You've Got Male (33 page)

Maybe if she just avoided looking at the crowd and the buildings and the sky overhead, she’d be okay. Maybe if she didn’t see the massive, sprawling horde of people and the staggeringly immense skyscrapers and the stark, infinite sky, she could function normally. Maybe if she forgot she was surrounded by millions of strangers who could turn on her at any moment and towering edifices that might come crashing down on top of her any second and a vast chasm of space that might suck her into the void if she wasn’t careful…

Oh, God…

I have nothing to fear in this moment,
she told herself as she lifted her drink to her mouth for a healthy sip.
In this moment, there is nothing to fear. I have nothing to fear in this moment. In this moment, there is nothing to fear….

Again and again Avery recited the incantation to herself, until she was utterly focused upon it. Little by little, her heart rate slowed, her head stopped hammering, her body stopped trembling and her heated skin cooled. She took another sip of her drink and reminded herself she wasn’t alone. Dixon and Gillespie were both watching her, even if she couldn’t see either of them. She really did have nothing to fear in this moment. The people around her weren’t here to hurt her. The buildings were perfectly sound. The sky was a place of magic, with the snow falling as it was. And in this moment, at least, Adrian Padgett wasn’t around. Even when he showed up, she told herself, he wouldn’t pose a threat to her. He didn’t know she was working with OPUS and trying to lure him into a trap.

She hoped.

She tried to remind herself that if the situation had been genuine, if she’d been a normally functioning woman who had come here to meet a man with whom she’d fallen in love, this moment would be special and romantic. But then she remembered that she hadn’t been a normally functioning woman for a long time now. And the man she was meeting was a menace to society. The man she loved was nowhere in sight.

She had no trouble admitting that now, at least to herself. She did love Dixon. Oliver. Whatever and whoever he was. She’d probably been in love with him since the night they made love. Maybe even before that. He just wasn’t like other men she’d known. Not that she had such a vast, experience-filled history with men. Nor had she ever been a good judge of masculine character. But Dixon had a lot of character. He had even more masculinity. More than either of those, though, he had decency. He was a good guy. He’d treated her with respect and civility, even when she’d been at her most whack. He’d looked out for her. He’d championed her. He’d taken care of her. But even more important than that, he’d put her on the path toward learning to take care of herself, learning to respect herself, and learning to be her own champion.

She didn’t kid herself that her life was going to be smooth and rosy once Dixon left it. She knew she had a long way to go. But with him at her side, she’d taken the first steps. In the short time since he’d entered her life, she’d left her home and gone miles away and lived to tell the tale. She’d become part of a dangerous assignment, something that generated real fear in light of her irrational ones, and she’d managed to carry it through to its conclusion—or would, once this meeting with Adrian was over. She’d reunited with her family, however tenuous that reunion had been. She’d forged an alliance with her sister—again tenuous but with potential—where there had never been one before. And she had fallen in love. Real love. The kind that when you lost it left you feeling melancholy instead of angry, wistful instead of vengeful.

She had begun to live life since meeting Dixon, instead of exiling herself from it. For that she would always owe him. And she would always be grateful.

She wished they had more time together, wished that the other night, when she’d gone to his room to ask him about the healing remark he’d made at the party, he’d been alone. But he hadn’t been alone. They hadn’t had a chance to talk. And she’d never had another opportunity to ask him what he’d meant. They’d been too busy setting up Adrian for his colossal fall.

She lifted the heavy cardboard cup to her lips and pushed up the plastic lid to make it look as if she were blowing on hot coffee to cool it. “Dixon,” she said softly into the microphone that was hidden in the heavy red muffler wrapped around her neck. “Are you there?”

“I’m here, Avery. Hold steady. It won’t be much longer. Three minutes to contact. Sorcerer is always on time.”

His voice came to her through the earpiece hidden beneath both her hair and the red knit cap she’d pulled low, to just above her eyes. She silently thanked the weather for cooperating today. The temperature hovered in the upper twenties and a light snow was falling, making it essential that she wear enough clothes to hide all the paraphernalia OPUS had insisted she have on her. In addition to the mic and earpiece, she was equipped with a cell phone, a global positioning device and pepper spray. Dixon had offered her a gun, but she’d laughed in his face. Literally. That was all she needed to do—shoot herself. Although her usual self-defense weapon of choice was a Louisville Slugger, it would have been a bit difficult to hide under her coat. She figured, hey, she was reasonably adept with Tabasco sauce, so pepper spray couldn’t be too far a stretch. She also was wearing a minuscule tape recorder, in case she and Adrian somehow moved out of range of the surveillance equipment Dixon and Gillespie were manning.

She tried not to think about that happening. The only way Avery would move out of range of Dixon and Gillespie would be against her will. If Adrian for whatever reason figured out at some point during their meeting that she was setting him up—or if, God forbid, he already knew—he could harm her or anyone else nearby. In this crowd, in this weather, it would be easy for a man with his intelligence and depravity to commit a kidnapping or inflict injury—or worse.

She was sipping her drink before the thought even fully formed in her brain. “What if he doesn’t show up?” she said into the mic.

“He’ll show.”

Just the sound of Dixon’s voice calmed her some. She closed her eyes and sipped her drink again, visualizing him the way he had been when he’d wired her up earlier, his eyes filled with a genuine concern for her safety. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her, she told herself. She was perfectly safe as long as he was around.

“But what if he doesn’t?” she said, tucking her mouth into her scarf. “How long should I wait?”

“Don’t talk,” Dixon instructed her. “He’ll show. He’s got a lot of time and effort invested in you and he’s convinced you’re the best person to help him carry out whatever plan he has. He’ll show. He may have just been slowed down by the weather and the crowd. Sit tight, Avery. I’ve got your back.”

She almost smiled at that. He had a lot more than her back. He had every part of her, right down to her heart and soul. She hadn’t meant to fall in love with him. And she still wasn’t sure how she felt about her condition. It might be different if Dixon loved her, too. Or if there was some chance he might fall in love with her someday. But he wasn’t the sort of man to fall in love. And she wasn’t the sort of woman men fell in love with. Sure, she had a few things going for her. She was smart and she could be funny and she wasn’t bad-looking.

But she had problems. And she was difficult. And she was weird. Most guys, when they settled on one woman, wanted someone they could at least take out into public from time to time without fear that she would go completely nuts.

Then again, Dixon wasn’t the type to be overly concerned with convention. And he didn’t much care about making a good impression. He probably wouldn’t let something like phobia and panic disorder keep him from falling in love with the right woman.

So it was just that Avery wasn’t the right woman, that was all.

More emotional baggage, she thought as she took another sip of her drink. Just what she needed. More psychological crap to stuff into the teeming closet of her subconscious. She was going to have to clean that thing out soon. Have herself a psychological garage sale. She wondered if eBay allowed listings like “Bruised Ego” or “Neglected Id.” Hell, her Defense Mechanisms and Compulsive Behaviors were practically good as new. She’d have to check into it.

“Avery? Avery Nesbitt?”

The moment she heard his voice behind her, her brain skidded to a halt. Panic exploded in her belly and anxiety began to claw at her throat. Her mouth went dry, her face went hot and her hands began to tremble. Fog billowed into her head and all coherent thought threatened to flee.
Not now,
she told herself.
Not here. Not yet. Not after coming so far. Please, please, please, don’t let me lose it now.

I have nothing to fear in this moment. In this moment, there is nothing to fear….

She took a few seconds to calm herself, forcing down her panic to where it was—she hoped—manageable. Then she turned to look into the face of the man she had once thought might change her life. The man who could now, if she wasn’t careful, end it….

F
ROM HIS OUTDOOR SEAT AT
a café-side table, where he’d been pretending to sketch the skaters and passersby, Dixon could only see Sorcerer from the side. But his head was turned toward Avery, making it impossible to see his face. Like her, he was dressed for the snowy day in heaps of clothing and a knit cap pulled low, but there was something about his attire that bothered Dixon. Of course, he wouldn’t dress in a way that might draw attention to himself and he would dress in sync with the Andrew Paddington persona he had been feeding to Avery. Not that she’d ever buy the twentysomething age range when she saw the man claiming to be Andrew. But she’d been instructed to play along. Even in normal circumstances, when people met online they often fudged the details of their reality. Had this been a situation where Avery was actually meeting a man named Andrew whom she’d met online, there would be things about his reality that wouldn’t jibe with her fantasy.

And why did even the thought of such a normal meeting bother Dixon? Why was the concept of her meeting a man, some nice, normal guy she’d hooked up with online, troubling to him? He and Avery would be winding this thing up soon, and he ought not to be thinking in such terms. She was finally in a position where she’d begun to tackle some of her problems, and it was very likely that with time and help she would eventually be able to function in society the way she had when she was younger. He ought to be wishing her well and hoping she
would
meet some nice, normal guy who would give her the love and respect she deserved. Some guy who deserved her, too.

But Dixon couldn’t quite make himself think in those terms. The idea of Avery being with someone else just felt wrong to him. And then he realized how he had just worded his own thought in his own head. Avery being with
someone else?
By using the phrase
someone else,
he was pretty much indicating that right now he was thinking of himself and Avery as an item. As in, romantically involved. As in, she was his, and he was hers. As in, that was the way it should be. And once this thing was over, she’d be with someone
else.

Someone else. Why did that sound so strange when all along he’d been telling himself she
should
be with someone else? And he should be with…Well. He should—and would—be with no one.

“Hi, you must be Andrew.”

The sound of her voice, crystal clear and rock steady—
yeah, that’s my girl
—came through his earpiece, jerking him back to the matter at hand. He could think about that
someone else
business later. When it was just the two of them again. He panicked for a minute when a woman stopped in front of him to rearrange her shopping bags and cut off Avery from view, but he shifted his chair to the left a bit until she was in sight once more. As was the man who had just joined her. But Dixon still didn’t have a clear view of his face, especially when he rounded the bench to stand in front of Avery. So he studied everything he could see.

And it struck him again that there was something about the way the guy was dressed that bothered him. The snow was picking up now, making a study of details more difficult, but from where Dixon sat he could tell the other man was wearing the sort of too-big, too-sloppy jacket favored by younger men these days. His jeans in the back rested atop heavy hiking boots, also not unexpected for someone posing as Andrew Paddington, midtwenties musician. Still, there was something about the clothing that just didn’t seem right….

No, not his clothing, Dixon realized as the man sat down beside Avery. It was his stance and the way he moved that seemed off. Not jerky or nervous or unnatural. Just…wrong.

“It’s so great to finally meet you face-to-face,” his voice came through the earpiece as the man sat down beside her.

And Dixon frowned when he heard it. He told himself it must be the equipment, that that was why Sorcerer’s normal baritone had suddenly become a tenor. Or maybe he was deliberately trying to disguise his voice in an effort to throw off anyone who might be watching or eavesdropping. He was called Sorcerer for a reason, and part of that reason was his ability to change his appearance with fairly little effort. That meant changing his voice from time to time, too.

It was Sorcerer, Dixon told himself. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t, then the last two weeks of his life—hell, the last six months of his life—had been for nothing.

As soon as the thought formed in his head, though, he knew it wasn’t true. He could never consider his time with Avery to be nothing. On the contrary, the last two weeks with her had been, in a strange way, more enjoyable than any he could remember spending in a long time. Because for one thing, Dixon hadn’t spent those weeks alone, which was his usual way of existing. Even though he had a partner for his work, the nature of that work often required the two of them to operate apart. He’d found it surprisingly agreeable to spend time with another person. That the person had been someone like Avery, someone smart and resourceful and witty and brave, had only been a bonus.

No, not someone
like
Avery, he instantly corrected himself. The fact that it had been her specifically was what had made the time so rewarding. So exhilarating. So special.

But if the man talking to her now wasn’t Sorcerer, then Dixon was back to square one. And if it wasn’t Sorcerer standing where Dixon could see him, then Sorcerer might very well be somewhere looking at Dixon instead.

Dammit.

He focused on the man talking to Avery. It was Sorcerer, he told himself again. Who else could it be?

“You don’t look like your picture,” Avery was saying now, reaffirming Dixon’s earlier thoughts.

“Okay, I have a confession to make,” the guy said. “That picture I sent you? It wasn’t really me. It was a JPEG I scored from a singles site. I was afraid you’d think I was a geek.”

Avery managed an almost genuine-sounding chuckle at that.
Hang on,
Dixon encouraged her silently.
Just a few more minutes.

“
I’m
the geek,” she said. “The picture I sent you was totally me.”

“I thought you were cute,” the guy told her. “Just like now.”

Something cold and unpleasant settled in Dixon’s stomach. The guy still didn’t sound like Sorcerer. But that wasn’t the real reason he felt sick, he realized. No, it was because whoever this bastard was, he was flirting with Avery. Dixon swore eloquently under his breath.

“What? What’s wrong?”

This time it was Gillespie’s voice coming through the earpiece. He was wired in to Dixon for sound but not Avery. So she could continue to blithely small talk with her new best friend—well, as blithely as someone with panic disorder could small talk anyway—without being bothered by Gillespie’s commentary. She had to have heard Dixon swearing, though, and she would hear what he said now.

“It’s not Sorcerer.”

“What?”
Thankfully that was Gillespie, too.

“Whoever that guy is, Avery, it’s not Adrian. Keep talking for now, but be careful.”

She’d stumbled a bit over her words when he began to talk but regrouped beautifully—after a long, long sip from her alleged coffee, he couldn’t help noticing.

“I, um, I was just expecting someone else,” she said, making Dixon tense up for a minute, until he realized what she had said was perfectly in keeping with the conversation. Now, though, it just had a double entendre, whether deliberate or not.

“You’re totally who I was expecting,” the guy said.

And why, Dixon thought, did the innocent remark sound so sinister? Was he simply coloring it with his own suspicion and fear? Or was the guy a genuine threat?

It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Dixon rose from his chair, discarding the sketch pad and charcoal as he did. He had a weapon in his pocket, but he didn’t withdraw it. He only strode slowly and purposely forward, toward where Avery was sitting.

When Gillespie saw what he was doing, he squawked through the earpiece, “Dixon, what the hell is going on? Where are you going?”

Dixon said nothing in response because he didn’t want to do anything that would alert Avery to his actions. She needed to just keep chatting casually with whoever this guy was, because whoever this guy was needed to be casual, too.

“Dixon?” Gillespie said again.

Dixon pulled the earpiece from his ear and tucked it into his pocket.

The distance between him and Avery was closing, but not as quickly as he wanted it to. He kept his eye, though, not on her but on the man seated next to her. This time Dixon was grateful for the man’s back being turned to him. Because it posed no problem whatsoever in his approaching unseen and wrapping his arm around the guy’s neck and jerking him up from the bench.

“Dixon!” Avery cried when she realized what was happening. She, too, jumped up from her seat, her big cup of scotch flying from her hand when she did so. Vaguely Dixon noticed that she didn’t seem to notice.

The guy he’d just collared, literally, struggled hard to free himself, but Dixon had skill and years of experience—not to mention absolute fear for Avery’s safety—on his side, and he was able to keep the man pinned with no problem.

“Who are you?” Dixon demanded without preamble or explanation.

“Andrew Paddington,” the guy said, gripping Dixon’s arm with both hands. But he’d stopped trying to pull himself free and his body had relaxed a little. Obviously he’d figured out it would be useless to fight.

“You’re not Andrew Paddington,” Dixon said. Then he jerked his arm tighter. “Who are you?”

The man’s fingers on his arm went rigid again, but still he didn’t fight. “My name’s Benny Culver.”

Dixon jerked his arm tight again. “And?”

“And I’m a student at Columbia.”

“How do you know about Avery?” Dixon asked. “How did you know to come here when you did?”

“Let me go, man,” the guy said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just let me go.”

“Dixon,” Avery said softly.

And just the sound of her voice made him relax. She was fine, he reminded himself. She was safe. It was over now and she was okay.

Of course,
he
was over his head in trouble. If there had been any possibility of Sorcerer showing up here today, Dixon had just made sure the guy was halfway to the west coast by now. If this Benny Culver was someone Sorcerer had sent in first to test the waters, then Dixon had just managed to pollute those waters by coming out of hiding too soon. No way would Sorcerer show his face now. And now he would know he’d been under surveillance. Not that that would come as any great surprise to him, Dixon was sure. But it sure as hell was going to make it harder to catch him next time.

Funny, though, how that didn’t really bother Dixon as much as it probably should. Because all he cared about right now was the fact that Avery was safe and that OPUS wouldn’t be able to use her anymore.

He eased up his hold on Culver but didn’t let go of him. He saw Gillespie behind Avery, his expression grim as he approached. But the other man said nothing as he joined the trio waiting for explanation. Of course, Dixon knew that it was he, and not Culver, who had the most explaining to do.

“Let me go,” Culver said again.

“Not until you tell us who you are and why you’re here,” Dixon said.

“Hey, man, I could ask you the same question,” Culver countered.

Dixon jerked his arm up again, then relaxed it.

“Okay, okay,” the other man relented. “I’m doing a favor for a friend, all right?”

“What kind of favor?”

“A buddy of mine met Avery online and set up a meeting with her. But he asked me to go first and pretend to be him, in case she turned out to be heinous.”

“Where’s this friend now?” Dixon asked.

Culver looked across the ice rink and started to lift a finger to point. “Oh, shit, man, he was right there a minute ago.”

And now he was gone, Dixon translated. He muttered a ripe expletive and repeated it a half-dozen times.

“My words exactly,” Gillespie said.

And even though he would have been well within his rights to demand Dixon explain his behavior, he said nothing more. Dixon wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t want to challenge a senior operative or if maybe, just maybe, Gillespie had figured out what was going on between him and Avery, since, hey, he’d had some goings-on himself with Avery’s sister. Maybe Gillespie already understood Dixon’s actions. Hell, he might even understand them better than Dixon did.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble,” Culver was saying now.

“Yeah, well, you’ve got it anyway,” Dixon told him. “In spades.”

Culver should take heart though, he wanted to tell the man further. Because he wasn’t the only one who had trouble. Nor was he the one who had the most.

I
T WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT THE
next day when Avery finally got to see Dixon again. And just as it had been that first night, it was because she answered her front door to him. This time, though, she knew what she was getting into when she invited him inside. And this time, she was actually kind of hoping they
would
end up horizontal on her sofa. Unfortunately this time, it was doubtless out of the question. Because this time Dixon would be wrapping up the assignment, not dragging her into it. This time, she was sure, he would be telling her goodbye.