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Angie couldn’t help laughing.
“What?” Ryan looked hurt. Actually hurt. “It’s a classic.”
She smiled very slowly. “I agree. But for the purposes of this exercise, you go with Shaun, I’ll go with Titanic. It explains so much in so few words.”
“You’re mocking me. You shouldn’t make fun of someone’s taste in films.”
“You’re right.” She pursed her lips, trying to keep the straight face she’d struggled to find. “So we won’t even start with novels.”
“Can I ask one thing, though?”
Angie nodded.
“Is it a genetic thing with women, To Kill a Mockingbird?”
“It’s more a Gregory Peck thing, I think. Also, how incredible Atticus is with Scout.” She thought for a moment. “But maybe it’s genetic.”
Ryan seemed satisfied with that, and for the next while they ran through a quick list of favorite foods, best vacations, mountains versus beaches and family pets.
At least the questions and answers had helped ease some of her concerns. “You know, I agree that there’s not going to be a lot of intrusive questions, not on the first day, but we want to set the tone accurately. The single most important thing about both of us is my family fortune. So let’s get really clear about why the Ebsens are here. I don’t know you’ve been cheating on me, but do I suspect? Jeannie said she hadn’t decided yet, that she was going to take her cues once she spoke to the staff, but I’d like to hear your opinion.”
Ryan looked pensive for a moment, and she hadn’t noticed before but when he was thinking, he looked straight down, not to the right or left. Unusual. “I think it works better if you’re a little suspicious, which will mean keeping me close. I also think that, for today at least, we act like happy lovers but not ridiculously so. We’re nervous. Not sure what to expect. So we stick together, hold hands. Whisper a lot. Don’t stand out from the crowd. We can always switch gears as we get more comfortable.”
He took a look at his watch, then excused himself, closing himself behind the bathroom door. She knew he had his phone with him, and at his unexpected exit she wondered if he was ducking out to privately call Jeannie. Or maybe another woman. None of her business, she reminded herself, not in this room. Why couldn’t she have been partnered with Brian? He would have been a nightmare, too, but in a totally different way. At least with Brian, there was no fear of being caught ogling like a lovesick teen.
While Angie polished off her yogurt she thought about what Ryan had said so she wouldn’t end up blowing their cover in the first five minutes. With the notable exception of the attraction situation, she was actually getting a little revved about this sting and what they were about to do. It had been a while since she’d been assigned to the field, and though she loved her computers more than Paula loved her cats, there was an adrenaline rush with casework that went unmatched, even by winning a major race.
An undercover assignment called on skills that were rarely used in any other type of investigation. Which was terrifying, and also exciting, although it would have been even more thrilling if they could have made the actual bust, but that wasn’t up for debate. Besides, the blackmail text likely wouldn’t come until after the week was over.
As long as she kept the goal firmly in mind, she should be fine. Jeannie had offered her services as her coach, and Angie had promised she wouldn’t hesitate to call if she felt out of her depth.
“We don’t have much time left,” Ryan said, coming back outside, and powering down his laptop. “You okay with everything so far?”
“Fine. Anything else you need me to know?”
He held up a hand as he put the computer into a hard case and locked it. After that was in the closet, along with the rest of the luggage, he went to the dummy laptop on the dresser. He pulled out his wallet and extracted a small rectangle of clear plastic, which he was able to attach to the monitor seconds before it closed. If anyone opened it, the card would slip out, but not be observed. Clever.
He turned back to her and she was caught off guard once more at how broad his shoulders looked in that polo shirt. She shook the thought away, angry that she’d even think such a thing.
“Tonight,” Ryan said, all business, “we’ll have a much better idea how to proceed. For now, we stick to small talk and distractions. If anyone asks something we’re not sure about, we plead ‘sore subject’ and move on.”
“Good.” Angie put her hands on the armrests ready to go, but Ryan slipped into his chair and leaned forward, capturing her attention fully.
“As for how far I’m willing to go, I want to make it perfectly clear that I will do my utmost to avoid any delicate situations. If we get stuck, I’ll keep in character, but I’ll do my best not to make you uncomfortable.”
She inhaled slowly. His declaration wasn’t a surprise, but it was welcome, nonetheless. Even though she’d tried not to imagine situations in which they could be forced into that kind of intimacy, way too many had come to mind. The massages, of course, and what if they were the only two who didn’t jump onto the clothing-optional bandwagon? Would that make them look suspicious? Would that scream undercover cops?
Regardless, none of that should matter. Awkward stuff always happened on undercover operations. It was part of the job. Still, it was going to be damn weird. After that Halloween incident, she’d told herself that there was no way in hell she and Ryan were ever going to see each other naked. This week, it would be a miracle if they could avoid it.
PURPLE WALLS AND PURPLE carpet made it very clear why they called the main workshop space the Lavender Room. The giant bean bags on the floor arranged in a big circle were pretty much what Ryan expected, or should he say dreaded.
“What’s that frown for?” Angie asked.
“I thought bean bags went out in the early eighties. But instead, they just continued to grow. Those are huge.” Ryan gave her the smile that terrible joke deserved, and it felt great when she grinned back. Picturing the two of them curled up together on the bulging bag of polystyrene pellets just became a little more comfortable. For about a minute.
Jesus. A whole week of foreplay and no main event.
What the hell was it going to take to get him to stop thinking about her as anything more than a fellow agent? His gaze moved from her smile to the red blouse to her thigh-hugging trousers. The outfit made everything worse. At work, in her nonfitted suits she wore sensible shoes with small heels. Something she could run in. Today, the heels on her sandals had to be five inches. She was tall without them, but standing next to him like this, their eyes were almost level, and he was six-one. There was no way he could fool his brain into seeing her as anything but stunning. Beyond tempting. Sexy.
“Six couples,” she said.
He nodded, then turned away, checking out the rest of the room. Two exits, a bank of closed windows. The carpet was industrial, the tables in the back standard and there were two whiteboards, a blackboard and too many posters of greeting card couples on the walls.
The long tables with chairs had clipboards in front of each of twelve seats, along with the ubiquitous seminar water carafes and glasses.
“There’s Delilah,” Angie said, bringing Ryan’s attention back to her. She nodded toward a tall, attractive woman walking up to the whiteboard. Delilah had blond hair that reached past her shoulders. A nicely proportioned body and a broad smile completed the very-professional package.
“Older than her brochure picture.”
“Not by much,” Angie said, and they were both speaking softly, moving slightly away from a couple who hovered nearby. “She’s pretty.”
“Damn relaxed.”
“She would be. This is old hat for her.”
Delilah wore dark slacks and a sensible button-down white shirt. She would have looked at home in any business setting, and that surprised him. “I pictured flowing robes and too many flowers.”
“I guess they left that up to Ira,” Angie said, scoping out the tall, slender male therapist who’d just walked in.
“An aloha shirt?” Ryan watched Ira Bridges approach Delilah and put his hand on the small of her back. His salt-and-pepper hair brushed against his shoulders. Garish flowers covered the pale, roomy shirt. Ryan wouldn’t be surprised to find he wore a ankh necklace or an infinity bracelet. “Tell me he’s not wearing flip-flops.”
Angie leaned just enough to the left so she could tell. “He is.”
Ryan sighed. “They’re going to play that pan flute music, aren’t they? I hate the pan flute.”
Angie poked him in the side with her elbow, dislodging his train of thought. It didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it was more of a gentle nudge but it had been enough to remind him that her skin was slightly tan and looked like silk.
He held his breath, afraid to move. She’d never have done that back in L.A. under any circumstances. Angie would have cleared her throat, turned toward him, said something, but she wouldn’t have touched him like that. Angie Ebsen not only would, but should, and the touching would soon be a hell of a lot more intimate than an elbow to the ribs.
Another couple entered the room, which was what Angie had been alerting him to in the first place. He had no doubt he would learn more about these ten strangers than he wanted to. So he smiled as he cataloged his first impressions of the group. All of them were nervous and most of them held on to each other in some way because their partner was familiar and safe.
He reached with his left hand and found Angie’s right. She jerked at the initial touch, but he didn’t look at her. He kept his own slightly nervous smile on his face, and sure enough, she caught on and slipped her hand into his.
And he’d thought the elbow was memorable. God only knew what it was going to be like when they had to hug or kiss or he had to rub warm oil into her lush, lean body….
He cursed Jeannie and the entire legal system for putting him in this ridiculous position, and then he cut that nonsense straight out because Ryan Ebsen would be sizing up the men in the room and checking out the wives. Special Agent Vail would be looking for the other two staff members, and sizing up Delilah and Ira.
Neither of them would have an elevated heart rate because he was holding Angie’s hand.
“Come in, come in.” Ira Bridges welcomed the newcomers as he headed for the door. Delilah had written: Intimate relationships satisfy our universal need to belong and the need to be cared for in a clean, easy to read cursive on the whiteboard.
“There are nametags on the end of the tables,” Ira continued, his voice friendly, his smile wide and earnest. “Find a seat and please fill out the three-page questionnaire so we can get that out of the way. When you’re finished, come into the center of the room and find a spot … on the floor.” Ira beamed at the surprised murmur. “That’s right. Surprise is a wonderful part of intimacy, and it’s also a large part of this week, so keep on your toes.”
Ryan leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I’m going to grab us seats.”
She jerked sharply, caught off guard, her eyes wide and her lips parted. He wanted to apologize but as soon as she settled, he wanted to surprise her again.
“I’ll get the nametags,” she said, then hurried away, glancing back at him once.
He walked more sedately to his chosen seat then stared at the papers in front of him without seeing a word. The last time he remembered touching Angie on purpose had been a brush of fingers across the back of her hand. He’d wanted her then, but it had been at the party, and she’d been dressed as Scully, and though he’d never tell a soul living or dead, one of the main reasons he’d gone into the Bureau was because of Dana Scully and the X-Files.
Not the best thing to think about when there was so much on the line. The sting, the convictions, the promotion. After pouring himself a glass of ice water and downing half the drink in one go, Ryan started filling out the paperwork on the clipboard.
The first page looked like something he’d find at a doctor’s office. Some overarching medical issues, which were easily dismissed, some personal info about family and work and hobbies and that kind of crap. Since they were using their own basic backgrounds, he was able to fill in the blanks in short order. He kept checking the still-open door, glad to have his mind occupied.
“Here.” Angie dropped his nametag, already filled out, in front of him. When she sat, she shifted the chair closer to his.
He didn’t acknowledge the tag, just slapped the sticky side to his shirt. Then he flipped to the second page of the questionnaire. “Shit,” he said, under his breath.
“What?”
“Page two.”
Angie checked out the material before she looked at him. “What’s the problem?”
“You need to go first. Just make sure I can see your answers.”
Her brow furrowed for a moment as she studied him, but she relaxed quickly with a nod. He went back and fiddled with page one while she attacked the intimacy portion of the opening challenge.
The first question alone had stopped him in his tracks.
I think of my partner lovingly many times a day.
He doubted he’d ever thought lovingly of anyone. Not that he didn’t have good thoughts about people, especially about women, but lovingly? “What does that first question even mean?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“We’re in love,” she said. “You’d think of me lovingly a lot.”
Right. They were in love. If anything, he should go overboard on this questionnaire. Still, he’d take his cues from Angie, follow her lead. Make it appear that it was love with a background note of desperation, that brought them to this retreat, desperation with a mask of love that made them want to put in the effort. No sweat as a concept, but he hadn’t really thought through the language issue.
Statement two was no better:
We feel warmth and connection at least twenty minutes a day.
Who the hell knew how many times they felt connected? He felt connected to the L.A. Kings hockey franchise, at least when they were winning, but that lasted the length of the game.
He leaned closer to Angie with a sigh. “This is gonna suck. Even if they don’t play new-age CDs.”
She snorted. Daintily. Whispered, “It’ll be fine. Go with your instincts. Pretend they’re asking about you and your personal trainer. Trust me, all the answers will make perfect sense.”
He probably should have been insulted by that, but it actually made him laugh. He decided that when he was in doubt, he’d go with the opposite of his instincts, and he should be okay.
He glanced again at her paper, then stayed for a while, reading. Most of her responses were unsurprising given her backstory. The one about initiating sex equally made him blink. She’d given that a “Happens often.” Good to know.
Confident that he now had the game down, he tackled his sheet, filling in the numbers for Ryan Ebsen, a man dedicated to keeping his wife and her checkbook. By the time he reached the end of the third page, he figured this thing with Angie was going to work out just fine.
Then she stood up, leaned over the table to grab another pen, and he got a load of her picture-perfect backside.
Nope. No. This thing with Angie was gonna kill him. Dead.
4
“THE FOOD WAS REALLY GOOD,” Angie said, sipping her coffee from the back of the Blue Room. The group lunch hadn’t been nearly the ordeal she’d stressed over, but there had certainly been moments.
The whole lot of them had walked the short distance from the Lavender Room, passing another group, all of them holding fruity umbrella drinks. Angie had been tempted to switch her allegiance, or at the very least call room service for a cocktail of her own. Especially after she got a load of the weird as hell layout of their new location.
The lunch tables had been set up in odd configurations: some were long family style, some round that could seat eight, a couple of them could accommodate four and only one table for two. There were more seats available than participants and each seat had a complete table setting.
Delilah had asked them all to sit. Anywhere they chose. With no more than a glance between them, she and Ryan went for the round table for eight where, for the most part, they’d eaten and listened to other people talk. The person to her right had been Luke, husband to Erica. Luke had spent the bulk of the meal’s two courses telling her how he was only at this workshop because of Erica and how the whole point of intimacy was sex, and since they had sex pretty much every night, what was the point? He also mentioned the cost three or seven times.
Fortunately it hadn’t been difficult for her to play her role. Primarily because Ryan had kept checking in with her. Not with words. With a look, a smile, a roll of his eyes. Each one a string between them, connecting, strengthening, woven together like a safety net. That tie relaxed her enough that she was able to answer the few questions asked without over-thinking or stumbling.
The one time she’d tripped up was when she turned to find him staring across the table at Tonya Bridges, the yoga and tantric massage instructor. He’d looked riveted, interested. But then he’d turned back to the man to his left. Chris looked to be in his fifties. The two went on to discuss basketball until it was time for dessert and they’d all been “invited” to find different seats. Ryan had taken her by the sleeve and pulled her straight to the back of the room, to the table set for two where they hid like the bad kids during assembly as they watched the most confusing game of musical chairs ever.
“I think Ira’s wearing patchouli oil,” Ryan said as he fiddled with his linen napkin. He’d gotten coffee, nothing else, while she’d fixed herself a small plate of fruit. “Think he’s actually old enough to be a hippie?”
Ryan wasn’t looking at her, but that was okay because she was too busy scoping out the room to look at him. Their little table was situated close to the desserts. There were only three choices: a crème brûlée, a New York–style cheesecake, which was calling Angie’s name, and a bowl of fresh fruit. She ate another piece of cantaloupe and decided the cheesecake had to be a billion times better. “Delilah hasn’t had any work done I don’t think,” Angie said, pushing her grapes around. “Which makes me like her more, and also makes me question her involvement.”
“What? Why?”
“They’ve been living in L.A. and Vegas for years. Plastic surgery is practically required by law for any woman over the age of forty.”
He looked at her, clearly disbelieving. “That might be true for celebrities, but—”
“Ellen Fincher.”
Ryan tossed the napkin all the way past the table, which Angie doubted he meant to do. “Get out.”
Ellen was Palmer’s administrative assistant. Angie knew for a fact she was forty-seven, because Angie had been at the birthday party. Ellen’s present to herself had been eye lifts and some lipo. “Oh, I’m right.”
“I’ll take your word for it, but why does that make Delilah a more trustworthy person?”
“If she had a ton of illicit money, she’d probably have a nip or a tuck. She’s pretty, but she’s starting to droop. On the other hand, she could be saving every last penny for her dream retirement in Cancún.”
“Or maybe she’s just not that vain. You know—” Ryan stopped talking as Zach, the banker from Orange County, came by. Rachel, his wife, followed shortly thereafter, and all four of them chatted about how fantastic the food was until the couple wandered off.
Angie would have been fine with that if Zach hadn’t been eating his damn cheesecake right in front of her. But after four bites she’d broken like a dime-store toy. “You want anything?”
Ryan shook his head staring once more at Tonya, who was sitting at one of the long tables, talking with two other couples.
