Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle by Pauline Jones (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

who knew he’d just got his way. Since I was used to not getting my way, I asked without angst, “What do you want me to do?”

“How much did they get out of you before my men got there?”

I shrugged. “Not much. We were past Mrs. Macpherson and the flu but just coming up on you and the round-headed man.” I frowned. “Isn’t it kind of mean to not let them know who the major suspect is?”

“For the time being, the fewer people who know about you the better. Police stations are notorious for leaks.”

“Unlike the CIA.”

He pretended not to hear. “I’d like to keep you under wraps until I can find out why Mrs. Carter called me instead of the police.”

“Oh. Did she know? That you’re a spy, I mean?”

“I’m not a spy. I’m an agent,” he said, with obvious pride, “trying to protect my country.”

Whoa, an idealistic spook? Wasn’t that a contradiction in terms? Sure as tooting it shouldn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy. Too bad what I shouldn’t feel didn’t seem to stop me from feeling it. In a move that seemed too natural, he shifted, resting his arm on the seat behind my head. He wasn’t touching me, but I didn’t need fully body contact to feel volcanic. Enclosed in a field of warmth that was both reassuring and scary, I had to fight an unworthy compulsion to nestle in against him and play helpless female. A small, satisfied smile played with the edges of his mouth. I let myself get side-tracked remembering what it had felt like to have that mouth moving on mine. I might have let the volcano erupt if it weren’t for his very apparent, total lack of repentance.

I gave him my wide-eyed innocent look and asked, “So what have you found out about Mrs. Carter’s death that the police haven’t?”

His gaze shifted just off to the right of mine. “We’re still analyzing the data obtained from her purse.”

I made a rude sound.

“What?” He sounded nicely defensive.

“Why don’t you just admit you don’t have a clue?”

“When I signed on with the CIA I had to promise I would never do that.” He looked serious, except for a twinkle at the back of his eyes.

I shook my head. A CIA agent with a sense of humor. Wasn’t that also a contradiction in terms? Though a very nice contradiction. Definitely a dangerous man.

“You know the police think it’s drug related?”

“Elspeth Carter?” Kel shook his head. “Drugs? I don’t believe it. She was completely opposed to drugs.”

“Not her. The boy, Paul Mitchell. They were killed with the same gun, you know. They told me at the police station.”

“What?” Kel frowned. It didn’t mar his looks one bit. “That doesn’t feel right. I knew she did some work in drug prevention, but it makes no sense.”

“I don’t know about that, but I know that Paul’s friends say he wasn’t the type to use. He was with the Guard, shipping out to the Gulf soon. A real stand-up kind of guy and squeaky clean.”

He ran a hand into his hair, making that question mark clump fall endearingly onto his forehead. I wanted to smooth it back, but lacked permission. And the nerve.

“Everything about this case is squeaky clean,” Kel said, his frown deepening.

“Except the murders.”

We both fell silent. He stared into the distance, while I tried not to stare at him. He sat there radiating idealism. Which was what had prompted me to help him, I realized. Baptists are particularly susceptible to idealism. I frowned. Wasn’t my religion supposed to make me immune to his long, lean body and the heady scent of male after-shave? Or at least help temptation get thee behind me? I took another peek and temptation stayed right in my face. It seemed my principles needed some help. And I needed to stop thinking and start talking.

“Where are we going?”

“Hmm?” He looked up, then said with an air of putting things temporarily away, “The impound lot to pick up your sister’s car. There’s really no reason for them to hold it, so I applied a little pressure to have it released.”

“You may have saved my life. If I bring back her baby maybe Rosemary will only beat me senseless.”

“Do you have time for some lunch?”

I felt a little thrill, until he added, “I’d like you to look through some mug books for your round-headed man. The sooner the killer is identified and arrested, the sooner the CIA can quit tailing you against your will.”

“Oh.” That didn’t sound as appealing as it should have. When they got their man, would this particular CIA guy quit tailing me? Duh. Of course. I looked away and gave a tiny shrug. “Sure.”

The street passed without me seeing it. I could feel him looking at me and wanted to tell him to stop it. Instead I twisted the strap of my purse until it left a red mark across my hand. His hand covered mine, stopping the attempted self-mutilation.

“Mexican okay? I know this good place close to the impound lot.”

“Sounds fine.” Despite a stern, mental admonition, my gaze slid his way and ran smack into his. I don’t know if he started to lean towards me, or the car turning the corner leaned him towards me. I just know he was incoming and I was outgoing. Before we could lip lock, the car stopped with an un-limousine-like jerk. The suits slid out each side and pulled open the doors, flooding the cozy, dim interior with harsh light and the real world.

“Impound lot,” Kel said.

Did he sound regretful? I wasn’t unbiased enough to judge. I reined in my lips and started to slide out. I don’t know if lust made me clumsy or if it was just me being me. What I do know is that my foot caught on something under the seat. Launching me into an ungraceful nose dive out the door. Lucky for me the suit on my side had good reflexes. Too bad