Rachel Lee - Serious Risks

“I guess I owe you a whole pack of apologies, Jessica,” he said. “You probably think I’ve gone off the deep end. But the simple fact is, if somebody notices us together, whether it’s someone who recognizes me or someone who recognizes you, I’ll be a whole lot more comfortable if they assume we have some kind of personal relationship.”

“Why?” And then it dawned on her. Her scalp prickled as she realized that Arlen actually thought someone might be watching her.

“After your report to security yesterday,” he continued, “somebody might be interested in your actions for the next couple of days. It’s better all around if they don’t get wind that you’ve talked to the FBI.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t let me talk on the phone this morning?”

He nodded and glanced at her. “You never know who might be listening. It’s just a precaution. Why did you call?”

“Because you were right. The missing document was back in my safe this morning, tucked at the bottom of the drawer as if it had slipped down. I wanted to ask you how to handle it, because it occurred to me there might be fingerprints on it.”

Arlen steered the car into the parking lot of a popular restaurant. Only when he’d pulled into a slot and switched off the ignition did he speak. Turning a little on the seat, he faced her.

“Well, now,” he said, “that’s a good question. I sure as hell can’t come up there to lift the prints, and you sure as hell can’t bring the document out to me.”

“Are you so sure security wouldn’t be helpful if you talked to them?” Jessica asked. It bothered her that he seemed so determined to circumvent the company’s security.

“I’m sure they’d be real helpful. The problem is, I can’t be sure one of them isn’t involved. When somebody is able to access classified stuff, you have to suspect everybody who can get the necessary combinations. That means your facility security officer and all his people.”

Jessica nodded slowly and looked out at the drizzly day. A soft, small sigh escaped her. “Bob Harrow—he’s my project chief—mentioned this morning that my document isn’t the first one to turn up missing temporarily.”

Beside her, Arlen stiffened. “Really.”

Jessica looked at him. “It shook me. And he mentioned it so casually! Like it’s just the dumb kind of thing you expect a programmer to do—mislay classified documents overnight. I mean, I couldn’t believe it, but I could see Bob’s point, too. They always turn up, there’s always an explanation for how they got to be where they are, and besides, there’s a digital combination lock on the door to the whole section, so the documents are as good as locked in a safe even when they’re left on a desk.”

She looked down at her hands. “Except, of course, that the cleaning people come in during the night, and they shouldn’t be able to get their hands on the material. And security comes through at five for the burn bags, and while they’re cleared to take out the classified trash, they have no need to see anything else. And that’s the whole basis of the protection program, isn’t it? That clearance alone isn’t enough to gain access. A person has to have a verified need to know, as well.”

“You have a better understanding of security than most people,” Arlen remarked. “Most people don’t begin to understand the concept of ‘need to know.’”

“Well, it makes sense to me,” Jessica said. “And I’ll tell you what’s really got me so upset this morning. Someone was in my safe again last night. I don’t know how to change the combination, and I don’t know how I can convince security to change it. So all that information is essentially unprotected. Mine and probably everybody else’s. There’s got to be some way to put a stop to this, Arlen!”

It was refreshing, he found himself thinking, to meet someone these days who actually cared. So many people were cynical, or at least pretended to be.

“Actually, Jess,” he said, “the plug is going to be pulled this afternoon.”

Her bright brown eyes widened behind her glasses, and Arlen spared a moment to wonder just how bad her vision was. “The Defense Investigative Service is going to pull an unannounced inspection at your plant this afternoon. One way or another, they’re going to ensure that information is protected.”

“But how?”

Arlen shrugged. “They’re going in looking for an opportunity, and they won’t quit until they find it. They’ll make your folks change all the combinations. They understand the situation as well as anyone, Jessica. That information won’t go unprotected another night.”

“But you said it’s as important to find out what has been compromised as it is to prevent further compromises. If they change all the combinations, won’t that prevent the spy from doing anything? How will you find him?”

Arlen shook his head. “For a novice, you’re good at thinking these things out, Jessica, but you’re not considering motivation here. This person isn’t stealing these documents because it’s easy. He’s motivated by something. The most common motivation is greed, even though it’s a fact that spies generally don’t make huge sums of money. Still, if someone is motivated to steal defense secrets in order to get money, he’s not likely to stop just because there’s a setback. Same goes with other motivations, from revenge to blackmail. Whatever is driving this character, he’s likely to lie low for a couple of days or weeks, then try to get his hands on the new combinations.”

Jessica’s slow nod indicated her understanding. “And you’ll be ready.”

“Believe it.” He smiled, then utterly deprived her of breath by the simple expedient of reaching out and running the tip of his index finger along her cheek.

In that instant Arlen experienced an overload of sensations. All at once he was aware of the satin texture of Jessica’s skin beneath his finger, of the way her breath caught and held, of her faint feminine fragrance. He saw, too, the way her eyes darkened and her lips parted, just a little, an unconscious betrayal of her reaction to his touch. His own body clenched in response, a sharp, hungry stab of wanting.

Abruptly, he drew his hand back. “I promised you lunch,” he said briskly. “We’d better get inside before your break is over.”

Feeling slightly dazed, Jessica didn’t move until he opened her car door. She wasn’t used to such courtesy, and as often as she’d gone out with men for lunch, this was the first time in her life one actually tucked her arm through his, holding it snugly to his side as he guided her around puddles and held an umbrella over her with gentlemanly concern. Being unaccustomed to it, she wasn’t sure whether she liked it, but it certainly made her feel ladylike.

It also made her aware of two other things: how large he was beside her, and that he was wearing a gun. The first unsettled her, but the second unnerved her, causing her to miss her step. Arlen steadied her immediately, looking down with quick concern.

“Are you all right?”

Feeling foolishly naive—of course an FBI agent wore a gun—she responded tartly to cover her embarrassment. “I’m just not accustomed to rubbing elbows with a gun.”

Gray eyes looked down at her steadily for an interminable moment. When he spoke, his voice was absolutely level. “Does it bother you?”

Jessica had the inexplicable feeling that she was being tested in some way, though she had no idea what kind of response he wanted. She could only tell the truth. “Actually,” she said, and felt her blush rising again, “it caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. And I wish I could learn to stop blushing!”

Arlen looked startled, and then he chuckled, asking, “How old are you, anyway?”