Kathryn surreptitiously glanced at the watch face turned to the inside of Marcus Forrester’s wrist as he lit her cigarette. He wore it that way for just that reason, so he could check the time without being noticed. It was ten forty-five, and although Kathryn had already spent several hours with the man, she could tell her night was just getting started. She inhaled deeply, savoring her first cigarette in weeks, having given up the habit in deference to Jenny’s non-spoken aversion to it. She was glad to have one right then, if for nothing else than to interrupt the incredibly boring monologue she was enduring from one of Forrester’s associates. Forrester winked at her as he closed his lighter, and she smiled a thank-you on her eventual exhale. Forrester put his arm around the mercifully silenced man’s shoulders and led him away toward another group of equally boring men. Kathryn stood alone and took another welcome drag on her cigarette, vowing never to say “How interesting” to a chemist again.
They were in the obscenely extravagant home of a real estate magnate who was courting Forrester in a blatant attempt to lure him into padding his empire. Forrester had no use for the man’s capacity to buy and sell property. He just wanted to exploit the connections that seemed to gravitate to the wealthy and bored.
As far as Kathryn could tell, Forrester’s business seemed legitimate for a change. He was seeking investors in a new manufacturing plant and putting them together with the men whose companies would benefit from its production. He was an expert at such marriages, and Kathryn had little to do, as it appeared she was present merely because he wished for her company.
She turned her back on the group and moved to the large archway leading to the next room, where she leaned on the doorjamb and watched the couples dancing to the slow, soothing rhythm of the live band. It was a relatively small affair. The seventy or so people just barely filled the cavernous ballroom. It was somebody’s thirtieth birthday. Friends gathered from near and far, creating quite the international mix of directionless heiresses and hopeful playboys anchored by old money couples and ambitious businessmen like Forrester. Kathryn sighed into her coupe of champagne and looked up in time to see the man playing the piano eyeing her seductively. She ignored it, glad for his sake that Forrester didn’t see him.
Kathryn didn’t know what had happened to Marcus Forrester in the week he was away, but he seemed off-balance, as though he needed assurance, of what she wasn’t sure. He came to the club early, with two dozen red roses in tow and a smothering hug that he seemed to think better of once he released it. He was nervous and uneasy. He sat on the edge of the bed in the dressing room and squeezed his knuckles until they cracked, the macho equivalent of wringing his hands.
Kathryn pulled up a chair and, facing him, took his restless hands in hers. She didn’t speak. Instead, she let her intense gaze peel away his faltering resolve.
“I need you,” he finally said.
Kathryn played the good little mistress and said, “I’ll help you in any way I can, Marc. I’ve told you that.”
He stared at her, desperation seeping into his eyes. “I need you,” he repeated, clarifying his statement.
The confession took Kathryn by surprise, and it occurred to her that “I need you too” would be the expected response, and a prudent one at that, but as she practiced it in her head, it didn’t sound very convincing. She saw vulnerability in his eyes, and she was going to make the most of it. The closer she could get to him, the more information she could get, and the more information she could get, the sooner her assignment would be over, and the sooner her assignment was over—well, she didn’t know, but it involved spending more time with Jenny, and that was worth anything she had to do.
She swallowed her perceived shock and then feigned delight as she slowly leaned in and kissed him full on the lips. He didn’t protest. In fact, he seemed pleased with her answer and pleased with her method. Thankfully, he asked for nothing more to prove her continued devotion. She was surprised to find it was easy—giving away meaningless kisses, holding his clammy hands. He was showing weakness, and she reveled in it.
“I don’t love you,” he warned when she pulled back.
Kathryn let confusion, then hurt, play across her face for the briefest of moments, and then looked him right in his lying eyes and saw that he was hers. “I don’t love you either.”
Slow grins broke across both their faces, and Forrester took the initiative for the first time and leaned in for a kiss. Kathryn obliged and then pretended she wanted more when he broke away. He put his palm on her cheek and let her kiss it as she leaned into his touch.
He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t—”
Kathryn saw his sexual inadequacy eating at him. “It doesn’t matter, Marc,” she promised, covering his hand with hers. “Truly … it doesn’t.”
He opened his eyes and suppressed a smile, as relief pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Have you a lover?”
She didn’t hesitate, eager to prove Jenny was not a threat and that she had nothing to hide. “Yes.” She thought she saw the briefest flash of jealousy in his narrowing eyes.
“A man?” he asked cautiously.
A definite flash of jealousy. “No.”
He grinned in approval. “Your young friend.”
Kathryn smiled involuntarily but caught herself before her infatuation became too obvious. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said, as he dropped his hands to his knees and sat up straight. “Very good. It’s perfect then.”
That inherent bit of arrogance in a man always amazed Kathryn. They would duel to the death over another man but saw no threat in another woman. Even Forrester, with no sexual ability whatsoever, found the primal trait inescapable.
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “Perfect.”
Kathryn was restless as she deposited her spent cigarette into a cut glass ashtray. There was nothing for her here. There were no mysterious scientists or cryptic conversations about dastardly deeds, only uptight businessmen and their insipid wives, hanging on their husband’s arms like window dressings, nodding their heads and laughing at each bad joke like the good little trophies they were.
A tall, elegant woman across the room caught her with her disdain showing. They looked each other up and down with equal scorn until their eyes met and they both smiled, finally breaking into complimentary full-faced grins when they acknowledged they were partners in disgust. The woman broke her gaze with an exasperated eye roll before she tightened her hold on her husband’s arm and tossed her head back in forced laughter.
Kathryn chastised herself for judging her. She, more than anyone, knew that life supplied its own judgment, passing its sentence or reward in the form of a consequence for every action. She wondered if she would be blessed or cursed by her actions tonight.
She sensed Forrester approaching before he actually put his hand on her back. Warm lips on her neck followed, and she demurely leaned into his embrace, smiling.
“Finished with your business?” she asked.
“Mm,” he hummed into her ear. “Hasn’t been much fun for you, I’m afraid.”
She turned in his arms and straightened his tie. “And what are you going to do about it?”
He looked into the ballroom and asked if she wanted to dance. She grinned in agreement and deposited her glass with the nearest server, happy to note that the leering piano player had been replaced.
Forrester was a good dancer at least, and she closed her eyes and pretended to get lost in the moment, pressing her cheek tenderly to his as she mindlessly hummed the tune in his ear.
“I love this,” he whispered.
She smiled. He was under her spell. “You should come home to me more often then.”
He held her tighter. “Perhaps I should never leave you at all.”
Kathryn stopped dancing and looked him in the eyes. “Don’t tease me, Marc.”
He paused, as if wary of his next statement. “What if I’m not?”
Kathryn let him twist on her reaction for a beat and then hugged him. He accepted her enthusiastic response with a relieved laugh and then kissed her on the cheek before resuming their dance.
They were applauding the band after a three-song set when a server approached Forrester and directed him to a phone call, which he took in the next room. Kathryn didn’t know what she had just committed to, but her plan to get closer seemed to be working.
Alone again, she turned to leave the floor and walked right into the chest of the amorous piano player. He was a tall man with mousey brown hair that was parted at the side and brushed straight back into Brylcreemed perfection. He looked like a young man when he was sitting at the piano leering at her, but face to face, the permanent smile lines around his soft hazel eyes betrayed his maturity. Kathryn apologized as she attempted to side-step him on her way to the next room, but the band began to play a tango, and he took her in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she said, as her eyes flashed across the room to where Forrester would emerge at any second.
“The tango, with the most beautiful woman in the room,” the man said with true playboy swagger.
A thick French accent infused his words, and his arrogance annoyed her. He had to have seen her with Forrester and could see they were a couple.
“You’re flirting with disaster,” she warned.
He smiled and pulled her closer. “Hello, Disaster, my name is Thierry.”
Kathryn bristled as she glanced once more across the room, knowing this man could not only ruin her progress with Forrester, but he could endanger his own life as well.
“I mean it,” she said, making her implication perfectly clear.
The man was undeterred. “Well,” he said, looking around briefly to acknowledge her fear, “if this is to be my last dance, I shall make the most of it.”
Kathryn tried to push away. “You don’t understand—”
Marcus Forrester appeared in the doorway, and Kathryn stopped struggling when she saw him. She tried to look helpless and let him know it was not her idea. He got the picture, but true to their odd relationship, he didn’t seem to mind. He casually lit a cigarette and nodded in approval, putting his hand in his pocket as he rocked back on his heels, awaiting the performance.
Kathryn turned to her triumphantly grinning dance partner, and she seethed at both men for their conceit. The tall man wrapped one arm around her back and gently lifted her hand in his. She automatically assumed the proper position and draped an arm across his shoulders. The man accepted her submission by pulling her into a close embrace. Kathryn could feel the tension in her back and neck, and she wondered what the hell she was doing. She used to love the trap, the surrender, and the victory. Her anger accomplished nothing. If Forrester wanted a show, he was going to get one. If this stranger wanted an intimate tango, he’d better be up to the task, because bruised shins and a kneed groin were all he would get if he wasn’t. She wouldn’t even have to do it out of spite. It was just inherent to the dance if done badly. She stifled a smirk, as she had to admit, it would give her a perverse thrill if he faltered.
Their dance started slowly. They were two strangers, unsure, testing each other and their abilities. He retreated to an open embrace, and her arm slid across his broad shoulders and down his arm, where she lightly gripped his bicep. A sliding step to the side, then backward, then forward, and so the introduction went until he slipped the toe of his shoe beneath the arch of her right high heel and lifted her foot as they turned together, pivoting on her firmly planted left foot. She curled her leg around the inside of his as he turned her body across his, and her trailing foot caressed his calf on its way to the floor. The man showed her he knew his stuff, and she proved she could easily adapt to his style.
They were face to face, close, but not touching. Where he led, she followed. His intensity matched hers, and soon the contest was on in a calculated game of precise movements, deceptively simple in their complexity.
The music was lively, and two bodies twisted in unison like trees in a swirling wind. Steps forward, steps back, heels flying, bodies turning, legs stepping over, between, around each other, limbs moving like separate entities yet weaving together as part of a fluid whole. The staccato violin plucked out the tempo, and melodious notes rose and fell from the pushed and pulled bellows of the bandoneon.
The graceful man’s hands held and caressed her as they moved in perfect harmony and rhythm. He pulled her body to him. He pushed her away. He took the utmost care and knew exactly where to place her when he led her into a backward lean, and he made sure her effort was minimal when he tenderly welcomed her return. They were no longer combatants but a couple. Kathryn enjoyed the challenge and her partner’s expertise. His arrogance was well-founded, and she forgave him for it. The tango was a dance of confidence, after all.
The first energetic song of the set ended and seamlessly blended into a sultry tango waltz that would find them closer than ever. The man closed the distance between them, and she turned her face toward his chest and slid her hand across his shoulders until it weightlessly touched the back of his neck. He pressed his cheek to hers, and she closed her eyes. In their close embrace, there was no thinking. She trusted his lead, and his body told her where to go. Two became one, gliding across the floor with ease, pushing, pulling, turning, heels and toes dragging and pausing in time to the music. It didn’t matter who he was. She got lost in the music and the language of their bodies moving in concentrated sensuality.
The song ended and the final song of the tango set began, but neither moved. Kathryn looked to her partner and was not surprised to find desire in his eyes. The tango was an intimate dance if one allowed it to be, and, clearly, he had. Their mouths were dangerously close, and she sensed he was about to do something they would both regret. She stilled his advance with a hand on his chest and said, “Thank you,” effectively ending their brief acquaintance.
He paused in disbelief, as if a kiss would only be natural. “But we have not yet finished our dance.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, as she glanced over his shoulder at Forrester’s intense stare. Perhaps they had already gone too far.
“I am sorry,” the man whispered before they parted. “I am not usually this forward. I blame your beauty and the champagne.” He bowed his head, asking for forgiveness.
Kathryn neither accepted nor refused his request. She simply looked at the floor and then shifted her eyes to glance over her shoulder, a subtle gesture that brought Forrester’s presence to their intimate embrace. “Watch yourself.”
She extricated herself from his grasp and went to Forrester’s side as the murmuring crowd applauded their dance. He welcomed her with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, but she was unsure if he really meant it.
“I’m sorry, darling,” she began. “He just—”
Forrester slipped his arm around her waist, claiming ownership once more. “Nonsense. That was very beautiful.” He paused, taking in the tall man adjusting his shirt cuffs, then turned back to her, regarding her fondly. “Very sensual … sexual.” He smiled. “Thank you.”
She would never figure this man out. “You’re very welcome.”
He caressed her back as if she had no need to fear him, and she turned for a parting glance at her dance partner in time to see his back weaving through the crowd. His escape was not as macho as his approach to the tango, but smart, and she applauded him for his judgment. She caught Forrester nodding to his gorillas on the sidelines and squeezed his arm, whispering tersely, “Marcus, no. He’s harmless.” The gorillas continued discreetly on the man’s heels. She tightened her grip. “Marc, please.”
He attempted to calm her by patting her hand. “I just want to know his name, that’s all.”
Her heart pounded in concern for the elegant dancer’s life, and she gave Forrester a doubting look.
“That’s all,” Forrester promised. He continued patting her hand as he surveyed the room and gave a final squeeze. “I believe I’m through here. Shall we go?”
Kathryn nodded and offered a worried glance over her shoulder. It was all she could do for the retreating man now.
Jenny sat on an examining table in the infirmary at the training center and pressed a cotton ball to the needle hole in her forearm while the nurse secured it with a piece of medical tape. “All set, Miss Ryan,” the portly woman said with a smile. “Welcome to the big show.”
Jenny rubbed her arm when the woman turned her back. “Thanks.”
The nurse’s procedure was more like a bloodletting than a blood test. One more clumsy jab with a needle and Jenny was going to insist on drawing her own blood.
The kindly doctor came in next and handed over her papers, officially ending orientation day at the training center with the completion of her physical. She slid from the examining table and swore she stood a little taller. She beamed with pride as she inserted her medical slip into her folder. It joined oaths of secrecy, letters of denial, releases from responsibility, and her crisp new ID tag to add to her growing collection. It seemed you needed a separate tag for everything in the OSS. She felt like a used watch salesman, but with ID tags instead of timepieces.
She left the wooden building and stepped out into the noonday sun. Kathryn was at the center somewhere. Jenny had seen Smitty’s car in the parking lot, and wherever Smitty was—
Jenny took in the grounds and finally saw Kathryn in the distance. She wasn’t sure it was her at first. She’d never seen her in casual mechanic’s garb, but there she was, sprawled out on the gravel in a light blue mechanic’s jumpsuit, with a smattering of tools between her spread legs like a child playing jacks. A German motorcycle sat a few feet to the side, and Kathryn had what Jenny assumed was a carburetor in her hands, turning the thing over and shaking it until a screw fell out.
“There you are, you little bastard,” she heard her mutter to herself.
“Hey, lady,” Jenny called out as she casually approached. “I hear they have mechanics to do that for you.”
Kathryn looked up, and a concentrated scowl quickly turned into a broad grin. “Hey!”
Jenny sensed Kathryn was about to hop up and take her in her arms, but her body relaxed and she set the grimy engine part beside the tools between her legs and squinted into the sun over Jenny’s shoulder. “I can’t really call Bob the mechanic if I’m in the field, now can I?”
“Ah,” Jenny drew out, “good point.”
Kathryn’s hair was tucked haphazardly underneath a large billed cap that sat back on her head, and her black steel toe work shoes peeked out from under her rolled up pant legs. Her short white socks made her alabaster skin seem tanned in comparison. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and promptly deposited a black streak across her beautiful cheek. Who knew a grease monkey could be so sexy?
Jenny shuffled to the side, shading Kathryn from the sun. Noting her professional demeanor, she appropriately followed suit. “So, how are you?” It wasn’t a personal question but one an acquaintance might ask another if they met unexpectedly on the street.
Kathryn smiled her approval and briefly cut her eyes to a soldier who was taking in their exchange from a distance. “I’ve been well. Busy.”
“Good.”
Jenny absentmindedly scratched at the tape pulling on her arm through her long sleeve shirt and then stuck both hands in her pants pockets. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, at a loss for useless small talk when her heart was craving intimacy and some reassurance that their connection was still intact. She had an unending list of questions for Kathryn about her reunion with Forrester, but, more importantly, she had personal questions, like Do you want me as badly as I want you right now? She took a deep breath, trying to gather herself. Kathryn seemed fine. That was all that mattered.
The morning had left Jenny with a new appreciation for Kathryn the agent. Maybe it was the hard realities of “hazardous duty,” as they called it, or maybe it was the moment she put pen to paper and felt that she had just signed her life away, literally. She had always considered her life her own, but now it belonged to someone else—her government, in service to her country. It was as it should be, she supposed. After all, she’d spouted the rhetoric often enough. There was a price to pay for freedom, and now her country was asking to collect. What had once been abstract ideology had now become reality, and she felt the weight of the responsibility and a sense of her own mortality as never before. She knew Kathryn understood this burden, and it made her long to be with her, to find comfort in her arms. Solidarity among spies.
Kathryn’s trepidation and desperation had become so clear. Jenny felt closer than ever to her, and, oh, how she wished they were alone together somewhere instead of posturing in a very open, dusty courtyard, keeping their distance like two star-crossed lovers, hoping their rival families wouldn’t discover their secret. If she thought their time was precious before, she realized she had no idea just how much. Suddenly, their time together seemed depressingly finite. Days? Weeks? Months? Their relationship had instantly burgeoned in importance and intensity. Their separation was no longer an inconvenience. It was a thief, steadily stealing what little time they had left. Once upon a time, she knew it would have made her cry, but now it just made her angry and determined to be strong. Time would not defeat them, nor would distance. Whatever was in store for them, love would bind them always. Nothing could take that from them.
“Are you still excited?” Kathryn asked.
Jenny knew she understood the turmoil the awful truth brings. “Excited … nervous … afraid.”
Kathryn remembered the feelings well. She also remembered that no one ever knew the true meaning of those words until they were in action, running a deception, or running for their life. She allowed Jenny her homegrown interpretations. She wouldn’t have them much longer.
Kathryn noticed a bloodstain on Jenny’s sleeve and pointed at it. “What happened?”
“Oh, for—” Jenny rolled up her sleeve, revealing a bloody cotton ball hanging from a piece of medical tape. She pushed the loose end back onto her skin. “During my physical, Nurse Whatserhoozits in there took my blood with a needle I swear was as big as a soda straw.” She rolled down her sleeve and chuckled. “You would’ve been on the floor, I fear.”
Kathryn smiled, acknowledging her aversion to blood. She watched Jenny’s hand as she deftly buttoned her sleeve, and she remembered the night of the accident, when she’d just barely managed not to pass out. Jenny had offered the same hand that night, and Kathryn held it like it was a conduit to the outside world, a means to escape. She briefly thought about how far they’d come since that night, but then realized it wasn’t so far, really, as she longed to take that hand again, wanting to escape, if only for a few moments.
Jenny must have sensed the melancholic shift in her mood and tilted her head. “What is it?”
Kathryn knew there was no point hiding her emotions from Jenny, so she abandoned her casual front for a simple desire. “I need to see you.”
She saw a brief wave of surrender in Jenny’s eyes and body language, but Jenny recovered quickly.
She glanced at Branson leaning against one of the classroom buildings and lowered her voice to an intimate whisper. “Are you okay, baby?”
Kathryn smiled. She’d been called baby many times, by everyone from friendly, fast-talking jive musicians to disrespectful Joes, but no one had ever filled the word with such love. Jenny looked worried, but it wasn’t necessary.
The night with Forrester was nothing Kathryn hadn’t endured before, and the argument with Smitty on the way in from the estate was disturbing in its intensity and outcome but nothing Jenny needed to know or worry about, especially since it was about her—again.
Kathryn shook her head and decided not only was she Jenny’s baby, but she was uncharacteristically being a baby as well.
“I’m fine,” she said, “just spoiled.”
“Sure?”
Kathryn nodded and rearranged the tools in front of her. “We can’t be together today, and that makes me sore.”
Jenny paused and eyed Branson again. “Tomorrow?” she whispered.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
“Same place and time?”
“I’ll send word if something changes.”
Jenny stared at her adoringly for a beat and then pantomimed a smudge on her cheek. “You have a—”
Kathryn pulled a red rag from her back pocket and wiped her face clean. “Thanks.”
Jenny quickly scanned their surroundings. “I love you.”
Kathryn looked up and smiled, unable to feign indifference at such a heartfelt declaration. “I love you too.”
Jenny chewed her lip, and Kathryn sensed she’d better save them both from their faltering resolves.
“So, we’ll see you back here in a few weeks, then,” Kathryn said loudly for the benefit of their voyeur.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m looking forward to it.”
“See you then.”
“Bye.”
Kathryn tried hard not to watch Jenny walk away. She decided she would never watch her walk away again. She stuffed the rag back into her pocket and picked up the carburetor, pretending to give two hoots about whether the machine ever worked again. She heard footsteps approaching from the side and frowned. She knew who it was, and, frankly, she was in no mood.
“Take it somewhere else today, Branson.”
“Cute little protégé, Hammond.”
“Jerry—” She dropped the engine part with a clank and looked up in time to see Smitty’s imposing form arrive.
“Beat it, asshole,” Smitty said with a clenched fist, ready to make it happen.
“Take it easy, Johnny. Just enjoying the view.”
Smitty didn’t have to tell him twice. The man slinked away without a backward glance, whistling a tune as if nothing had happened.
“Asshole,” Smitty muttered again before softening his stance. “I’m heading over to the mess for some chow. Can you take a break?”
Kathryn declined, holding up her greasy hands as an excuse. “I’ve got to get this thing put back together.”
“Okay.” He stood motionless for a few seconds. “Can I bring you back a sandwich?”
She knew he was still trying to test their shaky ground, so she took pity on him. “Sure.”
“Great,” he said with a smile and turned to walk away.
“Say, Smitty?”
He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”
“Did you have a blood test as part of your physical?”
“No. Why? Wanna get hitched? After all, we already fight like an old married couple.”
Kathryn grinned. Sad, but true, but hopefully things would be different from now on. “Just curious.”
He shrugged and continued on his way. Kathryn picked up her project and mumbled, “Neither did I.”
Kathryn’s week went by quickly. Forrester spent his days at the office and most evenings on the phone in his study. No strangers came to the house for meetings, and there were no major functions to speak of. It appeared that whatever deals had to be rearranged because of Charles Lawrence’s betrayal and death weren’t quite settled, and the center of the storm seemed to be out of town. Taps on Forrester’s phones pointed to Chicago, and agents on the other end confirmed a flourish of new activity. Communication with overseas contacts had increased as well, and the sense that something was going to break soon was the consensus reached by all involved.
Through it all, Kathryn bided her time, waiting for any slip—a misplaced note, an overheard phone conversation, a murmur in his sleep—that would finally give some clue to the mystery that seemed to consume Forrester of late, above all else. They had been sharing a bed since his return, something she initiated and he readily agreed to, but it was strictly nonsexual, of course. She knew if he got used to having her near, he would miss her more when she was not. Her plan worked, as an emergency trip out of town for the weekend had him lamenting their separation. It wasn’t hard to convince him to take her along. It was the perfect opportunity to add to the list of players in his little scheme. He was getting lax about working at the house. He’d started bringing home a locked briefcase every night, which Smitty had no problem breaking into while Kathryn kept her assignment occupied.
The documents Smitty photographed with his tiny Minox camera were filled with pages of handwritten scientific formulas and attached correspondence about what appeared to be a biological weapon. The letters all had the same theme. Something was missing or as yet undiscovered. Something important. This would back up what Kathryn had heard the night Charles Lawrence attacked her. The word reservoir appeared over and over, and it was obvious that negotiations for this vital piece of the puzzle were ongoing.
Kathryn couldn’t get biological weapon out of her mind. It reminded her of the file Colonel Holmes had given her on the Ryans and their work in biological warfare. For one panic-inducing moment, she suspected Jenny’s meteoric rise through the OSS ranks was no mere coincidence and that, somehow, they would draw her into that world as well. But that was ridiculous. Jenny wasn’t a scientist and had no idea what her father was doing.
Lying on her back on a cold stone floor, Kathryn watched the men take Jenny away. One man on each arm dragged her out of the room as she kicked and struggled to escape. The whole thing happened in slow motion. Jenny screamed her name, but it was so drawn out that it sounded like she was in a tunnel of cotton. Kathryn didn’t move. It wasn’t that she couldn’t move, or that she didn’t want to—she just felt empty. She was finished. She had failed, and there was no reason to fight. Jenny was finished too. She just didn’t realize it, or she was too stubborn to admit defeat. She smiled ruefully. That was so like Jenny—a fighter to the end, even when it was hopeless. When she was out of sight and the muffled screams receded, Kathryn sensed men standing over her and felt the end closing in. She slowly turned her head and looked into the eyes of death. Welcome.
“Are you all right, Kathryn?” Forrester asked as he took her hand.
His touch and the droning of the small private plane’s engine as it taxied for takeoff shattered the memory from the night before and made her open her eyes. “Mm,” she said, as she turned to him and squeezed his hand. “Just tired this morning.”
“You were very restless after your bad dream last night.”
“I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to keep you up.”
“Since I was the subject of your discomfort, I feel it is I who must apologize.” He kissed her hand. “You needn’t worry, dear. Nothing is going to happen to me.”
She smiled and nodded as the plane reached takeoff speed and lifted them toward the sky. She’d awakened in the early morning hours, bathed in a cold sweat, surrounded by Forrester’s arms. She recounted her dream but made him the victim, thankful she hadn’t called out Jenny’s name in her delirium. She also told Smitty, who tried to comfort her by saying it was just a dream. She agreed, and that was the problem. It was just a dream, but it should have been a nightmare. She let them take Jenny. She didn’t fight. She didn’t care. She just let them take her. It frightened her. Why would she do that?
She closed her eyes again and rested her head against the headrest. Smitty was right. It was just a dream. A perfectly rational manifestation of the lack of control she felt in regard to Jenny’s safety, especially since she’d left for basic at the Farm in D.C. Jenny had gone from innocent bystander to OSS agent on the verge of fieldwork, and now Kathryn found herself a helpless bystander as her lover was pulled inexorably toward her destiny. Jenny would be a changed person when she returned, and Kathryn could only hope that destiny would take pity on them and, when all was said and done, they would be together in the end.
Kathryn admired her new manicure as Smitty drove her to the club. Her days would now consist of evenings working at The Grotto, nights and mornings with Forrester, afternoons devoted to OSS business, or womanly pursuits, such as the beauty parlor or shopping—just to keep the accounts Forrester set up for her active—or preferably, her new favorite pastime, Jenny, when she returned home.
Smitty didn’t like the Jenny part. He’d made that perfectly clear that morning, informing her that Forrester had charged him with providing an accurate account of her afternoons, and other than cover stories to hide OSS activities, a dance card full of blonde would not sit well with the possessive industrialist.
Forrester was fine with her relationship with Jenny, Kathryn insisted, but Smitty accused her of jeopardizing her assignment because of her inability, or unwillingness, to “lay off the kid,” as he put it, while Forrester was in town. She, in turn, accused him of jealousy, which he denied, claiming Forrester was a red-blooded man with a beautiful woman under his thumb, and no matter what Kathryn believed, no one was that understanding. Kathryn took offense to Smitty’s insinuation that she didn’t know how to handle Forrester, and it just went downhill from there, with both parties shouting at the top of their lungs, as the tensions of the past few days unloaded like a sprung clock mechanism until Smitty finally just pulled over. Their unrestrained grievances had their hearts pounding in anger, but when the car finally skidded to a halt, they found themselves in sudden silence, as if the forward motion had been fueling the discord.
“I know you’re worried,” Kathryn finally said into the tense silence.
Smitty didn’t have to answer. It was a given.
“But what happened to trusting me?”
Obviously, Smitty’s faith had been shaken, but he calmed down and rethought his approach. He scrubbed his face with his hand and conceded he’d never seen Kathryn so smitten, pointing out it was his job to see that it didn’t interfere with the assignment, not to mention her safety. Kathryn accepted his position, understood his concern, and they both apologized for letting things get out of hand.
Kathryn could tell Smitty felt relieved, but things had changed for her that morning. She knew Smitty had to do what he had to do, and although he could be sympathetic to her need for Jenny, his devotion to duty wouldn’t allow him to overlook every possible pitfall. She was devoted too, though, and her continuing efforts with Forrester surely proved that. It was probably the only reason Smitty had kept his concerns to himself. He was brass’s canary in a coal mine, after all. If something was wrong with her or her performance, he would be the first to know and would warn her superiors about it. She liked to think it was their friendship that kept him from reporting his misgivings, or maybe he weighed the time invested in the case verses starting over and found that as long as he could contain her and reason with her, the risk was worth it. The truth was probably somewhere in between and the only thing they could agree on at the moment. True to the depth of their relationship, Smitty knew her well and still sensed the ever-widening chasm between them.
“Don’t run from me, Kat. I’m here for you.” She didn’t respond, and he was incredulous. “I can’t believe I have to say that to you.”
He didn’t. He shouldn’t. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, trying to process her emotions. She reached out and laid her hand on his thigh to ground herself, to be forgiven, to find their friendship again. His hand covered hers immediately, and she was shocked by the urge to pull away. Smitty was becoming synonymous with Forrester and just as suffocating.
It wasn’t fair, the association or her wrath. She opened her eyes and stared at her friend. He loved her beyond reason, had saved her life on many occasions, with no regard for his own, would always be there for her, and would always understand and forgive. He smiled. His boyish grin was worn but not defeated. For the first time, she found no comfort there. She found only a reminder of pain and anguish and a future spent wallowing in self-imposed restitution.
It broke her heart, and it frightened her. She’d never been without him and couldn’t remember not needing him or counting on him. Even with their ups and downs, he was a constant, her strength.
She would always love him, more perhaps than she was willing to admit, but he was no longer a refuge, no longer home. She turned her hand palm up, accepting his fingers into hers, and she closed her hand tightly around them. He mistook it for a welcome home, and she let him, and then silently said goodbye.