Linda Conrad - Covert Agent's Virgin Affair

Ohhh. That . “Me?” The giggle erupted before she could order it back. “Not at all.”

“What’s funny?”

The waitress arrived with their drink order, giving Mary a chance to think over a response. Here she was, at yet another crossroads in her life. She considered telling a white lie. Or maybe giving him a nice easy line that would avoid her having to answer. But then she remembered her father. The world’s biggest liar. And she decided she hated liars and everything that went along with them. No, she had no choice but to tell Jake the truth.

If that meant that he would do a quick disappearing act—so be it.

Jake wasn’t sure what he expected her to say in answer to his question. The woman acted much younger than her twenty-nine years. Perhaps she would say something about being more interested in intellectual pursuits. Or something about her current strange family circumstances.

A father who’d turned up newly dead, after having already been declared dead fifteen years ago, would probably wreak serious havoc on anyone’s social life.

Whatever she would eventually say, Jake was sure enjoying the play of emotions across Mary’s face while he waited. Her gorgeous eyes sidetracked him. That wondrous color hadn’t shown up particularly well in the photos his partner had faxed along with her file. What hue were they exactly? What color could she possibly list for them on her driver’s license?

Eyes: the color of fine aged whiskey. Or maybe…

Eyes: deepest amber, the color of clover honey.

“For most of my life I’ve been at least a hundred pounds overweight,” Mary finally answered flatly, with no emotion in her voice—despite what he could only describe as fear in her eyes. “I’ve recently taken off the weight and reached my goal…more or less.”

She lowered her chin, and stared into her glass of white zinfandel before continuing, “Being the ‘fat one’ in every crowd tends to put people off.”

“You can’t be serious,” he cracked, before he thought about what he was saying.

When her head came up too fast, he tried to recover. “People shouldn’t judge others by their outward appearance. You’re sure beautiful now. I would never have guessed you haven’t always looked the same as you do now. How’d you lose the weight?”

“Are you asking if I had weight-loss surgery?” She shook her head but was watching him closely. “Too chicken. I did it the old-fashioned way—by letting a psychologist take my brain out and replace it with one a hundred pounds lighter and supposedly more sane.”

A tentative chuckle leaked from her mouth, but Jake was having a hard time joining her in laughing over her little joke.

“That’s phenomenal. Your willpower must be amazing.” He reached over his untouched beer and took her by the hand, anxious to get even that much closer to her. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be.” She tugged at her hand halfheartedly. But when he didn’t let go, she stilled.

“Food was prime in my life.” She reached for the wineglass with her other hand. “Dr. Fortunata helped me see the truth. For years I used food to numb and distract myself.”

“Numb yourself? To what? Why would a sweet girl from a nice small town need to feel numb?”

Mary didn’t want to answer him. Couldn’t find the way. She made a big show of sipping wine instead.

In the meantime, familiar words kept circling through her mind. You’re no damned good, Mary Walsh. No one could ever love you. God only knows what I did to deserve a child like you. You’ll always be worthless and ugly. Get out of my sight .

“Okay,” Jake said in a hoarse whisper as he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “Maybe that question’s too personal for our very first conversation. But I like you a lot and I want to know more about you. Tell me about your family. I vaguely remember hearing something about a Walsh in the past few days… Was it on TV? A relation of yours?”

“My father.” Oh, boy. If Jake hadn’t run off screaming after learning she’d been a tubby all her life, finding out about her father was sure to do it.

“What happened to him?”

“They found his body. Someone murdered him.” Funny, but over the years she’d gotten used to saying that word. Murdered . It had taken almost fifteen years, but the sound of it no longer seemed nearly as horrific as it once did.

“How awful for you. Were you two close?”

What could she say that wouldn’t chase him off? Again, she had little choice but tell the truth. He was bound to find out sooner or later anyway.

“Not at all. In fact, I…everyone…thought that he’d died already. There’s a fellow in the state prison doing time for murdering him fifteen years ago.”

Jake sat back, but stayed in his seat. “That’s…uh…unusual. Where’s your father been all this time?”

She rolled her eyes and shrugged one shoulder. “Your guess would be as good as anyone’s. And before you ask, I don’t have a clue why he would pretend to be dead.”

Probably because he was a lying playboy bastard, she thought grimly, but refused to say so. No doubt quite a few women would’ve been happy to see him suffer and die. Running from any of those women might’ve been an excellent reason for her father pretending to be dead.

Mary took a huge slug and finished off the wine. Jake motioned to the waitress again.

“I shouldn’t have any more. I’m still dieting and didn’t eat much today. I’m here at the librarians’ conference and we’ve been in meetings all day.” Not to mention that she normally didn’t drink.

Tonight would be the first for many things, she hoped.

Jake sat back and studied her while he played with his beer mug. “You’re embarrassed about your father being a murder victim. Don’t be. Not unless you killed him.”

“Me? I can’t even step on a spider.” Not that she hadn’t dreamed about killing her father many times over the years. Even after she felt convinced he was already dead.

The waitress brought her another glass of wine and Mary only stared at it as though it was a bug. Finally, she shook her head to break through her fog and picked it up. This was the start of her new life. What twenty-nine-year-old woman couldn’t manage a few glasses of wine?

“My old man embarrassed the hell out of me, too, while I was growing up,” Jake said, and Mary felt the tension between them easing. “He was an overbearing bastard. Bound and determined his son would grow up to be just like him—despite knowing damned well that I didn’t want any part of who he was.”

Mary reached out and laid a gentle hand on Jake’s arm. “I’m sorry. That’s hard. Who was he?”

“A survivalist. One of those crazed individuals who lives in the backwoods and stockpiles weapons, waiting for the day when the big, bad government will arrive for a showdown.”

“Oh, my gosh. Sounds like an awful way to grow up.” Mary’s heart turned a somersault in sympathy.

“He did teach me how to handle weapons. And I can survive on my own without the trappings of civilization.” Jake sounded as if he thought those things weren’t any big deal.

“But that wasn’t what you wanted. Was it?”

He took a swallow of what had to be by now warm beer, and then gazed at her as if she was the only person on the planet who mattered.

“Not me.” With a hollow-sounding laugh, he added, “I wanted to be involved in one of civilization’s biggest accomplishments—electronics. I wanted to learn how things work. How computers run. Why cell phones sometimes get signals and sometimes don’t. I thought engineering was magic and I was desperate to learn all those kinds of tricks.”

“Whoo boy. I bet your father hated that.” Their stories weren’t the same, but Mary was feeling connected to this man. A connection through their overbearing fathers.