Cindy Dees - Her Secret Spy

Some people argued that Lissa’s gift was a result of the great trauma in her genetic past, and others said it was a curse visited on her. No matter its source, she would be glad to be rid of it.

Sometimes, when she’d been little, she’d been able to conjure a shadowy image of a man’s face when she thought of her birth father, but she’d never been able to see more than that. The fates had long made it clear that further knowledge of the man was not for her.

As she stared down at the four tarot cards on the table, another man’s face swam into view in her mind—this time as sharp and clear as her father’s had been indistinct. He had short blond hair, light green-gold eyes that were reluctant to smile and a world of hurts accumulated on his handsome brow. She would love to know what had added such weight to Max Smith’s spirit at such a young age. He couldn’t be much more than thirty years old. Either that, or the man had the moisturizing regimen of a god.

His face still lingered clear and strong in her mind’s eye when she fell asleep. It even followed her into her dreams, promising to protect her and keep her safe.

And maybe that was why she didn’t scream when she woke up and heard the noises coming from downstairs.

* * *

Max woke groggily as his cell phone exploded into sound. Cripes. What time was it? The face of the phone said it was nearly 3:00 a.m. The caller ID named L. Clearmont as the caller. What the hell?

“Lissa? What’s up?”

A frantic whisper replied. “There’s someone in the shop. And it sounds like he’s busting up everything.”

Max lurched fully awake. “Go into your bathroom. Lock the door or barricade it with a chair. Crawl into the bathtub, cover yourself with a white towel if there’s one in there to make yourself harder to see and be very still and quiet. I’ll call nine-one-one. Don’t come out until the police identify themselves. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He leaped out of bed and yanked on jeans and a T-shirt, still rattling off instructions to her. “If you have something heavy like a hammer or a wrench at hand, take it with you. Pound the crap out of any bastard who tries to lay a finger on you. Fight like a wildcat if they try to drag you out of there. And scream your head off. Wake up the whole damned neighborhood.”

He grabbed his car keys and sprinted for Lola. “I’m getting in my car now. Hang on, Lissa. I’ll be there as soon as I can and will kick their asses for you.”

He tossed the phone, on speaker, onto the car seat beside him and peeled out, leaving expensive Italian racing rubber on the pavement. It was a fifteen-minute drive normally, but he made it in a shade under eight. The cops were still not there, the bastards.

The Saints had won their play-off game, and the partying on Bourbon Street had to be worse than usual, but still. Lissa lived in this town. She deserved a fast response from the NOPD to a break-in. Especially after the violent attack on her the day before. He’d no sooner had the thought than a pair of squad cars careened around the corner, sirens and lights screaming.

The cops advanced on the store, guns drawn, and he wasted no time moving up behind them.

“I’m a friend of the owner. She’s locked in the upstairs bathroom. While you gentlemen clear the main floor and the basement, I’m going for her.”

“Sir, we need to clear the entire building before you enter the premises—”

“Just don’t shoot me,” he tossed over his shoulder, his own pistol drawn from its shoulder holster and at the ready before him in a trained shooter’s grip. “I’ve got the left quadrant and stairs.” And with that he spun through the smashed front door.

The cops must have recognized a trained operative, for they let him precede them and ceded the left third of the store to his search.

“Clear!” he called after racing up and down the first few rows of smashed curio cabinets and overturned display cases. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Roger that,” one of the cops called back. “Holler if you need backup.”

“You’ll know if you hear gunshots,” he bit out. If whoever had trashed the store had laid a hand on Lissa, there would be no fight. There would be lead flying and dead bastards bleeding out on her floor.

He moved quickly and silently up the stairs and spun into her living room, low and lethal. No movement. He pointed his weapon at each dark corner of the room, searching quickly for man-size shadows or any hint of movement. He’d told her to take Mr. Jackson with her into the bathroom if she could find the cat without having to go looking for him. He’d also suggested that she use the cat as a weapon, to throw it at anyone who tried to break through the bathroom door.

The living room was clear. He spun into the guest room and her bedroom, pausing to check under the bed and behind the armoire before moving to her bathroom door.

“Lissa, it’s Max. The police are here, and the intruders have left. It’s safe to come—” The door flew open and a soft, slight body flew into his arms, knocking him back a step with the force of her rush.

“I knew you’d come for me. I knew you’d save me. You were there in my head, both of your faces smiling down at me and telling me everything would be fine...”

What the hell was she talking about? Both of his faces?

“We clear up here?” someone called from over by the staircase.

“All clear,” Max called back to the cop. “I’ve got the owner of the store with me, and she’s fine. She’ll be down in a second to make a statement.”

But for now he was just going to hold her and let their mutual panic subside a little. He was startled to realize his heartbeat was galloping madly and adrenaline screamed through his veins. He hadn’t gotten this rattled since he was a kid, before his father starting training him seriously in how to be an undercover field operative. Spies didn’t have strong emotions. Or if they did, they certainly didn’t let those emotions get the best of them.

Damned if Max’s knees didn’t feel a little wobbly, though. Was he really that smitten with this woman he barely knew? He lifted his chin off the top of her head to stare down at her, and she leaned back enough to stare up at him. There it was again. That rope of electric attraction hovering right at the edge of his vision, drawing them together.

“Kiss me, Max.”

“I don’t take advantage of women under duress—”

“Kiss me, dammit, or bend down here so I can kiss you.”

“You’re bossy for a little thing—”

She looped her hands around the back of his neck and tugged his head down to hers while she stood on tiptoe. And then she kissed him.

He’d had some fine kisses in his day, but this was something else altogether. A movie of their future life together unfolded in his head almost too quickly to process. An entire symphony sound track played in the background, and his soul left his body, joined hers, twined with it. Then both leaped back into his body in the space of time it took to blink once.

Laughter. Love. Loss. Generations before and generations to come all crowded into his brain and then fled again, consumed by the fiery passion that exploded between him and Lissa the moment their lips touched.

She groaned and pressed herself closer to him as his arms tightened around her delicate frame. Although she didn’t feel delicate right now. She felt like an untamed tiger in his embrace. And he felt like the one being consumed as she inhaled his soul into herself, stripping him bare and leaving him wide-open to her.

She staggered back from him with a gasp. “I... I’m so sorry... I know better than to cut loose like that.”

“What are you apologizing for? Laying the hottest kiss on me I’ve ever experienced?” He blinked down at her, stunned. “That was incredible.”