What the hell was I thinking? Berit thought about her Navy-blue pantsuit, black ankle boots with a thin but sensible two-inch heel and shoved her bare hands into the pockets of her wool-lined trench coat, hoping to find a pair of gloves. Her outfit screamed alphabet agent.
Her standard business uniform was far from sexy. The suit jacket was cut to cover the weapon she carried in the small of her back. It wasn’t even nipped at the waist to show off her feminine curves. Her slacks were lined so they hung neatly all day long. They also had a tummy panel in the front, a concession she’d made after celebrating the big forty-five. She stayed in shape working out in the gym at the office, but gravity sucked and she had a little belly as proof.
All of her career, she’d chosen her clothing to look the least feminine possible. In the field, ninety-nine percent of the agents were men. She needed them to take her seriously. When she was undercover, she had an allotment and purchased the appropriate clothing to fit the part. Since she’d been stateside for over ten years and stationed at headquarters, all she ever wore were dark suits.
She never went undercover stateside.
She had a few cocktail dresses that were at least a decade old. She’d be overdressed for the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant where she was meeting Micah. Besides, she would’ve had to change in her office and leave the building in a sexy dress. No way in hell was she doing that.
Oh, well. She mentally shrugged. This was the real her. She was a forty-eight-year-old single woman who worked too many long hours, lived alone, and carried a gun because she knew that evil lurked everywhere in the world.
Her mission was to infiltrate Micah’s small group of friends. Get them to trust her. Then, she’d do whatever was asked of her.
She took one last glance around the front of the old brick building before opening the door. She was immediately hit with the scent of cooking meat and the distinct spices that always took her back to her time in Eastern Africa. Fenugreek, cardamom, cayenne pepper, and the restaurant’s unique concoction of spices called berbere assaulted her and soothed her at the same time.
Berit’s mouth watered.
She glanced around the restaurant that was off to the right. No sign of Micah. A few minutes early, she grabbed a handwoven basket from the stack, deciding to pick up a few things in the grocery store portion to the left. Standing in front of the freezer unit a few minutes later, she saw him approach in the reflection of the glass doors.
Micah walked with a casual confidence that very few men could accomplish. It wasn’t a, my balls are bigger than yours swagger, but more like don’t be stupid and try to fuck with me. The special operators in Matthew Saint Clare’s special activities division moved the same way. Mak had always had that kind of presence, too.
She took a few seconds to observe Micah without his knowledge. The silver at his temples, the deep lines at the corners of his eyes gave away his age. His body certainly didn’t. The dark slacks and sweater over a button-down dress shirt didn’t hide the toned body underneath. The unzipped leather jacket he wore over broad shoulders subtly whispered money.
According to his file, that she’d read cover to cover earlier that day, Micah Reid had a respectable nest egg. As a captain, the military paid him well. He’d bought and sold real estate wisely throughout his career, mostly condominiums close to base. Other than on the basics in life such as a place to live and a vehicle to drive, he hadn’t spent much money. He preferred relaxing in his recliner reading a book with a good glass of scotch to overcrowded bars and thumping music.
On occasion, though, he had a few places that he visited with two other captains who were divorced. Micah preferred women at least ten years younger. Sometimes, he even took a woman in her twenties to bed. Never at his home, though. The older he got, the more often he used the closest mid-brand hotel.
Berit had already resigned herself that there was nothing she could do about her age. Since he’d never kept any woman around for more than a few months, she had Dr. Sydney Petersen, the CIA’s lead psychiatrist, give her an analysis of him. Of course, he had mother issues, but not in the way Berit had expected. Micah didn’t trust women to stay. Every woman he’d ever known had left him. Every. Single. One.
Dr. Petersen also suggested that Micah had learned during his teen years to use women sexually and discard them before they broke off any relationship they might build, then leave him. His father had never remarried after the death of Micah’s mother, nor had he kept women around long enough for Micah to observe a stable relationship. The psychologist felt that it went back to the old saying, you learn what you live then you live what you’ve learned.
In his twenties, several women had moved in with Micah then left, reinforcing that women always leave. According to the psychologist’s reports, he never tried to build a relationship with any of the women. He used them for sex, and only sex. He never even tried to get to know them.
Berit had asked Dr. Petersen if what he was truly looking for was a mother. That wasn’t a role she personally wanted to take. She’d raised her son and had no desire to raise a grown man, not that she expected to stay undercover very long. She would be like every other woman in his life and leave him.
Micah Reid was nothing more than a mission to her.
A very handsome mission.
While he was still several feet away, she turned and faced him. “Did you have any difficulty finding this place?”
“None at all.” He glanced at her basket. “Do we have to make our own supper or are you shopping for later in the week?”
“I got here a little early and thought I’d utilize the time by picking up a few things.” She fingered the spices. “Mine are getting old and they lose so much of their flavor quickly once the jar is opened.” Why the hell had she said that? He didn’t care how old her spices were. Spices certainly weren’t spicy conversation. She was supposed to be in seduction mode…flirty.
Micah picked up the crusty bread. “Maybe I’ll grab a loaf of this for Elizabeth.” His gaze swept the aisle, then he glanced around the store. “I wonder…we used to get this really great bread when we were in Ethiopia. It makes the most wonderful French toast. It’s sweet and grainy.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you’re talking about habesha dabo. It’s made from barley. They bake it in Enset leaves in a lidded bowl. It’s over here.” Berit showed him where to get the bread and was pleased that he’d been someplace she’d lived. That was ridiculous, but she wouldn’t deny the emotion. She hadn’t truly connected with a man in years.
“We can take these to the table and pay for everything on the way out,” she suggested.
“Sounds like a plan.” He gestured for her to lead the way.
Berit stepped into the cordoned off restaurant portion and glanced around for an empty table. Although the place was clean, it certainly showed its age. The plastic tablecloths had been wiped down so many times the colors had faded. Stacks of thick white napkins sat next to metal votives that she’d never seen lit in the ten years that she’d been eating at the restaurant. It really wasn’t much to look at compared to most American restaurants in the DC area.
She’d warned him.
“Let’s take the one in the back corner.” Micah was so close his warm breath brushed her ear.
A shiver of awareness passed through her like a sonic boom. No man had invaded her personal space in years. And wasn’t that a damn shame, Berit admitted to herself. She was long overdue for a man-induced orgasm. Glancing over at Micah, she wondered what kind of a lover he’d be. Demanding, for sure. He oozed alpha dominance. Before he caught her staring, she walked across the restaurant to the table he suggested.
As she was about to step behind the table to put her back against the wall, Micah pulled out the chair across from it for her. She should’ve known better. He wanted the seat in the corner so he could see everything, and everyone, and the restaurant. It was close to the kitchen and a backdoor.
“I’d rather sit here if you don’t mind.” She pulled out the chair adjacent to the one in the back. She could still see the front door and everyone except the people at the table behind her. She hoped Micah would take it as a sign that she wanted to be closer to him rather than in a position of power.
When he sat down, he admitted, “I should have realized that you wouldn’t want your back to everyone. For a few minutes there, I forgot who you work for.”
Damn. For a few minutes, she, too, had forgotten why she was at the restaurant with this wonderful gentleman.
Micah set the bread on the table, then picked it up and moved it onto the empty chair to his right. “If I set it there, I know I’ll forget it.” He set the bread back on the far side of the table.
Berit reached across and snatched it, placing it in her basket then set all of her shopping on the chair beside her. “There. I won’t forget it.”
“Thank you,” Micah said as his gaze swept the restaurant. “I take it you’ve had this place checked out?”
“Yes. It’s been in the same family for over fifty years.” She looked at the young female server taking an order a few tables down. Her thick, kinky black hair was pulled back into a frizzy ponytail exposing the features of her dark brown face and huge almond eyes. “That’s the owner’s granddaughter, Zala. She’s been working here since she was sixteen.”
As though she knew they were talking about her, she looked up and gave them a small wave. She held up her index finger, indicating she would be there in a minute. She didn’t lie.
“Ms. Barker, it’s so good to see you again.” Zala gave her two rows of bright, perfect teeth.
“How’s med school going?” Berit asked. “I’ve heard Johns Hopkins is really tough.”
“I have to study a lot.” Zala’s smile grew huge. “Next semester I get assigned my own corpse.” She then glanced guiltily at the nearby tables and lowered her voice. “Grandma doesn’t like me talking about what I do at school around the customers.”
Before they continued their personal conversation, she made introductions. “Micah, I’d like you to meet Zala. Zala, this is Captain Reid.” She made the appropriate hand gestures.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zala,” Micah said as he rose and shook her hand.
To keep the subject away from dead bodies, Berit asked, “Is Beniam home yet? Mak was in town over the weekend, but he had a bunch of his buddies with him.”
Zala leaned in as though she was going to share a secret. “Ben had to accompany our cousin, Dawit, on pilgrimage. Davie, that’s what we call him, was mouthing off to Aunt Afia, not showing up for his shifts at the store, so grandpa sent him to Ethiopia. He told Ben to give him the scared straight treatment, and if Davie didn’t shape up by the time Ben had to get back to school at Yale, he was to leave the little twit there.”
The young woman crossed her arms over her chest and nodded once. “He’ll either learn how good he has it here in the United States or he’ll learn to eat live bugs. Aunt Nuru will see to it that he gets the complete Ethiopian experience.”
“I think I’d like your grandfather.” Micah seemed to be holding in a laugh.
“I can go get him for you, if you want me to,” Zala offered. “He’s in the kitchen, cooking tonight. He likes to do that every now and then. Truthfully, I think he just likes to get away from grandma.”
“No, no, that’s okay.” Micah sat back down.
Turning on her waitress face, Zala asked, “Would you like to start with some water? Ms. Barker, shall I bring you a glass of tej? Captain Reid, we also have American beer as well as Tella. It’s an Ethiopian beer. Grandpa likes it but my dad thinks it tastes awful.”
“I drink Tej because it’s sweet,” Berit explained. “It’s made from honey and to me, it tastes a lot like Mead or Japanese plum wine. It counteracts the heat from the spicy food.”
“I’m not much for sweet drinks,” Micah said then looked up at Zala and ordered a popular American beer.
“Have you decided what you want to eat?” At Zala’s question, Micah looked at Berit as though for guidance.
“We ate whatever they put in front of us.” Micah shrugged. “I have no idea the names of any of the food.”
“Do you trust me?” She raised one eyebrow.
“To order supper? Yes.” His smile was devilish. “I have to confess, I like things a little hot and spicy.”
Berit wasn’t sure she had those two qualities left in her sexual repertoire, but she could certainly order food that she thought he would like. Ignoring his flirtation, she rattled off her choices, enough for both of them.
Zala seemed to agree with everything except they had run out of goat. Spiced lamb would work just as well. “I’ll put this order in and grab your drinks.” The young woman flashed them one last smile and zipped off to the kitchen.
Before Berit could ask a question, Micah beat her to it. “So, when were you recruited to the company?”
“My senior year at Georgetown.” She unrolled the napkin and placed the silverware in the proper positions, using the time to decide how much she really wanted to tell this man. Truth or lie? When their eyes met, she decided to tell the truth. “I’d been hitting the job fairs and sending out resumes for about six months and I was getting close to graduation. I had a lot of first interviews, only a few second interviews, and absolutely zero job offers. Even though I had one of the highest GPAs in the International Relations Department, in DC you had to know someone to get a job back then.”
“What about your parents? Were they politically connected?” Micah’s entire focus was on her.
She felt as though he was testing her for lies. Maybe he’d done his own investigation…on her. Berit knew exactly what he would find, and it wouldn’t be much.
“No. My parents were killed in a car accident when I was a sophomore in high school, and I lived with my Great Aunt Nancy in Chevy Chase until I graduated. She was such a prickly old spinster that she didn’t even have friends. There were only about ten people at her funeral and that included the Baptist preacher and me.” Then she added, “She passed away about a year after I moved out.”
Berit repositioned the knife and spoon even though they were perfectly parallel. She knew his silence was an interrogation tactic, and it was working on her, so she continued. It wasn’t a secret. “As I was leaving a job fair, I walked by the CIA recruiters and said what the hell. I needed a job. My student loans were going to need to be paid. Two hours later I left with a folder an inch-thick of paperwork that needed to be filled out, by hand.”
She was thankful for the interruption when Zala arrived with their drinks then dashed off.
With a self-deprecating grin, she admitted, “Nowadays everything is done almost instantaneously on the computer via the Internet.” She sipped her water. She wasn’t ready for the alcohol yet. “Anyway, they did a formal interview at school then invited me to Langley. I guess I fell for their see the world, help protect old glory, duty to your country sales lines.” A little giggle burst through. “That, and they offered me money.”
Turning the tables, she asked Micah, “Did you fall for that same spiel?”
“No. I knew from an early age that I wanted to join the Navy. I’ve always loved the water.” He went on to explain what she already knew, but she listened attentively anyway. “I grew up on Lake Erie swimming, SCUBA diving, sailing, if it deals with water, I’ve been doing it all my life.”
After a sip of beer, he went on to say, “Most weekends dad and I spent on the boat fishing for walleye or lake perch. When it was warm enough, we’d take turns waterskiing. During the snowy winters, you’d find me and dad racing down black diamond trails. We had a sailboat.” His grin was at a memory, not her. “There’s a picture of me and dad on a sailboat about a thousand feet offshore. I was little. Under three years old. We had several sailboats over the years, each one getting bigger.”
“Where did you end up going to school?” Berit knew but had to act dumb.
“The Naval Academy.” He took a long pull on his beer. “I haven’t been back in years. I suppose now that I’m stationed so close, I should go see the place. Maybe even go to a football game, but that wasn’t my sport. I was on the sailing team and the swim team. We often had a regatta during home games, so I rarely got to see the football team in action.”
“Do you still like to sail?” She actually wanted to know. “I’ve never been, and it looks exciting.”
His smile grew wide. “I’ll take you…when the weather warms up. I hate to admit this, but I’ve become a fair-weather sailor. Coldwater swims are for qualification only these days.”
She laughed. “Are you such a terrible sailor that we’re going to tip over?”
“Hell, no.” His smile was dazzling. “I love to go as fast as the wind can take us, bouncing over the waves. Sailing isn’t for the faint of heart, not the way I do it.”
“I’ll go sailing with you if you promise to take it easy.” She meant it, too. Then she added, “A warm sunny day would be perfect.”
“It’s a date, but we’re going to have to wait until about April.” Micah downed about half his water. “There won’t be a jealous husband or boyfriend following us across the Chesapeake Bay, will there?”
“You didn’t hesitate to throw that out there, did you?” Berit was impressed while part of her wondered if he’d been chased before. She held up her ringless left hand. “Not married. Never have been.” She giggled. “And it’s been decades since I had to worry about a boy friend.” She emphasized the word boy.
“Should I have asked about a man friend in that case?” He queried.
Berit leaned back in the chair and weighed her options. She could lie to him, but she really didn’t want to. “There hasn’t been one of those, either, for quite a while.” How long had it been? A year? No. Over two years since she had dumped Thaddeus Grover Hastings a.k.a. Thad. The senatorial aid had almost convinced her that he loved her, but his fascination with her job had finally become too much. Besides, Mak didn’t like him, especially after Thad had grilled him for nearly an hour wanting details about his missions.
Director Hennel had the man investigated and discovered his computer was filled with notes on dozens of people in the spy world. He was supposedly writing a thriller or mystery novel. After Director Hennel had a conversation with the senator, Thad was sent back to North Dakota.
Rephrasing, Berit volleyed the question back. “Is there a special lady waiting for you back in Virginia Beach?”
“No.” His answer was quick and definitive. “I’ve never been married, either. My job isn’t exactly conducive to long-term relationships.”
Berit laughed emphatically. “Same here. Especially the first fifteen years. No man was eager to play father to a newborn in Northern Africa while I made the money in the family. At least no man that I would ever want. I refuse to be someone’s sugar mama.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wondered why the hell she’d said that. No one knew about her failed attempts to find a father for Mak.
“I take it you raised Mak on your own?” Of course, Micah would come right out and ask the question.
“Completely.” She said the word with pride. What the hell, it was a long time ago so why not tell him. “John was a grad student my senior year of college. We were in love, living together in a tiny apartment just off-campus. We had everything planned. I was going to get a great job with the government or working for one of the Beltway bandits while he finished grad school. He was studying international finance and was sure he’d start working the day after graduation for one of the international banks. We’d get married, travel the world, take tropical vacations, and maybe someday have children.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “We were idealistic idiots, but love does that to you.”
“Please, don’t tell me John dumped you once he found out you were pregnant?” Anger and disgust were evident in his voice.
“No. John was thrilled when I told him I was pregnant. He said things might be a little tight at first, but the rest of our dreams could still work out. Our baby would just be one of the best-traveled children on the planet.” That part had worked out for her and Mak.
Berit took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What he wasn’t happy about, was that my only job offer was with the CIA. It didn’t matter, though. He was killed about a month later walking home from the library late one night. It was in the days before traffic cams and of course, nobody saw anything. Armed robbery. He was knifed several times. His wallet and student ID were stolen.” She shook her head. “They couldn’t have gotten any more than fifteen dollars.”
Berit wasn’t sure if she and John would’ve worked out as husband and wife, but as she was moving out of the apartment after graduation, she’d found a small, yet beautiful, diamond ring. She’d loved John and had often told Mak about his father. She’d saved the ring. Maybe someday their son would want to use it.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Micah’s statement brought her out of her thoughts.
She waved her hand. “That was a long time ago.”
Zala plunked a huge round metal platter in the middle of the table then placed glass plates in front of each of them. “Ready for another round of drinks?”
Micah smiled up at her. “I think we’re good. Thank you.”
Berit tore a small piece of the spongy pancake-like bread off the bottom and spooned several items onto it folding it taco style. “It’s so much easier if you eat with your fingers.”
Micah laughed. “When I was in the country we ate with our fingers because we didn’t want to get the utensils dirty. In the desert, where we were, water was too precious to waste on dirty dishes.” He followed her lead. “So, this is really the way we’re supposed to eat this?”
“Absolutely.” Berit then explained what was in each pile on the platter. She was enjoying Micah’s company much more than she had expected. It felt like a real date.
She and Micah had clicked and that was so very, very rare for Berit. She genuinely liked this man. There was so much more she wanted to know about him, not as part of the mission, but as a man. He had piqued her interest. On a personal level, she enjoyed his company. Spying on him, and his friends, didn’t feel right.