Homecoming - Christie Golden [47]
“Shall we have some port or Scotch to finish with?” Harry asked her.
“Oh, no,” Libby laughed. “I think I’ve had quite enough.” She leaned back, her stomach almost too full, and looked up at the stars. “It’s really beautiful out here,” she said.
[138] “Yeah,” said Harry. He rose and deactivated the waiters so they could have some privacy. “I’ll turn off the lights so we can see the stars better, okay?”
“Sounds wonderful!”
He settled back into his chair and looked up at the stars along with Libby. “I’ve got to get you up there one day,” he said.
Libby grinned. “I’ve got enough to do here on Earth to keep me busy, thanks.” And just like that, the recollection of why she was really here flashed into her mind, and she felt the smile bleed from her face. Why can’t this be just what it appears to be? Two people out on a date, relearning about one another? Why does Harry have to be an assignment?
Even in the dim light of the stars, Harry noticed the change in her expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied. She faked a grimace and rubbed her stomach. “I think I ate too much.”
“I’m glad. I mean, I’m not glad that you’re feeling uncomfortable, I ...” He turned away. She knew he was blushing, although she couldn’t see it.
She looked over at him, at his sweet face dimly illuminated by the twinkling stars, and made her decision. To hell with the assignment, at least for tonight.
Slowly, bathed in starlight, Libby rose and went to him. He reached for her, shyly, and pulled her down into his lap. She looked into his eyes, dark, shadowed pools with faint glimmers of light, and leaned to kiss him.
It was as if they had never been apart. Her body remembered his touch, his scent, and she melted into him as easily and comfortably as if climbing into a warm, [139] familiar bed and pulling the covers snugly around her. Home. This was home. This was sweet, was true, was where she belonged, and the gentleness turned more intense as the kiss deepened.
God help her, she was still in love with him.
Neither one of them slept in the daybed that night.
Libby returned home much later the following day than she had anticipated and found several annoyed messages from Director Covington waiting for her. She felt bad at first, then defiant. She was doing exactly what Covington had ordered her to do.
Well, okay, not exactly. She smiled as she recalled the night before, the sweetness and the passion. She had been simply Libby Webber, not Mata Hari, while in Harry’s arms. And Covington would just have to deal with it.
“I will be transmitting you the latest updates Intelligence has gathered, Agent Webber,” said Covington, her pale face and hair almost white against the dark background of her office. “It’s pretty grim. After you read this, please delete, as per usual protocol. Check in with me immediately once you have read the information. Covington out.”
Libby sighed. She didn’t want to read reports, chase down leads of broken codes, mix and mingle with high-ranking dignitaries at parties after conceits. She wanted to be with Harry, laughing and playing and making love and rediscovering how wonderful it felt to be with him.
But she had a job to do. She downloaded the information onto a padd, threw herself on the bed, and [140] began to read. Indigo jumped onto the bed and curled up beside her, purring. She stroked the cat absently; then her hand froze as she read some of the names that Starfleet Intelligence currently regarded as being worthy of further covert investigation.
Ambassador Jakrid Kalgrua
Admiral Robert Amerman
Captain Jean-Luc Picard
Admiral Kenneth Montgomery
Admiral Owen Paris
Captain Robert DeSoto
She realized she was breathing quickly. Was it true? Did it really run this deep? She couldn’t imagine anyone on this list trafficking with the Syndicate! Her eye fell on one name in particular, and Libby went cold inside.
Admiral Kenneth Montgomery. She’d never met him, but she knew of him by reputation. Quite the hero of the Dominion War. Harry had said he’d chewed out Captain—Admiral