Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Nope. The Chronicles of Narnia should be read in the order Lewis wrote them, not the bogus rearranged way,” Quinn typed into the chat box at the corner of her computer screen. While she waited for Nicole’s response, she read the next reference query in her in-box. It was another question about Valentine’s Day. She sighed and glared at the red-and-pink heart garland strung across the top of the doorway of the Bullpen. She’d be really happy when it was over and they could move on to questions about St. Patrick’s Day instead.
She’d fielded this question before, so she typed, “Yes, Saint Valentine was a real man and no, he wasn’t killed in the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre of 1929.” After copying and pasting a couple of elucidating paragraphs from an online encyclopedia, she hit the send button.
Her computer binged, informing her Nicole had replied. “But why not read them in story order? It makes more sense.”
Quinn checked her phone, and immediately chastised herself for doing so. It had been three weeks since she’d heard from James. He’d warned her he was about to drop off the face of the planet for an unspecified amount of time. It still didn’t make it any easier. And could she help it if she’d been spoiled by their consistent contact during the six weeks prior to his disappearing act? They’d texted every day and talked on the phone several times a week. Their dates consisted of video chatting while eating dinner or streaming the same movie. It wasn’t ideal, but it made their separation bearable. Now she was suffering from withdrawal.
“Because the first introduction any reader should have to Narnia is through the wardrobe,” Quinn replied.
“I wish I could argue that point, but I can’t. Smarty pants.” Quinn smiled at Nicole’s response.
“Such language from a children’s librarian!” Quinn typed back, grinning.
“Bite me.”
Laughing now, Quinn tapped, “Speaking of bites, it’s almost time to go. You still want to grab some dinner?”
“I can’t,” Nicole answered a half minute later. “Something just came up.”
She frowned and was about to ask if Virginia Harris, library director, was breathing down her neck when Ed pushed the Bullpen door open and stuck his head through the gap. “Quinn, there’s a patron at the desk you assisted a while back. He insists he’ll only let you help him.”
She groaned. “It’s not Kumquat Dude from last week, is it?”
“No, it’s not Kumquat Dude,” Ed said with a chuckle.
That was a relief. That guy had a serious problem when it came to exotic fruit. “Okay. I’ll be right there,” she told Ed and typed on her keyboard, “brb.”
Her relief was short-lived when Nicole responded with, “I doubt it.” Her friend must have spied whoever waited for her at the desk and knew she was in for it.
Quinn pulled open the Bullpen door and started for the reference desk. When she saw who waited for her, she stopped in her tracks.
A brilliant smile lit up James’s face the second he saw her. He came around the end of the desk and started for her, his long legs halving the distance between them. She managed to get her feet moving again and when they met next to the Valentine’s Day display table festooned with paper hearts and a bunch of romance novels, he kissed her cheek and said, “Hi.”
Given that James standing before her had reduced her mental capacity to that of a hamster, “Hi,” was as eloquent a response as he was going to get. She decided that he’d somehow grown more handsome since they’d said good-bye outside CIA headquarters. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you, of course. What did you think? I’m here for Virginia?”
She gave him a sly smile. “I don’t know. I’m sure those pantsuits of hers are hard to resist.”
His eyes sparkled with humor before they shifted left then right. He lowered his voice and said, “I hate to disappoint our audience, but is there someplace we can talk privately? Can I take you to dinner or do you have plans?”
Quinn shot a look toward the children’s section and glimpsed Nicole peeking over the shelves before she ducked away. “My plans mysteriously fell through a couple of minutes ago.” Her gaze slid back to James. “Come with me to get my bag.”
She turned and tugged him into the Bullpen. At her desk, she stooped, and as she opened her bottom drawer, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “You didn’t come all this way to dump me, did you?”
His face twisted into a scowl. “No.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind if I do this.” She straightened, put a hand behind his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him. Her feet nearly lifted off the floor when he snatched her up in a tight embrace. She basked in the taste of his lips, his familiar scent, his arms crushing her to his chest. When she tilted her head and deepened the kiss, he groaned, bunched the back of her shirt in his hand, and kissed her harder.
He tore his lips from hers and moved them next to her ear. His hot breath made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up when he growled, “God, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” She relished the feeling of him in her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“It was kind of a last-minute thing. Plus, I thought it’d be fun to surprise you.”
“You certainly surprised me, but I’m just glad you’re here.”
James said, “We really need to talk, but we can’t do it here.”
“Right.” They parted, albeit reluctantly. Quinn snagged her purse from the drawer and kicked it closed. “Do we need to tell my protection detail who you are or do they already know?”
“Your detail has been dismissed.” At her raised eyebrows, he said, “I’ll explain everything when we can talk.”
“I can hardly wait.”
His eyes flick down to the gold eagle pendant she wore around her neck. He’d sent it to her as a Christmas present with a note that read, “I saw this eagle and immediately thought of you. Merry Christmas. James. P.S. They didn’t have one with a baby being carried in its talons. Sorry.”
He smiled. “Nice necklace.”
“Thanks.” She fingered the navy blue Lamborghini necktie he wore. It had been half of her Christmas present to him. He wore it loose around the unbuttoned collar of his white dress shirt. Jeans and a leather jacket completed his supremely sexy look. “Nice tie.” She gave it a firm tug and drew him down until their lips met again. “Decided against wearing the Aston Martin one I gave you?”
“I wear this one on special occasions. Getting to see you today qualifies.”
“Smooth talker,” she said with a crooked smile. It dropped away when his gaze turned intense and the muscles in his face grew taut.
The unadulterated desire emanating from him stoked the flames already burning inside her. Like a roaring inferno, they kissed again—urgent, hungry, abandoned. James shuddered when she wrapped her leg around the back of his and slid her hand under his jacket.
The specter of Virginia walking in on them crept into Quinn’s blissful haze. She slid her mouth across his cheek to his ear and dragged her nails across his back. She nipped his earlobe for good measure before whispering, “We need to go . . . talk.” She picked up her purse from where it had dropped to the floor and hauled him by the hand toward the back door.
* * *
A trail of hastily shed jackets, shoes, jeans, shirts, and firearms led from the door of Quinn’s apartment, across the living room, and into her bedroom. They’d crashed onto the bed and ravished each other, wild and uncontrolled. At the moment they’d come together, Quinn knew what it was to explode like a supernova.
Sweaty, spent, and satiated, Quinn lay snuggled against James, her head resting on his shoulder. Rasputin, having apparently decided it was safe now that the fireworks had ended, jumped up on the bed, padded across the comforter, and curled up at their feet.
Quinn’s fingertips leisurely brushed back and forth over James’s chest. “I noticed you weren’t using your accent at the library.”
“I don’t want to be James Lockwood around your friends and coworkers anymore,” he said, his tone low and drowsy. “Now I’m James Anderson, American. I was on assignment for the U.S. government and that’s all anyone needs to know.”
“Works for me.”
An easy silence stretched, during which James lazily twirled a strand of Quinn’s hair around his finger.
Eventually, she said, “Not that I’m complaining you’re here, because wow, am I glad you’re here. But what’s so important you had to talk to me in person?”
“Do you have any plans for Valentine’s Day?”
She tipped her face up and gaped at him. “You flew out here to ask me that?”
He peered down at her. “Just answer the question, Ms. Ellington. Do you have plans?”
“Well,” she started dramatically, “since the incredibly sexy spy I’d want to go out with had apparently been abducted by aliens, I’d planned a rousing evening for Rasputin and me. First, I’d dine on spaghetti made with sauce from a jar while my feline companion feasted on the finest cat tuna money can buy. After cleaning his litter box, I thought I’d round out the festivities by doing some ironing.”
“You sure know how to party. Do you think Rasputin would mind if I cut in on his action?” He glanced down at the cat dozing at the foot of the bed before looking at her again.
“Nah, we’re good. If he was upset with you being here, he’d have thrown up by now.” Rasputin had been in her apartment for all of five minutes after she’d picked him up from Rick’s place when he vomited on her freshly cleaned carpet. It made for a memorable homecoming. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’ve got two tickets to tomorrow night’s UCLA basketball game at Pauley, center court. And a Double-Double with your name on it.”
“Throw in some fries, a chocolate shake, and a whole lot of sexy time, and you’ve got yourself a valentine.”
“Great,” he said. “And no, I didn’t come here just to ask you out for Valentine’s Day. There are some less important things we need to discuss.” He paused for a beat as if to build up anticipation. It worked. She was about to explode with curiosity when he finally said, “We caught Fitzhugh.”
“You did? That’s fantastic! Congratulations.” She pushed herself up and kissed him. “Is that why you went dark three weeks ago?”
He nodded. “It took some time for Fitzhugh’s shoulder to heal and for him to figure out where the missile sites were even with the clues you gave him.”
“He’s clearly not as brilliant as we are,” she said wryly.
“Clearly.” His tone was equally droll. “Anyway, we took your idea and embellished it. Before Fitzhugh knew exactly what he was dealing with, we set up a sting. We had our contacts feed Fitzhugh information saying there was a terrorist group looking for some weapons grade uranium-235 or plutonium-239. When Fitzhugh realized what he had in those missiles, he offered to sell us—the fake terrorists—one or all of the missiles. Our guys met him in Yasnaya where two Scalpels were stored. Once we transferred ten million dollars to his account, we busted him.”
She flipped onto her stomach, folded her arms over his chest, and rested her chin on her fist. “You weren’t part of the group that met him in Yasnaya, were you? He’d have killed you on sight.”
“I was there, but he didn’t see me until he was in custody. It looked like a vein was gonna bust in his head when he realized I was CIA.”
“I bet. Was Ben there, too?”
“Yup. And Fitzhugh was there with our favorites: Hamish, Bruiser, and Ms. Badass. It took some time to take down the entire organization, but we did it. Took Paul Shelton in this morning.”
“The threat to me is gone. That’s why my detail was removed.” Her eyes lost focus for a second when his hand settled on her hip. Their skin-on-skin contact was intoxicating.
“Exactly.”
“I’m sure those FBI agents will be glad not to have to sit in the library and watch me work anymore.”
“Hardly. I heard they all said it was a sweet gig.”
“They definitely caught up on their reading,” she said with a smile. “I’m glad you were there when Fitzhugh was taken into custody. You were the one who made the connection between him and Dobrynin’s art collection in the first place. This was your op.” She cupped his face with a hand. “I’m really proud of you.”
He kissed her open palm, sending a thrill hurtling through her. “It wouldn’t have happened without you.”
“That’s sweet to say, but I doubt that.”
“That’s not what my bosses think.”
“Really?”
“There’s another reason I’m here. They sent me to personally ask you to come work for the CIA.”
Her head jerked up. “What?”
“They want you to come work at headquarters in Langley.”
“As a librarian.” It was the only thing that made sense.
“To start with, yeah. But they also want to train you to become a covert operative.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded.
“I know this is a huge thing, so you don’t have to answer right away.”
“Leave my job? My friends? My parents in San Diego? Living in California is all I’ve ever known. I’d be starting over in a place I don’t know if I’d even like.” She eyed him. “How do you feel about this? I’d be in dangerous situations if I became an operative. You can’t be happy about that.”
“To be honest, it terrifies me.” He heaved a sigh. “But I’d love for us to see each other all the time.”
“That would be really great.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Are they sure they want me? I mean, I might suck at being an operative. I’m just a librarian.”
“They’re sure,” he said. He slipped out of bed long enough to retrieve his phone. “Now that I’ve given you the offer, I’ve been instructed to make a call.”
“To who?”
“Codename Buckshot. He’s a legend at the agency and has been around for a gazillion years. He’s a retired operative who does recruiting and gets called in to consult on ops.”
“Have you worked with him at all?”
He shook his head. “Not that I know of, anyway.”
“So cloak-and-dagger.”
James tapped at the screen and held the phone up to his ear. After a pause, he said, “Good evening, sir. This is James Anderson. I’m here with Quinn Ellington. Yes, sir, I spoke with her.”
Quinn could hear a voice through the phone’s earpiece, but couldn’t make out the words.
“No, sir. She hasn’t decided. Leaving her job and moving across the country away from family and friends are huge considerations. She’s also concerned she may not be right for the agency.”
She marveled at his ability to be so diplomatic.
“Yes, sir.” He held the phone out to Quinn. “He wants to talk to you.”
She sat up, clamped the sheet under her arms, and took the phone. Sounding more cautious than confident, she said, “This is Quinn Ellington.”
“Hello, Quinn,” the warm voice said. “Let me assure you the agency would not be making this offer if we had any reservations about your candidacy, nor would we make it capriciously. We’ve been aware of your potential and have been watching you for quite some time.”
Wide-eyed, Quinn stared at James in complete and utter shock. She’d immediately recognized the voice. She tried to speak, but couldn’t make a sound.
“These things tend to run in families, you know.”
The phone almost slipped from her hand before she finally found her voice.
“Grandpa?”