“I don’t know…”
Sierra squeezed the hand she’d been holding. “Now I’m going to give you some advice my sisters and I got from my father. Sometimes in life, you just have to take a risk.”
2
ZOË SLAMMED DOWN on the brakes of her silver Miata and glared over the steering wheel at the water of the Chesapeake Bay. The directions Sierra had given her to Ryder Kane’s houseboat had seemed simple enough, so why couldn’t she find it?
The sun was glinting playfully off of the water, mocking her. Two days had passed since she and Sierra had talked and gotten a little buzzed on champagne, and she’d reached a decision about Jed Calhoun. She was going to give in to her wild side and have sex with him. But just one time. She had to do something to ease the yearning inside of her. It hadn’t faded one little bit during the past two days. She just hadn’t expected to have to act on her decision today.
The opportunity had presented itself when Sierra had called her two hours ago and asked her to bring the latest research notes out to Ryder Kane’s houseboat and told her that Jed would be there.
Zoë pressed a hand to her stomach. If she’d had more notice, she might not be this nervous. And she might not be lost. This was the second time she’d taken a wrong turn and the second time the road had dead-ended at the water.
Was she subconsciously getting lost because she was having second thoughts?
No. Zoë gripped the steering wheel hard. She wasn’t eighteen anymore, and she didn’t have unrealistic expectations about sex or men. She hadn’t made her decision in a fit of passion or rebellion or even while she was still affected by the champagne.
And she wasn’t wearing rose-colored glasses. She’d run a check on Jed Calhoun, and he wasn’t married. Her boss at the CIA had been, and she’d learned her lesson about steering clear of married men like Hadley Richards. If she’d just been a bit more worldly, she would have known that having business lunches with him and delivering reports to his hotel at night might give the appearance of their having an affair.
That was the reason Hadley Richards had given her when he’d asked for her resignation. Zoë felt the swift pang of regret that she always felt when she thought of having to leave her job at the CIA. She’d really liked the work, and up until she’d handed in her final report on Lucifer, Mr. Richards had been so enthusiastic about the jobs she’d done for him.
Even now, she wondered if she could have handled the situation differently. Of course, in private, Hadley Richards had apologized profusely. After all she’d only done what he’d asked her to do. He’d blamed the urgency for the work she’d been doing on Lucifer for his lapse in judgment. But he’d been firm about his request for her resignation.
Zoë dragged her thoughts back to her current problem. She was not that naive young woman anymore. And she’d discovered quite a bit about Jed Calhoun. He was rich, or at least his family was. His grandmother had founded a very successful cosmetics company which was still family owned, and it was currently being run by his parents and his sister. Jed hadn’t gone into the family business. Instead, he’d elected to work for his government.
She hadn’t been able to completely satisfy her curiosity about that aspect of his life because most of his files were classified. The one thing that had caught her attention was that he often used disguises, and that made her think of Lucifer again. Probably all CIA agents were skillful at using disguises.
She’d decided that it was good news that he worked for the government. He was probably in between jobs and he’d be gone before long. She’d also decided that since the chemistry between them was so strong—especially for her—it was highly likely that when they did make love, she could get him out of her system once and for all. Like a flash fire, what she was feeling would burn itself out and be gone.
She was banking on that, and there were plenty of narratives in the data she’d been collecting for Sierra that supported this theory. One round of hot, sweaty sex and she’d be free. One round and she could cross the man right out of her notebook. She could have her well-ordered life back.
She’d made a calm, well thought out, rational decision to have sex with Jed Calhoun, and she was not having second thoughts. Of course, if she’d had more time, she could have made the transition from nerd to sexpot a bit more fashionably. Instead, she’d barely had time after Sierra’s call to change into a pair of new jeans and a tank top. The sexy underwear she’d intended to buy was still on her to-do list. The plain white cotton briefs in her bureau drawer were simply not appropriate, so she’d elected not to wear them.
Zoë drew in a deep breath and let it out. She was as ready as she could be to have sex with Jed Calhoun, so why then was she sitting here staring at the Chesapeake instead of propositioning Jed on Ryder Kane’s houseboat?
Closing her eyes, Zoë rested her head against the steering wheel. Because she was afraid. What if he said no? What if he didn’t feel the same way that she did? He’d pulled away from that kiss, hadn’t he? When he’d walked away from her at the Blue Pepper, she’d had to lean against that wall for three full minutes before the feeling had come back into her legs.
Interesting is what he’d called that kiss. Devastating is what she’d called it. Zoë raised her head from the steering wheel and opened her eyes. Bottom line—she was afraid of what she’d always been afraid of—that she wouldn’t, couldn’t, live up to someone else’s expectations.
Zoë lifted her chin. Well, Jed Calhoun might reject her. She was just going to have to risk it.
For the third time, she picked up the set of directions Sierra had dictated over the phone and studied them. She was going to find that houseboat. Wasn’t the third time supposed to be the charm? And then one way or another, she was going to find a way to handle the Jed problem once and for all.
Shifting the car into reverse, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a dark SUV move through the crossroad twenty yards behind her. She might not have given it a second glance if it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d seen it before—once on the main highway, and another time on the maze of roads that all seemed to inevitably dead-end at the water. So she wasn’t the only one challenged by the dead-end roads in the area. Feeling somewhat cheered, she backed up, turned the car around and sped up the road.
THE BREEZE off the Chesapeake was cool and steady. Though it wasn’t strong enough to move the hammock he was lying in, it still offered a pleasant contrast to the hot sun that managed to make its way through the leaves overhead. September was still hot in the D.C. area. But Jed Calhoun was growing tired of the lazy days of summer—tired of being trapped in limbo. And he was especially tired of being a “dead” man.
Two weeks of living on his friend Ryder’s houseboat had allowed him to finish recovering from the injuries he’d sustained on his last mission, a contract job for the CIA that he’d very nearly not returned from.
Even now, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t died six months ago in that alley in Bogotá. He’d suffered first a gunshot wound to the shoulder and then the leg. His last conscious thought as he’d faced the CIA agent who’d just shot him in the leg was that he was a goner.
Instead, he’d awakened in a small private hospital where the medical care had been surprisingly good. There was only one small problem. He’d discovered that Jed Calhoun was officially listed as dead, terminated by the agent who’d shot him in the leg. The real kicker was that the orders to take him out had come from the director of the CIA because he, Jed Calhoun, had killed Frank Medici, a career operative with the CIA who’d penetrated a large drug cartel in Colombia.
It was a lie. But he’d been in a bar with Frank and delivered a message to him moments before a bomb had destroyed the entire building.
During