Claimed by the Secret Agent. Lyn Stone
find you something to put on.”
He disappeared and she heard him open the trunk again. In a few minutes he returned and tossed her a pair of socks and black sweats. “These will swallow you whole, but at least you’ll be rid of that scratchy blanket. Don’t take anything off but that. Roll it up and I’ll bag it.”
He shrugged and stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I’ll just…wait back there while you dress. Unless you need help?”
“I’ll manage,” she gasped. Marie grabbed the clothes and wrestled them on as quickly as she could.
He was surprisingly thoughtful. Maybe he was softening to the idea of letting her work with him. Or not. He probably thought she was a big baby. She swiped the tears from her face when she realized she’d been crying. Dammit. She never cried.
“All done?” he asked before looking inside.
“Ready,” she said, hating the thickness of tears in her voice.
He got back in and handed her an energy bar to eat. Then he put the old blanket in a paper bag he’d brought. “Evidence,” he explained as if she didn’t know. Then he promptly started the car and drove back onto the autobahn. “Feeling better?”
“I told you I’m fine. Thanks for the clothes.” She fell quiet then, bit into the energy bar and just watched him, really assessing him closely for the first time.
He radiated confidence and was probably very good at his job, judging by his actions thus far. He had taken that painful squeeze and twist she’d given his essentials with the good grace not many men would.
He was unusual in other ways, too. Not lecherous or superior for one thing. Most men saw her as fair game and, at the very least, offered suggestive looks or a condescending attitude. Usually both.
Marie knew how she looked and used it, even enhanced it to the max. That helped in her job as an undercover operative. It was actually difficult to present a different impression than little blond airhead because she stayed in that character so much of the time.
She was short and slightly built. Dainty, some called her. Dimples, baby-doll features and pale blond hair had always caused her more trouble than not, but they also gave her that necessary edge. She had mastered the wide-eyed, vacant-headed smile, complete with a self-deprecating little laugh of incomprehension. She must look pretty rough right now, but that should have piqued his sympathy if nothing else. So far, he’d treated her like a fellow agent who had just been through a rough time. Unusual and, she admitted, very welcome.
People, especially men, never gave her credit for a brain; yet not once had Tyndal talked down to her. So maybe he didn’t make automatic assumptions based on appearance.
Neither did she, but she couldn’t help noticing how he looked. Impossible not to. Maybe she’d seen better-looking guys in her time, but he certainly was no slouch in that department. In fact, he had a commanding presence, sort of rugged and suave at the same time. His voice was a bit gravelly and had that slight Southern drawl. In your face, but with a smile, that was him.
His hair was salt and pepper, obviously graying early, since the rest of him looked early to midthirties. The eyes were light, either gray or blue, and really intense. Good strong nose and his mouth…Well, that mouth…didn’t matter, she told herself firmly and jerked her gaze away from his profile.
Her overall impression was that Agent Tyndal was hot as hell, self-assured with good reason. And as stubborn as mule, she’d bet. A real challenge.
Now then, what would be the best way to appeal to him? How could she persuade him to let her go after these kidnappers without giving him the impression that her reason was personal? It was personal. Nobody yanked her around like a helpless rag doll anymore and got away with it. Nobody! If she let that happen again, it negated all her years of hard work, all that she had become.
She had to devise something before he put her on a plane back to the States. No way would she let that happen. She’d disappear first, and she damn well knew how.
Chapter 2
He wasn’t going to budge. Marie decided that if she disappeared in Landstuhl, she’d be found almost immediately, so she had to go to plan B. She had to play it weak if her plan was to work. She brushed a hand over her face, sighed and shook her head. “Could I ask you a huge favor?”
“What?” He sounded a tad suspicious.
She upped the weak factor a notch. “I really need to go by my apartment when we get to Munich, just for a few minutes. Could we please do that?”
“All your stuff will probably have been packed up by now. I’m sure someone is detailed to bring your clothes and toiletries to the airport. I can call and check.”
Again, she sighed before answering. “No, that won’t do. You see, it’s my grandmother’s ring. I really need to get it, and I know it’s still there. It’s pretty valuable. I keep it hidden away when I’m not wearing it, and whoever cleared my place won’t have found it. Please? I need to have that.”
Marie could feel Tyndal’s gaze on her, assessing the truth of her motive. She looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading, the best little-girl-lost look she could do.
He shrugged. “Well, if we just run in and get it, I guess it would be okay.”
“Thanks so much. It means so much to me.” She hesitated, then added, “Maybe I could just take a quick shower while we’re there?” She offered him a wry little smile and ran a hand through her hair. “I hate to stay this way.”
He looked sympathetic. “Sure. That should be all right.”
Piece of cake. Acting ability intact! Satisfied, she snapped on her seat belt, leaned against the window and settled in to take a nap on the way to the hospital.
Grant took a good, long look at her for the first time as she exited the exam room. It seemed before he’d only taken in bits and pieces of her at the time—dirty face, big round china-blue eyes, messy hair, cut-up feet and a milk-white length of exposed leg.
Now she stood there, eyeing him with a mixture of mistrust and gratitude that defied description. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman combine those two expressions while looking at him.
She looked like a little warrior queen, battered but undefeated, absolutely driven to thrive and to seek retribution. That determination would fade, he knew. As soon as the adrenalin rush subsided, and it would, she’d probably collapse in tears and be perfectly willing to get as far away from Germany as was humanly possible.
But right now she was a picture to behold, so tiny in his oversize sweats and socks, one hand on her hip while the other impatiently raked the tousled blond curls back off her brow.
For a minute he saw Betty Schonrock, the first girl he’d ever loved. Beauclair had that same challenging lift of the chin. Aside from both having blond hair and small frames, the resemblance ended there. She wasn’t Betty, but seeing Beauclair safe and knowing he’d had a hand in it caused a little of the weight to lift off his chest.
He had been head over heels for Betty, who’d been almost four years older, a senior at Frankfurt American High School when he was a lowly freshman. She had only spoken to him a few times, smiled at him now and then and rarely gave him a second look, but he’d loved her anyway.
Suddenly she had disappeared without a trace. Everyone thought she was a runaway and the investigation hadn’t lasted even a week. Grant had never believed that Betty, a popular cheerleader and straight-A student about to graduate, would simply take off without a word and leave her charmed life behind. He was convinced she’d been abducted, but no one would listen to a thirteen year old who hadn’t even known her that well.
His limited psychometric ability had failed him then, and so had his nearly nonexistent power of persuasion. But he had found this girl in time, and she was safe now. Wherever you are, Betty, this one’s for you.