Code Name: Dove Read online

  Foolish woman.

  “I’ve needed someone like you—I’ve needed you—all my life. Since forever. And now you’re here. I decided last week at the wedding. I’m not going to let you slip away.”

  “What you’re suggesting we do is just plain crazy.”

  “Yes. But I accept the risk.”

  “You want me with you. As often as we can arrange it.”

  “Yes. Every night possible.”

  She smiled up at him. “Kiss me again, then. Make me not afraid.”

  He rained kisses on her lips. She enjoyed them for a while. Then she took his head in her hands and directed him to her throat. He held her arms tightly, his fingers digging in painfully like a tightening vise, as if he were desperately afraid she’d flee.

  Soon his mouth found her mouth again and she let him enjoy her for a while. But then she took his head and forced it downward. She forced him to a breast and when he took it, he moaned over and over.

  She sighed. To her surprise, her nipples tingled. Her hands never stopped moving over his hair and face and shoulders. She talked to him in whispers.

  She forced his head farther down. He kissed and licked her belly, but tentatively, as if he were unsure of himself. His lack of experience wasn’t to be believed, yet it was evident; he took little initiative, but everything she encouraged he did.

  Finally she pushed his head still lower, his straight blond hair soft in her hands. “Please do it for me, Jean Paul,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He tried.

  “No,” she said. “Higher.” Suddenly it was good.

  Shock. “Oh, yes.” A burning iron stabbed from the place he touched to the pit of her stomach. Her breathing, shallow now. A dark spiral was coming for her. Wrapping around her. Lifting her. Her fingers clenched and tightened in his hair. His tongue. Yes. Yes! Oh my God!

  Spasms racked her.

  When she opened her eyes, Jean Paul was studying her face. “Beautiful,” was all he said.

  Chapter 14

  Fear radiated from the warmth Nova felt in her belly. She shook. She wanted to leap from the bed, but she made herself laugh softly. “Yes. Beautiful.”

  “I mean you,” Jean Paul said.

  “And I meant you.”

  He laughed, his wonderful, warm laugh.

  She couldn’t stay in this bed, so close beside him. Not another second. Must have space, for at least a moment, said her mind in a frightening and unfamiliar near panic. It wasn’t the smart thing to do, but she had to get up.

  “I’ll be right back.” She kissed him, then fled into the bathroom and closed the door.

  For a moment she leaned against the bathroom door, her legs threatening to buckle under her. Must hurry. Shouldn’t be away from him too long.

  She turned on the cold water and threw two handfuls into her face. Not since Ramone—how many years ago? It was dangerous in the extreme for her ever to be moved by a man, to ever lose control. She grabbed the towel and rubbed it hard over her face. She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths.

  Shock was needed. She conjured. There was Candido Branco and he was undressing her. Nova held the picture steady until, as if she’d heard an audible click in her head, her composure returned.

  She wiped her face and took several breaths more. Finally the fear drained away. Determination and resolve stuck a steel rod up her back. She replaced the towel and hurried back to König’s arms.

  She stretched beside him and cuddled close, her head on his arm. Amazingly they slept; she wasn’t sure how long, but König was looking at her when she woke.

  “I have a dead man’s arm,” he said with an apologetic smile.

  She sat up quickly and began massaging his forearm and hand. “You should have awakened me.”

  “I like watching you sleep.”

  Her stomach growled. She giggled. “I’m famished.”

  “I think we can safely say I’ve burned off all my dinner.” With a finger he traced the tip of a breast, then kissed it.

  She said, “I have a tin of cookies and some coffee. Shall I heat water?”

  “Wonderful.”

  She threw on her silk traveling robe and set her coffeemaker to heat water. Jean Paul disappeared into the bathroom, then reappeared with a large white towel wrapped around his waist. He grabbed her from behind, lifted her and tossed her face first onto the rumpled sheets. Next he straddled her back, then he rolled her over to face him and kissed her again. He moved beside her and began toying with her face, tracing her eyebrows, her jawline. “Does this annoy you?”

  He took the tip of her robe’s belt and stretched it across her forehead. “Your eyes are a fabulous color. The robe is the same. Exactly. What is the color, in English? In German it is smaragdgrün.”

  “In English, people usually say emerald.”

  “Are they contact lenses? Don’t be offended, but I’ve wondered very often.”

  She laughed. “No. They’re not contacts.”

  He put the belt down and let his hand sweep over the material. He opened her gown and his gaze followed his fingers as he trailed them over her belly. “Tell me something about yourself,” she said. She moved the pillows under her head to be comfortable.

  “What kind of something?”

  “Oh, anything. I just want to hear your voice. Maybe tell me about how and why you got involved in Earth Alliance. I think it’s your great love.”

  He shifted to lie beside her, propped on an elbow, his hand still playing over her belly. “My father was a professor of biology. He loved nature. All our vacations were spent somewhere out-of-doors. He died when I was twenty-three, but he’d had a powerful influence on me.”

  “But why Earth Alliance? Don’t you lose supporters by your close association with a group that advocates spiking trees?” She put her finger to his lip. “And why so much passion from you? I’ve interviewed lots of people now, all of whom tell me you’re like a man obsessed.”

  In a long caress, he moved his hand over one breast and up her throat and then caught her chin. “It’s you I’m obsessed with.”

  She smiled and stroked his arm. “You’re avoiding my question.”

  The tiny lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled. His hair was mussed and a loose strand fell over a forehead creased in thought. His body pleased her. It wasn’t heavily muscled. He had no time for the vanities or practicalities of the kind of workout regime she maintained. Or Joe for that matter. It was a marathon runner’s body, just not so hard.

  “Something very profound happened to me on the last trip I ever took with my father. We went to Alaska. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there?”

  A cold chill raced up from the base of her spine and fanned over her ribs. He might be very surprised to learn just how recently she’d been to Alaska, and why. Or would he? Once again fear triggered the thought that perhaps König was playing a devious game of his own.

  She slammed the door to her mind on that idea. In this physically and emotionally exposed situation it could paralyze her. “I have,” she said. “I’ve led several tours there and done a lot of photography.”

  “Do you know Denali park, then?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you know it is true wilderness. No trails, no maps, no helpful signposts, no campsites. The rangers warn you to make noise in dense vegetation so you don’t surprise the very real bears who can and have killed people.”

  König kept his voice low. It was, after all, the early hours of the morning and he was in bed in a hotel with a woman who was not his wife. But his speech grew animated.

  She chuckled. “I had a friend who insisted that real wilderness was a place where there lives an animal dangerous enough to kill you.” That was Ramone talking.

  Jean Paul smiled. “Your friend and I would agree. From childhood, I had known about so-called wilderness, from Germany or the Alps. We even took a safari to Africa. But when my father took me to Denali, something profound happened.”

&n
bsp; He sat up and crossed his legs. “My father made me camp for a day and a night alone. I experienced a great many emotions. But the feeling that outlasted all others was anger. I love Germany, but there is absolutely nothing wild here. To experience unity with the planet, I had to go halfway around the world.”

  The muscle at the angle of Jean Paul’s jaw tightened and jumped. He clenched his right hand. His eyes remained on her face but he was talking at her now. His vision had turned inward. “Look how the oil companies are eating up Alaska and trashing it.”

  The inward-searching eyes grew cold. No warming smile, no amused wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. This was exactly how The Founder might speak. Here was love of nature, but also rage. An imagined arctic breath on her half-bare arms raised goose bumps.

  “If we don’t learn to treasure quality rather than quantity, this generation will leave only dregs. And I’ve discovered that, by a quirk of fate, I’ve an almost uncanny ability to persuade. I have two sons, you know. I simply have to do what I am able to do.”

  Abruptly he seemed to sense his intensity was out of place, or perhaps that it left him too exposed. He shrugged. “As I say, a simple story.”

  She sat up, saw that the water was boiling. “Tea or coffee?” she asked.

  “Tea.”

  She handed him the tin of cookies and he sat cross-legged on the bed and watched her dip bags for two cups of Earl Grey, known to be his favorite. She joined him. “If I had my druthers, this would be cappuccino.”

  “You like cappuccino? I will buy you a portable maker.”

  They sipped quietly. Then, praying she sounded sufficiently casual, she said, “I know Earth Alliance embraces ecosabotage. What I don’t know is how far it should go. Did you read in today’s paper that someone blew up a coal-burning power plant in England? Twenty-five people died.”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  Cupid, her chief of station for Operation Jacaranda, had explained what the newspapers had not: the plant’s destruction had been The Founder’s punishment for the British parliament’s contrary vote on a measure to severely curb gas consumption. “The article hints that ecoterrorists blew it up.”

  “Those plants are perfect examples of things that have to go.”

  “But, Jean Paul, over twenty people were killed.”

  “That is a tragedy. A terrible thing. Whoever’s responsible must be insane. Nevertheless, the plant is better gone.”

  She strained to judge his tone, his mood. She sensed nothing extraordinary. Neither victory nor much sympathy. Careful, she thought. “Who could do such a thing?”

  He unfolded his legs and stood. “Why do you ask—and with such an intense look?”

  Was he suspicious? Was she pushing too hard? She was searching for just the right response when he said, “I couldn’t even guess who did it. This morning Peter Grund and I talked about the situation at length. Also with Detlev. You’ve met Detlev, haven’t you?”

  She nodded. Detlev Kleitman, Earth Alliance’s president, another prime suspect. Jean Paul, as chairman of the organization’s board of directors, talked with him regularly.

  Without prompting, Jean Paul continued. “The newspaper reports are contradictory. Some say the Brits have no leads. Some claim the Brits received blackmail letters from an ecoterrorist. We’ve had reporters and supporters calling. Some Alliance supporters suggested we put out a policy statement as a timely denial, and we decided this morning to do just that. So, in a way, the plant’s destruction is good publicity for us.”

  “But, Jean Paul. What a dreadful way to get publicity.”

  “Certainly. But no opportunity to stress the urgency of our message should be lost.”

  The Founder’s next deadline, mid-July, was less than a month away. She burned to press Jean Paul further, but he’d finished with that subject. To ask more now would most definitely have an unnatural feel.

  At six-thirty they awakened. Jean Paul showered and while he dressed they discussed again their decision to defy fate. Jean Paul was resolute. Combing back his still damp hair, he said, “I’ll call you when I’ve worked things out. I’ll tell Peter what I want. I’ll arrange a way for you to come this evening to my hotel room.”

  At seven, he left by the back stairs, having explained that he would go through the front to meet Wyczek in the lobby.

  What had she learned for Cupid? Had Jean Paul sounded truly grieved at the loss of life at the English power plant? That really was the big question, wasn’t it? And she wasn’t sure of the answer.

  Chapter 15

  Munich

  Nova padded naked into the bathroom to prepare for Jean Paul’s arrival. The Hotel Bavaria had once been a mill. Beautifully converted now, its impeccable service included utmost discretion, a most valuable asset: Jean Paul could come and go without attracting notice. Last night he’d slept at his home; this night, as he’d done for over a month, he’d sleep again with her.

  Operation Jacaranda’s planners had decided she and Cardone needed to expand the scope of their information gathering to include the Earth Alliance organization. Soon she would learn if Jean Paul had convinced the Earth Alliance board of directors to let her do a photo-essay on them.

  She was eager for Jean Paul’s arrival. He seemed head over heels in love with her and was always thoughtful and tender. But she needed to stay sharp—and be on guard. She was here to spy, not fall in love with the enemy.

  She reminded herself of that as she slid on skimpy black lace panties and bra set and pulled on her robe. For earrings, she selected emerald studs. In eight practiced minutes she applied makeup to appear as though she was wearing none. And no perfume. Her skin still smelled of lilac from her bath.

  She glanced at the clock: 7:50. Right on schedule. She was ready ten minutes before he’d said he would arrive. She took a deep breath and visualized Jean Paul saying Yes to the Earth Alliance project, then began to read her novel.

  Hearing Jean Paul’s key in the lock, Nova shifted her mind into high gear and sat the paperback on the night table.

  The big double bed was placed so it was the first thing seen when the door opened. She went to its foot, sat facing the door, leaned back on the palms of her hands and spread her legs, ever so slightly. Jean Paul stepped into the room. He smiled, shook his head and, never taking his eyes from her, quickly closed the door. “Shameless creature. You’re a bad influence on me, Nova Blair.”

  She smiled. “Why, whatever are you referring to?” She inched her legs further apart.

  He held a bouquet of sweet peas. He laid them on the highboy by the door and in three long strides stood over her. He knelt between her legs, leaned close and slid his hands over her robe to her waist. “My incomparable emerald,” he said, his voice husky.

  She leaned forward and, holding his head, kissed him hard on the mouth.

  “With…with my wife…” He hesitated and searched her eyes. An empty, unsatisfied, haunted look reached out to her from those eyes. “With my wife, I’ve always had the feeling that nothing was being given. You give me everything.”

  His hands felt hot. She slid her fingers under his light jacket and he quickly shrugged out of it. She loosened his tie, pulled it free and tossed it after his jacket. Within a few heartbeats they were naked on the bed’s light down comforter. Soon his voice and body told her she’d pleased him again.

  Afterward he held her tight, and she decided to take advantage of the afterglow of their lovemaking to try to nudge more information from him. “You brought me flowers again.”

  “It’s a poor substitute for what I really want to do. I want the election to be over. I want a divorce. I want to be free to take you out into the world, into a field of flowers and watch you pick them.”

  Her conscience flinched, as if he’d lashed it with a strap. What if he isn’t guilty?

  But, her conscience countered, what if he is? “We have to be patient.” She laid her hand along the side of his jaw. “I become more convinced every day that
nothing must interfere with your destiny.” He seemed poised to protest but she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. “I’ll put the flowers in water.”

  She returned to the bedroom feeling calmer and put the sweet peas on the table in front of three draped windows. She hopped onto the bed, grabbed Jean Paul around the waist, pulled him down, then entwined their legs. “How did it go with the Earth Alliance board about the photo essay? Did you ask?”

  “I talked to Detlev and two others whose opinions matter. They like the idea. And why not? Free publicity should probably never be turned down. Their main concern is who will publish it. And if you would do it only in English, seeing that neither you nor Joe speaks German.”

  She explained her thoughts on publishers. Claiming her ideas were deplorably provincial, she solicited Jean Paul’s suggestions. “We can settle all this later,” he finally said. “The good news is the board likes the idea.”

  She hugged him. “Yes. Good news.” She kissed him and her hand wandered over his skin to particularly intimate places.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Ms. Blair,” he said, grinning. “But I did more talking than eating at lunch. I’m hungry. Could you take pity and agree to order dinner first?”

  She returned his grin. “I’m another starved soul. I’m lusting for the broiled chicken. What are you lusting for?”

  He kissed the back of her neck. Hot breath fanned her skin as he whispered, “Whatever you have, I want.”

  She laughed. While she ordered, he shrugged on one of the hotel’s white terry robes. When she put down the phone, the corners of his mouth twitched impishly. “Let me massage your back.” She opened her arms. He untied her belt, then slipped the robe from her shoulders and led her back to the bed.

  The massage was good. Her mind drifted away from Jean Paul, away from her job, her worries. Then he interrupted her voyage. “Peter has arranged an important reception for me here in Munich. On the fifteenth. At the home of Manfred Wagner. Do you know of him?”