Unwritten Rules (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 1) Read online

  When they reached their rooms, he surprised her again.

  “Thanks for the afternoon. I really needed to get out. I need to make some calls. Then I should probably work.”

  She nodded, uncertain how to respond. She had expected him to insist on joining her for dinner. Maybe he did need to work, but he hadn’t shown much diligence about it up to this point. Whatever his motives, she was grateful to be off-duty for the rest of the night. All she wanted was to kick off her shoes and collapse on the big, soft bed.

  “Good night, then.”

  “See you tomorrow.” He closed his door with a soft click.

  ****

  At eight-thirty the next morning, Madelyn was halfway through her yoga routine when two firm raps broke her concentration. She straightened and pushed an errant lock of hair out of her face before glancing at the connecting door. What now?

  She opened the door to find Carter wearing black running pants with a double white stripe down the side and a gray T-shirt.

  “Great,” he said. “You’re ready.”

  She regarded him skeptically. “Ready for what?”

  “I have a surprise. Grab your bag, and let’s go.”

  She didn’t move. “Go where?”

  “That’s part of the surprise. Come on.”

  “Not until you tell me where we’re going.”

  “You’ll spoil the surprise. Don’t you trust me?”

  Did she? Interesting question. She shouldn’t. She searched his eyes for the truth and foundered. How could blue be so warm? Blue was supposed to be a cool color, but his eyes were the color of Lake Michigan on a hot summer day—a deep, brilliant blue with highlights the color of whitecaps.

  She shook herself. She must be losing her mind. She’d never been prone to romantic flights of fancy. Even as a teenager she’d always been serious and practical. Besides, he was a client, a client! But before her brain could formulate a coherent response, she heard herself agree. “All right.”

  “Good. Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  That snapped her back fast. “You will not. You’re not listed as an authorized driver on the rental car agreement.”

  “I won’t have an accident. Besides, you don’t know where we’re going.”

  “You can give me directions.” Her tone brooked no resistance.

  He shrugged. “Okay. You’re the boss. But hurry up and grab your gym bag and keys. We’re going to be late.”

  She stuffed her feet into her running shoes, snatched her bag, and followed him out the door. Once they were in the car, she followed his directions west across the Arlington Bridge and onto the George Washington Memorial Parkway headed north. Since it was early on a Sunday morning, traffic was light. Through Carter’s open window, she caught quick glimpses of the Potomac peeking between the trees. The GW Parkway wound along the river through heavily forested parkland. Only ten minutes from the busy hive of the nation’s capital, it seemed like a million miles from nowhere.

  Madelyn glanced at Carter. “How far are we going?”

  “Not much farther. You’ll see the sign.”

  “What sign?”

  “You’ll know it when you see it. It’s right around the next bend.”

  She shot him an irritated glance. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” He was unrepentant. “Here we are. Turn left.”

  He was right. She couldn’t miss the sign. Central Intelligence Agency. She’d known they were headed toward the Langley section of McLean, but it had never occurred to her he might take her to CIA headquarters. Why? They couldn’t get past the front door since neither of them was authorized. And they were hardly dressed for an official visit.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They pulled up to a gate, and an armed guard stepped out. She lowered her window.

  Her anxiety surged. “Now what?” she whispered.

  “Leave it to me.”

  “What’s your business, ma’am?” the guard asked.

  Carter leaned across her lap and peered up through the window. “Ms. Li and Mr. Devlin to see Mr. Witkowski.”

  The guard checked his list. “Yes, sir. He’s expecting you. Just pull into the Visitor’s Parking lot.” When he raised the gate, Madelyn drove through slowly.

  She glanced at Carter, whose lips settled into a smug line. “I don’t know what you have planned, but it doesn’t matter. Even on a Sunday morning I can’t go into CIA Headquarters looking like this.”

  He tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You look fine, perfect in fact. Quit worrying. This is for you. It’s something you need.”

  Something she needed? She didn’t need anything here. And who was he to decide what she needed, anyway? Her stomach clenched.

  Expansive parking lots flanked the main drive on both sides. It looked like any other modern office complex, complete with large, well-kept flower beds surrounding the main entrance. She didn’t know what she’d expected of the seat of government clandestine operations, but nothing so ordinary.

  She parked the car, and they walked up to the giant glass-roofed archway over the front doors where Al Witkowski waited inside. He reached out to shake Carter’s hand.

  “Thanks, Ski.”

  “No problem.” Ski turned his genial smile on Madelyn. “Especially since it’s for the lovely Ms. Li.”

  He reached for her hand, and Madelyn gave him a nervous smile.

  “Let’s get you signed in.” Ski led them to the lobby, across the giant Central Intelligence Agency seal embedded in the marble floor, and up to the guard’s desk. They signed the guard’s book and were given visitor’s badges.

  “Okay,” Ski said once they were through the doors and standing in the main hall. “You don’t need me anymore. You know where you’re going.”

  “I owe you one.” Carter shook his friend’s hand again.

  “Hah! You owe me a hell of a lot more than one. I’ll meet you back here in say,” Ski glanced at his watch, “two hours, to sign you back out. Nice to see you again, Ms. Li. Have a good time.”

  Madelyn followed Carter down the hall. “What did he mean by that?” Her words echoed in the empty corridor.

  “Will you relax and stop worrying? Trust me.”

  There was that word again. Since she’d trusted him enough to come this far, she might as well find out what he’d cooked up.

  They walked down what seemed like dozens of identical halls, passing a few people at work in their glass-walled cubicles, until they came to a bank of elevators. Carter pushed the Down button. Once they reached their floor, she followed him through another windowless maze until they reached a pair of large wooden doors with a sign that read Gymnasium C. The doors were unlocked, and they stepped inside. It was a medium-sized gym with tiled walls and large, thick mats on the floor.

  Madelyn turned a quizzical look on Carter. “You brought me all the way to Langley to go to a gym? Why?”

  “Because you needed it. Because it’s private. Because I could.”

  Yes, and…?

  “I did some research last night on Hsing I Chuan. After I saw your moves in the parking garage yesterday, I knew you were good, and a complex skill like that takes practice. I thought it might help relieve some of the stress of the past few days, and a crowded public fitness center didn’t seem like the right place.”

  Her mind struggled to grasp that he’d considered her needs at all, much less considered them deeply enough to understand her this way. She did need to practice. Practice centered her mentally and emotionally. The concentration drained extraneous thoughts from her brain, while the physical movements drained negative energy from her body.

  “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.” She gazed at him in wonder. “How did you know?”

  He ran a careless hand through his hair. “We’ve been under a lot of stress. I know I need some physical relief, and I thought you might, too.”

  Physical relief. Ye
s, she did need it. But usually when a man said that, he had a specific type of relief in mind. Was Carter playing with her, needling her with a typical masculine double entendre? Did she want him to? That question was off-limits.

  He continued as if his comment had been completely innocent. “I don’t know what kind of facilities will be available for the rest of the trip, but I was pretty sure I could get Ski to let us in here for the morning.” He glanced around the room. “I haven’t been down here since I got back in the country.”

  His last comment was quieter, as if he were talking to himself, and a telltale muscle in his jaw flexed.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to practice with you watching me.”

  He returned his attention to her. “Then we can work together. You can show me how to do the Five Fists.”

  The Five Fists. He had been studying.

  She nodded. “Okay. But I’ve always been the student. I’ve never tried to teach anyone before.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “You bet.”

  “All right, you said you read about the Five Fists. They’re also known as the Five Elements. The five major motions represent the five elements. Splitting,” she made the sharp, chopping motion of an axe, “represents metal. Pounding represents fire.” Her right hand exploded forward while the left blocked a phantom opponent.

  “Drilling represents water, crossing represents earth, and crushing represents wood.” She demonstrated the basic moves for each element in turn. “Hsing I Chuan is a linear style. The fighter uses simultaneous and continuous attack and defense to overwhelm the opponent.” She performed a quick sequence that brought her outstretched hand within an inch of Carter’s chest as if she were thrusting a spear.

  He nodded but didn’t flinch. “That’s good, but what about the kicks? I thought Kung Fu was all about the footwork.”

  Madelyn grimaced. “You’ve seen too many movies. Some forms use high kicks, but Hsing I is mostly arms and hands. Any kicks are low and powerful—like this.” She kicked out suddenly, connecting with his ankle, and knocked him to the mat. As he dropped, she felt a rush of triumph tempered by a twinge of guilt before he rolled with natural grace and ended up on his feet again.

  “You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?” His grin issued a challenge she couldn’t refuse.

  She straightened her spine and anchored her stance, ready for anything he threw at her. “As tough as I need to be.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  “Do you want to call Ski and go back to the hotel?” She lifted a brow in an answering challenge.

  He scoffed. “What do you think I am? Some kind of pansy?”

  Some kind of pansy? Not likely. This job would be a lot easier if he were.

  “So can you show me that sequence again, only slower?”

  She tilted her head and regarded his laughing eyes. “Sure, but remember, you asked for it. You want to start with an upright posture. Keep your back straight and your feet rooted in the ground. We’ll start with a basic raised hand position. Like this.” She demonstrated what looked a bit like an old-fashioned boxing stance, and he tried to copy her.

  “Good. Now when you move, take a series of half-steps called bamboo steps. Like this.” She advanced toward him in a series of quick, short steps. “Now you try.”

  He hopped toward her, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. He was so tall he looked like a stork walking across hot coals.

  “Not exactly. Think controlled power.” She demonstrated again. He hopped again. “Not so much height. Bend your knees a little more and think about moving forward without leaving the ground.”

  He tried again and managed a closer approximation. “It’s kind of like fencing.”

  “You fence?” Suddenly she pictured him in high boots, tight breeches, and a loose shirt á la Errol Flynn or Orlando Bloom. He had the perfect body for a pirate.

  “In college. It helped with balance and leg strength for football.”

  Madelyn shook the image from her brain. Don’t go there.

  “You want to keep driving forward. Hug the ground with your feet and take shorter steps. Try again.”

  He did, with even more success.

  “Much better. Now let’s try adding arm movements. Raise your right hand to shoulder height and keep your left even with your waist.”

  “Like this?” He held his right arm straight out and kept the left bent at his waist.

  “No, bend your elbow and wrist.”

  “How about this?”

  She shook her head and demonstrated again. He tried to copy her, but his stance still wasn’t quite right. “Here. Like this.” She reached up and clasped his right arm to correct the position.

  His nearness stirred every sense she possessed. Her gaze drifted to his chest mere inches away. Its hard planes rose and fell with the soft, regular sound of his breathing. Her fingers brushed crisp black hairs before tightening around the warm steel of his forearm. But if the sight, sound, and feel of him intrigued her, his scent was pure seduction. The heady aroma of warm man mixed with a hint of laundry detergent from his clean T-shirt made her want to snuggle closer, rub her cheek against his chest, and feel those strong arms close around her, shutting out the rest of the world.

  Whoa! Stop right there.

  She must be losing her mind. She was certainly in danger of losing her professionalism. Why couldn’t Herman have been the client? He looked more like a writer. Why did it have to be Carter? And why did he have to be...him?

  ****

  Carter forced himself to remain still, allowing her hand to rest on his arm like a wary butterfly. She rarely touched him willingly, and he didn’t want to risk breaking that contact.

  He gazed down at her smooth black hair, slipping softly from the confines of its elastic band. Spiky black lashes fanned against her high cheekbones. Her skin was smooth and pale, like a porcelain doll, but she was no frivolous plaything. Nor was she a precious object to be admired through the glass of a protective case. She was warm and strong and glowing with life. She made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in more than a year—not since Selima’s death.

  His thoughts flew to the speeding car and the armed attackers in the parking garage. What if she’d been hurt? How could he bear the burden of another woman’s death, especially this woman? Maybe she was right. Maybe they should call off the tour before anything worse happened.

  But he’d be damned if he’d let some bastard manipulate him this way, make him look and feel like a coward. He’d kept himself alive in that cell in Yemen by repeating over and over until it burned in his brain: never give up, never give in.

  Another glance at Madelyn snapped him back to the present. She was regarding him with a question in her eyes. He realized he hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d placed her hand on his arm.

  “Is this better?” he asked. It was sweet torture knowing he could have her in his arms with one split-second move before she could blink. She was fast and she was good, but he was better and highly motivated. However, she was also wary, and he didn’t want to screw things up before he could be certain the attraction was mutual.

  She blinked and hesitated, then stepped back. “Yes, I think you’ve got it.” She faced him and took her stance. “Now try to mirror my movements. We’ll start slowly.”

  Carter schooled himself to concentrate. Thrust. Thrust. Block. Retreat. Thrust. Thrust. Block. Retreat. After a few more surprise take-downs, he began to pick up the rhythm—like a beautiful, stylized dance, but one that could turn deadly in an instant if the practitioner had the desire and skill.

  They practiced for over an hour, until he felt comfortable with a couple of the moves and she pronounced him “not hopeless”.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I think we’d better call it quits for today. Ski will be back to sign us out soon.” Grabbing a towel from his bag, he r
ubbed his face and hair.

  Madelyn followed suit, blotting the tiny beads of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. Then she pulled out a brush and tidied her hair with a few efficient strokes before twisting the binder back in place. She faced him with her bag in hand and a half-smile on her lips.

  “Thanks. I guess I did need that. I feel better than I have in days.”

  “Me too.” The concentration required to follow her moves had forced every other thought from his mind, and his muscles burned from the strict discipline required to copy them. Hsing I suited her perfectly—beautiful, controlled, and dangerous.

  Ski was waiting for them at the front desk. “Have fun, kids?”

  “I did,” Madelyn said. “Thank you for arranging this. Carter may have a few bruises, though.”

  Ski chuckled and glanced at Carter. “Was she too tough for you?”

  “Just tough enough.”

  His old mentor threw back his head. “Hah! Just like I said—looks like you’ve finally met your match.”

  Madelyn frowned, but Ski laughed again and ushered them out of the building.

  “What did he mean by that?” she asked as they walked back to the car.

  “Nothing. His day isn’t complete until he gives me a hard time.”

  She stopped suddenly.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t have my mirror. It’s in my purse back at the hotel...along with my gun. I can’t believe I forgot them.”

  “Relax. It’s okay.”

  He reached for her shoulder to reassure her, but she shoved him away.

  “It’s not okay.” She whirled to face him. “I told you before, this job is 24/7. I can’t ever forget that. You made me forget.”

  “I knew we’d be safe. We’re at the CIA, of all places. Nothing is going to happen to us here.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? Is every single person here your friend? From what Ski said at the reception, your former boss isn’t too happy about your new book. Can you guarantee no one here wants to harm you?”

  Her question drew him up short. Could he?