Into Temptation

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He surrounded her with his broad chest and strong arms. Her breasts crushed against his chest so she could feel the steady thumping of his heart. Sliding her arms around him, she hung on, unable to resist the warm, solid feel of him, the way his body seemed to tuck around her in all the right places.

It was a moment that chased away all thoughts, all distractions. Indeed, how could work claim even a shred of her reason when excitement pulsed through her like a tide, when that soft place between her thighs grew warm?

Lindy arched against him and was rewarded when Joshua ground out a sound from low in his throat, a sound that assured her he was as caught up as she.

The night fell away, the city along with it, and not until a bus screeched to a halt directly in front of them did Lindy become aware of anything but the way her body sparked to life in contact with this man’s.

The bus doors hissed open with a whoosh, and Joshua and Lindy broke apart. She blinked stupidly as he disentangled himself and stood. He stared down at her, his dark gaze a caress, then he flashed a grin that was all satisfied male.

“I want to see what you’re made of, Lindy Gardner. If you can keep up with me, I might actually consider your deal.”

With that he turned and hopped onto the bus, leaving her staring at that cute bum as he strode up the stairs.

The doors shut with a whoosh. Joshua paid the fare and headed down the aisle as the bus lurched into motion again. Lindy watched it roll down the street in a gleam of red taillights, and she laughed, a sound that resounded through the late-night street.

“I’VE MADE CONTACT with our target,” Lindy said when the familiar image of her boss appeared on the high-definition notebook display.

Malcolm gave a curt nod, a gesture she knew translated into approval. “Care to share the details?”

“Not just yet.”

“Brief me.”

“We’re playing cat and mouse.”

“Care to define that? Just enough to assure me you’re the cat.”

“Meow.”

As her direct superior, Malcolm Trent ran Lindy’s life, and had since she’d completed her SIS training nearly a decade ago. On approach to his fiftieth birthday, he was a stoic man with black hair, who somehow managed to look younger than his age.

How he’d avoided graying while maneuvering the often-treacherous shoals between the Joint Intelligence Committee, the Ministry of Defence, the Government Communications Headquarters and outside agencies like Interpol was a mystery of incredible genetics as far as Lindy was concerned. Then again, Malcolm was good at his job with a knack for diplomacy. That knack had shot him up the ranks of SIS with impressive speed.

They shared a solid relationship, not always pleasant, but based on mutual respect, with a bit of indulgence on Malcolm’s part, as he’d been responsible for recruiting her from the police force in her home town.

Lindy shamelessly admitted to taking advantage of that indulgence sometimes. Like now when she didn’t admit to hedging her bets with Joshua Benedict. The boundaries could be liquid in her line of work—one of the reasons she liked her job. Malcolm set the parameters. She did what she felt necessary to accomplish her mission objective.

Bottom line: Malcolm wanted Renouf.

“He acquired the White Star,” she said.

“You got a confirm on that?”

She shook her head. “But I’d bet my Man U tickets. Everything adds up. The thief whom we believe stole the White Star from the auction house rented a security box in a local bank. He winds up a floater in the East River and the bank’s security guard is arrested for drunken and disorderly conduct, where the NYPD find an amulet in his possession. Suddenly our target shows up and the amulet disappears from the precinct property room. What would you surmise?”

“Sounds like you’ve been tailing him closely.”

“Closely, but not too closely. Didn’t want to scare him off. You said it yourself—he’s our only lead to the target.”

“Think he’ll take the bait?”

“I’m letting him put me through my paces. He wants to see what I’m made of.”

“Sure that’s the best way to handle him?”

Here was a place she could have admitted Joshua had thrown her a curve, too, but Lindy didn’t want to be directly responsible for Malcolm’s first gray hair. “Trust me. I’m playing him exactly the way he needs to be played. Let me do my job, so you’re free to do yours. Speaking of, you look tired. MOD giving you grief?”

“Afghanistan.”

That was all he had to say. The Ministry of Defence relied upon the intel from SIS to protect and serve, and with the rumor of ties between the United Kingdom and a new, potentially well-funded terrorist cell harbored in Afghanistan, the MOD had been applying pressure to produce the information needed to assess the threat.

“Anything I can do?”

“Bring me enough to build a case against Renouf. That’ll make folks around here smile again. For a while at least.” He forced his own smile.

Lindy nodded. Malcolm was right—catching Henri Renouf would soothe frazzled tempers. When British relics disappeared, more than art enthusiasts noticed. People took the thefts personally. The recovery of any artifacts, or bringing the man who’d funded the thefts to justice, would throw good light on their agency at a time when the public needed reassurance.

With political events shifting and terrorism breeding in some of the most unexpected global cubbies, a climate of uncertainty existed everywhere. There would be media attention on bringing in a man who’d eluded international capture for as long as Renouf had. He was exactly the sort of example the intelligence community needed right now to reassure the public that justice did indeed prevail.

Which was precisely why ending Renouf’s reign had become Lindy’s personal crusade.

He was also her example, a way to force a move up SIS ranks. For ten years, she’d been confined to the field. A series of lateral moves with more responsibility and freedom had kept her from running her own ops. Lindy had a theory about why.

Her field expertise was a double-edged blade.

Malcolm and his cronies relied on using her extensive connections to hunt down the bad guys. They relied on her to train new agents to become effective team players.

They relied on her to make them look good.

Lindy was good. Too good. And she loved working in the field. But field work consumed her life. She had no time for relationships. No time to spend with the friends who’d hung in there with her unpredictable schedule all these years. So few knew she was an agent of the Crown—with the covert nature of her work it was safer that way.

But as the years passed, safe was proving a damn isolated existence. She couldn’t have a relationship with a man that involved more than a few dates. Hell, with the amount of time she spent away, she couldn’t even own a cat. She’d bought a corn plant, and frequently came home to find it looking droopy and sad from lack of attention.