THE CAMERA came alive in Aidan’s hands. He made it move, breathe, then burst with brilliant consummation when the lens snapped. Once he told Bailey that holding his Nikon or his ES Digital was like having a woman in his arms. Instead of being insulted by the sexist remark, she put him in his place with a hoot of laughter, and a snide, “You gotta work on your love life, A.”
He’d laughed, too, though in truth, he did feel an intimacy with his cameras. Not a sexual connection, of course, but a connection he never felt with anything else. He called each camera she and, as he’d told C.J., he even talked to them like they were alive.
And his love life was just fine, thank you very much. He adored women—especially his sister and mother—had female friends through the years and enough girlfriends to satisfy him. Sure, he wished he’d find a woman he could settle down with. Particularly since he was going to be forty in September. But that would happen any day now.
Peering through the lens of his digital—he’d brought that to the lake because it was easier to work with—he focused on a patch of wildflowers like the ones he’d brought to the stiff and formal Agent Ludzecky. She wouldn’t accept them as a gift from him, but he noticed the bouquet was still on the table in the sunroom where she could see it every day. As he photographed some daisies, a doe and her fawn came into his viewfinder. They were picking their way through the wet grass and dewy flowers. It had rained last night, a sudden fierce outburst, and this morning, just after dawn, the grounds were slippery, especially way out here on the edge of the Wainwright property. His feet planted firmly in his hiking boots, Aidan snapped the button in rapid succession, but he was waiting for his special shot, the one his gut told him would be a prizewinner. It came, like it always did, a crystalline moment when he would wield his magic. The doe bent her head and pressed her nose to the fawn’s. And as always, when he captured a stunning image like this, his throat got tight, his heart beat faster, his skin prickled. He chuckled. Not unlike being with a woman.
“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispered to his camera. “That’s it...good girl. We got it, don’t you think?”
He wandered through the woods, remembering the picture of Bailey and Angel that he’d taken yesterday. His sister had been outside in a lounge chair, with the baby on her lap. They’d been reading, when Angel turned her face to her mother and touched her nose to Bailey’s. He could juxtapose that shot next to the one he’d just taken. Too bad he wouldn’t be able to send that picture to the magazines that published his work. Though Bailey wouldn’t have objected, he’d vowed not to use his sister’s position to further his career.
What career? he thought miserably. Last night, he’d called Inside/Outside magazine and turned down the job he’d been offered, because that offer had caused him to talk to Pa, and put in action the chain of events that led them here. Guilt had kept him from following his dream. That and an innate worry that he wasn’t, in the scheme of things, talented enough to make a living at photography.
Forcefully, he shook off the notion and hiked down the slope leading to the water. On the edge of the property beyond the fenced-in gate, he studied the shore. Sometimes, interesting stones washed up. Once, he’d gotten a dynamite photo of a good-sized, perfectly formed white stone, striated with black. He’d photographed it, then took the stone with him. He’d given both to Ma for Mother’s Day and they occupied a place of honor at the pub. Though he didn’t show his parents as many pictures as he did Bay and the guys, he used some of his best shots as gifts for them.
As he scanned the beach, his gaze caught on a series of footsteps on the muddy shoreline. Odd, as there were No Trespassing signs everywhere; and nobody should be down here. Then he remembered—it was probably the secret agents, as his pa liked to call them.
“Okay, baby, let’s get this.” Aidan took several pictures of the footprints. He turned when he heard a motor. Six a.m. was early for people to be out on the water. He photographed the boat, too. And the horizon. Salmon pink gave way to lighter rose, to shades of yellow as dawn came like a peacock, displaying its full colors. Talk about breathtaking.
Deciding he’d had enough, he made his way back to the house. It was a hike, and by the time he got there, he was dying for coffee. He unlocked the gate with a security card he’d been given, and as he neared the lower outdoor patio, he caught sight of a figure on it, facing the lake. He was too far away to see who it was with the naked eye, but when he lifted the camera and zoomed in, he got a clear view of Agent Ludzecky through the lens.
Her blond hair was a riotous mass around her face and shoulders; holy hell, he didn’t know she had so much of it. She wore a tight-fitting tank top and even tighter pants that ended at her calves. And she was moving...he recognized the routine as yoga. Gut instinct urged him to snap the camera...
Head high, arms at her side, legs rooted to the ground, she looked like a Greek statue.
Arms overhead.
A graceful bend, almost a dive.
Up again, facing the sun, chest forward, sternum high.
On all fours, arms out, she raised her butt up, held the position a long time. Aidan was impressed.
Standing, she faced the side, bent, put weight on one leg and one hand, lifted the other leg; her top hiked up even more. Through the zoom, he could see an expanse of creamy bronze skin. He felt like a voyeur, but kept snapping.
By now his mouth was dry.
When she stood, then arched her body into a backbend, her breasts thrust up into the air. They were sculpted, firm. And Aidan’s whole body tightened.
Mesmerized he watched and snapped, watched and snapped until she finished her routine.
Still at a distance, he tucked the camera into his pocket, sank onto a stone and stared out at the water. Coffee forgotten, he felt another need pulse through him. A very male need.
He remembered her words. I’m not a woman, I’m a federal agent.
Cocking his head at his camera, he said, “No way, Ms. C.J. Ludzecky. You are a woman through and through.”
The notion was disconcerting.
o0o
JUDY GORMAN, the agent who worked with Jerry Grayson on the second perimeter, didn’t like C.J. Having grown up with six younger sisters, C.J. could sense other women’s hostility toward her like she often sensed trouble in a crowd. Ana, the sister closest in age to her, once told C.J. she had too many brains and was too good-looking for any females but those in her family to genuinely like her.
C.J. suspected, though, that Gorman’s animosity had other origins. She’d been an agent longer than C.J., and had only worked her way up to substituting occasionally on the VPPD. She hadn’t even gotten a permanent relief shift, as Grayson had, until now. Mitch said she’d asked him point-blank why C.J. was chosen over her for the prestigious detail. Mitch had told her that in his estimation, C.J. was a better agent than Gorman was, and also that Bailey had requested C.J. The Second Lady’s slight incensed Gorman so she took it out on C.J. C.J. guessed she might have felt the same way, especially since there were already rumors about her and David circulating through the service. And then there was her connection to Luke.
So it was with trepidation that she approached Judy Gorman outside the front door. “Gorman, could you take over for me for a while? Grayson’s covering for Calloway. We want to work out.”
Dark eyes registered on her. The woman would be pretty without the scowl, as her hair was a nice reddish color and her features petite. “Of course, Agent Ludzecky.”
C.J. thought about making an overture of friendship to Gorman, but she decided against it. This was one person it was better to keep at a distance. “Thanks.” She was about to walk away when Gorman asked, “She pay for those clothes?”
Glancing down at her white shorts and pink boxy shirt, C.J. replied honestly. “We’re still arguing about that.” Maybe she should try for friendly. “You brought your own clothes, I see.” She nodded to the agent’s denim capris and white shirt. “I didn’t know Ms. O’Neil would require this.”
“Because you haven’t been around long enough.”
Bingo.
C.J. shook her head. “See you inside in ten.”
Her thoughts were still preoccupied with Gorman as she jogged down the steps to her room and changed. They’d been at the cottage for four days and things were settling into a routine, so she and Mitch decided they could pick up with their workouts. C.J. had been doing yoga, and both she and Mitch had run daily, but they missed their usual boxing matches. She was tugging on one glove when Mitch walked in.
He was dressed in plain gray shorts and a tank top. “Hi, babe.”
“Babe?”
“Hey, you look like a babe in those new clothes.”
“Not really my style.”
“Yeah, yeah, same old, same old.” Crossing to her, he picked up her other glove and slid it on. Tied both. Their usual gloves were fastened by Velcro, but the ones stowed here had strings. Grabbing his own, he turned and looked out the window. Knocked on it. She heard him say, “Aidan, we could use your help.” He held up the gloves.
C.J. sighed. She’d managed to stay away from the guy since he gave her the flowers that bloomed with abandon in the sunroom. Their civil encounter yesterday—though she tried to stay distanced—made her even more wary of him. And she’d caught the appreciative male look in his eyes when he first saw her in her new duds. Why couldn’t it be somebody else out there this morning?
He came inside, sweaty and flushed. He was dressed in running clothes: Perspiration beaded his face and soaked his clothes. Sipping water, he gave her a quick once-over. She turned away from the look and jabbed the punching bag.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“C.J. and I are working out, but we need somebody to help with my gloves.”
“Sure, okay.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him scowl. “You got height and weight on her. Doesn’t seem an even match.”
Oh, terrific, now he was going to play caveman. He probably thought women swooned over that behavior, like they did when given flowers.
“Stick around and you’ll change your tune.”
“Maybe I will.”
She felt self-conscious as she adjusted her head gear and raised her hands in the traditional boxer’s stance. Mitch did the same.
A few testing punches on Mitch’s gloves; his hit hers a little harder. Then she landed a quick one on his shoulder, causing him to stumble backward. His dark eyes narrowed, and she paid for getting in the first serious jab with a series of hard hits on her gloves. But she got an opening to his biceps. The blow made him recoil.
Rules were to stay away from the head, but he clocked her on the temple by mistake. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not breaking his concentration.
“Jesus,” she heard from their spectator.
She managed to get in a few more hits of her own, and lost herself in her the contest. Sweat poured into her eyes, and she felt her body heat from the inside out.
Groans. Mumbles. The smack of leather hitting leather.
A buzzer rang. Mitch held up his hands. “Time.” They went about twenty minutes, but it was a workout.
C.J. moved her shoulders, kicked out her legs. “Already?”
He chucked her under the chin. “You’re one tough cookie.”
Grinning, she pivoted to find an unsmiling Aidan watching her. “Are you two nuts?” he asked.
Calloway laughed and held up his gloves in front of Aidan. “It looks worse than it is. “
“I doubt it.” He undid Mitch’s gloves and yanked them off.
Mitch wiped his head with a towel. “Keeps our reflexes at top speed, and us in shape.” He turned to C.J. just when the fax machine clicked on. “I’ve been waiting for this. Aidan, can you help C.J.?”
“Yeah.”
Her colleague disappeared into the other room and C.J. faced Aidan. She hoped he’d untie her gloves and be done with it. He came closer, his head cocked to the side, his gaze narrowed in on her shoulder. After a moment, he reached out and ran his fingers along her rotator cuff. “You have a bruise. “
His touch was gentle, butterfly soft, but C.J. felt it zip through her.
“Um...” He ran his hand down her bare arm, to a place above her elbow. “Here, too.”
His gaze met hers. His eyes were so blue, like the sky behind him, but with a black ring around the iris. She never noticed that before. He smelled like man and musk.
He didn’t say anything, but left his hand on her. She swallowed hard, liking the feel of it.
“You should stick with yoga.” His voice was rusty sounding.
“What?”
“Yoga. It’s better for you than getting pummeled like this.”
“I didn’t get pummeled.” The import of his words sunk in. “And how do you know about yoga?”
“I saw you doing a session this morning.”
“At six a.m.?” The fact that he’d watched her unnoticed made her warm inside. She felt her face flush even more.
“I was out on the grounds taking pictures.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“You weren’t on duty. I told Grayson where I was so he didn’t think a stranger was prowling the grounds. Everybody was safe.”
Safe did not feel like an appropriate word. Particularly because his hand was still on her. “Get my gloves off.”
Flecks of darker blue flamed in his eyes. “Since you asked so nicely,” he said, grabbing her wrists with both hands. “What’s with you? You’re prickly as hell again today.”
She lifted a glove to her mouth to untie it with her teeth, but he batted her hand away. “I’m prickly because, with the exception of the flower thing, you’ve been criticizing me since I showed up as your sister’s agent in the hospital. About staying aloof. About not caring enough. About my vigilant view of protection. And now about boxing.”
He stared down at her gloves, then started to undo them. When he was finished, he tugged them off, and surprised her by grasping one of her hands. “You’re right. I’ve been on you. I have no idea why.” His grin was devilish. “Usually, I have a way with women.”
She stepped back. “Well, spare me that, and your snide comments, will you?”
“Christ, you don’t budge at all.”
I can’t afford to with you. She stuffed the thought, and was prevented from volleying back something mean because Mitch appeared at the door with a paper in his hand and a scowl on his face. “We got a problem.”
o0o
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” his sister asked as soon as she entered the first-floor sunroom. “And why didn’t you want Ma or Pa or the kids in here?”
“Sit down, Ms. O’Neil.” Mitch had thrown on a sweat suit, as had C.J. “We just received a disturbing fax.”
“About Clay? He hasn’t even left yet for Zanganesia yet.”
“No. This has nothing to do with the vice president.”
Bailey sank onto the couch next to Aidan. “What is it then?”
“A member of a former New York City girl gang has relatives in Penn Yan.”
“I’m confused. ESCAPE keeps a database. I told you, Joe and Rob stay in touch with me. Word on the street is that all the GGs are accounted for. We went over this before. Mazie Lennon’s in jail. The rest are leading productive lives either in New York or they’ve left town and are off our radar screen.”
“She isn’t a GG. She’s a member of Anthrax, another defunct girl gang. The advance team didn’t go deep enough first time around because your visit was unplanned. They only checked the known GGs in the area. We’ve gone down another layer and found one of the Anthrax gang member’s relatives up here.”
“What made you do that?”
“Actually, C.J. suggested it. She worked in the Intelligence unit in New York.”
“Did you get girls out of Anthrax, Bay?” Aidan asked.
“No. They were pretty impenetrable, mostly because they were an arm of a boy’s gang. But the GGs gave the police information on them, enough to bust up Anthrax six months later.”
“There’s more.” Mitch’s tone was grave, making Aidan move a little closer. “The girl who has the relative up here is Annie Oh.”
His sister grasped onto his fingers.
Aidan could feel the tension in her. “Who is she?”
Bailey turned to him. “Remember the night Clay stayed over and I asked you to come and get Rory for preschool.”
“Because you were out helping Taz.”
Sadness shone in Bailey’s eyes. She’d loved that girl. “Annie-O—her homies shortened her name to a zero—is the girl who was squaring off with Taz that night and wounded her with a knife.”
“She sounds dangerous.” Aidan scowled over at Mitch. “Does she live with her aunt here?”
“No.” Mitch again. “We tracked her to the city. She doesn’t appear to be involved in any gang. As a matter of fact she’s working in a diner. She finished high school and is taking courses at a community college in the city.”
C.J. zeroed in on Aidan. “Her aunt and uncle bought the property in town two years ago.”
“Do you think there’s a problem with that?” Bailey asked.
“If Annie-O does still have gang connections, and her aunt or her cousin Sasha, who lives here, too, mentions that Bailey’s in town, Annie could retaliate against Bailey for indirectly shutting down Anthrax.”
“Damn it.” Aidan squeezed Bailey’s shoulder. “We should go back to the city.”
Bailey shook her head. “Let’s not buy trouble. If Annie-O’s clean now, there might not be anything to worry about.”
A memory niggled at Aidan. “I saw something this morning. I didn’t think much of it, until now.”
“What?” C.J. asked, her gaze dark. She’d gotten majorly ticked off because Aidan had watched her do her yoga practice; her reaction was pretty stupid, in his book. He wondered what she’d do if she knew—over his dead body—that he’d taken pictures of her.
“There were some footprints on the outer edge of the property, in the mud. It had rained, so they were visible.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell us this before?” C.J. asked.
Everyone in the room looked startled at her outburst. Her pretty brown eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak to you like that, Mr. O’Neil.”
He could make an issue out of this. Bailey would side with him. Agent Ludzecky would be in hot water. But he remembered how Mitch chided her for the mistake she’d made with Mikey and Rory their first day here, which was partly his fault. Besides, he didn’t want to get her in trouble even if she had gotten under his skin.
“Forget it. I should have told you sooner.” He faced Mitch. “I took pictures of the prints.”
“You did? Why?”
“I shoot a lot of different things. Sometimes, the smallest natural occurrence can be a great photo.” He thought of C.J.’s breasts. And determinedly avoided her gaze.
“I’ll need the film.”
“They’re digital. I’ll run the pictures off my computer.”
“I can do that,” Mitch said. “Give me the disc card.”
No way was he letting the Secret Service near those pictures of C.J. “It’s okay. I have time.”
Mitch quirked a brow. The agent was smart and savvy and knew something was up. “All right, let’s do it together now on your computer.”
Aidan stood. “I’d rather do it myself. I’m picky about my work.”
Mitch started to object when there was noise at the front entry door. Both agents went on alert and automatically moved closer to Bailey.
Then they heard, “It’s all right, Gorman, I’m here to see my wife.”
“It’s Clay.” Circling around C.J., Bailey bounded out of the sunroom and into the kitchen, where the vice president of the United States stood. Several agents hovered in the background. Though she was four months pregnant, Bailey ran across the room and hurled herself at him, encircling his waist with her legs. “Clay!”
Smiling broadly, he grabbed hold of her. “Hello, love. “
Aidan saw his brother Liam behind Clay. Knowing the agents would be distracted now, he took the opportunity to creep out of the sunroom and hurry upstairs to his printer. With any luck he could download the photos, delete the ones of C.J. on the card and be back before anybody missed him.