Just the Messenger Read Free

recorded message, Gene’s voice sounded deep and sultry, curling around her senses.
    Grace thought the decadence and luxury should be relaxing her. Instead, it intensified her nerves. No photography business, no matter how lucrative, could afford to put their employees up in this kind of style. Doubts clung to the outer fringes of her mind as she wondered what she had gotten herself into.
    Pushing the negativity away, she ignored the rest of the boxes and ran herself a bath in the whirlpool tub. She rummaged in the fridge and found the unopened bottle of white wine someone had left her. She smiled and poured a glass of chardonnay while the water filled. After slipping out of her jeans and T-shirt, she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her torso.
    Just then, there was a knock on the door.
    She managed to make out a shock of golden hair through the peephole, and her heart quickened. Gene.
    She opened the door a crack, meaning to ask him to wait a moment while she put on some clothing, but he barged through. He then looked surprised at her state of undress, as if he’d expected her to be in business wear, awaiting his arrival.
    “Did they provide you with any scotch?” he asked gruffly as his eyes raked over her towel-clad flesh.
    “Hello to you, too.” She hid her face behind the veil of her curls in embarrassment, but her voice remained even and soft. She was allowed to bathe in her own home.
    He strode to the tan suede couch in the living area and slid onto the middle cushion, his body slumping so that his knees were parallel to the floor. His black suit jacket crinkled around his elbows and bunched at his shoulders, but he didn’t take it off.
    “How about that scotch?” he asked, staring now at the white wall in front of him.
    Grace turned on her heel and headed for the bedroom. She put on a red pencil skirt and cream colored top, then placed modest two-inch beige heels on her feet. She bunched up her hair in a tousled bun, pinning it there with two clips. She wanted to look her best during this impromptu meeting, regardless of the impression her state of undress might have given.
    She stopped by the kitchen before returning to Gene.
    “No scotch,” she said, handing him a large glass of chardonnay. “This is the only alcohol I’ve got.” The way he looked at her made her stomach clench, a barely concealed hunger lurking right behind his eyes. She felt suddenly nervous about having him in her apartment. In this state, he reminded her of an animal on the prowl. A wounded animal.
    “This will have to do.” His upper lip curled in frustration as he brought the glass to it.
    “I thought you were just going to call me, not come over,” Grace said, her nerves getting the better of her, forcing her to speak.
    “So I see.” The sardonic smile didn’t reach his ice-blue eyes. He took another sip of wine before continuing. “There’s a snag in our…arrangement. It turns out the person who saw the documents was no random man. He’s a spy working for the government. While technically, we’re on the same side, fumbling interference from the IIB at this point could put lives in danger.” He stopped short and stared at her.
    “I’m…I’m sorry.” Grace didn’t know what he wanted from her, but from the look on his face, a mumbled apology wasn’t it.
    He shook his head and stood then crossed the tiled floor toward her. “Sorry isn’t good enough, I’m afraid,” he said as he closed in on her, inches from her face.
    She stood her ground but couldn’t look at him. If only she had some idea what any of this was about. She didn’t want her ignorance to show. She felt she should be catching on, not drowning in uncertainty. The sea-like depths of his eyes wouldn’t help that sensation.
    She felt a warm, broad hand on her forearm, and it pulled on her. Gene’s other arm wrapped around her shoulders, the wine glass held steady in his fingers. Unable to do anything but hang on, Grace stilled and waited,