One of These Nights. Justine DavisЧитать онлайн книгу.
their moving van had pulled away a furniture truck had appeared, unloading several items. And now this woman.
She didn’t seem to have brought much. Maybe the rest of her personal items had been with the new furniture. Then again, probably not. It had been a delivery truck, not a moving truck. Yet what he’d seen her carry in amounted to less than his mother took on a weekend trip. Of course, his mother didn’t know the meaning of traveling light.
He supposed he could go over there and simply ask. Maybe introduce himself. Even offer to help, although it looked like she didn’t need it. It was what his mother would do.
But she, Ian thought rather glumly, would do it with ease and charm. He would fumble and stumble and feel thoroughly awkward about it.
The woman set another large box down on the front porch of the house, straightened, started to turn to go back to the blue pickup truck that was parked at the curb. Then she froze. And slowly turned her head and looked right at him.
Ian jerked back from the window, startled.
You can’t be sure she was looking at you, not with those dark glasses, he told himself.
And then she smiled and waved at him.
His heart did a crazy flip-flop. He told himself it wasn’t the smile that rattled him, although even from here it was a killer one. It had to be that she seemed to have sensed him watching. Such instincts, while he knew they existed, made his scientific mind wary.
He pulled back even farther, and with a discipline born of years spent learning to focus, he turned his mind back to the old problem.
And hoped he hadn’t just acquired a new one.
Sam took the last box straight inside, set it down and plopped herself down on the cushy couch that had been delivered just yesterday.
“Well,” she muttered to herself, “that’ll teach you to make assumptions.”
Obviously her Einstein image was now blown to bits. She hadn’t been able to see all of him, but already it was clear that Ian Gamble was anything but the wild-haired old man she’d been picturing. In fact, his sandy brown hair had looked thick and shiny and had that endearingly floppy quality that always made her want to touch.
She jumped to her feet. She wasn’t that rattled, she told herself. All she needed was a little readjustment of her perceptions. So he was younger than she’d thought. All that meant was he might be a bit more active than she’d figured. She could deal with that. In fact it would be easier. Stakeouts and long surveillances always made her crazy because she wasn’t used to sitting still for so long.
That thought cheered her, and she got up and went about the business of unpacking. Since she’d have access to laundry facilities here in the house, she’d been able to pack even lighter than usual. She usually lived in jeans and cotton shirts when she had the option, but she’d have to wear office clothing to convince Gamble she had a job somewhere. At least the Armani gown and the dressy clothes she’d acquired—at Josh’s recommendation and expense—in the course of other assignments could stay home this trip.
It didn’t take her long to empty the two boxes of clothing, and to set aside the dark jeans, sweater and knit cap she had selected in case she had to do any late-night recons. The bathroom was another, smaller box. The kitchen was the smallest box of all; her cooking skills were limited to coffee, scrambled eggs and packaged macaroni and cheese, so she didn’t require much in the way of gear. Into the fridge went the items from the cooler she’d brought from home, to save her from throwing the stuff out when she went back to her apartment. Then she unpacked the bag of items she’d picked up at the grocery store around the corner on her way here; she couldn’t order in every night. Well, she could, but not without drawing more attention from the neighbors than she wanted.
Lastly she took her two-inch Smith & Wesson revolver out of its case, along with a trim holster with a belt clip and an ankle holster. She’d spent yesterday sharpening her skills with the small weapon. Anything larger than the small gun would be harder to hide from Gamble, and she didn’t want to have to worry about it.
When she was done unpacking, she went back into the living room. She’d already seen that the windows on the north side of the house were the best spot to watch Gamble’s home. And smiled to see that Josh had already arranged to have the rather ornate floral draperies left by the previous owners replaced with pleated shades that allowed in sunlight from outside yet were semitransparent from inside, so she could see at least motion if not details without raising them.
Upstairs, the master bedroom had a window seat alcove that looked out on that same side. She suspected most of her in-house time would be spent there, since she could see the windows on the side and back of Gamble’s house, plus both the front and back yards. The yards themselves were an almost scary sight; gardening, it was clear, was not on the man’s list of priorities.
Which could be a good thing for her, she thought. A way to get closer. She’d have to watch for a chance.
She was glad the lower bank of windows around the window seat bay opened. She needed to be able to hear the slightest noises from next door. She preferred to sleep with windows open, anyway, especially in spring and summer, but in this case she’d have to even if it was cold out. Not that she’d be sleeping all that much at night, and when she did, it would be with one ear open. She’d have to catch up during the day when Gamble was safely tucked away at Redstone.
Speaking of her target, she thought, it was time to get moving on that front. She went to the kitchen, grabbed her favorite coffee mug, and headed for the door. It was old and corny, yes, but it also happened to be true. She was out of sugar.
She had to go down to the sidewalk then up the walkway to the house; there was no way she could cut through the overgrown honeysuckle that grew along the property lines between the houses. It had to be at least six feet tall and incredibly thick. That, she thought, could be a problem if she needed to get over there in a hurry. All the more reason to pursue that, she thought.
She paused for a moment before knocking on the front door. First impressions counted, and never more than in this kind of work. She debated between sheepish, shy or harried, decided on a combination of the first two, with a touch of flighty blonde just to see if it would work.
She knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Finally the door swung open.
Samantha Beckett took her first close-up look at Ian Gamble and immediately abandoned her plan. There was nothing naive or absentminded about those vivid green eyes, and the wire-rimmed glasses he wore did nothing to mask an intelligence that fairly crackled. His hair was lighter than she’d thought, almost a sandy blond on top, but it was as thick and shiny as it had seemed from a distance.
He was tall, she realized. At five foot nine herself, she noticed that. He didn’t tower over her, but if she looked straight ahead she was looking at his nose, not his forehead as often was the case. And he was lean, not pudgy, as she’d half expected someone who spent their days in a lab to be.
I’ve got to work on my preconceptions, she told herself. And, she added silently as she realized he was looking at her rather quizzically, I’d better say something here.
“Hi,” she said.
Well, now that was clever. Get it together here, Beckett. You’ve done this before, what’s your problem?
She tried again. “I’m Samantha. Samantha Harrison.” She and Josh had agreed that while it was very unlikely, there was just enough chance Gamble might stumble across her name or someone else who’d seen it in connection with Redstone to make a cover name wise. So as she usually did, she used her mother’s maiden name. “I just moved in next door.”
After a moment of hesitation that made her wonder, he nodded. “I saw.”
At least he didn’t try to deny he’d been watching, she thought. After the way he’d jerked back when she’d sensed his gaze and looked over at his window, she’d half expected that.
“I know this sounds like