Read Online Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) by Jayne Menard - Free Book Online
Authors: Jayne Menard
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hid away. It crept out in her eyes before she
pushed it back -- not fear exactly, but something was troubling her and that
made her even more intriguing.
Why would she find an oversized,
ill-mannered man like him appealing? Steve had been thinking about that
question on and off the last couple of days. He hoped that he had
conjured up some of the charm his mother tried to instill in him. Ivy
made him want to behave like a gentleman and become a tender, yet still
passionate lover.
She smelled fresh and flowery,
reminding him of a wild blackcap patch in summer that he used to frequent as a
kid. He had to smile to himself as she could be about as prickery.
When they went to her office on Friday night, she put on a soft cashmere
muffler hanging behind her office door and lent him one in a navy plaid.
He still had it and wore it that morning. It smelled deliciously of Ivy.
Silly of him to have kept it, but it made him feel closer to her.
How sweetly Ivy had melted into his arms. How yielding she was to
kiss and yet she was not passive. Steve realized he was becoming aroused
thinking about her. She . . .
Right Nielsen, compartmentalize.
You want to know her better. Be realistic. You are on the east
coast nearly 3,000 miles away. You need to keep your wandering mind on
this case. Besides, nothing worse than an old man in the office pitching
a tent. Focus. He shook his head at himself and turned his
attention back to his laptop.
Abruptly his thoughts jerked to an
image that his mind had captured last night when he and his three senior agents
were walking back from dinner at an Italian place a few blocks off Dupont
Circle, not far from his condo. They had met up on Sunday night to
exchange information on their work over the weekend. The three younger
men had fallen behind him, engrossed in a conversation about baseball.
Steve strolled ahead enjoying the mild October evening, walking through the
first of the rustling leaves of the tree-lined street, past the little front
gardens where some window boxes sported chrysanthemums in the bright yellows,
burnished bronzes and deep burgundies of autumn.
They were about three blocks from the
Circle when he caught a flicker of movement in the shadows just behind and to
the left of him on the other side of the street. He cocked his head, saw
no one, then turned back to peer fully behind him. It might have been a
dancing shadow from a breeze in the trees. He slowed to a saunter, kept
his head pointed forward, with his eyes focused to the left, walking more
leisurely as if waiting for the three agents to catch up. A block later
he caught a movement that might have been a person sliding through the
shadows. At the Circle he stopped, turned around and scanned the area --
no sign of anyone on the far side of the street.
He waited for the three agents to
reach him and then crossed the Circle. On the other side he checked
again, saw nothing out of place, and then suggested they go into the nearby
Kimpton hotel for a brandy. As they entered the hotel, he glanced back
and saw no one lurking. Maybe it had been nothing. However his
sixth sense had alerted him and it served him well over the years. While
he had never had a perp come after him, it could and did happen to FBI
agents. It made him wonder who might want him followed. Perhaps
that drug lord they went after in Mexico.
The whole operation down in Manzanillo
had been odd. How had the perpetrator known they were after him?
Why had he baited them into boarding the yacht to catch an actor he had planted
there? Was the same perp having him followed? Did someone want to
make the DEA, the FBI or himself look ridiculous? Was some mole feeding
the perp confidential case information so that he could anticipate the FBI's
next move? The very thought went against the ideals to which Steve was
committed. Was someone trying to make him appear incompetent to
pushed it back -- not fear exactly, but something was troubling her and that
made her even more intriguing.
Why would she find an oversized,
ill-mannered man like him appealing? Steve had been thinking about that
question on and off the last couple of days. He hoped that he had
conjured up some of the charm his mother tried to instill in him. Ivy
made him want to behave like a gentleman and become a tender, yet still
passionate lover.
She smelled fresh and flowery,
reminding him of a wild blackcap patch in summer that he used to frequent as a
kid. He had to smile to himself as she could be about as prickery.
When they went to her office on Friday night, she put on a soft cashmere
muffler hanging behind her office door and lent him one in a navy plaid.
He still had it and wore it that morning. It smelled deliciously of Ivy.
Silly of him to have kept it, but it made him feel closer to her.
How sweetly Ivy had melted into his arms. How yielding she was to
kiss and yet she was not passive. Steve realized he was becoming aroused
thinking about her. She . . .
Right Nielsen, compartmentalize.
You want to know her better. Be realistic. You are on the east
coast nearly 3,000 miles away. You need to keep your wandering mind on
this case. Besides, nothing worse than an old man in the office pitching
a tent. Focus. He shook his head at himself and turned his
attention back to his laptop.
Abruptly his thoughts jerked to an
image that his mind had captured last night when he and his three senior agents
were walking back from dinner at an Italian place a few blocks off Dupont
Circle, not far from his condo. They had met up on Sunday night to
exchange information on their work over the weekend. The three younger
men had fallen behind him, engrossed in a conversation about baseball.
Steve strolled ahead enjoying the mild October evening, walking through the
first of the rustling leaves of the tree-lined street, past the little front
gardens where some window boxes sported chrysanthemums in the bright yellows,
burnished bronzes and deep burgundies of autumn.
They were about three blocks from the
Circle when he caught a flicker of movement in the shadows just behind and to
the left of him on the other side of the street. He cocked his head, saw
no one, then turned back to peer fully behind him. It might have been a
dancing shadow from a breeze in the trees. He slowed to a saunter, kept
his head pointed forward, with his eyes focused to the left, walking more
leisurely as if waiting for the three agents to catch up. A block later
he caught a movement that might have been a person sliding through the
shadows. At the Circle he stopped, turned around and scanned the area --
no sign of anyone on the far side of the street.
He waited for the three agents to
reach him and then crossed the Circle. On the other side he checked
again, saw nothing out of place, and then suggested they go into the nearby
Kimpton hotel for a brandy. As they entered the hotel, he glanced back
and saw no one lurking. Maybe it had been nothing. However his
sixth sense had alerted him and it served him well over the years. While
he had never had a perp come after him, it could and did happen to FBI
agents. It made him wonder who might want him followed. Perhaps
that drug lord they went after in Mexico.
The whole operation down in Manzanillo
had been odd. How had the perpetrator known they were after him?
Why had he baited them into boarding the yacht to catch an actor he had planted
there? Was the same perp having him followed? Did someone want to
make the DEA, the FBI or himself look ridiculous? Was some mole feeding
the perp confidential case information so that he could anticipate the FBI's
next move? The very thought went against the ideals to which Steve was
committed. Was someone trying to make him appear incompetent to
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