Under Cover Read online

  Contents

  SWEET STRANGERS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  LOVELY LIES

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  DELIGHTFUL DECEPTION

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  “Her sexy sense of humor is irresistible!”

  —New York Times Bestselling Author Lori Foster

  UNDER COVER

  Slip into a little something wicked…

  MARYJANICE DAVIDSON

  “I DON’T KNOW YOUR NAME,”

  SHE SAID INTO HIS COLLAR.

  “It’s Eric. Eric Axelrod.”

  “I’m Renee Jardin.”

  “Yes, I know. You have Bernaise sauce in your hair.”

  She jerked away from him and her brows rushed together in a glare. “I didn’t steal anything.”

  “So you said. Enlighten me.”

  “No.” She wiped the tears away with her palms. “I need to use the bathroom. Be right out, okay?”

  When the door clicked—and locked—behind her, he realized his wallet was gone.

  He slammed his hand against the door. “Oh, very nice!” he shouted into the wood. “When did you pick my pocket, you little harridan?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but it’s probably not very nice, so say bye-bye to your driver’s license.” He heard the toilet flush and ground his teeth. Then, in an outraged squawk, “You work for the National Security Agency?”

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  UNDER COVER

  MaryJanice

  Davidson

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  BRAVA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  850 Third Avenue

  New York, NY 10022

  Copyright © 2003 by Mary Janice Davidson

  First Trade Paperback Printing: October 2003

  First Mass Market Paperback Printing: October 2004

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Yvonne Davidson Hemze and Jessica Lorentz Growette.

  One a sister by blood, the other by choice.

  Either way, I’m doubly blessed.

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not have been possible without Lori Foster, who, while ridiculously swamped, found time to run a contest and read all the entries. Thanks also to Kate Duffy, who pulled me out of a talented crowd, and the gang at Lori’s message board, who never tire of my online babbling. Thanks also to Stacy Sarette and Giselle McKenzie for their unwavering support during a stressful year, and to Karen Williams for generously proofing a rough draft.

  Finally, thanks to you, Reader. Without you, none of this is worth doing.

  Author’s Note

  I love downtown Minneapolis, but not enough to keep from taking liberties. Locals will instantly realize that the Grand Hotel is not, in fact, across from the library, and there isn’t a branch of the FDA in Minneapolis. Any other disparities are a result of my overactive imagination, or error. Either way: my bad.

  SWEET STRANGERS

  Chapter One

  Renee dashed into the middle of the busy street Leaping like an ungainly brunette gazelle, she managed to avoid death three times before she got to the curb, taking the angry shriek of the bus’s airbrakes as a musician takes applause. She didn’t slow, but did take time to snatch a look over one shoulder… yep. Still about twenty yards behind her. They hadn’t gotten a good look at her face.

  She darted into the hotel and was momentarily dazzled by the brightly lit chandeliers and the ferocious grin of the concierge. The guy had a hundred teeth. Where to go where to go wheretogo?

  She heard the plaintive ding! of the elevator, and cruised in that direction. She had to get off the floor. After that… well, she’d worry about the rest later. Improvisation was her specialty. The bad news—like she needed more—the elevator was one of those glass cages. Everyone would see her going up.

  She saw a few guests amble out, snug and smug in their dark autumn colors, with doubtless nothing more pressing on their minds than where to have dinner. She wanted to choke them and cry on their shoulders at the same time.

  As the elevator emptied, a lone businessman walked in, his nose buried in a newspaper. A daring, reckless, and ultimately insane plan popped into her brain and, as usual, was approved by management.

  They don’t know my face very well; the picture they have is truly terrible, she reminded herself, putting on a burst of speed as the elevator doors started to close. Plus, they’re looking for a woman alone. So…

  Renee skidded along the tile and slid into the elevator, almost smashing into the far wall. Darned new shoes; she knew better than to wear unscuffed soles to work. Errr… on the run from work.

  The businessman blinked at her over his Wall Street Journal, then raised his eyebrows as she snatched the paper out of his hands and flung her arms around his neck. “Sorry I’m late!” she panted, then mashed her lips down on his.

  This was business, not pleasure. Or was it the other way around? The man was a stone fox, and that was a fact Thick, wavy brown hair fell almost to his shoulders, an interesting contrast to the so-sober black suit, sky blue oxford shirt, and blue tie with black stripes. She saw that his eyes, in the moment before she sexually assaulted him, were the same blue as his shirt His hair felt like coarse silk.

  Far from shoving her away, or smacking her with his briefcase, the businessman kissed her back enthusiastically and hungrily. She felt her feet leave the ground and realized he’d picked her up, the better to snuggle her into his embrace. Oh, to be snuggled! It had been such a long time. Since—er—what
year was it? She wrapped her legs around his waist and let him take her mouth again and again.

  Ding!

  Sure, she’d been having a rotten day. Week. Month. And yes, the bad guys… okay, good guys, she was the bad guy… were definitely hot on her trail. And she had no money and no place to stay. And if anyone figured out what she’d taken, her life wouldn’t be worth spit on a sidewalk. At the very least, she’d never get a job in the industry again.

  Ding!

  But this man, this amazing man… his hands were all over her, big and warm, his mouth was kissing and nibbling, his aftershave smelled like a sunny apple orchard, and—

  Ding!

  The elevator had stopped.

  With deep, deep regret, she managed to wrench herself free and put her feet on the floor. It was hard to get a deep breath. All that running, probably. Followed by the finest kiss of her life. Meanwhile, the businessman had thrust his hands in his pockets and was looking her over very carefully. He didn’t smile.

  “It’s all right,” he said at last, as she backed out of the elevator.

  “What’s all right?” She tried not to wheeze. What floor were they on? Who cared?

  “Being late. You said, ‘Sorry I’m late.’ “ His voice was a pleasant baritone. His gaze never left her face. To her surprise, he followed her out of the elevator, leaving his briefcase behind. “It’s all right.”

  “Er… thanks. Gotta go.”

  His hand reached out and closed over her elbow. She briefly considered breaking his wrist, then decided against it She had bigger things to worry about than assaulting Mr. Hottie. Again, anyway.

  “Have lunch with me.”

  “I can’t. I have to…” Go. Run. Hide. Figure out what to do with PaceIC. Cry myself to sleep. Jump off a ledge. Kiss you again, then jump off a ledge. “I have to go.”

  He chuckled, but still he didn’t smile. “You misunderstand. I wasn’t asking… Renee.” She nearly fainted as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge. “You’ve got some explaining to do. And you can do it over lunch.”

  You can do it, dude. First day on the job—shoot, Minneapolis is Hicksville compared to back home. You can do it.

  He approached the couple. Mighty cute, both of them, she with reddish brown hair and pretty brown eyes and rosy cheeks, and he with that butch longish dark hair and Paul Newman eyes. He looked like a million bucks in his suit, but she was way underdressed—leggings, a knockoff purse, and a sweatshirt with the logo “Free Martha.”

  “Hi, I’m Rod and I’ll be your server today.”

  The woman blinked up at him. “Hi, Rod, I’m here against my will.”

  “Can I tempt you with the specials? Today we’re featuring sautéed sea bass served over a bed of grilled radicchio—”

  She set down her water glass, hard. Water slopped over the side and spattered the tablecloth, which made her companion sigh. “Rod, you’re not listening. I’m having lunch under duress. This goon here—”

  “Oh, now, I object to ‘goon,’ “ the dude with her said mildly. He was pretty blank-faced, but Rod, with the instincts of an experienced waiter, had the strong sense the guy was enjoying himself immensely.

  “—assaulted me—”

  “Excuse me?” Blue-eyed dude’s eyebrows climbed up so high, they nearly dropped off his forehead. “Who assaulted whom?”

  “—and dragged me here and is forcing me to eat.” The gal finished this absurd tale in triumph, and drained her water glass in three gulps. She belched lightly, which brought another sigh from her date. “Man, all that running made me pretty thirsty. Could I get a refill? Um, like three of them?”

  “Right away, ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me ma’am. You’re my age, I bet.”

  He plunged ahead, thinking, Of course, I’m gonna get the nuts on my first day. It’s like a law or something. “Then we have just a lovely lobster tail which has been brushed with a teriyaki sauce and grilled, which we’re serving with wild mushroom risotto.”

  The woman peered up at him. “You’re from New York, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma—uh, yes.”

  “I recognize the breed,” she said to her companion. “Nothing fazes them. I could be on fire and he’d still recite the specials.”

  True, but I’d hand you a bucket of water while I recited them. “Finally, we have a top sirloin which has been rubbed with pink peppercorns, served with a lovely Bernaise sauce.”

  “As opposed to a nasty Bernaise sauce?”

  “Be nice,” her date said coolly.

  “Listen, Gestapo Boy, I won’t stand for—you know, that last one sounded good, I’ll have that.”

  “I will have the same, but hold the peppercorns,” Gestapo Boy said. “And a martini.” He looked across the table at the gal and nearly shuddered. “Keep them coming.”

  “Oh, I like that. Who kidnapped who?”

  “Whom.”

  “Right! What?”

  Rod was walking away by then, but he heard the dude say a very strange thing. “I can’t believe there’s a seven-figure price on your head. Your head.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t knee you in the gonads when I had the chance.”

  Maybe they were rehearsing a play.

  Chapter Two

  “So.” He sliced off a corner of his steak, forked it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Excellent. “Where is it?”

  “I’m not telling you shit,” she said with her mouth full, lightly spraying him with breadcrumbs. “As soon as the meal is done, I’m outta here.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I can’t believe I kissed you.”

  “Nor could I. It certainly livened up what had promised to be a dull day. But,” he continued cheerfully, “what’s done is done. And now we’re here.”

  “We aren’t anything. I’m having a nice lunch and letting you sit at my table.”

  “And pick up the check.”

  “Well, yeah. I can’t—” She stopped talking and took a monster-size gulp of her frozen mud slide.

  “You can’t draw on your bank funds or use your credit cards, because you’ll be caught.”

  She shrugged sullenly.

  “Oh, Renee, really. Just give me the vial and this will all be over.”

  “Ha!”

  “What, ha? It will. I could even talk to your boss, Mr.—”

  “The Jackal? He won’t listen to you. He’d see me hanged if he could.”

  “Now, that’s a bit melodramatic,” he said mildly.

  “Pal, have you been chased the last two days?”

  “Ah… no.”

  “Right Keep your trap shut, then.”

  “I’d best, or you might stick your tongue into it again.”

  Her eyes widened and actually bulged, and he had to stomp on the chuckle that wanted to get out, stomp on it and make it gone. If he laughed at her, he could count on getting a face full of frozen mud slide.

  “Never mind,” he said quickly, hoping to head off the outburst. “Uncalled for and all that. But, Renee, surely you realize you can’t keep running and running. Besides, you’re not the victim here. You’ve stolen—”

  “I didn’t steal anything!” Then, startlingly, she burst into tears, put her head down on her plate, and sobbed into her Bernaise sauce.

  Within minutes he had settled the bill and brought her up to his suite. She had curled into his side like a weepy shrimp, and he glared at everyone who stared.

  Once in the room, he patted her ineffectually until her sobs tapered to hiccups. She felt unbelievably good in his arms, soft where she should be, and lean and denned in other places. Well, she was in security. It made sense that she kept in shape. Yes, perfect sense. And she was kind of perfect, too, so lush and sweet-smelling and—

  Will you focus, idiot?

  “I don’t know your name,” she said into his collar.

  “It’s Eric. Eric Axelrod.”

  “I’m Renee Jardin.”

  “
Yes, I know. You have Bernaise sauce in your hair.”

  She jerked away from him and her brows rushed together in a glare. “I didn’t steal anything.”

  “So you said. Enlighten me.”

  “No.” She wiped the tears away with her palms. “I need to use the bathroom. Be right out, okay?”

  When the door clicked—and locked—behind her, he realized his wallet was gone.

  He slammed his hand against the door. “Oh, very nice!” he shouted into the wood. “When did you pick my pocket, you little harridan?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but it’s probably not very nice, so say bye-bye to your driver’s license.” He heard the toilet flush and ground his teeth. Then, in an outraged squawk, “You work for the National Security Agency?”

  Rats. She’d found his old ID. “Not anymore,” he said quickly. “As of last week, I am a freelancer. Private eye, and all that.”

  “Private dick is more like it. And now you’re looking for me.”

  He made a split-second decision and fervently hoped he wouldn’t regret it. “No,” he lied, “it was just a coincidence. Your company has given your picture to several law enforcement agencies, along with an interesting tale. Apparently you work for bioterrorists—”

  An outraged scream: “What?”

  “—and have stolen something highly unstable and have violent intentions.”

  He’d heard this absurd tale from Anodyne, and had gotten her file via fax that morning. The NSA couldn’t officially become involved—they were codebreakers, not cops—thus he had taken the case. If he turned her in, it would be a tremendous boost to his fledgling career. And if he didn’t…