against me.”
“Against you?” He cleared his throat. “I thought it was my behavior that was the problem. Not that I did anything wrong,” he added quickly. “But I should have been more sensitive. I apologize.”
Miranda leaned forward, and this time, he apparently couldn’t resist an eyeful of cleavage.
Then she told him simply, “I was so embarrassed about the things I let Ortega do to me. And so mortified that you had seen them, and probably thought I was either naive or a slut-”
“No, no! Nothing like that. I have nothing but the greatest respect for you, Miranda.”
“But that tape. The way he kissed me. The places he kissed me. And the way I obviously enjoyed it.” She bit her lip. “When you asked me to have a drink with you, I thought to myself, what if we ride in an elevator?”
“Oh, God! I wasn’t suggesting anything like that.”
Miranda smiled. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about that. And the truth is, that’s what normal healthy adults do in elevators when they’re dating. Right? It was a mistake with Ortega, but with you-” She stared at her hands, pretending to be embarrassed. “I mean, not that you’re interested anymore. But still, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m really sorry I reacted the way I did.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat, and she knew he was having trouble following the conversation. That was a very good sign.
“It’s the company’s fault for asking a good-looking single guy to debrief me,” she added lightly. “They should have used a woman. Then we wouldn’t have gotten our signals crossed. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to date any redheads anymore, much less date me. My loss, right? For scaring you away?”
“No. I mean-” He flushed, then suggested carefully, “Whenever you’re ready, I’m definitely still interested.”
“Really?” She gave him a shy smile. “Maybe when I get back from vacation, we can have that drink and talk.”
He seemed to want to respond, but no words came out of his mouth, so she prompted, “Did you want to hear about my visit to Ortega’s hideaway?”
He nodded, his eyes glazed.
“I thought it would be awkward, but we were both very professional. I mean…” She bit her lip. “It was obvious he hadn’t been alone with a woman in a while, so that got a little awkward. For him though, not for me. I was all business.”
“How long were you there?”
“About three hours. We spent most of the time in his cabin, because it was so warm outside. I was wearing a halter top and shorts, but I was still roasting. He gave me some very valuable intel that I’ve been sharing with one of the spinners.”
“Your assignment was to bring him back to SPIN, not just intel.”
“I tried everything I could think of. Everything except going all the way. Director McGregor made it clear I wasn’t expected to go that far.”
“No one wanted you to do anything like that,” Runyon assured her. “I’m sorry if I implied otherwise.”
“You’ve got to stop apologizing to me for doing your job,” she told him with a sigh. “You know, I have to say, the contrast between you and Ortega is really unbelievable. There he was, thinking only about himself. And here you are, worried about me. It means a lot, Mr. Runyon.” She hesitated, then murmured, “Bob.”
“You’re a valuable member of my team,” he assured her.
“Your interim team. But I’d love to make it permanent. Maybe we can discuss that when I get back.”
“From vacation? You mentioned that earlier. I didn’t realize you were scheduled for one.”
“It’s a new request. Is it a problem? I just feel like I’ve finally put my past behind me. And I’d like to do what you suggested last year. Visit my dad’s grave. Talk to my old friends. Then come back here all eager and fresh. Ready to make new memories. Maybe even in elevators,” she said, blushing on cue.
Runyon licked his lips. “How long do you plan on being gone? McGregor recommended you for the anti-Brigade team and-” He laughed sheepishly. “Well, I had my doubts about that. But now that we’ve spoken, I definitely want you with us.”
“And I definitely want to be with you,” she told him breathlessly. “But the spinner says it will be two weeks before the op is planned and ready. Perfect timing, right? When I get back, I’ll be at your disposal.”
“I’ll process the paperwork right away, transferring you to me. And Miranda?” He stood and walked around the desk, then waited for her to stand before telling her softly, “I really do apologize for that video business. I shouldn’t have played it in front of you. I realize that now.”
“Do you know what I think, Bob?” she replied, gazing up at him with widened eyes. “Someday, when we’re both ready, we should watch that tape again. Together. Just so you can remind me, once and for all, that I didn’t do anything wrong in that elevator. I just did it with the wrong guy.”
Miranda was still laughing at herself when her plane took off later that morning. She usually didn’t indulge in such over-the-top seductions, but Runyon had been the masculine equivalent of a bitch in heat, and she hadn’t been able to resist making his heart pound even faster. He’d live. And meanwhile, she could chalk it up to broadening her range of vamp skills, although she prayed that she wouldn’t need them so often in the future if she and the spinner succeeded.
She took it as a good omen that Kristie had already accomplished a lot. Miranda was traveling in first class under the alias Jennifer Aguilar. Her only carry-on luggage was her purse and a DVD player in a padded case with six romantic comedies on disks nestled in plastic sleeves.
Stowed in the bowels of the jet were the tools of Miranda’s trade, spinner style. Her favorite was an ornate barrette that was actually a tiny digital camera. There were also eyeglasses that would help her see in the dark during the break-in, along with a miniflashlight that produced a powerful beam.
Last but not least, she was equipped with tranquilizer darts and a high-tech shooting “straw” made of silicon. Kristie had learned that the drug company’s security system consisted of a six-foot-high iron fence, a padlocked gate, and four semivicious Dobermans. No security cameras, no voice prints, no retinal scans…
In other words, a piece of cake.
Miranda wanted to lean back in her leather seat and enjoy the luxury-after all, she hadn’t been pampered since the time she had pneumonia just weeks before her father’s accident-but she found herself studying the files again. So much was riding on this. Her career. Her self-esteem. Her true emotional break from the Ortega fiasco.
And Kristie Hennessy’s reputation.
Miranda was fairly sure McGregor would forgive Kristie any screwup-one only had to see them together to know that. But the spinner had built something for herself, using instinct, intelligence and guts, and Miranda wasn’t about to ruin it. She’d never knowingly do that to a dedicated professional.
And certainly never to a friend.
She checked into her five-star hotel, discovering quickly that it catered to ultrawealthy Americans who wanted a jungle experience without the heat, humidity and bugs. In fact, as nearly as Miranda could tell, they just wanted lush foliage and tropical drinks, and she might have joined them in the decadent Rain Forest Bar, but she wanted to get a few hours of sleep before the break-in.
She also needed to locate the vehicle Kristie had arranged for her. The desk clerk had already given her the keys in a sealed envelope marked “Senorita Aguilar.” Once she checked out her accommodations-a sumptuous suite with a fully stocked bar and a huge bed draped with designer mosquito netting-Miranda went for a stroll in the parking lot, occasionally pushing the alarm button on the key chain until finally a set of head-lights on a shiny black Mercedes convertible flashed in response.
Miranda knew without checking that there was a loaded pistol and a C-4 kit under the front seat. The trunk almost certainly contained a set of chain cutters and a lightweight black cotton outfit, complete with tennis shoes, in Miranda’s size. Reassured that the op was set, she returned to her suite and enjoyed a room service order of Canopy Kabobs and Tropical Fruit Salad, washed down by Safari Seltzer. After slipping out of her clothes, she set the alarm on the nightstand to wake her at midnight-with “Sounds of the Jungle Night,” no less. But she didn’t climb into bed just yet.
Instead, she rummaged in her suitcase until she found the metronome she had purchased on the way to the airport that morning. Then for the first time since she left Ortega’s place, she practiced Jonathan Kell’s breathing
