An operation, asset, or agent is said to be compromised when he or she has been uncovered by a competing entity, and therefore no longer secret.
Should the undercover operation also take place in bed—that is, under the covers—the situation could be called a compromising position.
Another reason to stay away from an agent provocateur.
Donna Stone’s runs usually stayed within a five-mile loop through Hilldale’s wide, winding streets.
At first, Jack did his best to keep up with her on foot, but because he worried she’d feel a presence behind her, he now followed by car, some four or five blocks behind.
He’d pull over if he felt he was getting too close for comfort, wait for her to sprint ahead, then follow again.
He could have sent Arnie to follow her, but he chose to take on this task himself. As much as he tried to convince himself that his reason for shadowing her had to do with making sure she wasn’t abducted, he knew better.
The truth was, simply, he loved watching her.
Somewhere into the fourth week of surveillance, he realized he wasn’t just tracking her movements and that of her children, but he was actually studying her.
In truth, she fascinated him.
In so many ways, she was aware of her surroundings. When it came to her children, she had a sixth sense as to their needs, whether it was a bottle for Trisha, or a gentle admonishment for Mary before some infraction caused her to lose some much-desired privilege. At the same time, he wondered why her intuition had failed her when it came to Carl.
Granted, she’d been married to a master spy.
Perhaps her deep love for him had blinded her to the obvious.
He had no such excuse.
After all, he was the master spy.
Having now studied her for hours on end, he knew every angle of her face, and every curve of her body. He had replayed all the video footage and audio recordings they’d collected of her so many times that he could read every inflection in her voice, the nuance in her every move.
Perhaps in his analysis of her, he’d find the cause of the blind spot to his own marriage.
In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of his ex.
He no longer dreamt of her.
Now he dreamt of Donna.
He felt guilty about it—not because, in his mind, he could see he was capable of moving beyond the pain of his loss, but because he knew she wasn’t.
He also could not deny the role he played in Carl’s death.
Maybe it was time for him to leave.
Suddenly, and for the first time since he’d been following her, she took a different route entirely: onto a trail managed by the National Parks Service that bordered the far end of Hilldale.
He cursed himself for leaving the house in shorts, as opposed to sweats. His sunglasses and baseball cap would give him some cover, as would two week’s growth of stubble.
Hell, what was he worried about? At the speed she was going, he’d be proud of himself if he could just keep up with her.
Like most of that part of the coast, the trail roamed coastal headlands and through marsh woods. Every now and again, it would meander through a crowd of scraggly bushes, but for the most part they were traipsing through dry grass.
Her daily runs made it easier for her to climb up the next hill, which was crowned with a copse of tall oaks. He slowed up naturally. But two-thirds of the way to the top, he was so worried he’d lose her that he sprinted over it—
And over her as well.
Apparently, she’d bent down to tie her shoe.
He couldn’t stop fast enough to avoid her, somersaulting over her.
He landed hard, and facedown. His head hit a rock.
He didn’t know how long he’d blacked out. But when he came to, she was standing over him.
“I’m…I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”
He turned his head before speaking. Dropping his voice into a lower register, he answered, “Yeah. Fine. Sorry.”
He covered his face with his hand, but it wasn’t part of the act. Warm blood was dripping from a cut above his left eye, which was blurry. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed his sunglasses, which had landed further down the path.
Seeing the blood, she instantly reached out to comfort him. Realizing what she was about to do, he jerked his head away. He stumbled to his feet and started back down the hill, the way they had come.
On the drive home, he tried not to think of what he would have done had she touched him.
He knew the answer: He would have taken her, right then and there.
He knew it was time for him to go, but he’d be damned if he’d leave her.
Ever.
“What you did was stupid, and could have compromised the whole damn mission.” Ryan’s voice was still at a reasonable decibel level, but his tone was as chilling as an iceberg.
Jack resisted the urge to take the bag of ice he held to his eye and toss it at Ryan. “How was I supposed to know that she’d stop to tie her shoe?”
“You shouldn’t have been following her, anyway. It should have been Arnie—with one of his crazy disguises.”
“Are you kidding? A typical jog for her is five miles, minimum! He would have passed out after the first quarter-mile.”
“I’ve got to get that boy into a gym,” Ryan conceded with a nod. “In fact, it’s time to yank both of you off surveillance. I need Arnie back on Tech Ops, and I need you on an important extermination. Consider this your penance for the lost files paid in full…Okay, not in full. Until they show up, you’ll always be my bitch.”
“What? But…Don’t pull me off now! Look, Ryan, if it’s because of my accident—”
Ryan frowned. “To some extent, yes, that has something to do with it. Now that she’s seen your face, your role in this mission has been compromised.”
“But…but she didn’t! I swear!” Jack hated the fact he was stuttering like some foolish schoolboy with a hard-on.
“You don’t know that. By your own admission, you were out cold, at least for a few seconds.” Ryan slapped the desk in disgust. “Listen, even if she hasn’t seen it, I can’t afford having my best hard man babysitting a decoy.”
“That’s all she is to you—a decoy?” Jack muttered.
“No. She’s also a woman I have tremendous respect for. And she’s also the widow of one of my agents.” Ryan hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Jack, I know you feel guilty about Carl. We’ve all made mistakes we regret—mistakes that have fatal repercussions. But maybe this isn’t the best way for you to make amends. If you want to catch the Quorum, you can’t wait until it comes to you. Right now, I need you in the field.”
Jack knew he was right.
If I hadn’t fallen in love with her, I would have been itching for a transfer by now.
Yes, okay I admit it—I love Donna Stone.
I just can’t tell her.
And now, I won’t be here, watching over her.
He looked over to Ryan. “I presume you’ll still keep a surveillance team on her.”
Ryan nodded. “I owe that much to Carl. So yes—at least until we hear affirmatively that the Quorum did somehow retrieve what they’ve been looking for and she’s in the clear, or until we take down the Quorum. I’m hoping for the best result, the latter of those two.”
They shook hands before Jack started out the door.
He had no doubt that Ryan knew why they were shaking—to seal his commitment to keep watch over Donna and her children.
“Can I have a table out on the deck?” Jack asked the hostess at the Sand Dollar.
She looked down at the seating chart on the podium in front of her. “I’m sorry, sir, but it looks like every table is taken.” Her apology came with a smile.
“I see an empty one, right there—the corner one, by the railing.” He pointed through the reception area window, where the deck could be seen clearly.
“Oh…” She looked down at the chart again. “I’m sorry, but that one is reserved, and it’s marked ‘special occasion.’ It will be occupied in about fifteen minutes.” She seemed sincerely sorry she couldn’t give him the table he wanted. Hoping to make it up to him, she scanned the chart with her finger, only to show the futility of his wish by shrugging helplessly. “If you care to wait for an outside table, there may be one opening up, but it looks like it’ll be at least another forty minutes.”
He shook his head. He was famished, and he desperately needed a drink.
The restaurant was his last stop in Orange County before heading out to LAX.
“Tell you what, I’ll get you the next best thing—an inside table overlooking the patio.”
Yeah sure, what the hell, he thought. Seeing his nod put an even bigger smile on her lips. She beckoned him to follow her.
From what he could see from the neighboring tables, the surf and turf looked good, so he ordered it too. The tumbler of Scotch held a generous pour. By the time he had it in his hand, the table on the patio was indeed occupied.
By Donna.
What was she doing there?
Then he remembered: today would have been her anniversary with Carl.
She sat by herself, staring out at the setting sun, already half below the horizon.
The wind was gentle enough that she hadn’t noticed how her shawl now dipped below her bare shoulder. The strapless sundress was a soft beige, almost the color of her skin.
It took only a few moments before the sun dipped below the water line. After watching the last of its rays fade into a darkening sky, she turned back to face the table.
A tear glistened on her cheek.
He wished he were beside her to nudge it away. To tell her not to worry, that all would be fine.
To tell her that he loved her.
There were too many reasons why he couldn’t, the first and foremost being the reason why she was there in the first place:
She still loved Carl.
He motioned the waitress. “See the pretty lady out there? Send over a glass of your best cab.” Before the woman could ask, he added, “And tell her it’s on the house.”
He didn’t wait for his meal.
When he rose, he left more than enough cash to cover the Scotch, the surf-and-turf, a glass of the cabernet, and a generous tip.
He caught his plane with time to spare.