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Part 1

“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 hand already reaching for the Les Baer .45 in his shoulder holster. He slipped the gun into his hand and entered the room slowly, profiling to present as little target as possible.

She sat at the table, back to the door, with her laptop open and a cell phone to her ear. Careful to avoid appearing in her screen, Pendergast stole swiftly up to her and placed his gun against the back of her head. At the same time he heard the room door click shut behind him.

She barely moved. “I will check in with you later,” she said into the cell phone, and snapped it closed. “Agent Pendergast,” she greeted him without turning around. “Is that a gun at my head or are you just very happy to see me?”

“I need to see your other hand,” Pendergast replied.

“Oh, I can’t do that,” she said. “It would ruin my aim. I figure where you are behind me, I could get my two rounds into center mass.”

“Before or after I put two into your head, my dear woman?”

She sighed. “Wish. So untrusting.”

“And you. I assume that is your Glock you’re holding.”

“No other. Shall we disarm or should we have our conversation in this ridiculously uncomfortable stand-off?”

He hesitated a moment. “Both together, then.”

“You got it.” She relaxed, then brought her hand out from beneath the desk slowly, putting her weapon on the table beside her computer.

Pendergast put his gun back into his holster.

She rose and turned around, then, and he was caught unprepared by her eyes and the sardonic smile that curved her lips. “You look good,” she said, never one to mince words.

He inclined his head slightly in greeting. “As do you. So what is this about?”

“Oooh. All business? Nothing but? You can’t tell me my message didn’t stir other images for you.”

“Agent Cady—”

“Wish, you’d think we never had those weeks together. Do you remember nothing I taught you?”

He allowed himself a small smile. “I do remember one particular knot.”

She smirked. “Show me.” She reached for his tie.

He grabbed her wrist and she countered by stepping closer and reaching for his throat with her free hand. He moved sideways, away from her, too far inside her grasp to allow her take-down to work, and she simply shifted her weight, preparing to take him down the other way.

“My dear Agent Cady,” he said, avoiding the second throw as well. “Perhaps you should have arranged this meeting at the nearest dojo. We could have used the mats.”

“Who needs a mat?” she whispered. “We have a bed.”

She turned so that they were now forehead to forehead and Pendergast found he was breathing a little heavier than he should have been. Her familiar fragrance, something both spicy and floral, triggered an express train of images and memories for him, now that he was so close to her. “This is quite awkward,” he said, still keeping a tight grip on her arm.

“Only if you want it to be.” She gave him her playful smile. “But if you don’t do something about it, I’m not about to stop.” She made good her word by slipping her other arm up and around his shoulder, prepping to put him onto his head.

“As you like,” he answered wickedly. He slipped her grasp and moving at his usual nearly invisible speed had suddenly turned her around, back to him, and pulled her arms behind her.

“Oh,” she said. “Don’t stop now.”

He took the scarf from around her throat and used it to bind her wrists quite firmly. Then he sat her down on the bed and turned the chair to sit opposite her. “Now,” he said. “Tell me what this is about.”

“Wish, I let you take care of my hands. But you left my legs. I have a kick like a mule, I promise.”

“What, forewarning?” He raised his eyebrows at her even as he was removing his belt.

She raised her own eyebrows at him and positioned herself to kick him. He skirted the bed widely and came at her at an angle, pushing her sideways and wrestling her into submission. When she capitulated, simply from having no choice as opposed to giving in, he belted her legs together just above the ankles. “Are we quite ready to talk now?” he asked, resuming his place in the chair.

She smiled. “Talk about what?”

He waited a beat, staring at her. The flush coming up in her cheeks was even more becoming than he remembered, soft against the masses of dark hair that framed her face. “Agent Cady...”

“Sorry, Wish. You’re going to have to work for it.”

“Ah. And what kind of work did you have in mind?”

She raised her bound legs and placed her feet brazenly between his thighs. “Three guesses and the first two don’t count.” She wiggled her toes against him and laughed. “Why, I do believe you are quite happy to see me.” She leaned forward on the bed, squirming against her bonds just enough to attract his attention. “So come on. Give me your best. Betcha I can hold out against any Pendergast bedroom interrogation technique you’ve got.”

He got and up and joined her on the bed. “That is not my recollection from our last assignment together. It seems to me you were quite happy to give me anything I asked for.”

“Yeah. After you roped me to the curtain rod in the shower, completely soaked my slip, and then put your mouth on my—”

“And you’re prepared to resist this time, are you?”

She tilted her head back to look at him. “Are you?”

For answer he shoved her backwards onto the bed, his mouth against hers hard enough to cause both of them just the right amount of pain even as his arms cushioned her down to the mattress. She moaned as he kissed her and he responded with a fierceness that was leading them along at a speed he didn’t choose. Abruptly, he stopped and pulled away, looking down at her. Her blouse was tugging open and he helped it, slipping the buttons free and then parting the material slowly. The camisole she had on today was black, and it rose and fell invitingly with her breathing. He ran a finger down her center, between her breasts, down her belly, stopping at the waist band of her skirt. She wiggled at his touch. “C’mon,” she whispered. “Interrogate me.”

“As you request.” He sat up, pushing her back down onto her bound hands when she tried to follow suit. “I got your message this morning, close to eight o’clock.” He began stroking the back of his fingers across her right nipple, not varying speed, not varying intensity, just back and forth. “You wanted this meeting.”

She bit her lip against the moan he knew was catching in her throat. “I needed to see you,” she said.

“Why?” He turned his hand around and began to finger her breasts softly, the silky fabric of her camisole whispering at his touch. She was beginning to squirm invitingly under his caress.

“What do you think?” She managed a breathy laugh. Her eyes never left his and he could see the desire framed in them.

“You invited me here just for a tryst?”

She was silent a moment, her breathing getting more rapid as his hand slipped beneath the fabric and touched her bare breasts. “Okay, I admit it. In bed, you are all that. I wanted to have you again. And again.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him mockingly.

He leaned closer and smiled cruelly. “Agent Cady, you are quite a liar.” He bent his head down and kissed her deeply, pulled away as soon as she began to respond with more enthusiasm. “And a tease.”

“Tease?” She repeated, trying to follow his lips. He pushed her flat again. “Talk about the pot and the kettle.”

“Oh, but I do remember you being a tease. I remember specifically the day you used that tie on me. And your scarf was quite delicious, but I wouldn’t have chosen to have, ahem, held it in my mouth for quite that long.”

She smiled. “You look infinitely appealing with a blue scarf in your mouth, Wish. A pity I couldn’t hold out any longer.”

“Hmmm. We are digressing, dear lady.” He brought his hand out from her camisole, removed her skirt over her fettered legs, and slid his fingers up to her thighs. She struggled to part her legs further, but the belt wouldn’t allow that. He smiled at her struggles, slipping his hand in and bringing his thumb to rest just against the warm silk of her thong. He let the weight of his hand press against her for just a few seconds, then began to caress the insides of her legs, returning up to her center only occasionally. In a matter of seconds, she was squirming actively.

“Wish,” she said. “Touch me.”

“Ah, but I am. See? Just so, like that. Just a little. The way you like. Besides, you are hardly forthcoming with information. Didn’t you tell me you could hold out against anything?”

“Oh, and I will.”

He smiled. “We’re just beginning, my dear woman.” He rose suddenly and stripped off his jacket and shoulder holster, watching her as she watched him. She was incapable of lying still, even when he wasn’t touching her. She twisted on the bedspread, and from the way her arms and shoulders moved, he knew she was trying to free her hands. Not likely. He continued to undress in front of her, unfastening his pants and taking them off, removing his tie and looking at it for a moment. “We may have a use for this,” he remarked. He took the silk handkerchief from his pocket.

“And this,” he added. He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, sitting down beside her when he was wearing nothing but his boxers.

She looked longingly at his torso, his shoulders, his arms. “I want to touch you,” she said.

“I would like that also,” he admitted. “Pity. Now where was I? Ah, yes. You were just about to tell me why you wanted to meet with me.”

“Not hardly,” she said and ended in a squeal. He had put his head to her breasts and was mouthing her nipples through the camisole, lipping, nibbling, sucking. She was frantic beneath him. “Between my legs,” she pleaded. “I need—”

He stopped and looked at her. “You need to tell me what I want to know.”

She said nothing.

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