“What I would like, Wish, is to tie you down to the bed and hold a contest with you.”

He looked at her, the candles on the table catching the momentary glitter in his pale eyes. “And what kind of contest would that be if I am tied down to the bed, Agent Cady? I imagine that would put me at quite a disadvantage.”

She grinned at him, fork poised in mid-air. “But that’s the beauty of it. This has nothing to do with strength or physical prowess. It has everything to do with self-discipline and control.”

He dabbed his lips with the dark blue linen napkin. “Self-discipline and control? That would be out of my hands, so to speak, in such a position.”

“Not at all. It’s a game I read about that French working girls would play with their clientele.”

His lips twitched momentarily. “Do warn me, Agent Cady, if you are planning on dressing up as a French working girl? Turn of the century Paris would suit you quite well.”

She laughed. “Was that a compliment or an insult? I don’t play dress-up, Wish. Do you? No, wait, don’t answer that. There are some images I don’t need in my head.”

“My dear...   read more »

“Aloysius, I cannot move a muscle like this. I am completely at your mercy. Please be gentle.”

The fine, pale eyebrows go up slightly in surprise. “Gentle? My dear woman, you have my word I will cause you no pain. However, I do believe the goal here is to make you scream.” The soft buttermilk drawl ended in just a warm breath, a whisper in my ear....   read more »

At first glance, the setting may have looked romantic. The thought occurred to Special Agent Cady as she surveyed the remains of dinner at the small table in her kitchen: chop sticks set down after eating their fill of take-out Thai food; a small porcelain pot of green tea still warm and fragrant; red linen napkins to further accent the Asian flavor of dinner, along with a petite arrangement of unknown blossoms —at least unknown to Cady— that he had bought to grace the table. Even the lights were dim, and three well-used candles flickered tiredly together at the end of the table. The man who sat across from her, white-blond hair occasionally highlighted in the candlelight, expensive tailored suit, silk handkerchief arranged perfectly in his breast pocket, and one slim, elegant, long-fingered hand thoughtfully tapping the table as he looked at her, was every bit the well-bred, well-heeled suitor. To the casual observer, they might have looked like quite the romantic pair.

On the other hand, this was Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast sitting across the table from Special Agent Anna Cady, and anyone who knew him at all would know that the glint in his eye had nothing to do...   read more »

He hurt everywhere. He had been battling against the pain for some time, willing it away, forcing it from his conscious thought, but now he had nothing left to battle with. He recognized this as fact. His wounds hurt, all of them, his face, his hands. He tried very hard not to move at all, not his head, or his arms, not even to shift his weight. For a while the strategy worked, but not forever. The pain was everywhere. The dog bites alternately burned and pierced with a sharp, smarting twinge that made his breath catch. No doubt they were becoming infected although he realized this was not an urgent problem. Not in his current circumstances. His head ached. His muscles were...   read more »

“W, we have to meet. —J.”

The message had appeared on the screen of Pendergast’s cell phone that morning, and now, three hours later, was the first time he was able to run it down. She hadn’t given him any kind of meeting time and he assumed it meant he was free to arrive when he could.

Only one person had ever called him anything beginning with W. And only one person would have signed off with the initial J, especially since everyone else knew her by a different name. He had located her very quickly, of course, in a hotel room near the airport under an alias. Oh, what a tangled web, he couldn’t help thinking. He was skirting other thoughts as he took the stairs to the fifth floor and made his way silently down the carpeted hall to her room. It had been a year or more. What did she want of him now? Beyond the obvious. The thought popped unbidden into his head and he pushed it aside.

He reached the door and stopped, checking either side of the hallway before tapping discreetly on the wood. The door opened at his touch, and he stepped back, cautious, one...   read more »

Proctor was not surprised when he heard his name called from the vicinity of the library. He finished putting away the dishes he held in his hand and then walked down the dark hall. The door to the library was ajar, and he pushed it all the way open and stepped in. “Yes?” He did not use the title “Sir” ever when speaking with his employer, an idiosyncrasy left over from his employer’s days in Special Ops and his own days in Special Forces. The simple, automatic use of the word “sir” could have destroyed one’s cover and out of sheer habit was not used in the Pendergast household.

Pendergast sat behind his desk, long pale fingers steepled beneath his chin, and he looked up at the other’s entrance. “Proctor, what is this?” He raised one brow to indicate the small, brown-wrapped package on the desk.

“It came by special courier late this afternoon. I have no other information for you.”

Pendergast regarded him for a moment. “Hmmm,” he said at last. There was just the least bit of speculation, perhaps even skepticism in the simple sound, and Proctor managed to keep the expression from his own face.

It was Proctor’s own hope...   read more »

Proctor heard his name called as he was walking back toward the kitchen, and promptly turned in his tracks. The voice, quiet as always, came from the study. But there was just the slightest tone in that voice. Revealing none of the misgivings that had risen in the short distance between the rooms, Proctor pushed the door open and entered. “Yes?”

His employer sat at his desk, idly twirling a dry sprig of mistletoe between his long, pale index finger and thumb, occasionally brushing it thoughtfully against his chin. His eyes, normally a blue so faint as to almost appear silver, had a darker cast about them. “Proctor, do you remember the woman who gave me this mistletoe last December?”

“Of course.”

“Describe her to me.”

“Medium height. Athletic build. Dark brown hair, thick, worn loose but tucked behind her ears. Bright brown eyes. A scarf in shades of green and gold about her neck. Lined camel-colored trench coat and black leather gloves. Her slacks, visible beneath the hem of her coat, were black, as were her shoes. She carried no purse. She smiled at me, a very pleasant smile. The woman is quite attractive. I would place her age in her thirties.”

“And would...   read more »

Lady M sat down at her mahogany desk and gestured for her favorite client to do the same. After just a moment’s hesitation, he folded himself into the armchair opposite her, crossing his long legs and folding his hands in his lap. With the severe black suit and the tightly knotted tie, he looked as if he could be selling her a cemetery plot. His pale coloring and absolute stillness when he sat added to the image. She knew better. “Sherry,” she said, indicated the cut crystal glass before him. “We have not seen you in some little while, Mr. — Hammett, is it? This time?”

A small smile creased the impassive face before her. “That is correct. This time.”

She nodded. “I had assumed you wanted the usual arrangements. The tower suite is yours for the night. Fully stocked bar, two appetizer trays, cotton instead of silk sheets, and your companion...”

“As always, it is her choice. As always, the payment remains the same regardless of how long or short her visit is.”

Lady M bowed her head. “I did not wish to presume and so of course I wanted to check the arrangements with you.”

“Lady M, your service never fails to...   read more »