Springboard

19

Some restaurants you went to for the food, some for the ambiance. A few you went to in order to see or be seen. This one had it all — the chef, Antonio Cavelos, was a master in the kitchen. The decor was low-key, subdued, and with enough sound-absorbing material in the walls and ceiling that the place was relatively quiet, even though it was packed. There were dignitaries ranging from U.S. senators to ambassadors to movie stars. All of whom were interesting, though not, Thorn thought, as interesting as the woman sitting across from him.

“So, what do you think?” he asked Marissa.

“Tony can cook, no questions. Best eggplant parmesan I’ve had outside the old country.”

“Go there a lot? Wait — that’s classified, right?”

She smiled. “So, Tommy, how’s your love life?”

He blinked. This was a new area of conversation for them. “What love life?” he asked. “I haven’t had a date since you and I went to that charity thing in New York.”

“That wasn’t a date. We were working.”

“See?”

“Poor Tommy. Spending his evenings all alone.”

Where was she going with this? “I’m used to it,” he said.

She smiled. “How’s work?”

He paused, unsure whether he was glad she had changed the subject. “The usual. Well, except for us being taken over by the military and given a new mission which we don’t seem to be accomplishing at the moment.”

“Well, as Dylan said, the times they are a-changin’.”

“Was that before or after he started making commercials for Victoria’s Secret?”

“Waaay before. And how is that for you?”

He shrugged.

The waiter materialized, holding the dessert tray. He smiled as he lowered the tray.

“Which one has the most fat, sugar, and calories in it?” Marissa asked.

“The triple-chocolate cream cheesecake.”

“We’ll have two of those,” she said. “And coffee, not decaf.”

The waiter smiled again and moved away.

“Seriously, Tommy.”

“The jury is still out. So far, it’s been hands off, but that’s because they really need us. The military has a different approach to life than civilians. We’ll see how it goes.”

She gave him a long, steady look. “Are you thinking about walking if things don’t go your way?”

She had a way of putting her finger right on things. More than once, she had looked at him and nailed down exactly what was going on in his mind.

“I didn’t sign on to be somebody’s lapdog. I’ve been around too many people who think that everybody who works for them needs to be micromanaged. If I’m hired for my skills and abilities, then I expect to be able to use them without somebody not as good telling me how to do my job.”

“Too rich to put up with that crap, huh?”

“In a word, yes. One of money’s biggest perks is, you don’t have to work with jerks and idiots if you don’t feel like it.”

The waiter returned, bearing coffee and chocolate cheesecake.

“Lord, that was fast,” Marissa said.

“The best people get the best service,” the waiter said. “Tony’s rule.” He smiled at Marissa.

“Lucky I’m with her,” Thorn said.

“Yes, sir, very lucky.”

The coffee, freshly brewed, and probably from beans roasted in the back and ground minutes ago, smelled wonderful. And the cheesecake looked as if it would make you gain five pounds before you touched it with your fork.

Marissa took a big bite of hers, and moaned. “Better than sex,” she said. “Mmmm.”

Thorn took a bite of his own cake. Way too rich. Thousand calories in the piece, easy.

“C’mon, Tommy, when I give you a straight line like that, you’re supposed to run with it.”

“Oh, sorry. What’s my line?”

“You’re no fun.”

They had another bite each. Thorn sipped at the hot coffee. Excellent brew.

“There are some smart folks in the service, contrary to the old claims about military intelligence being an oxy-moron,” she said.

He waited for her to take another big bite before saying, “Where’d a sweet young CIA op like you learn a word like that?”

Before she could swallow enough of the cake to slap him down, he continued, “I know they aren’t all third-grade dropout hawks. I just don’t do well with somebody looking over my shoulder. If they leave us alone, no problem.” He paused, then said, “Abe Kent is happy, though.”

“Oh, yeah, back in the Corps. How’s he doing?”

“He’s a good man, but he had a nasty experience recently.”

He told her about Kent’s trip to Nebraska, and the run-in with Natadze, the classical guitarist hit man. She knew who he was, of course, having been a part of the Cox investigation, and her clearance was at least as high as Thorn’s, probably higher.

“Interesting,” she said, when he was done. “Nobody likes a loose end after things are supposed to be wrapped up tight. I got the idea that the colonel was pretty methodical. I’d put money on him eventually running Natadze down.”

Thorn nodded. “Jay Gridley had a little scare, too. His baby son got sick. Boy is in the hospital, but it looks like he’ll be okay.”

“That’s good.”

There was a moment of silence, one gravid with… something.

“I’ll be buying dinner tonight,” she said, her voice quiet.

He started to smile and treat it as a joke — dinner would set them back maybe three hundred bucks, more with the wine — but he stopped. “Why would that be?” he said, his voice as quiet as hers.

“Because I don’t want you to think that buying me a nice dinner is why I’m going home with you tonight.”

Thorn’s mouth suddenly seemed very dry. He couldn’t find any words.

She smiled. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I hope,” he managed.

She laughed.

Thorn woke up to the smell of coffee brewing. A moment later, Marissa came into his bedroom, wearing a thick and fluffy bathrobe he’d gotten at the Tokyo Hilton years ago. She carried two mugs of steaming coffee.

“Hey,” she said.

“Yeah, hey, yourself.”

Her hair was damp, she must have showered. He’d slept through it. She sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at him, handing him one of the cups as he sat up.

No surprise he hadn’t heard the shower running. After last night, he’d have slept through a bomb going off in the front yard.

He sipped the coffee. It was good.

“You a breakfast eater?”

He shook his head. “Mostly not.”

“Me, neither. Just as well. I’m not a domestic kind of girl,” she said. “I can make coffee and run the microwave oven, but I don’t cook to speak of. Lord knows my mama tried to teach me, but I was always more interested in climbing trees and fences and exploring the Two Acre Woods. I can burn a hamburger, and on a good day, make salad.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’m pretty good in the kitchen.”

“And not bad for a white boy in the bedroom.”

They both smiled.

She said, “I need to get going, Tommy. Work.”

He nodded. “You need a change of clothes?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You have women’s clothes here? In my size?”

“I think maybe my aunt might have left some stuff here when she came to visit a while back.”

“Uh-huh, sure she did.” She grinned again. “I have a fresh outfit in my car, and a go bag.”

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. “Oh, really? You mean you planned this all along?”

“Did I say that? I always keep a change of clothes and a go bag in the car. Never know but that you might be caught out on an all-night surveillance or something.”

“I thought the CIA wasn’t supposed to run ops inside the country.”

“Where on earth did you get that notion, sweetie? You need to come to town more often.”

She started to rise. He touched her shoulder with one hand. He needed to tell her how… great this was. And maybe see if she felt the same way. And maybe see where it might go. Definitely see where it might go. “Hey, Marissa…?”

She read his mind. Shook her head. “Don’t go there yet, Tommy. Let’s let it sit for a while and see how it feels. But, yeah, it was a pretty special first date, wasn’t it?”

She padded away and into the hall bathroom. He sat in the bed, the sheet around his waist, and sipped at the coffee. She wasn’t anything like his usual type of woman — they tended to be intellectual, brainy, and Nordic — blue-eyed blondes with sharp wits and gym-toned bodies. Marissa pretended to be less smart than she was — he’d checked her out and her IQ was higher than his — but she was still more of a heart-person. And given her chocolate skin, brown eyes, and black curly hair, about as far away from “Nordic” as you could get.

He shook his head. And none of that mattered at all. Because what Thorn was feeling was something that hadn’t stirred in him for a long time — but not so long that he had forgotten what it was called.

He didn’t want this feeling. Couldn’t afford it, really, not at this time, but there it was.

Like it or not, he was falling in love with this woman.