Express Male. Elizabeth Bevarly

stood, hooking her fingers over his, thinking he meant to walk her off the stage. But he twined their fingers more tightly together and kept coming toward her, pulling her to himself, sweeping her into his arms and covering her mouth with his, completely and with utter possession.

      She gasped as her head jerked off her arm. She felt the cool metal table beneath her hand, blinked at the bright light overhead. She’d dozed off, she realized. She’d been dreaming. But when she turned her head toward the door, she saw the man from the empty auditorium standing there, as if he’d exited her dream with her. Instead of a tuxedo, he wore the dark suit in which she’d last seen him. And instead of the slicked-back, Rudolph Valentino hairstyle, his dark-blond tresses were dry. But they were creased and untidy, as if he’d been running his fingers restlessly through them. The swelling had gone down on his lip some, and the abrasion on his face had faded to a less angry red smudged by a faint bruise. In spite of the injuries, his was still a very compelling face.

      How long had she been asleep? she wondered, pushing the thought away. What time was it? When she looked at her watch, she saw that nearly seven and a half hours had passed since her shift had ended at Lauderdale’s. Would that she had dreamed everything that had happened since then, she’d be waking up in her own bed this morning, readying herself for another day’s work.

      Straightening in her chair, she met faux Randy’s gaze and asked, “So what’s your code name? I mean, I have a few I could use for you, but none of them is worth uttering in polite society. Then again, the society I’ve experienced tonight has been anything but polite.”

      “I owe you an apology, Ms. Lundy,” he said, addressing her by her real name. And in an amazingly courteous voice, too. She wasn’t sure which surprised her more.

      “Yeah, I’ll say you do,” she retorted before she could stop herself. Reminding herself that snarkiness wasn’t going to get her home any faster, she gentled her tone some before adding, “What brings on this sudden change of heart?”

      He left the door open as he approached the table, something he hadn’t done all night. “We ran a check on your name,” he said, “and we realized you are indeed who you say you are. Marnie Lundy of 207 Mockingbird Lane in Cleveland, Ohio, and that you’ve been an employee of Lauderdale’s for two years, just as you said.”

      “Well, why the hell didn’t you run a check like that the minute I got here?” she demanded.

      “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “We were convinced you were Lila Moreau trying to pull a fast one. We didn’t have any reason to believe you were who you said you were. So we didn’t see the point.”

      “And what made you change your mind?” she asked, still skeptical. For such a supersecret sophisticated organization, they sure did seem like a bunch of boneheads.

      “The woman who spoke to you a little while ago was a psychiatrist we brought in to examine you when we thought you were Lila. After speaking with you at length, she realized—and assured us—that you’re neither crazy, nor pretending and that you are precisely who you claim to be.”

      Marnie nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said. Even though she was still suspicious of the sudden turnaround. “So does this mean I can go home?” she asked hopefully.

      He nodded. “I’ll drive you myself.”

      His offer, too, surprised her. “That won’t be necessary,” she assured him.

      “Do you remember how you got here?”

      “Um, no,” she admitted.

      “And you haven’t had any sleep tonight,” he pointed out.

      Well, except for that one little nap with the weird dream about ol’ blue eyes there kissing her, which, now that she thought about it, was really a nightmare, except for the fact that it had actually been kind of nice….

      She sighed. She really did need to get out and date more if she was thinking a dream kiss from a virtual stranger who’d abducted and terrified her was kind of nice. Even Lila probably didn’t have anyone like that in her little black book.

      “You haven’t had any sleep, either,” she said.

      “I can go without it. Something tells me you can’t.”

      Yeah, like the fact that he’d walked in on her fast asleep. She hoped she hadn’t been drooling. Or making those soft murmuring sounds of satisfaction out loud that she’d been making in her dream when he kissed her.

      “So when can we go?” she asked.

      “Any time you’re ready,” he told her, surprising her again.

      “But don’t you have to…”

      “What?”

      “Debrief me or something?”

      She remembered after asking the question that she was indeed wearing briefs, a realization that made her hope “debrief” really was the word spy types used in such situations, and not just in movies and on TV. Otherwise, things could get a little embarrassing.

      When he smiled at her the way he did, she had a feeling he was thinking about the same kind of debriefing she was. Which was bad, because she wasn’t thinking about the movie and TV kind of debriefing just then. He really was very handsome. Even if he was a big jerk.

      “I don’t need to debrief you, Ms. Lundy,” he said.

      Ah, well. Story of her life.

      She realized then that although he knew her by not one but two names—even if one of them was wrong—she didn’t know even one of his. And, gosh, a girl always wanted to know the name of the man who abducted her and made her life hell for a night. So she asked, “What’s your name?”

      His smile fell some at that. “Why? Are you planning to write a letter of complaint about me?”

      “And send it where?” she asked. “I don’t know anything about you guys except for your being under Homeland Security.” Which led her to another thought. “The woman who spoke to me said your organization is top secret and no one’s supposed to know about you. Aren’t you afraid that by letting me go home, I’ll spend the day on the phone alerting the media to my experience and your existence?”

      “They won’t believe you,” he said with complete conviction. “Except for the media outlets who publish stories about alien Elvises and women who marry Bigfoot, and we’ve already been written up by them dozens of times. Those stories just reinforce how we can’t possibly exist anywhere outside someone’s delusion. Besides, if we find out you’re talking about us, we have ways of making you stop.”

      Her blood went cold at the matter-of-fact way he said that. “Are you threatening me?”

      “Yeah.”

      “With what?”

      He chuckled at her expression. “Don’t worry, we won’t kill you or make you disappear. But you’ll find out what all the ruckus is about identity theft. We’ll ruin your credit and tie up your finances and create debt for you where you never had it before. We’ll make you lose your job and your home and everything else we can think of. It’s not a good idea to piss off Uncle Sam.”

      Unbelievable, she thought. But, alas, totally believable.

      “I won’t say a word to anyone,” she vowed.

      “Good.”

      “So then you won’t mind telling me your name,” she added, not sure why it was so important for her to know.

      He hesitated for a moment, then, “Noah Tennant,” he told her. “Code name Sinatra.”

      Of course, she thought. With those eyes, what else would his code name be?

      “Now if you’re ready to go,” he said, “we can leave anytime.”

      “I’m ready now,” she told him. Actually, she was ready seven and