Her Spy to Have (Spy Games Book 1) Read online

  It would serve no purpose to be angry with him. He had no idea she’d been left stranded and penniless while she’d waited. She’d rather find out what was happening with him. She wanted Garrett to be wrong.

  “Where are you? What can I do?” she asked.

  “It’s best if you don’t know where I am just yet. There’s nothing you can do except wait to hear from me again. Well,” he amended. “The work I’m doing right now… It’s more sensitive than usual. I can’t afford for the wrong people to learn of it. I need to know if anyone’s been asking you questions about me.”

  She heard an unfamiliar edge in his voice. Or, perhaps, for the first time, she knew what to listen for. For years, she’d shrugged off his penchant for drama as being part of who he was. It had always seemed harmless to her. Like a game only the two of them shared. Now, she was no longer as certain. “Why would anyone be asking me questions?”

  “When security management is involved, it’s impossible to be too careful. People’s lives are at stake.”

  She wanted so much to believe in him. “How did you find out where I am?”

  If he heard the suspicion in her question, he ignored it. “I have friends in the right places. Don’t worry, darling. As usual, you’ll simply have to trust me. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Her father disconnected the call. Isabelle sat for a long time, listening to the sound of the rain on the windows and the roof.

  That was the problem. She loved her father, but she didn’t trust him anymore. And it was very difficult to have one without the other.

  * * *

  Garrett told Peter he suspected his phone was being tapped.

  Peter, in typical fashion, shrugged it off. “These things are bound to happen when you have a spy in the family. I’ll tell Cheryl to keep her business calls to her cell phone.”

  Peter assumed it was something CSIS had done, and Garrett left it at that, even though they both knew full well that CSIS had no legal right to spy on Canadian citizens. Not on Canadian soil. But he saw no need to drag Isabelle into this. It wasn’t her fault.

  What he should have done, however, was to call his director and tell him, too. He didn’t. He’d rather discuss his concerns about a possible leak in the department in private, when he knew for certain they wouldn’t be overheard. That meant a trip to Ottawa was in order.

  He booked a flight for Monday, then spent Saturday morning in the barns with the children, out of the rain. He helped Chelsea bottle-feed a calf. Beth had abandoned them for her aunt’s kitchen, where they were baking cookies. Kiefer had the kittens to occupy him. At coffee time, Garrett sat down with Peter, his nephews, and the hired hands.

  All the time, he worried about what Isabelle might be doing. He disliked having her out of his sight for any length of time, and not only because he didn’t trust her. She both fascinated and frustrated him. He’d been far more open with her than she’d been with him. Despite everything they’d done together—talking and otherwise—there was a part of her he hadn’t been able to touch. Because she didn’t trust him, either.

  They returned to the house for lunch. Afterward, Peter settled in the family room with the children to watch a movie. Before Garrett could suggest he take Isabelle for a drive, Cheryl cornered him.

  “Why don’t you and I go grab a coffee?” she suggested. “There’s a little coffee shop in town I don’t get to visit nearly often enough. We could have some sibling alone time. I don’t get nearly enough of that, either.”

  He couldn’t say no. He loved his sister. Both of them, in fact. Besides, she was right and he wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to be alone with one of them.

  The farm sat on the outskirts of a small town. The coffee shop nestled near its center, in the main shopping area, between a shoe store and an exclusive women’s boutique. The main street and sidewalk were constructed of brick, giving the district a distinct European vibe. The buildings were all heritage. Garrett parked in a lot behind the shops. Sharing an umbrella, he and his sister dashed through a short alley.

  The coffee shop was full when they entered and they had to wait a few minutes for a table. Finally, however, they found a spot in the middle, between what Garrett surmised was a grad student working on a research paper, judging by the stack of books and the open laptop, and two elderly ladies who’d been shopping. The two empty chairs at their table were piled high with bags.

  “So,” Garrett said, taking a sip of his coffee. It was fair trade, black and bold, and very good. The atmosphere in the shop was decent, too. Warm and relaxed. Not much wonder Cheryl liked to come here without the children. “What did you want to talk about that you didn’t want Peter to overhear?”

  Cheryl laughed. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Yes. You’re a good lawyer. You’d suck at espionage.” He took a shot in the dark. “It’s about Isabelle, isn’t it?”

  “I really am obvious.” She smiled at him. “So are you. You like her.”

  His stomach dropped. His sister planned to play matchmaker. While not entirely unexpected, this was the last thing he needed. Peter would kill him if he misled Cheryl by raising her hopes. He wouldn’t do it, anyway.

  “I find her interesting, yes.” That was the truth. “She’s different from most women.” Also true.

  “You’re over thirty.” Cheryl plowed on. “You might want to start thinking about your future.”

  His first inclination was to laugh. “Are you seriously giving me a big sister talk about relationships with women?”

  “It’s more along the lines of me being worried about you. You don’t have a home. You spend most of your time out of the country. I know all that’s exciting right now, and I’m not suggesting you give it up, but at some point, you’re going to realize you’ve missed opportunities that have nothing to do with your career. There aren’t too many women who’d enjoy the kind of lifestyle you lead. Not fulltime. I’d hate for you to end up lonely and alone because you were too focused on work.”

  Her words stung more than they should. The conversation no longer seemed funny. He tried to steer it away from becoming too serious. “I’ll have you know, your nieces think I’m quite a catch.”

  “You are.” Cheryl’s hazel eyes met his over the rim of the coffee mug she cradled in both hands. “But so is Isabelle. And the truth is, even though I love you, you’re a bit of an ass when it comes to women.”

  That was downright insulting. “Women love me.”

  “Because you’re a challenge. They like that. Right up until they figure out how much work it really takes to keep you interested in them. Name the last time you were the one to break off a relationship with a woman. Then tell me the last time you were sorry it happened.” He had no answers for her and she knew it, so she forged ahead. “You don’t trust people, Garrett. You’re very secretive about your life, even with family. And I think you’re recognizing those same qualities in Isabelle. That’s why you find her so interesting.”

  He had a sudden tingle of disquiet. His sister was more right than he liked. He and Isabelle did share those same qualities. The difference, however, was that Isabelle saw right through him. He was no challenge to her.

  He said nothing. Cheryl, for her part, was far from finished. “In some ways, I think you’re all wrong for her. She’s too serious for her age and you can be far too intense. But in other ways, the ones that matter, I think she’s perfect. She understands you far better than anyone else you’ve shown this much interest in ever did.” She set down her mug. “You might be missing an opportunity with her you’ll someday regret.”

  His sister was under so many misconceptions. He wasn’t missing any opportunity by choice, but through necessity. “Why are you assuming I’m the one playing hard to get?” he asked. “The truth is, Isabelle knows what she wants. I’m not it.”

  In seconds, Cheryl’s surprise turned to sympathy.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “So am I.” He wa
s. He was sorry that Isabelle’s loyalties lay with a father who didn’t deserve them. And he felt terrible that his sister was looking at him the way she was, as if she believed his heart had been broken. He hadn’t been stupid enough to allow his feelings for Isabelle to go that far.

  He hadn’t.

  Cheryl knew when to retreat. They talked about other things as they finished their coffee. Their sister had taken a new position with a brokerage firm. Their parents were considering selling the family business, a decision they’d all been hoping for. At this point in their lives, they should be thinking about retirement.

  After coffee, he followed his sister as she ducked into a few neighboring stores. On the one hand, it was nice to be out of Isabelle’s company for a few hours. When she wasn’t around, he could think with far more objectivity. On the other, however, curiosity over what she was doing consumed him. She was turning into an obsession, and he didn’t like it—or what it said about him. His interest in her activities had very little to do with his current case.

  By the time they returned home, the movie was over and Peter had fallen asleep on the sofa in the family room. Isabelle was in the kitchen with the children. Kiefer was painting with watercolors on a long strip of brown freezer paper she’d fastened to the back of a closet door. The girls were making jewelry from beads at the granite island.

  “Doesn’t this look like fun!” Cheryl exclaimed, hanging her wet raincoat on a hook by the entry. “Mind if I join you?”

  Isabelle looked up. Her gaze collided with Garrett’s over the tops of the girls’ heads. And he discovered she wasn’t as much of a mystery to him as he’d thought. Something had happened. She glanced away far too quickly.

  “This would be a good time for your first driving lesson. How about it?” he asked her.

  He thought she might refuse. Instead, she slid off her stool and offered the empty to seat to Cheryl. “Let me get my jacket.”

  Garrett watched her leave the room. The hem of her short skirt floated around her long legs with each sensual movement of her hips.

  Cheryl picked up the bag of beads and emptied a few into her palm. Her tone dripped with disapproval, tempered by a touch of concern. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  He did. He wished he didn’t.

  * * *

  “Slow down. There’s a sharp turn coming up. Just past it, I want you to take the first road to the right.”

  Isabelle eased her foot off the gas and gently applied the brakes. Garrett was proving to be a patient instructor. They’d practiced backing up in the driveway a few times before he’d allowed her to take the van on the road.

  She tried to focus on her driving, but worry made it hard. Eventually, he’d get to the real reason he’d offered to give her a lesson and the suspense was killing her. He couldn’t possibly know about the telephone call, although she half hoped he did. It would make everything so much easier for her. She wouldn’t have this awful sense of being torn in two very different directions.

  The rain had turned to a soft mist. Fields, lush and green with thigh-high corn, gave way to forest. Past the turn was the road he’d told her to expect, partially hidden between the trees. It was gravel on the surface, yet slick with mud underneath from the rain. The tires slid a little when she pressed too heavily on the accelerator. She overcompensated by hitting the brakes too hard. Rocks spun off the tires. They lurched forward against their seat belts as the van shuddered to a halt.

  “Sorry,” she said, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I didn’t expect it to be so slippery.”

  “You’re doing fine. This is close to how slush and snow tug at the tires in winter. That was why I suggested you turn here. I thought it might be good for you to feel the difference. If you keep going,” he pointed ahead through the intermittent slapping of the windshield wipers, “there’s a place for you to turn around.”

  She inched the van forward, more cautious now. She saw the widened area on the side of the road he’d indicated. As she pulled the van into it, trying to make the turn in a half circle, the heavens opened. Buckets of water pounded off the roof of the van and streamed down the windshield, making it impossible for the wipers to keep up. She couldn’t see a thing.

  She stopped the van, afraid if she went ahead any farther, she’d drive off the shoulder and into the woods. “What do I do?”

  “Put it in park and shut off the engine. We’ll sit here and wait for the rain to let up.”

  She managed the gearshift but fumbled with the unfamiliar ignition. Garrett reached over and helped her find the right position for the key, his hand swallowing hers. Her thoughts shifted to the way he’d pinned both of hers to his bed, and everything that followed. Each second of heart-pounding pleasure.

  The rain continued to pour. The inside of the van became the entire world, and he filled every inch of it. She eased her fingers from beneath his touch.

  He hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.

  “And you’ve let me.”

  “No,” he corrected her. “I’ve been giving you space. But something happened today. I’d like to know what it was.”

  Isabelle’s mouth went dry, her heart hammering so loud she was certain he must hear it over the steady drumming of the rain. She’d made her decision. Now she had to live with it. She hadn’t told her father that she believed CSIS was searching for him. She wasn’t telling Garrett anything more than she already had, either. She didn’t want to choose sides between them.

  She turned her face away and looked at the streaming driver’s side window so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes and read the disappointment in them. When she spoke, she was as honest with him as she could be. “I have nothing to tell you.”

  He cupped her chin in firm fingers and forced her to look at him. His expression was grave, but he’d shut down his thoughts so she couldn’t read them. The creases around his mouth, so evident when he smiled, had smoothed. He dropped a light kiss on her lips.

  “I guess this is it, then,” he said.

  She swallowed hard against the painful lump in her throat. She’d known from the beginning there could never be anything of significance between them. She hadn’t expected to fall in love with him.

  The rain slowed, then stopped altogether. The sun burst through a break in the clouds. Regret burned at the backs of her eyes. “I wish things could have been different.”

  He let go of her and settled back in the passenger seat, six feet of rugged male indifference wrapped in a white Henley shirt and wheat-colored Dockers.

  “Put your right foot on the brake, start the engine, and slide the gearshift into drive,” he said. “If you cut the wheels hard to the left, you should be able to pull back onto the road with no problem at all. Stay clear of the shoulder. It’ll be soft.”

  Slowly, Isabelle maneuvered the van onto the dirt road. Muddy water from the puddles sprayed off the tires as she stepped on the accelerator. A minute later, they were on pavement again.

  “For the record,” Garrett said, staring straight ahead, “I wish things could have been different, too.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Garrett’s plane touched down on the runway with a bump and the heavy exhalation of reverse thrusters. It taxied to the terminal. Ten minutes later, the seat belt lights blinked off and people crowded the narrow aisle, tugging their laptops and carry-ons from the overhead bins.

  In front of the terminal, he grabbed a taxi for CSIS headquarters in Ottawa’s East end. He had an evening flight back to Halifax to catch, even though there was no chance he’d be getting more information from Isabelle. She knew too much about him and who he worked for, and she was bent on protecting her father.

  While he’d never intended to make her choose between them, he’d hoped she’d decide to do what was morally right. Isabelle, however, honestly wanted to believe that her father’s activities were no more than a game and it wasn’t Garrett’s job to try to convince
her otherwise. He dealt in information. Facts. All of which indicated Marc Beausejour was involved in something far bigger than CSIS had suspected.

  The taxi pulled up at the entrance to a rectangular, concrete and glass building. Garrett paid the driver, then went through security. Once inside he headed straight for the director’s office, pausing only to speak to a few people he knew. He took an elevator to a sunny office on the third floor. The office overlooked a row of cultivated trees and beyond it, the parking lot.

  John Carmichael sat at his desk, a dark frown of concentration permanently etched on his face. Garrett guessed his age to be around sixty—maybe a little more, could be less. He was retired military, with an impressive career that spring-boarded off a degree in engineering from the prestigious Royal Military Academy. That was all his immediate staff knew of him, or at least, was willing to share. Garrett had never seen his wife, although John wore a ring so assumed he was married.

  John looked up when he noticed Garrett standing in the doorway. “Have a seat, Downing. What’s so important it couldn’t wait one more week?”

  “Isabelle Beausejour is a dead end,” Garrett said. “She’s not going to give up any information on her father. She knows what I am—and no, I didn’t tell her. But from what little she’s told me, Beausejour doesn’t trust her any more than he does anyone else. He’s got her convinced he’s nothing more than a big kid playing high stakes poker.”

  “Aren’t we all,” John said. Garrett could hear the fatigue in his voice. “Is it worth bringing her in to see if maybe you’ve missed something?”

  Garrett gave his honest opinion. “No. He hasn’t involved her in anything. Not yet, anyway. I do think she can lead us to him, but your guess is as good as mine as to when that might be. He’s hiding, and he’s not telling her where.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a bigger reason I’m here. Beausejour has some serious connections. He managed to track down where Isabelle’s been staying and tapped into my brother-in-law’s home phone line.”