More Than a Point of Honor

By Katherine Pritchett

When his wife dies in his arms during a terrorist attack, American diplomat Richard Matthews walks away from diplomacy, vowing to bring to justice the man responsible for her death. His quest pits him against Robert Adler, the head of the CIA field operations. As Richard gets closer to finding a witness to testify, Adler plants Terra McIntyre to serve as Richard's assistant.

But just like black market TNT, unpredictable and volatile, Terra could bring either man down. Who is in more danger? Or is she a hazard to both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jan 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781509223015

Katherine Pritchett

I vividly remember when I first considered writing. I was less than five years old, galloping about our yard at the farm, probably pretending to lead a cavalry charge or round up a stampede. On one of the few smooth limestone slabs that made up our sidewalk, I paused and turned to face the east, where the yard sloped down into a grove of evergreens that led to our garden and the highway. I focused on something far beyond the highway, even past the hay meadow and the locust-forested pasture. “Maybe I should write books,” I thought. “Someone has to.” I pondered this momentous choice for a while. Then I decided that it would be more logical for people who could read to write books, and galloped off again. Like many people, I began writing in my teens. Unlike others, though, the stories within would not allow me to stop. Ideas clamor “Pick me, pick me!” to be let out of the files and into a completed story. A thirty-year career in state government has afforded me insight into the layers of motivation that keep the world turning—and authors writing about it.

Book preview

Hell.

Prologue

Harare, Zimbabwe, four years earlier

C’mon, Elaine, the car’s almost here. Assistant American Political Officer Richard Matthews replayed Station Chief Adler’s intelligence briefing from yesterday once more as he followed his wife out the door. The young Marine driving the limousine cast an admiring glance at Elaine Matthews as she floated down the steps toward the car.

Richard studied the sky before he settled into the car. The clouds hung sullen on the horizon, building up an electrical charge until they could no longer contain it, like the current government generated hostility within its citizens, until the resentment had to discharge. He felt the violence in the air like static before a lightning strike. It was coming. Yesterday’s briefing confirmed it. He wanted Elaine out before the storm struck. He’d send her to London the first of the week, to find an apartment. Distant thunder rumbled.

As they rolled across Harare through a run-down shopping district toward the American Embassy, the car drew defiant glares from a group of young men gathered about an empty storefront. Suddenly Richard focused on the British flags on the front fenders. He tapped, and the Marine slid the window between them open. Why aren’t those American flags?

I don’t know, sir, the young man answered. I guess because, as soon as I drop you and your wife off, Chief Adler ordered me to the airport to pick up Ambassador Deakins on the plane from London, sir. The reflection of his eyes in the mirror met Richard’s. Is there something wrong, sir?

No, not at all.

Problems, dear? Elaine’s face wore the same worry she had shown through the issues in Korea that brought them to Zimbabwe. He never wanted to see that look on her face again.

No, love. He pulled the tiny velvet box from his pocket. It’s a week early, but— He knelt on the floorboards before her. To thank you for sticking with me for ten difficult years— He took her left hand in his and opened the box. Inside, a circle of gold sparkled with diamonds. Happy anniversary, Elaine.

Elaine gasped. Richard, you shouldn’t have! She held out her hand for him to slip the ring on her finger. How will we afford furniture when we get to England?

He grinned. Well, my new novel is selling better than expected.

You’ve already made back the advance?

Plus, I still have royalties from the first two books. Maybe a couple of books from now, I can quit the State Department and do more good as a full-time novelist than I do as a dinner guest.

Elaine gripped his hand. Honey, if you want to right now, you can. My teaching credentials are still good in Virginia, and I’m sure I can certify in any state—

You need to rest and get your strength back. This second miscarriage, barely a month ago, had devastated her. The first, three years ago, when they were in Seoul, was difficult enough, but the last one shook her to the core. She ate little, and the shadows beneath her eyes said she didn’t sleep well, either. London has some of the world’s best doctors.

She looked down. Maybe they won’t be able to help us.

He lifted her chin. Elaine, as much as I want children, as much as I mourn our babies, I would rather have life without children than life without you.

She blinked back tears. I couldn’t exist in a life without you.

The car turned into the American Embassy compound. Still on one knee, he saw the Marines on guard at the gates. Two new ones, not the grizzled veterans he expected. The car rolled through the gates.

What the— The driver braked suddenly, throwing Richard to the far side of the car. Elaine leaned toward her window.

****

Captain Archibald Davis studied the U.S. Embassy compound through the window of the mechanic’s shed. He didn’t like the tactical position of the shed. The sole exit door could only pass one man at a time. Potted plants offered the only cover between the shed and the portico to the Ambassador’s residence. But there was no other place near the gates to hide his squad, where they had to be for Chief Adler’s plan to succeed. He didn’t like the plan, but he was a Marine, and he would follow orders.

Four of his men had been with him through a couple of tours, some he’d served with the past few months, and three were new in the last week. After commanding him for three months, he knew Mallory was green, but solid. And Hicks was the sergeant who broke him in as a First Lieutenant; no doubts whatsoever there. The newest man had only joined the unit three days ago. He had ice blue eyes and a personality to match, but something Davis read in those eyes said he was steady. He could only trust the new men were as Marine through and through as he was. Sweat plastered his uniform to his back and dripped from his nose.

He tensed as a limousine, British flags on the fenders, passed through the gates. Thunder drummed in the distance, and lightning sliced a jagged arc across the sky.

Chapter 1

Washington, DC, USA—Present Day

She’s twenty-four, business degree from Oklahoma State, capable worker.

I’ve read her file. Robert Adler dismissed the voice behind him as he observed the girl through the blinds. Her hands moved with quiet efficiency over the keyboard before she walked away from her desk with grace. Though disguised by the business suit, the girl had the kind of body that could become an obsession with a man. She’s perfect for the job. He turned to Charles Harrison. Get her in here.

Right away. Harrison dropped the folder to his desk and hurried past Adler. Francine, get Terra for me.

I’ll tell her when she comes back. The woman continued her typing.

Harrison glanced over his shoulder at Adler. No, get her now.

She jumped up from her desk. Yes, sir.

Adler settled into Harrison’s chair. It was too low and the desktop more cluttered than he would like but would project sufficient authority toward the girl. She walked with a firm stride into Harrison’s office.

Mr. Harrison, she began speaking as she entered. If you want this report done by Tuesday, I don’t have time to spare. She slipped into the worn chair in front of the desk. With blinds closed over the windows, the only light in the room came from a small reading lamp directly in front of Adler. I need a report from Gregory, and you know he always leaves early on Friday—

Adler leaned forward into her view for the first time. Wide-eyed but silent, she looked around the office until she found Harrison behind her.

Terra, this is Mr. Adler. The name alone failed to impress her. Adler frowned. With the CIA, Harrison added, his face sweaty.

Oh, yes. I knew you looked familiar. She smiled at Adler. You were featured in the newspaper a few weeks ago. She hesitated as if bringing back a memory. You’re an assistant to the director.

She seemed as bright as the reports indicated. Deputy Director of Operations. He nodded at Harrison, who swallowed hard and left, closing the door behind him. Good riddance. The old fool served his purpose.

Adler studied the girl as she watched her boss flee from his own office. She glowed with youth, health, enthusiasm—and more. Beneath the tailored jacket, her silk blouse draped over a body even better than he expected. Though she appeared patient, her focused attention suggested curiosity.

Is this about my application, Mr. Adler?

Bold, too. Your application to transfer to the office at Langley did come across my desk. Her test scores and resume had piqued his interest almost as much as her photograph and the fact she had no immediate family. A more thorough background check satisfied him.

Administrative specialist would be a promotion of two grades for me. She met Adler’s gaze squarely. And the work sounds more interesting than what I’m doing now.

I can imagine. He opened the folder on the desk before him. But I have a job in mind for you even more interesting than administrative specialist.

Oh, really. She leaned forward.

I realize the position for which you applied was in the business office, but we feel you may have potential as a field agent.

What kind of field agent?

Adler tented his hands before him. An agent in covert operations. As you may know, the DDO commands all field operations. Her eyes as they met his held caution, but no fear. His chest tightened. He was suddenly certain his choice was correct. Elaine once looked at him much like this, until she met Matthews. After she met Matthews, she never really noticed anyone else again. Now, if all went as planned, this girl would become a constant reminder and a diversion to Matthews. In fact, we have a small operation we’d like your assistance with. If you handle it well, we can make you a permanent member of the agency.

Her raised eyebrows suggested interest. Can you tell me a little about the operation?

Of course. We wouldn’t expect you to accept the assignment with so little information. Once she began the operation, of course, things would change. Covert intelligence officers often carried out assignments with little information, to protect them and the operation itself. Four years ago in Zimbabwe, only the limited knowledge and unquestioning obedience of the Marines under his command enabled Adler to salvage an operation gone sour. Since then, he had carefully woven a safety net to disavow any blame for that situation. Loose strands appeared in the net from time to time, but he dealt with them as necessary. Now, this girl might be his most effective means to deal with still another unsecured knot. A certain gentleman does some free-lance foreign policy analysis for us. His work is quite thorough, and he’s very knowledgeable. He leaned forward. Perhaps too knowledgeable. We’re not entirely comfortable with his loyalty.

Why not just fire him?

It’s not that simple. She certainly didn’t hesitate to question him. He’s not the big fish, he’s just a minnow, but he can lead us back to the big fish.

Just where do I fit into this?

She might accept the assignment without much persuasion. His secretary recently resigned. He’s contacted his regular employment agency for a replacement. Adler smiled. We’d like you to be that replacement.

She tilted her head to the right. How can you be certain he’ll hire me?

You’ll be the only candidate to apply. We’ve arranged it with the employment agency. He opened her folder. Your resume, which we developed from your application, is impeccable. Because it’s only a part-time job here in DC, there’s no need to justify leaving a secure government position. For a young, single woman living in an expensive city, taking a part-time job to earn extra money would not only be understandable, but expected. Naturally, you would have to remain with Mr. Harrison as a cover.

I thought the CIA was prohibited from domestic operations.

Her blunt question caught him by surprise. Adler’s smile hardened, though he admired her grit. Under certain circumstances, if there is a link to a foreign operation, we can pursue leads within the country. Fully coordinated with the FBI, Secret Service and Homeland Security, of course.

Of course.

As she watched him, he imagined her weighing his words. A shiver skated up his spine. She differed from Elaine—brunette instead of blonde, eyes green instead of blue, even more beautiful in some ways as she sat with her legs crossed seductively but her hands clasped primly in her lap—yet somehow so similar he wondered if a spirit could be reborn.

May I see my resume?

Certainly. He handed her the paper, knowing it contained more detail than the one she submitted to CIA.

She scanned it quickly. You’re quite thorough.

Quite. The resume seemed to shake her a little, which was good. For this operation to succeed, she would have to regard him as omnipotent, as someone she could trust more than Matthews, who had an uncanny knack for winning people over, just as he had Elaine. He was preparing to outline the operation, when she spoke again.

I need to know more before I decide.

He clenched his teeth. Before she’d decide? Didn’t she realize there was no decision to be made? What do you need to know?

For one thing, I’d like to see the listing from the employment agency, to see what would prompt me to apply for this job.

He conceded she, too, was thorough, as he gave her another sheet of paper.

Flexible hours, interesting work. A dollar an hour more than I’m getting now. She lowered the paper. Why did his last secretary quit?

Her husband was transferred to California. Adler closed her folder.

If I type for him, what good will it do the CIA?

You’ll meet with me from time to time to let me know what he’s doing, especially if it’s anything suspicious.

She laughed. How would I know what’s suspicious?

She certainly wasn’t taking the situation very seriously. Adler forced solemnity into his tone. You have displayed, over the years, exceptional common sense. We expect you to continue to do so.

Now somber, she studied him. Who is this man?

For a moment, Adler thought she would dismiss him and walk out. Richard Matthews, a retired diplomat.

She frowned. I’ve never heard of him.

He was just a minor diplomat.

Where’s his office?

Fourteen Hillyer Court. Adler didn’t expect the girl to recognize the address as an old and gracious neighborhood. He works out of his home.

Out of his home? She inched forward in her chair. Is this man dangerous?

To national security, most definitely. Adler leaned closer to her. To you personally, not likely.

’Not likely’ isn’t much assurance, Mr. Adler.

He’s not a violent man, Terra. He deals in information.

Still, a cornered animal can do desperate things. If he suspects you’re closing in on him—

He won’t, unless you tip him off. It was time to apply more persuasion. All you have to do, Terra, is what you do for Mr. Harrison. Simply be proficient at your job. And keep your eyes and ears open. Her rapid breathing told him she was agitated. We don’t really expect you to find much, but we want to cover all our bases. A little tidbit of information you uncover may be very significant when combined with information we’ve gathered from other sources. Her breathing slowed. What you discover will probably seem trivial to you but may mean something to us.

I still don’t know. She shook her head. It seems I’d be taking a lot of risk for dubious results. Wouldn’t a trained agent be better for this assignment?

We have none available on short notice who are as qualified as you, Terra. He opened her folder again without taking his eyes off her. You have a degree in business administration, yet you’re working as a clerk. Is it your ultimate ambition?

No. I’d like to move into management.

Our agency has some retirements opening some mid-level positions quite soon. Even if you don’t take this assignment now, you would be eligible for a transfer to the agency later. He paused, making certain his words carried the proper meaning. If you make it past your probationary period here, that is. He smiled. You know, of course, probationary employees can be terminated at any time without cause.

She studied him in silence for a long minute. Finally, she spoke, her voice flat. I see. She evidently understood his implication. Okay, when do I start?

Right now. Quickly he outlined the plan, nothing more than her working for Matthews and reporting to Adler when requested. Untrained, she would have no cause to question his orders, no matter what they were. Satisfied she understood and accepted his explanation, he came around the desk to shake her hand as she rose to leave the room. Good luck, Terra. I think we’re going to enjoy working together.

Thank you, Mr. Adler. She spoke without warmth. I think I’m going to need all the luck I can get. She turned to walk away.

I’ll be in touch, Terra.

I’m sure. Once again, she walked away from him, and this time he let her leave.

Chapter 2

The cab pulled away the instant Terra closed the door. The sense Adler claimed she exhibited told her now to run away, but she had given him her word. Squaring her shoulders, she climbed the steps of the brick building where Richard Matthews lived. No one answered when she rang the bell to call to Apartment Nine.

Damn it. Although he assured her the interview arrangements were made, Adler warned her Matthews sometimes forgot appointments. I suppose Matthews is ninety years old, and I’ll have to baby-sit as well as type. Not much different from some of the other secretarial jobs she’d held. She forced a cheerful smile and rapped on the manager’s door.

May I help you? A stocky man about sixty peered at Terra with faded blue eyes.

Terra held her smile. The employment agency sent me to interview with Mr. Matthews. They said they’d made an appointment, but apparently he isn’t home.

I haven’t seen him come in.

Though tempted to say thank you, go home and forget the assignment, the idea of getting away from endless days of verifying vouchers held her to her promise. Do you suppose I could wait here in the lobby for him?

Sure, but you may have to wait a while. Would you like a cup of coffee?

Thank you. Something stronger than coffee would probably do her nerves more good. Ignoring the upholstered chairs in the lobby, she strolled to the expanse of windows at the front of the building. The March sun pouring through the glass warmed the icy chill she’d felt since leaving Adler. "

He returned moments later bearing a tray with coffee, sugar, cream and home-baked oatmeal cookies. He set the tray on the table between the chairs and thrust a hand toward her. Name’s Fred.

She shook his hand and nodded. Terra McIntyre.

Do you take sugar or cream?

Both. She never learned to like it black. How long do you think I may have to wait?

He shrugged. Richard doesn’t keep regular hours. He goes out when the mood strikes him and comes back the same way.

Great, I suppose he’s totally senile and doesn’t know where he is half the time. What’s he like?

A smile creased Fred’s worn face. He’s good people. A real gentleman. The answer surprised her. But I think he pushes himself too hard. I know he’s awake until the wee hours sometimes, but he’s always up real early. I guess in that respect, he’s pretty predictable.

At ninety, just getting up would be pushing pretty hard. Maybe I can help, then, she said. Some of my supervisors say I have a knack for relieving them of details.

It would be a blessing if you can help him.

Right, help put him in prison for treason. The cookies are great.

He beamed. My wife can’t stop baking for a family of six. Terra learned Fred had held a variety of jobs in DC over the years. By trade a carpenter, he and his wife found their old house too big for just the two of them after he retired. Since his wife still had four years before retiring from the Defense Department, they decided to manage this building until they could travel together. I can’t handle just sitting around.

Neither can I. A distinguished man in his late fifties or early sixties approached the building. This had to be Matthews.

Hello, Mr. James. Fred nodded.

The man merely inclined his head, checked his box, and entered the elevator. Terra resumed breathing.

That man’s a— He struggled to find the right word. Stuffed shirt. He glowered at the elevator. Richard’s always pleasant.

She’d be working for a pleasant, senile old man. Another man so bent and wrinkled it was hard to judge his age mounted the steps. If this was Matthews, he couldn’t be much threat to national security.

Fred rose to walk close to the man, poised to help if he should waver. Fred gathered his mail for him, then pushed the button for the elevator. When the elderly man was safely inside, Fred returned to his seat beside Terra. Mr. Deardon, he explained. A year ago, he was the picture of health. But two strokes later— His old eyes showed concern.

Munching on her third cookie, Terra glanced out the window again. A man striding down the sidewalk caught her eye. Tall and fit, in the prime of his life, he carried himself with absolute certainty about who he was and where he was going. His gaze roved the street, missing nothing. Though it was cold, he wore no cap over his dark hair and his jacket swung open with his step. She wished his path would keep him in view longer. With a last look around, he crossed the street and bounded up the stairs toward them. Terra dropped her cookie as he entered the lobby. She bent to pick it up, practically standing on her head by the time the stranger approached them. Afternoon, Fred. The man greeted him warmly.

This is Miss McIntyre, Fred began. Slipping the broken cookie on the tray, Terra stood to offer her hand. The employment agency sent her to interview with you.

Terra nearly pulled back her hand. Recovering, she returned her attention to the man before her. Terra, Richard Matthews.

Miss McIntyre. He bowed slightly over her hand, though his dark eyes watched her face. A pleasure to meet you.

She gulped. My pleasure, Mr. Matthews. His fingers felt incredibly strong during his brief grip.

Thanks for keeping Miss McIntyre company while she waited for me.

Didn’t mind at all, Richard.

Matthews’ gaze dropped to the plate of cookies. Ruth’s been baking again, I see.

Yup. Fred nodded. She’s got a couple dozen bagged for you.

Terra tried to recall what Adler said to give her the impression Matthews was an elderly man. Was it his comment Matthews had retired? The man standing beside her in snug jeans was many years shy of sixty-five. He stood at least seven or eight inches taller than her five-foot seven. I’m a little surprised Lyn didn’t make you an appointment with me.

She had hoped such awkward questions wouldn’t come up. I understood an appointment had been made for 5:30.

Maybe she called. I’ve been out most of the day. He moved toward the elevator and held the door open for her to enter first.

Terra brushed past him. Though well-cloaked with charm, a sense of power radiated from this man. Studying him, she stepped to the back of the elevator. She guessed him somewhere in his early thirties. His face was handsome without being pretty. Tiny lines around his eyes and mouth hinted he was accustomed to smiling, although something deep in his brown eyes suggested he knew sorrow as well.

He punched the button for the top floor. How long have you lived in DC, Miss McIntyre? His deep voice, quiet and warm, filled the elevator.

About five months.

What brought you here from Texas?

I’m from Oklahoma. Why did you think Texas?

Your accent. I knew it was from somewhere in the southern Midwest. He shrugged broad shoulders. Texas gave me the biggest margin for error.

Is it that obvious? She tried hard to lose the Oklahoma drawl.

Not really. He shook his head. But language is one of the tools of my trade. Even if an accent is gone, patterns of regional speech remain. I seem to have a natural ear for it.

What is your trade, Mr. Matthews? She doubted he would admit he was a spy.

I was a diplomat until four years ago. The elevator stopped. Now I write. Once again, he held the door for her, then walked with a long stride toward the apartment at the southwest corner of the building.

Once inside the apartment, he led the way down the hallway, then turned to his right toward a book-lined study. To the other side of the entry lay a kitchen. A bank of windows on the south wall poured pale sunlight over a dining table. It resembled an office reception area more than a home. Nothing conveyed much about the owner’s personality except the study. It contained two desks—an imposing oak antique which faced the open living area and a computer hutch designed to complement it.

He leaned over the desk to punch the button on an answering machine. Richard, this is Lynda. I’m sending over a candidate for you to interview. She should be there about 5:30. Call me when you get in.

Matthews turned to Terra. It seems she did make you an appointment. Before he could say more, the phone rang. Excuse me, please. He picked up the receiver. Matthews, he answered. Hi, Lyn. He smiled at Terra as he sat on the edge of the desk. Yes, she’s here now. His smile faded. I see. Hold on a minute, Lyn. He covered the mouthpiece. Would you excuse me a moment while I take this call?

Of course.

He gestured toward the computer hutch. You can look over the computer set up, if you want. I’ll only be a couple of minutes.

No problem.

Thank you. He walked with a purposeful stride toward a door off the living room which she presumed led to bedrooms. When he disappeared, she turned her attention to the study.

I suppose there’s top-secret microfilm in one of those pencil leads. She was alarmed by how far her whisper carried. But I’ll be damned if I know which one. The computer and software were nearly identical to what she used in procurement. A manuscript lay beside the computer. Political Implications of the Changes in Social Structure of Korea in the Twentieth Century, by Richard P. Matthews. She thumbed through it. Approximately 200 pages of social commentary. Exciting work, indeed.

A cluster of framed photographs ringed the workspace on his desk. She leaned closer to study them. In one of them, a middle-aged couple posed on a white beach before a tropical ocean, health and happiness spilling from their smiles. Probably Matthews’ parents. The man was tall, white-haired and distinguished, while his wife was short, slightly plump, with curly salt and pepper hair. Another photo was a portrait of a pretty young woman whose blue eyes sparkled with life. A wedding portrait of the girl and Matthews, maybe ten years younger than he was now, caught her eye. The photo meant he was married.

She scanned the bookshelves, searching for some insight into the man who stocked them. Classics to technical journals to bestsellers, in four or more languages she could recognize. Matthews had wide-ranging tastes. On the shelves beside the antique desk, she found something of interest. She plucked a book from the shelf, intending only to glance at it, but began to read instead.

Chapter 3

Go ahead, Lyn, Richard started while still crossing the living room.

Richard, I’m sorry for sending her like this. Lynda hesitated. She didn’t apply through my agency. She came from Seltzman’s. I owed Deanna a favor, and she called my marker.

It’s okay, Lyn.

Deanna recommended her very highly, though. Her skills are exceptional, and Deanna said she tested quite high in verbal abilities. Her references all checked out, and her former employers would rehire her.

What bothers you so much?

Well, usually even if someone recommends a candidate, I interview her before I send her out. He heard Lynda taking off her glasses. Deanna was insistent this girl be interviewed today, like she was under pressure. There just wasn’t time.

Probably some senator’s niece. The girl was enough of a looker to be a niece to a wealthy, bored politician. Those long, shapely legs of hers were an asset not to be ignored; they certainly caught his eye immediately. However, nieces to Senators and Congressmen usually didn’t need second jobs.

I’ll bet you’re right. Lynda sounded relieved. Her integrity was the reason he selected her agency.

I wouldn’t worry about it, Lyn. I’ll interview her and if she’s the right candidate, fine, and if not, also fine. Deal?

Deal, Richard.

Using her to hire a secretary would not be necessary if Elaine was still with him. Elaine had been his wife, his typist, his toughest critic and his best friend. He forcefully shut down the memories threatening to overwhelm him.

He almost dialed another number before he remembered the lines were likely tapped. And cell phones were too easy to track. He would have to wait until he could use a pay phone, a difficult task these days, especially since he couldn’t risk using the same one twice. For a moment, he raged against the fate that forever changed him into a creature that calculated every possibility and doubted every motivation. Then he steeled himself for the grilling he would have to give this girl. She stood in his study, head bent over a book in her hand, hair a dark cascade over one shoulder. She looked up when he reached his desk.

You collect Matt Cooper? Her wide green eyes and innocent smile nearly disarmed him. He had to remind himself he knew who sent her and why.

You could say that.

He’s my favorite writer. Her voice contained what sounded like genuine enthusiasm. "I’m on the waiting list for Eighth Deadly Sin at the library, but I hadn’t heard about Capricorn Revisited. It must be new."

It is.

She slipped the book back on the shelf. Apparently, his tone reminded her of her reason for being here, whatever it really was.

Why don’t you pull up the chair from the computer?

Okay. She handed him a folder while he settled into his chair. My resume and references.

He scanned the sheets quickly, while she watched him.

Pretty impressive resume for someone who’s only twenty-four. He tapped the resume. You roofed houses in high school?

She grinned and, despite his caution, he liked the twinkle in her eyes. My dad was a building contractor. I grew up helping him, but when he wouldn’t put me on the payroll the summer I turned sixteen, I decided to prove I was as good as any of the men he hired. He studied her hands. Though well-manicured now, he imagined they could probably still wield a hammer—or something deadlier. A friend and I convinced her neighbor to let us re-roof his house. It was almost too much for us, but we stuck it out and finished the job. He read the pride in her eyes. Dad recommended us for jobs the rest of the summer, and the next year he let me work for him. He taught me the business end of the job, too, and I went to college with the idea of coming back to be his partner. Her smile faded. But when he and Mom died in the spring of my freshman year, I found out he’d been struggling to keep the business afloat. I had to sell the house and the business to liquidate the debts and work my way through the next three years of school. She straightened her shoulders and brought back the smile. It wasn’t easy, but I think I learned more that way.

You said your parents died? The question was too personal for an interview, but her story sounded unbelievably tidy.

She nodded. A car wreck. While they were taking their first vacation in years. A car came around a curve on the wrong side of the road, and they went down the mountain. Daddy lingered a while, but Mom died instantly. A glimmer of pain to mirror his own flashed through her eyes. He fought the empathy flowing for a moment between them. Though her voice trembled with what sounded like real emotion, it had to be fake.

I see. He looked again at the resume, wrestling with his impulse to believe her. Do you have any other family?

She shook her head. Only some aunts and cousins I haven’t seen for years.

What brought you to DC from the wilds of Oklahoma?

The security of a federal position. She looked down. And I wanted a change, start over without being surrounded by memories.

You certainly put distance between yourself and Oklahoma. What memories had driven her away from home? Just the loss of her parents? A bad affair? Job trouble? What kind of work do you like?

Not the same thing day after day. She waved her hands as she considered her words. I’m okay with numbers, but I prefer working with ideas. Problem solving, writing, that sort of thing.

You mentioned being on the list at the library. Do you read a lot?

She nodded. Compulsively. Her smile came so naturally, it looked real.

Just Cooper?

No. Her hands moved, punctuating her words. "Some books I read get me interested in a subject, then I study it. Like after I read Clan of the Cave Bear, I studied anthropology for a couple of months. I’m reading a science fiction series now, so I’ll probably research rocket propulsion next. Her head tipped to the left. I read a lot of magazines and the papers, too."

Home improvement magazines?

And women’s magazines. She laughed. Travel mags, anything that strikes my fancy. She waved a hand toward his books. But all I can read is English.

He let the comment pass, proof she was an adept observer. Ordinarily, he would ask a few more questions, dismiss the candidate and call references and former employers, talk to more candidates, think on it and then select a secretary. This girl, though, sounded as if the job had been created for her—or she for it.

What prompted you to apply for this job?

He caught a momentary furrow between her brows. A co-worker suggested it. I thought about the school loans I have to pay off and the amount of spare time I have and decided, ‘why not?’

He wondered who the co-worker was. Do you always do things impulsively?

Unfortunately, I guess I do. She grinned. It’s one of those traits my parents tried to subdue.

Unsuccessfully, I presume. Whoever she really was, she was a marvelous actress. Do you know how to operate the computer?

She nodded. It’s almost identical to the one I use at the office.

That’s convenient. A tidy convenience. If I gave you a manuscript and told you to type it as I had written it, but you found some errors in it, what would you do?

I’d ask you about them.

You’d question your employer?

A spark flashed in her eyes. I would think you were paying me for my expertise.

But I’m the professional writer.

A writer deals primarily in ideas. Anyone can handle the mechanics—you know, the spelling, grammar, punctuation. She smiled. Of course, if you insisted you were right after I brought it to your attention, I’d do it your way.

The boss is always right? If she had been coached, she was playing it close to the edge.

Maybe not always right, but always the boss. She nodded. It’s your project and your payroll.

Very pragmatic.

Survival skills, Mr. Matthews. She watched him, a bit of a dare in her eyes. Would he have to prove himself by taking it?

You may often act impulsively, Miss McIntyre, but I, as a rule, do not. He made a decision, as she faced him with her right brow raised. In this case, though, I may make an exception. Her focus on him sharpened. When would you like to start?

I don’t know. She stammered. When would you want me?

How about in the morning? He stood up.

Fine. She jumped to her feet and extended her hand. What time?

He shook her hand, not surprised at the strength of her grip. Nineish?

I’ll be here. She picked up her purse to leave.

He put out a hand to stop her. Before you go, I have a proposition for you.

She studied him through narrowed eyes. What is it?

He smiled with every bit of charm he could muster. Dinner with me tonight?

I don’t know.

Please? Your choice of restaurants. He amped up the appeal. A quick dinner, then I’ll drive you home. He backed off. If you have no other appointments, that is. He tried the wistful look that always worked with Elaine and his mother. I’d really appreciate the company.

She nodded toward the photos on the desk. Will your wife be joining us?

The question hit him like a fist he hadn’t seen coming. My wife— He took a deep breath. If she knew the story, and he assumed she must, she had to have asked the question deliberately. My wife died four years ago.

I’m sorry. The remorse in her voice sounded real. I apologize for asking. She touched his arm.

He fought to regain his composure. Taking another deep breath, he smiled at her. What do you say to dinner? It would give you a chance to ask me all the questions you’d remember as soon as you got home.

I always think of what I should have said an hour after the interview ends. She shrugged. Why not.

Great. Not only would he have a chance to question her, he could delay her report to her supervisor. I’ll call in reservations. He picked up the phone. Where do you want to go?

I don’t know. I’ve mostly been to fast food chains and sandwich shops since I’ve been here.

Do you like Italian food?

She nodded.

Then I know just the place. He dialed. You can start reading that book again while I change.

Chapter 4

Terra lost herself in the Cooper novel while Matthews changed. She was so deep into the plot she didn’t see him standing in front of the desk until he cleared his throat. How long have you been there?

Hour and a half. He grinned. How could he be what Adler said he was?

You have not. She laid the book on the desk and slung her purse over her shoulder.

He picked up the book while she walked around the desk. Are you sure? When she came abreast of him, he started for the door, carrying the book.

Absolutely. She fell into step beside him.

He smiled. How?

If you’d been standing there an hour and a half, I’d be nearly finished with the book.

You must read fast.

When it’s good, I do.

And you think Cooper is that good?

The best. Maybe not a Tolstoy or a Dickens, but he’s the master of the action-adventure genre. The interest in his eyes startled her. He gives the reader plenty of excitement, but he also throws in lots of detail, like he really knows the places he writes about, and raises a few truly profound issues to make you think. She paused. I’ve never been disappointed in a Cooper book.

You sound like a commercial for Cooper.

I know what I like.

If you get all that out of Cooper’s books, you ought to be able to handle my work easily. He towered above her as she moved past him at the door. More powerfully built than her first impression, he was probably more dangerous than Adler implied. Yet the only hint of danger was the energy emanating from him, like a coiled steel spring.