Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle, Pauline Jones [top 100 novels of all time .txt] 📗

A mini eruption of contents sprayed out onto the pavement. Crumpled, dirty papers fluttered. Useless sundries rolled in ten different directions. A bedraggled tampon landed at the suit’s feet, accompanied by a shower of tiny, green breath mints. And that was just the small stuff.

He had me around the waist, while I tried to untangle my feet from the car and simultaneously grab at flying objects. I succeeded only in spreading them further, not to mention putting my rescue in peril. Suit number two rushed to our aid just in time to become the unhappy recipient of several candy bars.

Kel kept his distance until the dust and my belongings settled. Then he started to gather up everything within his reach, his face expressionless. Well, he'd seen my bedroom. He'd seen my living room. Now he was seeing my purse. God had ordained I have few secrets from this man. It was ironic, really. Here he was this spy, agent, whatever, with a secret life, and he probably had less that really needed to be hid than I, whose life was on constant, embarrassing display. When he wasn’t looking I kicked the tampon under the car. Had I really thought a spit rainbow the worst blow life could inflict?

I opened the bag’s maw and stoically received my belongings as they were proffered. The pocketbook with the tattered edges, the map of New Orleans, the ceramic crawfish, a three year old date book (empty), the brush with no bristles, and the business card case with the Junior Mint still stuck to it. The last thing Kel handed me was the glue gun.

“My sister’s,” I muttered. “She likes to glue things.”

“Do you think that’s everything?”

Right. Like I’d know that. I smiled brightly, taking care to avoid eye contact. “Of course.”

There was this strange, insistent buzzing from the bowels of the limo and one of the suits peeled off to silence it, leaving me to reinsert the glue gun under the gaze of only two incredulous men.

“Sir?”

Kel looked away. “What?”

“That was Edwards. Says PT-PAC looks clean.”

“Right. Tell him I’ll see him at the dog and pony show this afternoon.” Kel turned back to me as the suits faded into the limo, which pulled away with a relieved purr.

“Dog and pony show? You a judge?”

Kel smiled and shook his head. “It’s a meeting.”

“Oh. Right.” Spy talk. No wonder our country was in trouble.

“Shall we get your sister’s car?”

I’d humiliated myself enough for now, so I nodded. I was also too cowed by the purse incident to do more than murmur assent when Kel offered to drive. We pulled out into traffic. Eager for a change of subject, I asked, “Is that Mrs. Carter’s PAC your guy was talking about?”

Kel nodded, his eyes on the rear view mirror as he moved over a lane. “It was her pride and joy. The night she died, she attended a meeting of the board.”

“And you think her death had something to do with that?” From pride and joy to death in the board room? It was a stretch, in my opinion, even for the CIA.

“It’s not likely. But she did mention being worried about one of her projects.” He shrugged. “Though I can’t imagine anyone transgressing under her eagle eye.”

“Know that from experience, do you?”

“Well…” He grinned at me, then took the car round a corner, the motor purring with contentment.

I basked in the lingering glow of his smile. Pity he had to watch the road so closely. It was weird to be back in Rosemary’s car with him. Even weirder to think I’d wandered into some real-life spy flick, complete with bodies, mysteries, and a handsome hero.

He was a relaxed and skillful driver, failing to indulge in the under-the-breath-cursing that marked my progress, as he maneuvered the car through the late afternoon traffic. I directed discreet glances at him. In repose, his face was serious, tiny lines fanning out around his eyes as he squinted against the glare. His hair was neat and crisp, except for the tiny piece that still lay across his forehead. I sighed, wishing I had the right to smooth it back, and smooth the hint of worry that creased the space between his brows. Too bad there was only me to play the heroine part. Just because he wasn’t married, didn’t mean he didn’t have a significant other tucked away somewhere. Oh well, I’d have my memories.

He shifted in his seat and grimaced like it hurt.

“Are you all right? You’re pretty active for a guy with a bullet hole in his side.”

He stopped at a light with no sign of impatience. “It’s just a scratch.”

Sub-text: Real men don’t feel pain.

“I guess you have to get used to bullet wounds.”

He chuckled. “It’s not all that dangerous.” He passed through the light and pulled into a space in front of a row of stores.

“If we common people have misconceptions about the CIA, it’s because the CIA likes it that way.”

“Maybe.” He turned off the car and towards me, resting his arm along the seat back behind my head.

The car immediately shrunk. I shifted in my seat. Stared at the restaurant’s façade, then let my gaze homing pigeon back to him. “This the place?”

He nodded. “Look okay?”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t talking about the restaurant.

He knew it. His eyes heated up as he ran his finger down the side of my neck. “Good.”

I was sure he was going to kiss me, but he got out and slammed the door. I watched him pace around the car, wondering what kind of spy softened a lady up, then failed to follow through and kiss her? James Bond would be very disappointed in him. He opened my door and helped me out. We were so close, I could have inhaled him, if I could have breathed. If he didn’t kiss me this time…

He started to, I think. Distantly, I heard the sound of a car accelerating too fast. He looked past me.