Read Online By the Book by Mary Kay McComas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Kay McComas
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intrigued anyone, and the revelation was heady.
“Now tell me about this place you talked about before. The one you’re attached to?”
“DIAC,” he said, watching her cut her veal Parmesan a little slower than she had at the beginning of the meal. She was getting full, he noticed, noting everything she did and the way she did it with an uncommon interest. With an uncommon satisfaction as well. “The Defense Intelligence Analysis Center. That’s where I work, what I do.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “You ... analyze intelligence?”
Oh man. He’d just finished explaining that the Senate and the Congress weren’t located in the House of Representatives. He must be thinking she was the biggest nitwit to draw air.
“Not that kind of intelligence,” he said as if he could read her mind, though he was simply reacting to the confusion he always got when he told civilians what he did. “Information. I analyze information from satellite photos, from sonar and radar readings. Surveillance reports. Ship logs. Debriefings. That sort of thing.” She was staring at him. “It all comes to the Center. Information gathered by NASA, the FBI, the CIA, Naval Intelligence, allied foreign governments, the FCC ... everywhere. Tons of raw data. We look at it, compare it to other things we know, feed it into computers, record it, dissect it, add to it, figure it out, decipher it. Then we put it all in a report and send it upstairs to the decision makers. My superior officer, the JCS—the Joint Chiefs of Staff—the Department of Defense, the president ...”
“Spy stuff,” she said, her voice breathy and awed.
He opened his mouth to deny it, but then reconsidered. “Yeah. I guess so. Spy stuff.”
“You profile foreign officials and military leaders down to the toothpaste they use and the decisions they’ll make in any given situation and ... and you use those photographs to see if anyone’s developing new kinds of airplanes and ships and bombs and things.”
“That’s right.” So easy.
“Just like in the movies!” she said, and they both laughed.
“Tell me how you got into that,” she said, developing a true fondness for the sound of his voice—strong and smooth, like aged brandy. “Did you always want to do that? Is it hard? Do you have to go to a special school or something? It must be really interesting.”
So very easy.
Through the rest of the meal and over cappuccinos, he told her about the natural progression of his career. From Annapolis to submarines, from radio specialist to specializing in sonar and radar, from his promotion to Naval Intelligence to his present assignment at DIAC. She listened avidly, made him slow down or back up to ask questions, and, in general, made him feel like the most important man in the world.
She was like that, he knew. She listened to everyone. Made everyone feel important. Was nice to everyone. He’d watched through the bank window. He knew this. But it didn’t matter. He had her undivided attention—and for however long he had it, there just didn’t seem to be anything better.
Returning from the restroom, he found her deep in thought, and, in the candlelight, looking almost like something he’d conjured from a dream. All that burnt sienna hair, streaks of vermilion shining bright and healthy. Her eyes hidden by her lowered lids; lashes dark and thick, curved up against the smooth paleness of her skin. Her lips lush and full and soft-looking in their relaxed state; her neck long and elegant, implying innocence, but begging to be nuzzled.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly for control, then sat down across from her again.
“You look so far-away there,” he said with a curious tilting of his head. “What are you thinking about?”
She gave him a calculated look. “You,” she said.
“What about me?” There was a twisting, fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was beginning to anticipate and enjoy.
She considered him a
“Now tell me about this place you talked about before. The one you’re attached to?”
“DIAC,” he said, watching her cut her veal Parmesan a little slower than she had at the beginning of the meal. She was getting full, he noticed, noting everything she did and the way she did it with an uncommon interest. With an uncommon satisfaction as well. “The Defense Intelligence Analysis Center. That’s where I work, what I do.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “You ... analyze intelligence?”
Oh man. He’d just finished explaining that the Senate and the Congress weren’t located in the House of Representatives. He must be thinking she was the biggest nitwit to draw air.
“Not that kind of intelligence,” he said as if he could read her mind, though he was simply reacting to the confusion he always got when he told civilians what he did. “Information. I analyze information from satellite photos, from sonar and radar readings. Surveillance reports. Ship logs. Debriefings. That sort of thing.” She was staring at him. “It all comes to the Center. Information gathered by NASA, the FBI, the CIA, Naval Intelligence, allied foreign governments, the FCC ... everywhere. Tons of raw data. We look at it, compare it to other things we know, feed it into computers, record it, dissect it, add to it, figure it out, decipher it. Then we put it all in a report and send it upstairs to the decision makers. My superior officer, the JCS—the Joint Chiefs of Staff—the Department of Defense, the president ...”
“Spy stuff,” she said, her voice breathy and awed.
He opened his mouth to deny it, but then reconsidered. “Yeah. I guess so. Spy stuff.”
“You profile foreign officials and military leaders down to the toothpaste they use and the decisions they’ll make in any given situation and ... and you use those photographs to see if anyone’s developing new kinds of airplanes and ships and bombs and things.”
“That’s right.” So easy.
“Just like in the movies!” she said, and they both laughed.
“Tell me how you got into that,” she said, developing a true fondness for the sound of his voice—strong and smooth, like aged brandy. “Did you always want to do that? Is it hard? Do you have to go to a special school or something? It must be really interesting.”
So very easy.
Through the rest of the meal and over cappuccinos, he told her about the natural progression of his career. From Annapolis to submarines, from radio specialist to specializing in sonar and radar, from his promotion to Naval Intelligence to his present assignment at DIAC. She listened avidly, made him slow down or back up to ask questions, and, in general, made him feel like the most important man in the world.
She was like that, he knew. She listened to everyone. Made everyone feel important. Was nice to everyone. He’d watched through the bank window. He knew this. But it didn’t matter. He had her undivided attention—and for however long he had it, there just didn’t seem to be anything better.
Returning from the restroom, he found her deep in thought, and, in the candlelight, looking almost like something he’d conjured from a dream. All that burnt sienna hair, streaks of vermilion shining bright and healthy. Her eyes hidden by her lowered lids; lashes dark and thick, curved up against the smooth paleness of her skin. Her lips lush and full and soft-looking in their relaxed state; her neck long and elegant, implying innocence, but begging to be nuzzled.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly for control, then sat down across from her again.
“You look so far-away there,” he said with a curious tilting of his head. “What are you thinking about?”
She gave him a calculated look. “You,” she said.
“What about me?” There was a twisting, fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was beginning to anticipate and enjoy.
She considered him a
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