Spies Like Us The Complete Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

M aggie stared at the muffin on her desk. It was pumpkin, not as tempting as blueberry, but still respectable.

“Later,” she whispered to the muffin. “I’m working.”

Now, the muffin seemed to be saying. Two crumbles of streusel on top made it look as if the muffin had eyes, judgmental eyes that commanded to be eaten.

“I’m not supposed to eat you at all. I’m on a diet,” Maggie whispered.

The diet’s a joke, and you know it, the persistent muffin responded.

“Shut up,” Maggie whispered. She pushed the muffin away, which turned out to be a tactical error when some of the streusel stuck to her hand and demanded to be licked off. The muffin was smarter than she gave it credit for.

“Maggie Eldridge?”

It was unfortunate timing for Maggie that she was licking streusel off her palm like a cat bathing itself when the beautiful man showed up.

“Guh,” she replied, her tongue still out of her mouth and now feeling five times fatter than usual. She reeled her tongue back inside her lips and hid her streusel-licked fingers under her desk.

“Hi, my name is Ridge Colton, and someone gave me your name. I’m planning a trip overseas, and I was hoping you might help,” he said.

“Really?” she blurted.

“You’re Maggie Eldridge, a reference librarian, correct?”

“Yes, but, I mean, you’re not in college are you?” If he was in college, she should be in an old age home. He looked closer to thirty, but Maggie couldn’t figure out why else he would have tracked her down for help at the university where she worked.

He smiled and, have mercy, he looked even better when that happened, like tiny face angels were on standby waiting to pose him in the most alluring position. “I’m not in college, but this is my first business trip to the Middle East, and a friend of a friend gave me your name as a potential contact.”

“That makes more sense,” Maggie said. “Where are you traveling?”

“Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Dubai,” he said.

Her face lit. “Three of my favorites. I’d love to talk to you and offer any help I can, but I have a day full of meetings. Does another day work for you?”

“How about tonight? We could meet for coffee,” he suggested.

“Um,” Maggie stalled while her sluggish brain tried to offer an answer. Was it safe to meet with a strange man for coffee, even if he looked as good as this man looked? Or maybe that made him more dangerous. Maybe he used his looks to lure unsuspecting, chubby librarians to their doom. “Coffee’s good.” If he were a serial killer, he’d better also be a bodybuilder. She would not easily be lifted into any sort of getaway car. Her eyes fell to the muffin. Now she needed to eat it, if only to aid in her defense.

“Great. Here’s my card with all my contact information. Does six work for you?”

“Six works,” Maggie said. “Do you know the coffee shop on Bodega?” It was the same coffee shop she’d visited this morning, the one where she procured the muffin.

“No, but I’ll find it. Cheers.” He gave her the smile again, the one that blazed out of his face like the time Harrison Ford opened the Ark of the Covenant and killed all the Nazis.

Maggie nodded stupidly at his retreating backside. It was wrong some men should be so naturally handsome while others should be so naturally…not. She wasn’t a socialist when it came to money, but looks were another matter. If only there were a way to give some of Ridge Colton’s handsomeness to some of the average men she’d known, the world would be a more equitable place.

Shaking her head, she returned to work and, before she knew it, one hand was on the muffin and she had devoured half of it. “Stop making me eat you,” she whispered. In reply she imagined the muffin laughing, a twisted, evil laugh of triumph.

R idge returned to his car, sat inside, and closed his eyes. What were his first impressions of the librarian? Genial. The word popped into his head and wouldn’t be dissuaded until he gave it full consideration. Throw a white wig on her, and Maggie Eldridge would make an excellent Mrs. Claus. She exuded warm friendliness and good cheer. Those were nice qualities to have, but not necessarily the qualities he was looking for. He needed quick intelligence and a strong drive to get the job finished, no matter the obstacles. Was she the sort of woman who would persevere through any difficulty? Or would she turn tail and run at the first hint of trouble? He couldn’t yet say and decided to reserve judgment until later. Hopefully the meeting tonight would give him more information. He checked his watch and sighed. Six hours until their next meeting. With nothing left to do until then, he headed for the nearest gym and grabbed his duffle, glad for the chance to slip a workout into what had been a hectic few days.

When six rolled around, he arrived at the coffee shop and saw the librarian already there. Punctual. He liked that about her. Her head was down and bent over a few books spread open in front of her. Her clothes were different, meaning she had probably gone home to change. Now she wore a faded sweatshirt that read “Bookmarks Are For Quitters,” and her hair was piled loosely on top of her head, instead of the tight bun she’d worn earlier. Ridge found himself smiling a little at the sight of her. There was something warm and welcoming about her. He felt drawn to her warmth, but that was a danger signal. He had to think rationally, like a boss and not like a man looking to make a new friend.

In front of her sat a mug of hot chocolate and plate with two cookies on it. The Mrs. Santa image of her intensified and he had to shoo it away. She was not his grandmother; in fact, she was four years his junior.

“Miss Eldridge,” he said. Her head popped up. She was wearing reading glasses that magnified her eyes. She squinted in confusion, remembered she was wearing the glasses, and whipped them off.

“Hi,” she said, offering up a friendly smile. He searched the smile for any hints of attraction and found none. One thing he did not want on his team was a fawning female or any budding romances. He had purposely chosen her as one of his potential candidates because she was not a femme fatale. But sometimes it was the plainer ones you had to watch out for. Throw them a little attention and they tended to hang on for life with an undying hope. This one didn’t appear to be that sort and, if he were being honest, she was prettier than he had been expecting. Not his type, but he could see the appeal for some other men.

“Cookie?” she asked, sliding the plate nearer to him.

“No, thanks,” he said. After spending nearly ninety minutes working out, the last thing he wanted was to pour sugar into his body. She had no such compunctions. He watched as she broke off a large chunk of a cookie, ate it, and washed it down with a sip of hot chocolate.

“When is your trip?” she asked after he had returned from placing his order for a plain, black coffee.

“Two weeks,” he said. “I’m heading up a new team, and everything has to be perfect. I’ve been studying language and etiquette, but I wanted to speak to an American who’s been there to see what more I could learn. I understand you lived abroad for a semester.”

“I did, and I’ve traveled back and forth many other times,” she said.

“Did you ever feel unsafe?” he asked.

“No, but I observed local custom and donned a hijab. And I was with friends who kept me from wandering places I shouldn’t have gone,” she said. “As long as you’re conservative in your dress and behavior, you shouldn’t have any problems.” His coffee arrived. She eyed it and gave a wry smile.

“You don’t like black coffee,” he guessed.

“I like all coffee,” she said.

“You smiled when my coffee arrived,” he pointed out.

“I was thinking something,” she said, waving her hand as if to push away the conversation, but now his curiosity was piqued.

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

She looked him in the eye. “That they did a study on psychopaths and their preferred mode of coffee was black.”

He leaned in slightly and smiled because sometimes flirting came so naturally to him he didn’t realize he was doing it. “Do you think I’m a psychopath?”

She leaned in slightly and rested her chin in her hand. “That’s a quandary. If I say yes, you might kill me to keep me from telling others. If I say no, you might kill me because you believe I’ve been lulled into complacency by your friendly demeanor.”

“Which one is your answer?” he asked.

“I would say it needs further study, but the fact that you refused a warm chocolate chip cookie and eyed my hot chocolate like it’s poison tells me you don’t approve of sugar. And anyone who doesn’t approve of cocoa and cookies must automatically be labeled psychotic,” she said and, to his surprise, he laughed out loud.

“What if I avoid those things because I’m diabetic?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“What do you mean no?” he asked.

“You’re not type 2 diabetic because there’s no fat on your body and, generally, type 2 is brought on by lifestyle. You might be type 1, but type 1 can still eat sugary treats, they simply have to adjust their insulin. And an active guy like you would have an insulin pump, which you don’t. Therefore, you do not have diabetes, and your dislike of sugar is a personal choice because you view your body as a temple.”

Ridge was having fun, and that was unexpected. “What’s wrong with viewing one’s body as a temple?”

“Nothing. I do it, too. And I offer it routine cookie sacrifices to keep it pleased,” she said, and he laughed again.

“All right, you’ve convinced me. I’ll try a cookie.” He reached for the plate in front of her, and she smacked his hand.

“That offer was only on the table when I thought you were a nice guy. Now that I know you’re a psychopath, you’re going to have to get your own.”

He blinked at her, shocked. He was used to a certain amount of deference from women, and not one of them had ever smacked his fingers. “Okay,” he said at last. “Be right back.” He returned to the table and, a few minutes later, a waitress arrived carrying an entire tray of warm cookies.

Maggie put her hands to her mouth. “It’s like Christmas.”

Now it was Ridge’s turn to smile, but he didn’t dare explain why. He wasn’t stupid enough to tell any woman she reminded him of Mrs. Claus. “What makes you think any of these are for you?” he asked.

“You’re really going to eat,” she paused to do a quick count, “eighteen cookies?”

“I’m saving some to mail as Christmas presents to my friends and family,” he said, and it was her turn to laugh. She had a nice laugh, as warm and infectious as everything about her.

“Hey, big spender, that must be some Christmas list,” she said.

“I’m going to give two to my mom because moms are special,” he said.

“She’s lucky to have you, and she’ll be thrilled to receive her Christmas present in September.”

“I’m going to save them until December,” he said.

“They’ll be nice and green then. Festive,” she said.

All of a sudden he remembered he was supposed to be working. With effort, he pulled himself back to an objective standpoint and began to ask her questions.

“Why does a college reference librarian have so much interest in the Middle East?” he asked.

“My undergrad is in Middle East studies, and I had a close friend from Jordan,” she said.

“Had?”

She blinked and took a sip of her cocoa before answering. “He died.”

“I’m sorry,” Ridge said.

“It was a long time ago,” she said, but her hand shook slightly when she set the cocoa down.

Wisely, he moved on to other topics. They talked for a long time and, when the conversation was over, he walked her to her car and shoved the bag of leftover cookies into her hands.

“I couldn’t possibly,” she said as she opened her car door and tossed the bag of cookies inside.

Ridge laughed, something he had been doing the whole evening. “Thank you so much for meeting with me. I really appreciate it.”

“The pleasure is mine. I use my undergrad far too little these days. It’s almost like picking an obscure major as a clueless eighteen year old was a bad thing,” she said.

“Well, it certainly came in handy tonight.”

“Have a great trip. If you can ignore all the political and religious wrangling, Jordan is a wonderful country full of warm, friendly people.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said. He took her hand and shook it, holding it a second longer than necessary. “You’ve washed this since you licked it today, right?”

“Of course,” she said, tugging it free. “Then I licked it again later. There’s no known cure for my mental illness, but I’m on medication for it.”

He laughed. “After spending an entire evening with you, that part’s not hard to believe. Have a good night, and enjoy those cookies.”

“What cookies? They’re already gone.” She gave him a little wave and drove off. He stood in the street staring after her, smiling. He liked her. She reminded him of the girls back home in small town Texas—warm, friendly, and real. After being away so long and incessantly surrounded by people dying to get ahead, Maggie Eldridge was a breath of fresh air. But he couldn’t hire people based on whether or not he liked them. He would go home and review the information he had on her. Then, after some distance, he would be unbiased enough to render a decision. At least that was his hope. The stakes were too high to mess up.