Spy Games Read Online Free PDF Page A

the fine print, you saw that FSC has the right to spy on us and invade our privacy using whatever means they deem appropriate. And we’ve agreed to hold them blameless.” Spoken like a true, smug lawyer.
    Peewee looked at Jim as if he wanted to wipe that arrogant expression off Jim’s face with a good right hook.
    Cliff ordered another pitcher of beer and complained about the uniforms. “No shorts. The weather’s warm and no shorts.”
    “That’s what scissors are for,” I said.
    “You want to come help me make some cuts?” Cliff shot me a leer.
    “You wouldn’t like the kind of cuts I’d make.” I gave him a slow smile to soften my rejection. Cliff, unattractive as he was, wasn’t used to women turning him down. I imagine he used the director card to his advantage whenever possible.
    “I might. Try me.” He held my gaze as he swigged his beer.
    “No, thanks.”
    Cliff turned to Jim. “Why do the young, attractive women ignore me unless they know who I am?” He spoke as if I wasn’t right there where I’d have to be deaf not to hear him.
    You only had to have a pair of eyes to know why. “I know who you are,” I said.
    Thank goodness Huff returned and eyed my glass. I’m not usually a drinker, but I’d already downed a beer without much trouble and was working my way through a second, and beginning to feel pretty relaxed and slightly flirty. Not smashed enough to go for Cliff. That was about a keg off into the future. But a light buzz always made me flirty. Flirty, then sleepy. Yeah, I was a lightweight. Tonight I was glad for it. I wanted to forget the day. Forget it all and just have some fun.
    “I promised you a drink,” Huff said. “A real drink. What’ll you have?”
    I never drank the really strong stuff. Never anything straight up or neat. I preferred unsophisticated girlie drinks with lots of rum and fruit, capped with whipped cream. In other words—dessert.
    “I’ll take a strawberry daiquiri.”
    “That’s not a Bond Girl drink.” Huff grinned as he flagged the waitress.
    “You can tell them not to stir it if that makes you feel any better.” I smiled back at him.
    Just after my drink arrived, a local quartet of the lounge-lizard variety began playing easy listening favorites from the seventies, along with a touch of disco. I didn’t like the music selection.
    “Dance with me?” Huff’s eyes sparkled with flirtation.
    I shook my head.
    “Come on.” He stood and held out his hand to me.
    “My mother never taught me the Hustle,” I said.
    He motioned me toward the tiny, square dance floor.
    “Or how to disco.”
    “Neither did mine,” Huff said. “We’ll wing it.”
    The beers had relaxed my inhibitions. Not to mention Huff looked damned enticing. Against my better judgment, I stood and let him lead me out to dance.
    “Alone at last,” he said as we reached the dance floor, pulling me toward him and taking me in his arms. He smelled of a woodsy, expensive cologne I should have been able to name, but couldn’t, not with his lean, hard body next to mine, chasing away coherent thought. “I’ve been angling for this all day.”
    I looped one arm around his shoulder. He caught my other hand in his, cuddling it between us, keeping one arm around my waist.
    A disco ball spun overhead, casting its multicolored light over the deep green vinyl-covered booths and wooden tables surrounding us. We were the only couple on the dance floor. As Peewee hooted at us from the table, I felt suddenly conspicuous and exposed. As always, fear of Ket watching and catching me intruded. I stiffened.
    “Relax. Lighten up.” Huff squeezed my hand. “The band’s not that bad.”
    “I’m sorry.” I started to pull away.
    He held me firm. “Did I do something? I don’t think I’ve stepped on your toes yet.”
    I looked at the floor and shook my head. “It’s not you.” I paused. “It’s…it’s my ex.”
    Huff tipped up my chin and raised a brow, giving me a look I assumed was