Love Another Day

  At last, their escort showed them to the executive suite and knocked on the door.

  “Come in.” Basil Heyden, twelfth Earl of Witham, director of GCHQ, grinned as they stepped into his office.

  He stood and came around his desk to greet them. “Cox, you devil. Good to see you again.” He clapped Tate on the back.

  “Witham.” Tate nodded. “I don’t believe you’ve met my ex-wife. This is Malene.”

  Oh, damn that Tate. Introducing her as the ex, rather than in her professional capacity. He was getting back at her for earlier with Sir Herbert. And showing off that he was on a familiar-name basis with a member of the British nobility.

  Mal extended her hand to the distinguished, attractive peer before her. “Malene Cox, cover-life department head for the CIA. Pleased to meet you, Lord Witham.”

  The earl was graying at the temples, but he couldn’t have been more than forty-one or -two. She’d look him up later and see if she was right with her guess. She would be, of course. It was her business.

  He wore an expensive, custom-tailored suit. Probably from Brioni in London. The Italians were the best tailors. And they outfitted the fictional James Bond, so why not a real-life espionage professional? There was some fun in that, and Mal got the feeling Lord Witham had a sense of humor.

  The assistant stood off to the side in the room and closed the door behind him.

  “Please be seated.” Lord Witham went behind his desk and sat in a plush leather chair.

  Word on the Street was that the rank and file had comfortable chairs made from recycled plastic bottles. But of course the chief, and a peer of the realm, wouldn’t be expected to have a common chair.

  “May I offer you tea?” Lord Witham gestured toward an antique silver tea service nearby.

  Mal had almost forgotten the pleasures of tea and the ubiquitous nature of it in Great Britain. “I’d love some.”

  The assistant poured. “Cream? Sugar?”

  Of course, when in England do as the English. She took hers as they did, with milk. “Yes, both, please.”

  As she stirred her tea, the assistant offered Mal a selection of biscuits. Tate, of course, was not a tea drinker. He preferred the American habit of consuming great quantities of coffee. He was gracious, though, as Lord Witham’s assistant handed him a delicate steaming china cup.

  Lord Witham laughed. “Cox, I thought you were renowned for your poker face. But it’s plain that you’d like something stronger than English tea.” He grabbed a bottle of alcohol from a bar behind his desk. “Scotch?”

  “And I’ve heard you’re a master at reading involuntary microexpressions. I don’t believe I gave myself away to anyone less than one of the world’s top experts. But since you mention it…”

  “How do you take it?”

  “Neat.” Tate smiled.

  Lord Witham poured Tate’s drink into an expensive crystal Scotch glass and handed it to him across the desk as Mal nibbled on a shortbread biscuit.

  “You may go now, Alfred. Thank you.” Lord Witham waited until the assistant had left and the door had firmly closed behind him. “This is a dodgy business, Cox. I can’t believe you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in it.”

  “I like dodgy. Dodgy’s fun. And can I help it if women can’t resist falling in love with me?” He laughed.

  “Modest, as always, I see.” Lord Witham shook his head. “Yes, well, I rather expect your mother wouldn’t approve if she knew what you’re up to. She’s always been protective of her little boy. How is Cousin Lenora these days?”

  Mal resisted doing a head thunk. Tate was related to this particular earl? Of course he was. So now she’d inadvertently walked into another one of Tate’s complicated, powerful, arrogant family networks.

  Here it was again. Tate as American nobility. Tate the connected to everyone who was anyone.

  Mal silently cursed Emmett for setting her up. Again.

  Tate’s pain-in-the-butt mother, Lenora Cox, came from good old-fashioned money that could be traced back to the Industrial Revolution. Steel and railroad money. And since then, impressive investments that paid off when steel and railroads began to lose their profitability and a good many steel magnates and railroad barons lost their fortunes.

  Lenora traced her roots to the Mayflower on one side, which qualified her as a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and to British nobility in the early twentieth century when her great-grandmother, a wealthy heiress, wed a British earl. So, in fact, Tate was related to British nobility. Mal had looked him up in Burke’s Peerage before they married. Back when she’d been young and impressed by such things.

  Tate was in line, quite far down the line, to a British earldom. Not like he’d ever inherit the title. Mal found it all very irritating. She wished she’d taken the time to gather some intel on Lord Witham so she wouldn’t have been blindsided by his hopefully distant family relationship to Tate. She’d probably read about him years ago in Burke’s. But she didn’t remember details like that. Too much important information filled her brain.

  “Mother’s fine. In the dark about what I really do, like always. Busy with her charitable work and relieved that things didn’t work out between Nicole and me. She isn’t wild about the French.

  “Mother has definite biases. She was relieved when I told her I was off on a little private, low-profile vacation to lick my wounds. She did wonder, though, at the coincidence of Mal going off at the same time.” He winked at Mal.

  Mal rolled her eyes. If I gave your mother a shock, then this mission has been worth it already. She forced herself to smile sweetly.

  Lord Witham looked amused, but was too polite to ask any further questions. “Mothers don’t need to know everything. Mine certainly doesn’t.” He took a sip of Scotch.

  “How is Lady Witham?”

  Though she put on a mask of calm serenity and professional courtesy, Mal sat impatiently through the rest of the polite inquiries into family and mutual acquaintances.

  “I believe we’re boring Ms. Cox,” Lord Witham said.

  “Not at all. And, please, call me Malene.” She smiled at him.

  “You’re too kind,” Lord Witham said.

  He’d probably seen right through her, but at least he couldn’t fault her manners.

  “Down to business, shall we?” Lord Witham pulled a folder from his desk drawer and slid it across for Tate and Mal to inspect. “We’ve been keeping an eye on Ms. Ramsgate. She arrived last night with her handler. Getting rid of him could prove a problem. Edvid Bagge is one of RIOT’s top handlers and a skilled assassin.

  “It would seem that Ms. Ramsgate is too valuable a property to let out of their sight. And rightfully so. What she can reveal to us about their operations will be damning indeed.”

  “Or they don’t trust her,” Mal added.

  Lord Witham maintained his pleasant, understated smile. “It could be purely precautionary. They realize, as well as we do, that she’s vulnerable right now, having just lost her father mere months ago.

  “RIOT would reason that if we were going to make a move to get to her, now would be the time to do so. And if she had any secret inclinations to run and desert, now is also the time.”

  Tate frowned. “Bagge is competent. But it’s unlikely he’s the only one watching her.”

  “No, assuredly not,” Lord Witham said. “We have several other suspects under surveillance as well.” He paused. “RIOT is handling this in an understated way. It’s quite possibly a trap. They know we’re watching them.

  “They’d be foolish to walk right into the town where we’re headquartered and not realize we’ll be keeping a tight watch on them. Which makes this situation even more precarious—what are they up to?” Lord Witham studied Tate. “It’s a very real possibility that they’re using the Ramsgate woman as a diversion while they try to pinch something from us or find a way to infiltrate.”

  Tate shrugged. “I understand your concerns. We’ll cooperate fully. But it’s no
t like they aren’t trying to infiltrate and penetrate GCHQ on a daily basis.”

  Lord Witham grinned. “You’re right about that.”

  “Whatever they have planned, we have to outsmart them,” Tate said. “The directive that supposedly came from Sophia said that I was to wait until she contacted me. But there must be a way to either force her hand or make it easy for her.

  “If this is a RIOT double cross, we want to disrupt their plans.”

  Lord Witham nodded his agreement. “I’d be all for kidnapping the girl, if that’s what it takes. But my orders forbid it. For now.”

  “But you have a plan?” Tate said.

  “Naturally. We’ve put you in the Dashwood House Hotel, in a room a floor below Dr. Ramsgate’s. Easy access. Tempting for her, if she really is inclined to be your lover.” Lord Witham shot a glance at Mal. “I beg your pardon.”

  Mal shrugged and smiled. “I’m fully aware of the mission details.”

  “Good. Malene’s room will be next to yours. We can use it as a base if necessary. And of course, we’ll have eyes guarding both rooms ready to step in in case of trouble.

  “To spice things up and provide our little RIOT friend the opportunity of contacting you, I’ve arranged to hold a dinner party at my country house, Highfield Park, day after tomorrow. All the select scientific minds have been invited, including both of you, Dr. Ramsgate, and a group of MI5 agents.”

  A country-house dinner party? Mal tried not to frown. She wished someone would have informed her earlier so she could have prepared and brought the proper clothes. “Excuse me, Lord Witham, will this be a casual event?”

  Lord Witham laughed. “Oh, I think not. White tie will do very well and give those academics apoplexy. But they won’t be able to resist the invitation, not from a peer and respected member of their scientific community.” He sobered. “But the main point is to appeal to the romantic mind of Sophia Ramsgate. Set the mood, so to speak.”

  He shot a look at Tate again. “And to showcase our boy in the most romantic possible light to keep her girlish illusions, shall we say, ripe.”

  Mal frowned. “Very good, Lord Witham. Tate knows how to wear a tux. But Dr. Stevens? He’s another matter altogether. Dr. Stevens”—she shot Tate a look—“has probably never worn a tux and white tie in his life. He’ll be decidedly uncomfortable. And it will be a challenge to keep Tate from giving away his identity.”

  Lord Witham grinned. “I understand your dilemma, Malene. I’m presenting you with a bit of a professional challenge. But from what Emmett has told me, you’re up to any task we throw at you. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  She nodded, wishing she had time to go to London and hoping Cheltenham had something suitable. She wasn’t supposed to be making Tate irresistible to Sophia. She was supposed to be keeping him from falling in love with her. If Sophia showed up at a fancy dinner party wearing a fabulously sexy gown …

  Mal would just have to think of something.

  Lord Witham continued. “MI5 has assigned Mason as your local contact. He’s head of our local intelligence station here in Cheltenham. The locals all know and love him. And anyone who’s anyone in the intelligence community fears him enough to leave him alone.

  “He’ll be acting as your host during your stay. Which shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows, considering the community we’re in.”

  “Mason?” Tate frowned. “Have I met him?”

  “Don’t tell me your eidetic memory is failing you?” Lord Witham laughed. “Seriously, I don’t believe you have. But he’s a good fellow. Has a sense of humor, which you should appreciate. And he knows the ins and outs of the Dashwood House Hotel and the city better than anyone.”

  Lord Witham paused. “I don’t have to tell you two that since Dr. Ramsgate arrived, this has been a war of who can outdo whom, electronic surveillance and countersurveillancewise.

  “Thank goodness for Mason. He knows every secret passage, back alley, and hiding place in the city, including those of the Dashwood House Hotel. We’ve had to resort to good old-fashioned, low-tech spying.”

  “Secret passages?” Mal smiled. “Sounds like fun.”

  Lord Witham returned her smile. “I hope you still think so when you discover how dusty and dank they can be.”

  “So once Sophia turns herself over to us?” Tate said. “What’s the plan from there? We’ve turned the details over to MI5, I believe.”

  Lord Witham frowned ever so slightly. “Yes, our partner. But in this case, since this operation is in our backyard, we’ve made the arrangements.

  “We’ve decided the direct route is best. You’ll drive from here to London. We’ll fly you out of Heathrow with Dr. Ramsgate using Malene’s credentials.

  “You’ll have an MI5 escort and bodyguard. Once Dr. Ramsgate is out of British airspace, she’s your problem, I’m afraid.”

  Tate cocked a brow. “Heathrow seems risky and obvious. Why not smuggle her out to France through the Chunnel and disappear from there?”

  “We, the CIA, and MI5 thought it best not to get the French involved. The French have been having their own security problems of late, what with the Muslim terrorists and all.

  “Your brass and our leadership think that the fewer governments involved, the better and the less opportunity for something to go wrong.

  “You know this business, Cox. Anything that can go wrong will. At least half the time or better.

  “It’s true RIOT will be watching Heathrow and all the major airports. We’ll have extra security and be standing by ready to do anything necessary to draw RIOT away from you should it become necessary.”

  Lord Witham appraised Mal. “Ingenious of your Emmett to send Malene along so we can switch Sophia for her. Too bad we can’t use you as a decoy, Malene.”

  Tate looked like he could go for the idea. But there was no way Malene was leaving him alone to lose his heart to a hot, willing young terrorist.

  “Yes, isn’t it?” She smiled. “But I have my orders to stay with Tate and keep him out of trouble.” She winked at Tate. “I’m sure Tate’s up to the task.”

  Lord Witham grinned. “I’m sure he is. In the meantime, my office is completely at your disposal. Mason will call on you at the hotel.

  “You’ve had a long trip. I expect you’d like to rest and freshen up before the conference starts.”

  “A little rest sounds heavenly.” Mal glanced at Tate. “But first, we have a tux to rent.”

  Tate shook his head. “As Professor Stevens or not, I don’t do rental tuxes.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  As Tate and Mal walked out of the GCHQ building, she couldn’t help admiring his tall, athletic build while her treasonous heart beat double time. Tate had always had the power to shoot her pulse into the “I’m so hot for you” range. And sadly, that hadn’t changed since his betrayal and their divorce. Physical attraction and chemistry were evidently immutable. At least in their case.

  Fortunately, Mal generally spent very little time with him. Most of the time he was either on missions or off running his software company. She saw him when he picked Kayla up or dropped her off after one of his custodial visits. And occasionally around the office. Though generally she had enough warning so she could avoid him if she wanted to. Walking beside him now, getting whiffs of his heat-inducing cologne, she wasn’t sure how she was going to survive this mission without making the mistake of succumbing to his charms, even if just for lust and old times’ sake. Exes sleeping together was so cliché. She made a mental note to avoid it.

  It was early June and cool in that damp English way she remembered so well, but the surrounding fields were green and gorgeous. And the sun was out and lighting them so richly it was a photographer’s dream. Perfect weather for seeing the town.

  Mal nudged Tate as they left the GCHQ building. “Put on your glasses. You’re undercover.”

  He scowled at her, but complied. Bossing him around was just one perk of the job. His cell phone buzzed. He pulle
d it from his pocket and replied to a text. “University business.”

  She couldn’t decide whether that was code for NCS business or something to do with Cox Software. As often as Tate was off saving the world, she wondered how he had time to manage the multibillion-dollar company. It was a wonder no one had embezzled him blind or made a hostile takeover attempt.

  “Software problem?” she said, testing the scenarios. It seemed like an innocuous enough statement even if some enemy agent were listening in.

  “Yeah. Nothing a few grad students can’t handle.” He winked at her.

  “With as little attention as you pay to your research budget,” she said, staying in character and speaking in code, “you’re just lucky no one has siphoned it off.”

  When he turned his gaze on her, her heart practically stopped. His eyes twinkled with devilment, a lot like they had on the plane when they’d been simulating the mile-high-club scenario. A lot like they had when they’d first been in love. Maybe he just looked at all women like that. With Tate it was hard to tell. Mal made a mental note to make the most of her time with him and make some at least semiscientific observations.

  “Not so surprising when you realize everyone’s afraid of me. They know I have secret powers, powerful sources, and the expertise to chase them down and get my money back. And take my revenge.”

  She laughed. “Now you sound like the godfather.” But she believed him. He did have the resources and the know-how. “But it’s good to know you’re protecting our daughter’s inheritance,” she whispered.

  They were out in the fresh air now and headed for their teeny, tiny, low-end rental car. Acting her part, she put some coed bounce into her step, enjoying her role as his assistant and the opportunity to playact being young and a lot less serious.

  “You’re walking too confidently,” she said with a smile. “Dr. Stevens is a nerd, not an athlete.”

  Tate rolled his eyes. “Nerds can have a cocky walk, too.”

  “No they can’t. By definition.”

  He rolled his eyes again and fell into an imitation of Indiana Jones as Professor Jones. Or, at least, Dr. Jones’s walk without the swagger of Indiana. Darn it all, but Professor Jones still got I love yous written on adoring pupils’ eyelids. And nerd and all, Mal had the feeling Dr. Tate Stevens was destined for the same.