The Agent's Proposition. Lyn Stone
remained to be seen. “Why can’t we stay in one of the hotels?”
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because once we find this dude, we have to get him into international waters to arrest him.”
“No, we don’t. The French police will cooperate with us. They have before. Jack has influence, and jurisdiction shouldn’t be a problem at all.”
“Yeah, they’ll hold whomever we catch, maybe even let us interrogate him, but under their collective thumb. Trust me, we won’t have the time to cut through bureaucracy. We need to get this guy and find out who he’s working for immediately. His boss might have a backup hacker and go right ahead with his plan.”
“His boss?”
“He’s not working this alone. Also, if we don’t have our perp isolated, who do you think he’ll contact the minute he gets to a phone or a computer?” He stared straight into her eyes. “Get over the boat thing. I know what I’m doing.”
“I hope you do.” This was just another battle she would have to fight in order to be who she wanted to be. She had won others, like conquering her strong resistance to confrontation and her aversion to physical contact. She admitted she still overcompensated to some degree, but for the most part, she was well over those hurdles and felt pretty good about herself.
She had overcome her childhood, or rather her lack of one. Her parents had been reared in a commune until they rebelled and ran away at seventeen. Their awkward attempts at entering the establishment had thrust a lot of responsibility onto the daughter they’d had too early in their lives.
Impulse had governed them and probably always would, but not Tess, who had a firm grip on reality, knew how to map her success and conquer her fears. So, she wasn’t about to quail at riding in a stupid boat.
“Nice plane,” he commented, looking around as if he hadn’t noticed before. “Not exactly Air Force One, but nice. Does it have a shower?”
“Back there,” she replied, pointing, hoping he would fit into the little enclosure. He was a large man, well over six feet tall and well muscled, almost bulked like a weight lifter. Deep-sea fishing must provide a great workout.
She jerked her gaze away from his legs, bare from just above his knees to below his ankles. He had great legs. She cleared her throat, hoping he hadn’t noticed her noticing. “Your bag—”
“I know where it is. I stowed it.” He got up and smiled down at her. “I’ll just go and clean up a little.”
Tess nodded, wondering if he would be in there long enough for her to snoop. Had he brought a weapon? A computer? Anything else she should know about?
“Will we have to go through customs?” he asked, as if he’d read her mind. Again.
“No. Mercier called ahead. He…knows people,” she stammered. “Do you have a weapon?”
“Two, which I wouldn’t want confiscated, and I don’t like anyone touching my laptop.”
Tess dropped her gaze, knowing it might reflect the guilt she felt about her plan to search his things. “You’re not supposed to have a computer.”
He laughed at that, and the sound of his laughter stroked every cell in her body as he left her to take his shower.
Damn, the man rattled her. She had to get over it and get her composure back. Her uncanny instincts didn’t work when she was this unnerved, and they had to work.
At least she had gotten him on board the mission and had accomplished her initial goal. She had to relinquish control of the op to him now, and that would be the most difficult aspect of the job.
Tess liked being in charge, but she had to admit this was not the time, any more than on the last two missions. Gaining experience had to take precedence. She had lied a little bit, indicating that Mercier would have sent her on alone if Cochran had refused to join her, but he didn’t have to know that.
She leaned back in her seat and tried to relax, regroup and unwind. All she could think about was that wicked smile of his, which mocked even as it dared, judged even as it flattered. What a puzzle Cochran was. Cameron. Would they progress to a first-name basis? Did she even want to?
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the two of them working in tandem, as partners, maybe even friends. Could she unbend enough to manage a friendship? Certainly never more than that, she warned herself, no matter how heart-stopping he looked or how powerful that spell of his turned out to be.
His touch, innocent at it had been the few times they had made contact, had alarmed and upset her. She couldn’t allow herself to backslide and become the scared little rabbit she had been growing up.
All those stories her mom had told about the evils of free love and rampant sex in the commune hadn’t helped Tess develop well socially. They had created yet another fear to be conquered. Next time she would be the one to initiate contact. She would do the touching, she decided, and she wouldn’t let it shake her, either. Not one little bit.
It could work with guys. It could work with boats. It was only a matter of employing systematic desensitization and cognitive restructuring of thoughts and misconceptions. She knew how to get over these things.
He returned to his seat half an hour later. Transformed. Tess was speechless. And more rattled than ever. His suit was a tropical beige, jet-set expensive, as were his Italian loafers and the dark brown V-necked pullover. Cashmere, she was certain. The Rolex watch, signet ring and diamond ear stud must have set him back a fortune, too.
“What’s the matter? Did I miss a spot?” He stroked his chin with two fingers.
“N-no. You look…fine.” Oh, man. Too fine, she thought with a sigh.
He raked her with an assessing look. “Your turn. Did you bring anything less…austere? I’m afraid you look just like an agent should, and we can’t have that.”
His southern accent had disappeared, and his speech sounded more like that of a newscaster. How’d he do that?
Tess was still trying to come to grips with the change in his appearance as she shook her head. All she could think of were her plain, low-heeled pumps—in beige, which went with everything—and her neat little suits from JC Penney. She frowned down at the Timex ticking away on her wrist. She felt…positively plebeian.
“Well, don’t worry about it,” he said. “We can fix that after we land.”
“Fix what?” she muttered.
“You,” he said, then shrugged. “Your wardrobe. The hair. Makeup. You’ll need to get in step for when we hit the clubs, maybe even the casinos.”
“Casinos?”
“Yeah, we’ll check the clubs in Saint-Tropez first, but the casinos are where we’re probably going to find him.”
“How would you know that?”
Cochran smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Because I know who we’re after, and he loves to gamble.”
Tess thought he was blowing smoke. Yet he radiated confidence like a space heater. Her doubt must be showing, because he continued without waiting for her to comment.
“Mercier related the message letter for letter when I asked, and I recognized the signature misspellings. There’s also a cadence and tone to it that are familiar. This guy’s wordy. And English is not his first language. This is the same man they used before to hack in. Now the brains behind the operation has him making the demands, so he’s not running the show. I intercepted some of the messages last time. This all but proves we’re also working against the original mastermind. That’s the guy we want, so we have to get junior first.”
Tess was impressed in spite of herself. “Fine. Now if we only had a name, we’d be in business.”
“Oh, I have that. I’ll also know him when I see