Read Online Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) by Jayne Menard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jayne Menard
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take
pressure off themselves? If that were true, the perp would find he had
picked the wrong adversary. These questions had been buzzing in and out of
his mind since the operation in Mexico. The possible shadow in D.C. the night
before brought them into focus. He would keep a sharp watch and see what
played out next.
***
Ivy found her mind wandering while she
sat at her sleek modern desk between meetings on Monday afternoon. No
word from the Big Guy – she noticed that she now capitalized that nickname in
her mind. She also said his name to herself repeatedly, as young girls do
with first crushes. Steve. Steve Nielsen. After so many
years of chastity, she felt that dating could be as it was in her college days,
with all those silly flutterings from this man whose masculinity lit her
up. That height of his came from his Nordic roots, in the same way that
hers came from her half-Finnish father. Steve’s hair was dark and silver
with a hint of curl and nicely trimmed. His eyes were the deep gray blue
of a Norwegian fiord, the way she pictured one in her mind's eye. His
eyes alone fascinated her -- he had intense, watchful eyes that became softer,
more wanting eyes when he looked at her. In his arms, she felt feminine,
secure and desirable.
Once he dropped the brusquely
aggressive stance of the FBI agent, his face transformed, becoming more
attractive as his expression softened. She liked the way he
dressed. His suit had been freshly pressed -- navy pinstripe, almost
black. His shirt was starched, white, thick and crisp, worn with large
gold signet cufflinks and an elegant silk tie. His black tassel loafers
were well worn, yet in perfect condition. She liked a man who took care
of his wardrobe and of himself.
Ivy adored the way his smile varied
from a slight twinge with his lips curling up to a generous toothy grin.
Brian had mentioned that one of Steve's nicknames in the Bureau was "the
Boy Scout" and Ivy wondered if it was his grin or his ideals or the
combination of the two that gave him that epithet. The subtle smile
seemed to come from his heart; the grin straight from his boyhood. Ivy
found it refreshing that he still had that grin.
Her mind lingered on their
conversations, thinking about his praise of Mathew who he considered his most
talented agent, even better than himself which he said with a hint of
pride. He talked about Mathew's innate goodness. In talking of
Mathew, Steve revealed so much of himself and what he valued -- commitment to
justice, devotion to his country, intelligence coupled with common sense.
The federal agent was there in his movements, in the eyes that never stopped
watching his surroundings except when he gazed at her. How sweet he had
been to ask if he could kiss her. Of course, he could be the cleverest actor
she had come across. That thought scared Ivy and made her feel
vulnerable.
Two days and no word from Steve.
Although he indicated there might be days and weeks when he would be out of
touch, Ivy hoped she would hear from him. When her office phone rang, Ivy
picked it up and answered with her usual business tone, professional yet accessible.
"Ivy Littleton."
A little thrill went through her when
she heard, “Ivy, Steve.”
"Steve! I was wondering if
you would find time to call."
"Can you talk now?"
"Give me a moment."
Ivy rushed to have her assistant push the upcoming 4:00 meeting to the next day
and closed her office door.
"Hi, Big Guy. What has your
week been like?" The deep yet soft sound of his voice flowed
seductively from her ear down through her body. She squirmed a little in
her chair as the warmth in his tones seeped into her. She found herself
caressing the navy sleeve of her cashmere blazer, as if she were being touched
by Steve.
"I work on a theory that there is
little sense in chopping off the pieces of a big operation, because, like the
mythical hydra, the tentacles are quickly
pressure off themselves? If that were true, the perp would find he had
picked the wrong adversary. These questions had been buzzing in and out of
his mind since the operation in Mexico. The possible shadow in D.C. the night
before brought them into focus. He would keep a sharp watch and see what
played out next.
***
Ivy found her mind wandering while she
sat at her sleek modern desk between meetings on Monday afternoon. No
word from the Big Guy – she noticed that she now capitalized that nickname in
her mind. She also said his name to herself repeatedly, as young girls do
with first crushes. Steve. Steve Nielsen. After so many
years of chastity, she felt that dating could be as it was in her college days,
with all those silly flutterings from this man whose masculinity lit her
up. That height of his came from his Nordic roots, in the same way that
hers came from her half-Finnish father. Steve’s hair was dark and silver
with a hint of curl and nicely trimmed. His eyes were the deep gray blue
of a Norwegian fiord, the way she pictured one in her mind's eye. His
eyes alone fascinated her -- he had intense, watchful eyes that became softer,
more wanting eyes when he looked at her. In his arms, she felt feminine,
secure and desirable.
Once he dropped the brusquely
aggressive stance of the FBI agent, his face transformed, becoming more
attractive as his expression softened. She liked the way he
dressed. His suit had been freshly pressed -- navy pinstripe, almost
black. His shirt was starched, white, thick and crisp, worn with large
gold signet cufflinks and an elegant silk tie. His black tassel loafers
were well worn, yet in perfect condition. She liked a man who took care
of his wardrobe and of himself.
Ivy adored the way his smile varied
from a slight twinge with his lips curling up to a generous toothy grin.
Brian had mentioned that one of Steve's nicknames in the Bureau was "the
Boy Scout" and Ivy wondered if it was his grin or his ideals or the
combination of the two that gave him that epithet. The subtle smile
seemed to come from his heart; the grin straight from his boyhood. Ivy
found it refreshing that he still had that grin.
Her mind lingered on their
conversations, thinking about his praise of Mathew who he considered his most
talented agent, even better than himself which he said with a hint of
pride. He talked about Mathew's innate goodness. In talking of
Mathew, Steve revealed so much of himself and what he valued -- commitment to
justice, devotion to his country, intelligence coupled with common sense.
The federal agent was there in his movements, in the eyes that never stopped
watching his surroundings except when he gazed at her. How sweet he had
been to ask if he could kiss her. Of course, he could be the cleverest actor
she had come across. That thought scared Ivy and made her feel
vulnerable.
Two days and no word from Steve.
Although he indicated there might be days and weeks when he would be out of
touch, Ivy hoped she would hear from him. When her office phone rang, Ivy
picked it up and answered with her usual business tone, professional yet accessible.
"Ivy Littleton."
A little thrill went through her when
she heard, “Ivy, Steve.”
"Steve! I was wondering if
you would find time to call."
"Can you talk now?"
"Give me a moment."
Ivy rushed to have her assistant push the upcoming 4:00 meeting to the next day
and closed her office door.
"Hi, Big Guy. What has your
week been like?" The deep yet soft sound of his voice flowed
seductively from her ear down through her body. She squirmed a little in
her chair as the warmth in his tones seeped into her. She found herself
caressing the navy sleeve of her cashmere blazer, as if she were being touched
by Steve.
"I work on a theory that there is
little sense in chopping off the pieces of a big operation, because, like the
mythical hydra, the tentacles are quickly
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