Cinderella's Secret Agent. Ingrid Weaver

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СКАЧАТЬ Del Rogers was a hunter. For now his prey had eluded him, but a hunter has patience. He has self-control. And above all, a good hunter never takes the hunt personally.

      Turning away from the hospital, Del forced his fists to relax. The reddened skin on the back of his hands twinged, and the patches on his arms where the hair had been singed off were beginning to itch, reminders of his last encounter with the man known as Simon. Yet Del had gotten off lightly compared to the agent he had just seen in the intensive care ward. The bomb in the warehouse last week had caught everyone off guard. The next meeting with Simon would be different. Next time, SPEAR would be ready.

      He strode along the sidewalk, stretching his legs to work out the lingering aches in his muscles. Out of habit, he scanned his surroundings, yet he knew he wouldn’t spot his quarry here. Yellow cabs shouldered through the late afternoon traffic; car horns and sirens mingled with the background hum of Manhattan. A warm puff of air scented with yeast and oregano wafted briefly from the doorway of a pizzeria before it was swallowed by the pervasive metallic tang of exhaust.

      It was April. The hunt for Simon had been going on for almost a year, but it was bound to end soon. SPEAR was gradually closing the net. The best operatives in the top-secret government agency had taken their turn at running Simon to ground. Despite the traitor’s uncanny ability to elude them, his hiding places were dwindling. Now it was only a matter of time before he walked into their trap.

      On the corner beside the subway entrance, a splash of color against the iron railing caught Del’s eye. A flower vendor was sitting on an overturned bucket, hawking bunches of fresh daffodils. Del dug into his pocket and tossed a coin to the weathered old man.

      “Thanks, sport,” the man muttered. He turned the coin over in his grimy hand. “Hey, what is this?”

      “It’s a double eagle.”

      “Ain’t got change for that,” he said, squinting at Del.

      “Didn’t think you would. The last time I had one of those coins was three years ago in Juneau.”

      As soon as Del said the prearranged code words, the flower seller shrugged and picked up a handful of daffodils. “You must have some hot date.”

      “Uh-huh.” Del took the bouquet, running his fingertips over the stems until he felt the small plastic rectangle that was concealed there. He headed down the stairs to the subway, slipping the microcassette tape out of the flowers and into his pocket. He would have to wait until he met his partner, Bill Grimes, at the surveillance site before he could listen to the briefing on this tape. Like all the SPEAR briefing cassettes, it would erase as it played.

      He was pulling the graveyard shift with Bill tonight. Del wasn’t being given any consideration for his burns and bruises, and he wasn’t asking for any. At this stage of the chase, every available operative was needed to insure Simon didn’t slip away again.

      The subway train squealed to a halt at Del’s stop, jarring his swollen knee. He ignored the discomfort and blended into the crowd that spilled onto the street. He walked a block east, crossed Third Avenue, then paused in front of a shoe store, using the reflection in the glass to check out the passersby. Satisfied that he hadn’t been followed, he glanced at the daffodils he still held. His lips quirked as he remembered the flower vendor’s comment.

      Being holed up in an apartment all night with Bill, staring through a sniper’s scope, wasn’t Del’s idea of a hot date. And he was certain Bill wouldn’t appreciate the flowers.

      But Del knew someone who would. He lifted his head, his gaze going to the coffee shop on the other side of the street. Maggie was the kind of woman who would love flowers. She would be thrilled to get these daffodils. He could picture how she would smile and stick them in a sundae glass and chatter about how yellow is such a happy color….

      No. A bouquet of flowers could carry a message in more than one way. And Del couldn’t afford to give any woman the wrong message, especially a woman like Maggie. She deserved better than that. Life hadn’t dealt her a good hand, yet she was making the best of it, facing her problems with a good-natured determination that he had to admire.

      If things had been different, if he had known her eight years ago, he might have considered giving her more than just a bouquet.

      Del wavered for an instant, then tossed the daffodils into a trash can and crossed the street.

      “Hey, Maggie. Your cowboy’s here again.”

      Maggie Rice stood on her toes to peer through the round window in the swinging door. From here she had a good view of the coffee shop and the patron who had just sat down. Although his back was toward her, she recognized him instantly, doubtless due to the sudden thump of her pulse.

      Clearing her throat, Maggie smoothed her apron over the front of her maternity dress. “Wrong on both counts, Joanne,” she said. “He’s not mine, and he’s no cowboy. Do you see boots or a Stetson anywhere? And have you ever heard even a trace of a drawl?”

      “Guys like that don’t need the props.” Joanne Herbert chewed her bubble gum noisily, blew a bubble and popped it against the roof of her mouth. “The cowboy thing is part of his aura.”

      Maggie knew exactly what Joanne meant. Of average height and average build, in his neatly pressed khakis and his polo shirt, Del sure didn’t resemble the Marlboro Man. Yet there was something so essentially, well, male about him. He moved with the easy self-confidence of a lone wolf, his body loose, his gaze always alert, as if he were some legendary gunslinger, scanning the horizon for his next target.

      Oh, Lord. The pregnancy must be affecting her brain. Del? A gunslinger? He was a nice guy, probably one of the last ones left in New York.

      “And he is, too, yours,” Joanne went on.

      “Oh, get real,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes. “No man’s going to give me a second glance, even if I was interested. Which I’m not. Alan cured me of that. And right now it would be absolutely ludicrous to even think about—”

      “Why, Maggie, I meant he’s your customer, that’s all. He’s sitting at your table, isn’t he? What on earth did you think I meant?” Joanne chuckled. “But come to think of it, it is kind of a karmic coincidence that he always manages to show up on your shifts.”

      Maggie groaned. “Don’t you have a mantra to chant or some coffee to spill?”

      “Nah, I already did that. But now that you reminded me, I do have some buns to burn.” Joanne pressed her cheek alongside Maggie’s to look through the window. “Mmm, speaking of great buns…”

      Maggie bumped her friend with her hip. “Joanne, behave yourself. If you keep drooling like that I’ll have to get out the mop. Wet floors can be hazardous.”

      “He looks…hungry.”

      “Well, duh. Why else would he be here?”

      “Besides drumming up business for us by making everyone’s mouth water?”

      “If you like him so much, why don’t you serve him?”

      “He’s sitting at your table,” Joanne said smugly. “Besides, I know for a fact it would hurt Laszlo’s feelings if I ran off to a rodeo with Mel here.”

      “His name’s Del, not Mel,” СКАЧАТЬ