“Almost.” She spun around, gripped his tie, and pulled him into a lingering kiss. She went nearly cross-eyed when she pulled back and looked at him nose to nose. “Now I’m ready.”
He pinned her back against the metal shelf with his body and gave her a kiss that had her knees buckling. He lifted his head and gave her a lopsided smile. “Me too.”
Once assured her legs wouldn’t give out from under her, she pushed away from the shelves and led him through the stacks to her desk. She set the book down, straightened her top, and slipped on the jacket of her pantsuit. She couldn’t wear jeans to work anymore, something she greatly lamented. It was one of the trade-offs when she accepted her grandfather’s offer to work for the CIA.
James peered down at the book. “Women of the OSS. That looks interesting. What are you working on?”
“I’d tell you—”
“But then you’d have to kill me. I know,” James finished. “I’m pretty sure you can tell me without getting in trouble.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right, Mr. I Have-A-Security-Clearance-And-You-Don’t. For the record, I’m working on something pretty cool. One of the recruiters who visits college campuses is preparing a presentation that highlights some of the women who worked in intelligence in the past. She asked me to find some interesting stories.”
“It won’t be long before you’re one of those women who has her own interesting stories.”
“We’ll see. It’ll be a while since I . . .” She was going to say, Since I’ve only been doing unclassified training here and haven’t gone to the Farm yet, but stopped. Only a handful of people within the agency knew the plan to train her to become a covert operative. With the exception of the head librarian, none of her library coworkers knew. To those within the agency, she was a librarian. To those outside the agency—her family and friends she left behind in California—she worked for an unspecified governmental agency.
Quinn smiled as she thought back on when she’d told her best friend and former coworker at the Westside Library, Nicole Park, about her move to Virginia. Quinn had said she wanted to serve her country. Nicole had guffawed and replied, “Yeah, and living near James had nothing to do with it.”
James nodded. “No matter what happens in the future, you already have one good story under your belt.”
“That’s true.”
On their way out, Quinn stopped by her boss’s office and knocked lightly on the door. When she heard a muffled, “Come in,” she pushed it open and poked her head through the gap.
Linda Sullivan looked up from the stack of papers on her desk. “Quinn, what can I do for you?” When Quinn joined the staff six weeks before, Linda told her it would be the most challenging, rewarding, and important library job she’d ever have. The information they collected, maintained, and provided to agency directorates was vital to national security and the safety of Americans around the world. By the time she left Linda’s office that first day, Quinn was ready to do anything asked of her.
“I wanted to remind you I’ll be away from the library for an hour or so,” Quinn said.
“Thanks for the reminder. You have an escort?”
“James Anderson.” Without her clearance, she wasn’t free to walk unaccompanied around the secured CIA headquarters. She always felt like a nuisance whenever she needed to go anywhere.
“Excellent. I’ll see you when you get back.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Quinn pulled her head back and gently shut the door.
Quinn and James left the library and strode toward the elevators. “I hope Linda doesn’t find out about us goofing around in the stacks,” she said. “I don’t want her to think I’m not taking my job seriously.”
They reached the elevator bank and James punched the up button. “No, it was my fault. I started it. I should have just walked up to you instead of sneaking around. If there’s fallout, you can throw me under the bus.” He sighed. “Again.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, smirking. “Throwing you under the bus is always my go-to plan.”
After a short elevator ride, they walked down a long corridor to their destination. They stepped into a front office and were met by a young man behind a desk. “Ms. Ellington, Mr. Anderson. Go on in. He’s expecting you.”
“Thank you,” Quinn said.
Supervising Officer Aldous Meyers, her and James’s Clandestine Services boss, sat behind his desk scribbling notes in a file. He glanced up. “Thank you, James.”
“Yes, sir.” He gave Quinn an encouraging smile before he stepped out and closed the door.
Meyers indicated a chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
Quinn did as told and waited, the acid roiling in her stomach about to burn a hole in its lining.
He dropped his pen on the desk, folded his hands in front of him, and looked at Quinn with a penetrating gaze.
“I hear from your instructors you’re doing well in your unclassified training.”
She resisted the urge to slump back in her chair in relief. “That’s good to know. Thank you.”
“So well, in fact, I want to see you in action. I have a minor op for you this afternoon.”
“Oh, okay.” She paused. “Yes, sir.”
“You sound hesitant,” Meyers said. “Is there a problem?”
“No, sir. It’s just that I thought we weren’t allowed to run ops on U.S. soil.”
Meyers’s lips twitched. “Yes, that’s true. I’ve already cleared this with the appropriate domestic authorities.”
“Of course.” She could kick herself for questioning him.
He picked up a folder and held it across his desk. “Your task is to follow this man.”
She took the folder and opened it. The man pictured on the top page appeared to be around sixty years of age. His hair was gray, as were his eyes and bushy beard. With his thick-rimmed, black glasses, he was rather monochromatic.
“His name is Karl Bondarenko, a Ukrainian weapons engineer. Our intel indicates he’s developed an honest-to-God death ray and is here in D.C. to meet with a potential buyer today. We need to know who that buyer is. All we need you to do is follow him and take pictures of whomever he meets with. Once we get pictures of a face or two, we have other officers who will take it from there.”
“That doesn’t sound too difficult. Follow him and take pictures.” She studied the photo. “Will he have the weapon with him?”
“We don’t think so. We believe the meet is only to discuss a deal, not deliver a product. If he does have a working prototype, he most likely has it stashed somewhere.”
“What if he has it with him and hands it off to the buyer? What do I do?”
“Operatives in the field can’t call in every time they’re faced with a decision.”
That wasn’t a helpful answer.
“Any other questions?” he asked.
“Where is he now?”
“He’s registered at the Elegance Hotel in Georgetown. You’ll start there. Also, do not discuss your task with anyone. Good luck.” He held out his hand indicating she was to give him the file, which she did.
He set it on the edge of his desk, opened a file, and began to write in it. Taking the hint, she stood and walked out the door.