She made him laugh. Point to Nikki Taylor. He leaned back into his armchair, stretched his legs, and looked down at her. Oh, she was very good indeed. She knew exactly where in this room to sit, how exactly to get his interest. He wanted to see more of this talent. “Start.”
His agreeable state didn’t fool Nikki. She had gone into the tiger’s cage and pulled his tail, not once, but several times. So far, no bite marks. For some reason the tiger had given her a lot of freedom, but it was because he was still curious, still playing with her.
That was fine, as long as she didn’t get too close. She had come upstairs and picked this spot by the fireplace because it felt right to probe a man’s center here. She sensed that he was comfortable where she sat—on this rug, surrounded by the books and throw pillows. The big rug was thick and soft. She could imagine him lying here at night, looking into the fire.
His laughter was like a warm caress, and his eyes glinted with amusement. Hands folded behind his head, he was the picture of indolence. “I’m waiting,” he invited, but the watchfulness was back in his eyes.
She wanted him to trust her, but how? There was no way to let him know without tainting her report. She was an independent contractor, given a lot of leeway to do as she pleased with the way she chose to investigate, but the submitted report must still be viewed as a professional conclusion, without any evidence of tampering. And for him to trust her, she must submit herself in a way that would test her very courage. She discreetly studied him eyeing her hair, with that distant look in his eyes, and it saddened her that some woman had given him such pain.
She shook it off quickly. It was not her job to find out about the pain but to use it to find out what he hadn’t told anyone. The admiral had been very specific about this. Could Rick Harden be trusted to continue as part of TIARA, because his SEAL team depended on Task Force Two’s Intel. And to be sure, she was to find out what exactly happened ten years ago that tied Gorman and Rick Harden together. Was Harden a tool, or did he know more than he said? And was Internal Investigations right in targeting this man?
Direct questions never led to direct answers. She should know. She was an expert in interrogation techniques. No, it was better her way. Circle the tiger carefully. “My book,” she began, pausing for the expected sneer. None came. A quick glance. His face was blank, eyes hooded. “My book has a government agent. I need a lot of background information and being allowed to go through the different levels of recruiting helped, but it’s not enough. That’s where you come in.”
His lips quirked. “I don’t think I’m very good hero material.”
“Why?”
“Doesn’t a hero save the heroine and they live happily ever after? Especially in a romance?” he asked, hands still cradling his head.
“Yes.”
“This hero of yours, does he do that?”
“I’m still researching him,” she replied, leaning back on her hands and stretching out her legs. Her feet were almost touching his. “He likes to run a lot. Doesn’t seem to get him anywhere, though. I feel there is something holding him back, but I don’t know what exactly.”
There was a stillness in him that told her she was pulling the tiger’s tail again. She picked up her cup of coffee and took a careful sip.
“Is there a question in there somewhere?” he finally asked, in a bored voice.
“What changed him? My hero was a man of action, with an A-Status record, on the up and up,” she went on. “Then something changed him.”
“Maybe he did something really unheroic,” he drawled back, “like commit murder.”
Nikki looked at him intently. “Did he? Murder somebody?”
His green eyes flashed and then became dull. It hurt to see him in pain. “Well, you can’t be found guilty of murder and work for the government, now can you?” he pointed out coldly.
She noted that he used second person as a reference, and something else—“You mean, perhaps my hero covered one up?”
The silence was razor-sharp. Maybe she had pulled the tiger’s tail a bit too hard.
“That wouldn’t make it a romance anymore, would it?” he countered softly, suddenly dropping his lazy pose. “And I think we can save the rest of your research for our second interview.”
He transformed from languid interviewee to crouched hunter in a flash, leaping forward, like a cat. Nikki scooted back, but her outstretched legs slowed her down. He was before her, straddling her thighs, leaning over her as she put her weight on her elbows.
“My turn,” Rick said to her, baring a not-so-relaxed smile.
Tiger unleashed, Nikki thought.
Rick didn’t like where Nikki was going with her questions. He was familiar with the technique, of course. The CIA had variations of it. A select group of agents were trained and used as contract agents for the CIA as well as other covert agencies. They called it NOPAIN. Nonphysical persuasion and innovative negotiation. His last brush with a NOPAIN operative was during his interrogation of the alleged assassin Marlena Maxwell.
He stared down at Nikki. Her dark eyes were wide, her lips parted. A NOPAIN operative, huh? That tied her with the troublesome Marlena. Not his most favorite person in the world. She had made quite a fool of him by exposing Gorman, his own boss, as a traitor. And a tie to Marlena meant a tie with the admiral. Things were getting a bit clearer.
There were things he should ask now, make her tell him. After all, his ass was on the line. This report she was putting together—did it have to do with Gorman? Rick had grown to hate that name. That man still controlled his life, even from his jail cell.
“Rick?” She sounded tentative.
He now knew she did certain things when she was nervous. His wait was rewarded when her tongue flicked out to wet her parted lips. The sensual gesture was effective, and suddenly nothing else was more important than the fact that for the first time in a long time, Rick felt more than lust for a woman. He wanted to know her inside and out, not just for the secrets she was keeping. He was mad that she hid herself from him. He was mad at himself for needing to know.
Rick had a thousand questions. But looking down at those lips, he just wanted to kiss her senseless and forget the slow, invading memories her probing had brought back. That had worked before—sex and more of it. As long as he controlled the situation, he didn’t have to worry about being weakened by a woman again. For a while he could replace the emptiness inside with nothing but sheer feeling. His gaze hardened. A NOPAIN operative should know a lot about the power of sex.
He reached out. Her hair beckoned like the lyrics of an old favorite song, with words that bring back emotions that were half-forgotten. NOPAIN. Nonphysical persuasion.
“I love your hair,” he said, “but then I have this attraction for long, long hair on a woman. It’s a testament of a woman’s focus on herself. There is nothing like watching her wash and dry it, then comb the length out with the care that it needs. Do you know that?”
“No.” Her voice was husky.
Rick slid the strands through his fingers, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the texture. “It takes time to care for hair this long,” he murmured. “It tells me more about you than any questions I ask you.”
“It does?”
He opened his eyes. She hadn’t moved at all. The black pupils in her eyes were large, almost covering the brown irises. His wife had black, black eyes. “Yes,” he answered. “You can evade any questions with those strange Oriental mystic terms you use, but…”
He let his words trail away as his fingers did the same down as far as they could go, forming ribbonlike strands as he fanned outward. His wife’s hair was coarser, tangling easily when he played with it. He pulled the strands to his face.
She moved and gasped at the contact of her hips with his lower body. Her eyes widened as she slowly sank back down onto the rug, carefully keeping from touching him.
She was a paradox, a combination of fear and desire. He released her hair, watching it fall down, contrasting its black with the snowy whiteness of his rug. “Tell me what scares you so, little bird? Is it me?”
He didn’t move, even though he could easily push her on her back and follow his fantasies. He sat astride her, yet not touching, letting her get used to his dominant position. He frowned. Where had that thought come from?
“No. Not you.”
“Liar.”
“Not you,” she repeated.
He bent forward, keeping those inches away from her
body, till his face was just above hers. “Must be this then,” he said, and as her tongue flicked out nervously again, he swooped, lightning-fast, to taste it. Her body stiffened, but her mouth opened up like a flowering bud.
He kissed her gently, like tasting vintage eight-hundred-dollar 1984 Chateau Margaux. Heady stuff. A man could easily forget that she was a NOPAIN operative. Unless, of course, he had learned a lesson like that before.
She didn’t kiss like his wife had. He broke away, licking his lips. Damn it, she was nothing like his wife. Nothing. He wanted her to be, so he could fight this attraction and just use her. But he couldn’t. Not with him needing her so badly. She would have him exactly where she wanted him.
No, he would have to send her away for now, and he would still be in control. He must fight to retain the upper hand here. In this case, fear was his only weapon against her soft appeal. He reached for his back pocket and pulled out the silk purse she had brought, watched the wariness return to her eyes. He bounced it on his palm.
“It’s very light,” he mused. “Let me guess. Do you use this for your hair?”
“Yes.” She watched the purse up and down in the air, then added with a stubborn tilt of her chin. “You said anything to tie.”
“So I did. Are you ready for rule number three?”
Her tongue flicked out again and Rick almost threw the purse onto the floor and went for her. “What is it?” she asked.
“I’m keeping this. Next interview, bring a bottle of your shampoo and conditioner.” She was still staring up at him after he got off his knees. He quirked a brow. “Time to go home to your nest, little bird.”
He would play on her fear and see where that would lead them.
J
ogging wasn’t for everyone. It was, Rick had to admit, the dumbest form of exercise, pounding one’s feet as a form of punishment. It was the idea of self-inflicted pain that had drawn him to this sport. When he’d first started running, the monotony was exactly what he needed. Something to dull the mind. And he could finish his mornings without even remembering running.
After a decade, he jogged out of sheer habit. The monotony was still there but he had grown to think of it as a contrast to the desk job to which he had been exiled. He remembered that just the other day, he had considered giving it up, just wasting his body away like he had wasted everything else.
Then
she
turned up. Calling up memories she shouldn’t. Poking at old wounds that had scabbed over. Making monotony less appealing than ever.
And she had dared to challenge him last night. Her words about her fictional hero returned to mock him.
He likes to run a lot. Doesn’t seem to get him anywhere, though. I feel there is something holding him back, but I don’t know what exactly.
Rick stopped, still with a mile to go in his routine. Why couldn’t he stop obsessing about Nikki? Last night, after she had left, he had spent a few hours on his computer, looking for clues about the admiral. What he had come up with didn’t quiet his suspicions. He knew he had something; he just didn’t understand why his past was so damn important to the admiral.
He took a deep breath, looked at his surroundings. He had never stopped in the middle of a run before. Funny how everything looked different once he paused. The trees and grass were greener when he wasn’t in motion. And he could smell the morning air. He sniffed. God, now he was starting to spout mystical stuff.
“Sir! Sir!”
Rick turned. It was Agent Jones running down the trail. The younger man stopped to mop the sweat pouring down his face with a towel draped around his neck.
“Agent Jones, planning on taping someone this morning?” Rick asked. The young man was a curious mix of ambition and naivete. “Or are you just exercising?”
“Well, I’d hoped to catch Nikki Taylor here again today,” Erik said, still breathing hard, “but no luck. Then fortunately, I looked up and thought you looked familiar, and figured I’d catch up to see if it was really you, sir.”
“Well, lucky me,” Rick commented dryly. “Is there a reason for your stalking Nikki Taylor? The last time you taped her because you wanted to prove to me that you could do covert questioning. What is it this time?”
“I think she’s after something.”
“Is that right?”
“She shows up at the recruiting center—”
“With me,” interrupted Rick.
Erik paused, as if he hadn’t considered that part yet. “Yes, with you, sir. I mean, don’t you find it suspicious? She was with a touring group of writers, and then next thing I know, she’s sitting there taking notes about our programs.”
Rick considered going back to jogging, but the idea of talking to Erik while bouncing his brain cells around wasn’t very appealing. The young operative needed his superior to take him under his wing, show him the ropes. This running around proving his usefulness in the oddest of ways wasn’t cutting it. He changed direction, taking the other beaten path that joggers used to head back. Erik followed like a puppy dog.
“She has language skills,” Rick said, smoothly feeding the lies as if he hadn’t just now made them up. “She wanted
to research her book and asked to go through training recruitment to get some firsthand knowledge. The tour didn’t provide enough information, and I don’t have the time to answer her questions, nor can I assign anyone right now, so I suggested the recruiting class. You were there. How did it go?”
“It went fine, as always, sir.”
“So what is the problem? Those recruiting programs aren’t national secrets, Jones.”
“I know that. But I have this feeling, that’s all. Sir, they tell me you were one of the best before…I mean, shit…”
Open mouth. Insert foot. Rick’s lips quirked at his own joke. “Before?” he prompted politely, glancing briefly at the flustered man. Agent Jones wanted something but was going at it in a roundabout fashion. Rick supposed he could save some time by asking outright, but hell, he had plenty of dead time on his hands these days. All his cases were in limbo. And it was getting to be a hobby bumping into Agent Erik Bond Jones.
Erik swallowed, then tried again, blurting out, “I want to be part of Task Force Two.”
Rick’s brows lifted. The young man actually took the direct way. “And your following Miss Taylor is supposed to buy you into the task force?” He supposed that would be a good way to catch someone’s eye, and since Gorman wasn’t around, of course, Erik would think Rick was the next best thing. “You’re suspicious of Miss Taylor, so you tailed her. Tell me, did you expect to bring an entire operation to Task Force Two and demand an assignment?”
The look on Erik’s face was telling. He had actually thought that someone would listen to a young rookie storming into the O.C.’s office telling about a mysterious woman he’d noticed. Rick mentally shook his head and continued walking, as if the conversation were over.
“Sir? Why would an author want to go through all that training if all she is doing is writing a romance? I mean, I’ve leafed through some of those books and…” He trailed off when Rick stopped to stare at him.
“You’re spending time reading romance novels, Agent
Jones?” Rick asked coolly. “What is this really about? Do you have the hots for Nikki Taylor?”
Erik’s face flamed up. “I just wanted to impress you, sir,” he mumbled.
Rick nodded. “You’re impressing me, all right. Why are you doing what you’re doing and then coming to tell me about it? Go on, tell me the truth, man.”
“I want to be as good as you were. I want to interview the women and get their secrets. Get promoted out of my directorate. Get into Task Force Two, and then be sent off to…” he paused again.
“To seduce women?” Rick asked helpfully. “And you plan to seduce Nikki Taylor?”
Erik nodded, face redder than when he was jogging. “Yes.”
Interesting. An operative who wanted to be like Ricardo Harden. Wanted to seduce Nikki Taylor. Rick didn’t know whether to be angry or amused. No, maybe he was stunned. Which fate did he want? To be hung out to dry by I.I. or to see a tragicomedy of Erik Jones parodying Hard-On. Or God help him, to have the young man think he was in a pissing contest with him over another woman.
The phone rang. Nikki woke up, startled out of her dreams. A quick glance at the clock told her she had overslept.
“Hello?”
“Miss Taylor?” A woman’s voice.
“Yes?”
“I’m Admiral Madison’s secretary. Please hold while I transfer you.”
“All right.” Nikki ran a quick self-conscious hand through her hair, then smiled. Silly woman. She wasn’t meeting the admiral in person.
“Miss Taylor, this is Jack Madison,” a low masculine voice came on. “This is a secured line, so feel free to talk.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Call me Jack. This is an informal call. I want to talk to
you in private because Internal Investigations will insist on being there when you’re in front of the committee.”
“Then you can call me Nikki.” She liked him already. His voice had that firm, commanding quality of a man used to taking charge. He didn’t sound the type to just sit and read reports, either. A very rare quality in D.C., where paper pushers made a living.
She could hear the smile in his voice. “Nikki,” he agreed. “Is I.I. giving you any trouble? I know they protested very adamantly against an outside contract to the committee. Knowing them, they can cause a lot of problems for someone they don’t want around.”
“I’ve only had one meeting so far, and yes, it was obvious they would prefer me out of the picture. They are gathering their own report, of course, and I tried to assure them that I’ll do my best not to be in their way.”
Admiral Madison chuckled. “I like that. Not being in their way isn’t exactly out of the picture, is it? I had wanted T. for this job, as you know—she’s a good friend—and was disappointed that she couldn’t take this on. This is the first time I’ve known T. to take a vacation over work.” His laughter rang out heartily. Nikki smiled, liking the admiral more. “Anyway, with her gone, I wasn’t sure whether I could take on an outside contractor I haven’t personally interviewed. T., though, has never failed me, and after hearing about you from her, I understand why she chose you. I know I won’t have a chance to discuss it in private until after you’ve submitted your report, but I wanted you to know that I’m very angry about your situation. T. gave me a detailed account of your past before she left. I’ll do my best to help.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s all I’m asking,” Nikki said softly. “And I’ll deliver the report in time for the meeting.”
“Good. Finding out about Rick Harden is important. We don’t want another Gorman. What with that bast—that rat—incriminating so many people connected to him, I’ve a feeling we might end up with a Salem witch trial, and muddy everything up even more.”
“I understand.”
“The most important thing is to find out about his past with Gorman. How close are they? And does Harden have those missing disks? Those disks, if they are out there, will give us all we need to put Gorman away for a very long time. None of these damn negotiation sessions over how much and how long. I don’t want to give that man a chance to see daylight.” His sigh was audible. “Your position is a difficult one, trying to convince the different sections of the committee, but I wanted to make it clear that I won’t back away from supporting you.”
“That means a lot, thank you.”
“If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to call me here. Do you have a pen handy?”
Nikki wrote down the number, then hesitated a second. “As a matter of fact, you might be able to help me with one more thing, sir—Jack. I would like to look at the official files on Agent Rick Harden’s wife and the circumstances surrounding her death. I can go through I.I. but I’d prefer not to.”
There was a pause. “No problem. Personally, I don’t think that incident should be used against him.”
“It will be brought up by someone in the committee.”
“Yes, I know. Some of them don’t like Harden and obviously want to make this an excuse to get rid of him. I’ve worked with Task Force Two long enough to know he’s capable. That’s why I want to get to the bottom of this, so there wouldn’t be this dark cloud hanging over the man from now on.” The admiral laughed. “Not that I think he’d appreciate it. I think the man is a tough nut to crack, with a boulder-sized chip on his shoulder. I hope he’s not scaring you off.”
Nikki thought about Rick’s kisses. His hard body pressed against hers as he held on to her hair. She thought of him with her shampoo. A shiver ran up and down her spine like an electrical current. “No, not at all,” she replied quietly, plucking the corner of her pillow.
Scared wasn’t quite the right word to describe her feelings where Rick Harden was concerned. He was everything she was afraid of—a sexual man who liked to be in control,
who wanted to dominate her. Yet when he touched her, the fear changed into something else—something simmering hot that threatened to boil over. And it made her afraid in another way.
Worse, he knew what he was doing to her. She could see it in his green eyes, like that lazy tiger she had been conjuring up every time she thought of him. She could turn and run, and he would pounce.
“Is that all you need?” Admiral Madison interrupted Nikki’s thoughts.
“Yes.”
After the phone call, Nikki didn’t immediately jump out of bed to get ready. She stared up at the ceiling, absentmindedly studying the paneling. She had to know more about Rick’s past. Was he just reacting to her because of her resemblance to his wife? Unexpected anger reared up rebelliously at that thought. Then shock.
Nikki sank deeper into her pillow as she allowed the truth to seep through her consciousness. After all these years, she wanted a man. Rick Harden was going to be her lover. Her body flushed with warmth at the thought of him naked in her bed. It was astonishing that she could call up his image so naturally. She found herself trembling and pulled the sheets up higher.
She didn’t want to get out of bed. Didn’t want to finish her grandmother’s prophecies. She especially didn’t want a man on top of her. Holding her down. Parting her legs. And…
She closed her eyes. No. She wouldn’t allow those images to take hold or she would scream and go mad. Already she felt hot tears escaping the corner of her tightly squeezed eyes.
She was pathetic. How was she going to let Rick Harden touch her? Because touch her, he would. She crossed her legs under the blankets. But that didn’t stop the sudden sensation of weight on her lower body. Her breathing turned to pants.
Nikki forced herself to turn to the side, curling her knees to her chest. She squeezed her eyes tightly. She wasn’t going to cry.
Rick supposed he ought to feel important. After all, he seemed to be of special interest to some of the biggest departments in the U.S. government. Not only was the Justice Department’s Internal Investigations going through his files with a fine-toothed comb, but from what he could gather, so was the General Accounting Office, the National Security Agency, and hell, why not, even the Pentagon. By the sound of things, he, Rick Harden, was going to be quite the fall guy.
He signed the few pieces of paper in front of him, giving authorization to access his security codes, and pulled back so the assistant to the EYES investigator could take them away. He then nodded to Greta. His secretary came forward and handed over a bunch of keys and computer disks, along with a list of access codes. Harpring sat across the table, studying him, waiting for the first sign of panic.
However, Rick had never felt more cold or calm. He had been preparing for such a day for quite a while now although he had never thought it would be something quite so big. Of course, Gorman was behind this. That man had never done things small. His current incarceration had only served to show how much damage one man could do to the security of a government. There was panic all right, all over D.C., as everyone tried to remember and trace his dealings with Gorman the last couple of decades.