Stolen Secrets

“It’s probably nothing,” he said casually, too casually for his shift in stance. “It’s the stress. Messes with your head. You’ve been through a lot this morning.”

Feeling as though she’d gotten the wrong notes for an important meeting, Lucy frowned. “Yeah. Stress.”

Jordan stepped closer. “No place is safe these days.”

She murmured something innocuous that was meant to signal her agreement.

If he was trying to warn her, there was no need. After this morning, she was well aware of the danger.

Hypervigilant now, she searched for the source of her unease.

With Jordan close behind her, she cautiously opened a kitchen drawer. “This isn’t how I left things.”

Reaching around her, he carefully pushed the drawer shut.

“I was just trying to help,” he said, the heat of his body close against her back. “Your system of organization is too complicated.”

Instantly flustered, she struggled to make sense of his words. Jordan had never even been to her house, and he’d certainly never put away her dishes.

He held his index finger before his lips, then tapped his ear. Her breath caught. He thought someone was listening to them. Why hadn’t the possibility occurred to her sooner? Because I was a normal person before this morning, that’s why, she mentally reassured herself.

Jordan hoisted an eyebrow. “Don’t you want to tell me why your system of organization makes perfect sense?”

He appeared to be running the conversation on autopilot, his attention clearly distracted.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Her heart pounded against her ribs. “You’re supposed to organize by categories.”

Backing away, he tilted his head. Though the ceilings were tall, he easily reached the smoke detector.

Using his fingertips, he gently unscrewed the cover. “How do you organize by categories?”

“It’s really s-simple,” she squeaked. Not only was Jordan searching for listening devices—he was finding them. “You start by putting everything from your kitchen into one big pile. Then you hold each item and decide if it makes you happy.”

He tugged on a few wires and stepped back. “How do you know if something makes you happy?”

A tiny, round disk dangled from the plastic case. Her mouth went dry and she swayed, clutching the counter for balance. She was being monitored.

The past few weeks came into sharp focus, and nausea rose in the back of her throat. All the days and evenings she’d thought she was alone, someone had been with her. Someone had been shadowing her every move in the house.

What had she said? What had they heard?

Though she wanted to shout into the tiny microphone, she held herself in check. “You just know if something makes you happy, I guess.”

As she recalled snippets of her inane chatter and off-key singing, hysterical laughter bubbled in the back of her throat. She sincerely hoped they’d been tortured by her screeching renditions of show tunes.

Jordan snatched a piece of paper from the kitchen island, and she scrambled to locate a pen.

“That sounds like quite a project,” he said, then scribbled, Just go along with whatever I say.

The laughter died in the back of her throat. This was serious. Someone had followed her this morning. Shot at her. They knew where she lived. What else did they know about her?

Gazing in revulsion at the listening device, Lucy nodded her understanding of his instructions.

Jordan crossed into the living room and studied her bookshelf, then did a half circle. The walls were teal blue and plastered with colorful paintings she’d purchased at local art fairs over the years. Oriental rugs in deep shades of garnet and orange covered scratches in the ancient wood flooring. An original ornate chandelier dangled its crystal beads, and the sofa was covered in bright floral throws.

Her mom loathed this room. She claimed the mix of patterns exacerbated her migraines, and she was forever nudging the furniture into right angles.

Lucy squared her shoulders and studied Jordan’s expression for any signs of judgment, then caught herself. She didn’t care what he thought of her decorating. He didn’t live here—she did.

Running his fingers along the top of her bookcase, he asked, “What happens if something doesn’t make you happy?”

Her mind went blank. What on earth was he talking about? Organizing. They were talking about organizing. She’d make a terrible spy. Even as her perceptions of her safe, monotonous world were fragmenting around her, her thoughts drifted to the mundane.

Jordan dusted his hand against his pant leg, and Lucy cringed. “If something doesn’t make you happy, then you get rid of it.”

He moved several knickknacks, frowning at each one in turn. Why hadn’t she curated her collection of bedazzled elephant figurines when she was organizing the kitchen? No, she was proud of her flamboyant style. It wasn’t for everyone, sure, and maybe she wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, but she wasn’t a hoarder or anything awful like that.

Jordan removed and replaced each book. “What about me? Do I make you happy? Because you’re going to be seeing a lot of me. Especially after what happened today.”

He splayed his arms, urging her to agree.

“Absolutely you make me happy.” This time she didn’t hesitate. “You may stay.”

If only putting the rest of her life in order was as simple as organizing the linen closet. What else might she excise that didn’t make her happy? She’d start with traffic jams and finish with the person who was impersonating her.

“Excellent.” Jordan stepped closer and spoke close to her ear. “Almost done. You’re doing great.” He raised his voice. “As usual, there’s nothing to eat here. Why don’t we go out?”

“Sounds good,” she agreed, her stomach churning.

Food was the last thing on her mind. Momentarily at a loss, she took a few halting steps. The events of the day were starting to catch up with her, and she was having trouble focusing. A list of tasks bounced through her head. She needed to find someone to water her plants. She needed to check the locks. She needed…to feel safe again.

As though sensing her distress, Jordan’s expression softened.

“Sit,” he ordered gently. “Rest your ankle.”

“It’s better already.” Her nerves were raw, and the pain was the furthest thing from her mind. “Hardly a twinge.”

“I know you’ve had a long day, but I think it’s better if we go out to eat. You could use a change of scenery.”

“That would be nice,” she replied with a nod to their invisible audience. She felt as though she was a marionette being coaxed into speaking. “I can walk as long as you go slow.”

“Don’t forget to grab your things. You shouldn’t be here alone tonight.”

Lucy widened her eyes. “Do we want people to know I’m leaving?”

If someone was listening, how much should they give away?

“You’ll only be gone a few days.” Jordan shrugged. “Just until the excitement dies down.”

Her pulse hadn’t returned to normal since she’d learned someone was listening to them. Even gathering an overnight bag seemed like an overwhelming task.

Lucy knotted her index finger in the hair at the nape of her neck. “Sorry about the mess.”

Seeing her house through Jordan’s eyes increased the tension. There were always stacks of books on the coffee table, and papers seemed to breed and multiply the moment she turned her back. There were a few dishes in the sink and more set to dry on the counter. Judging by the smudge on Jordan’s pant leg, the whole place needed a good dusting.

“I like your place.” He tweaked a patchwork throw on the back of a chair. “It’s exotic. Like a Moroccan market.”

She assumed he was merely being polite. What else was he going to say? It looks like a circus clown threw up in your living room. Then again, if this was how conversations played out when people were listening, she was tempted to tell her mom about the surveillance equipment. Maybe an audience would coax a compliment out of her. Lucy snorted. Not likely.

Jordan tilted his head. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

His concern sent melting warmth through her chest before she caught herself. Having him here brought back a torrent of emotion.

Jordan reminded her of a future she’d finally given up on. She missed Brandt. She missed his larger-than-life personality. She missed his understanding. She even missed his terrible taste in movies.

Lately she’d felt his memory slipping away, and letting go had felt like losing Brandt all over again. That was why it was easier to be numb. Except Jordan invoked a confusing mix of emotions she wasn’t quite ready to face.

“I’m fine.” Her head throbbed. “Still a little dazed, I guess. I’ll get the rest of my things from upstairs.”

Jordan reached for the paper and wrote, Let me go first, just in case.

Unable to speak, she nodded. Even going upstairs felt like an irrationally enormous undertaking.

The stairs were tight in the turn-of-the-century house, and Jordan had to duck his head.

Once upstairs, she relaxed a little. Her bedroom walls were a deep shade of salmon. A Turkish rug in a mix of magenta, orange and yellow covered the floor. Keyhole-patterned curtains blocked the late-afternoon sunlight.

She was running out of adrenaline, energy and outrage. There was no way to go back and pay attention to the niggling unease that had been plaguing her for the past few weeks. Someone had been in her house. Someone had been watching her. All she could do was move forward with a solemn promise to be more vigilant in the future.

Jordan hovered politely outside the door while she gathered her belongings, and his calm, steady presence gave her the strength to continue.

She tossed a few items onto her patterned bedspread and paused. When had she started doubting her own taste? She enjoyed the blue streaks in her hair and her quirky wardrobe. She enjoyed standing out in a crowd. Yet, when she was alone with herself, the walls of her private life were a dull gray.

She sometimes wondered if she’d made herself unique by default because there was nothing inherently special about her. She sometimes wondered if Brandt would have gotten bored with her once the newness of their relationship had worn off.

The floorboards creaked in the hallway, and she quickened her pace. Without giving herself too much time to think, she stuffed clothing and toiletries into her overnight bag. The agents hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about how long she was going to be away.

Jordan indicated the second room. “Is this your office?”

She pushed open the door and grimaced. “Yes.”

Bookcases lined the room and her rolltop desk was layered with papers, pencils and various office supplies.

He riffled through the top layer. “Do you ever bring work home?”

“No. Never. We’re not allowed.”

He lifted a stack of manuals. “What’s all this?”

“I’m teaching myself a new programming platform in my free time. It’s a hobby.”

Admiration widened Jordan’s eyes. “This is a hobby?”

“I can’t seem to stick with one thing for long,” she mumbled. “I have a short attention span.”

“You sound like my stepsister. Smart people bore easily.”

“You should explain that to my mom,” Lucy quipped beneath her breath.

According to Vicky Sutton, smart people did not hop from subject to subject like hyperactive bunny rabbits.

“What was that about your mom?” Jordan asked, glancing up from his study of her egg-shaped digital personal assistant.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

He thumbed through her latest manual. “You have complicated hobbies.”

“I haven’t mastered it or anything,” she babbled. His praise made her uneasy. For some reason, it was important he understood the truth about her from the beginning. “I’ve learned enough to know I need to learn a lot more.”

He surveyed the room with a critical eye, and her skin felt as though she’d brushed through cobwebs. A stranger had rifled through her personal belongings. They wouldn’t have discovered anything beyond her utility bills and programming homework, but that didn’t make her feel any less violated.

Jordan took the overnight bag from her stiff fingers and waved her forward. “We’d better get going. I’m starving.”

“Me, too,” she answered woodenly.

The full weight of her new circumstances settled over her, and she stumbled blindly after him. Had it not been for this morning, she doubted she’d have noticed anything out of place. She’d have continued along, blissfully ignorant that someone was listening to her, maybe even watching her. If this experience had taught her anything, it was that safety was an illusion.

On the first level once more, a scuttling sounded from the opposite end of the house.

Jordan shoved her behind him and drew his gun.

Her pulse spiked, and horror clouded her vision in a red haze.

She lunged before him. “Stop!”

Trapped between Lucy and a threat, Jordan’s extensive training fought a losing battle with his instincts. He jerked his weapon safely to one side.

“Lucy!” he whispered harshly. “Get out of the way.”

Her hair was a wild, pale halo framing her fierce expression, and she positioned herself like a miniature warrior before him.

“It’s not what you think,” she whispered loudly.

Jordan stuck out his hand. “I don’t know what to think yet.”

He was larger and stronger, but something kept him from forcibly moving her out of the way. If there was someone else in the house, there’d been ample opportunity to ambush them before now.

“It’s just Mr. Nibbles,” she declared.

Wavering, Jordan struggled to connect a logical meaning in her words. “Come again?”

“My guinea pig.” Lucy indicated the smoke detector to remind him of their audience. “If we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, you’ll have to get better acquainted with Mr. Nibbles.”

He stowed his gun, his shoulders losing some of their tension. “Your guinea pig is in the other room?”

“Yes.”

Rather than reveal how ridiculous he felt, Jordan maintained a stoic expression.

“He’s in the sunroom.” Lucy crossed the distance. “He’s the sweetest little thing in the world, but he gets nervous around strangers. That’s why I have to fetch him myself.”

“I see,” he replied, even though he didn’t.

He certainly didn’t need instinct or training to recognize he was walking into some sort of trap. People tended to overestimate their pets’ appeal to others. When someone followed the phrase he’s really the sweetest little thing with a qualifying but, there was reason to be worried.

Willing his blood to cool, he followed her through the kitchen and into a cheery yellow sunroom.

There, perched on a low wooden table, was an enormous cage connected with clear plastic tubing to a smaller cage. Inside, a white guinea pig with brown markings contentedly gnawed on a half-eaten chunk of carrot. The animal’s nose twitched, and if Jordan didn’t know better, he’d have thought the furry little troublemaker was smirking at him.

“Oh, sweetie, are you all right?” Lucy cooed, lifting the animal from its cage.

Tired, hungry and ready for this day to be over, Jordan grumbled. Mr. Nibbles was annoyingly calm, considering Jordan had drawn his gun.

Lucy bent and rooted around in the cage. “He’ll have to come with us. I can’t leave him here alone.” She crossed to Jordan and whispered in his ear, raising goose bumps along his skin. “Especially if someone’s been in the house. It’s dangerous.”

He seriously doubted international spies were a threat to a rodent, but he kept his opinions to himself.

Lucy nuzzled Mr. Nibbles’s cheek, and an unexpected twinge of jealousy surprised him. Had that little rat just winked at him? No. It must be a trick of the light. No sane person was jealous of a guinea pig. That was ridiculous.

Still, he should have known she’d never have something as common as a cat or a dog as a pet. Her home, much like Lucy herself, was eclectic, warm and mischievous. The mix of colors and patterns was charming. He’d never gone beyond beige in choosing a wall shade, but he didn’t mind the startling teal blue Lucy had chosen. Still, had he seen a color swatch, he’d have balked.

Did opposites really attract? Brandt had summed up Jordan’s personality as “brunch.” He wasn’t too early and he wasn’t too late—he was someone everyone could agree on. Despite their differences, they’d made a good team. Jordan had tempered Brandt’s impulsive tendencies, while Brandt had forced Jordan to take more risks.

Jordan glanced at a watercolor of a woman in a sequined leotard reclining beneath the raised foot of an elephant. The past few months had stripped all the whimsy from his life. His soft edges had been sharpened, and the only humor he had left was dark. Since the bombing, something inside him had changed. There was a restless longing that hadn’t been there before.

“Here.” Without waiting for an answer, Lucy thrust Mr. Nibbles into his outstretched hands. “Can you hold him for a sec?”

“Wait,” Jordan protested. “I don’t think this is—”

“I’ll be right back.” She waved her index finger playfully. “Don’t you two get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

Leaving Jordan sputtering, she disappeared up the stairs once more.

He stared at the rodent. After a tense moment, Mr. Nibbles blinked.

“Let’s get something straight. I’m not a guinea pig person.” Jordan assumed his sternest expression—the expression that parted crowds and ensured that his subordinates didn’t turn into insubordinates. Right then, he didn’t care who was listening. “We’re not going to be pals, so don’t get any ideas.”

The message must have landed, because Mr. Nibbles promptly bit him.

“Ouch.” Holding the squirming rodent away from his body, Jordan wrestled open the lid to the cage. “That’s no way to make a friend.”

Gingerly he replaced the guinea pig and stepped back. Mr. Nibbles scurried to the corner, scuffed in his bedding and promptly began to gnaw on something. Jordan leaned closer.

“No biting,” he warned.

Carefully brushing the shaved wood chip bedding aside, Jordan discovered a small, square photograph from an instant camera. As he squinted at the grainy picture, his adrenaline spiked.

He slid his hand into his jacket and closed his fingers around the barrel of his weapon. For a long moment, he stayed very still, his senses attuned to any disturbance. The only sounds were Lucy’s footsteps overhead and the gentle scuffing of Mr. Nibbles. The air stirred, and a sheer curtain fluttered in the gentle breeze. He glanced at the photograph once more.

Someone must have slipped it through the open window only moments before. A rare moment of indecision plagued him. Too much time had passed. There was no point in giving chase, and he didn’t want to leave Lucy alone.

She returned from upstairs and he pivoted. “We need to go. Quickly.”

“Not without Mr. Nibbles.”

“Oh, fine,” he muttered, returning for the cage. He stared the guinea pig in the eye. “You owe me for coming back for you.”

He kept his tone light to avoid further worrying Lucy, then caught himself. If he was distracted by his feelings, he was liable to walk them both right into a trap.

Someone out there was watching them. Waiting for them.

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