No Such Man

 By

Melissa Swaim

Prologue

“In God we trust; all others we monitor.”

Nothing is concluded. I can still make a choice, but it may not be what she wants.

I never meant to fall for anyone, especially some romance writer. By a chance meeting, the blonde landed in my life, tilting my world off its axis. And I’m not sure I can correct it. Being filled with intrigue, I may give her a chance though don’t hate me if I fail. Relationships aren’t a priority unless part of the agenda. Don’t act surprised.

The world is not as it appears. If it were, I wouldn’t exist. I belong to the NSA, the National Security Agency, aka the “No Such Agency.” I go by the name Asa Speer. This is who and what I am now. Any other option is unavailable. Any other choice is obsolete. I never had a reason to question it.

My mission, at any given time, is whatever I am told. Once assigned to get you, you don’t stand a chance. With emotions guarded, entirely a thinking man, my mind can cut through any situation faster than my blade. Feeling is weakness, so why does this woman flirt with me? Please, me? I have a job to do. The only thing between you and me is my 9mm H&K P2000 handgun. I move aside for no one. You need big balls to stand up to me. Oddly enough, only one dense woman, with misguided courage, took me on. With pursed lips and a slightly upturned nose, Paisley Storm threatened me like a librarian from my youth in Norfolk, Virginia. Like Ms. Parker, Paisley stood her ground, feisty in her conservative heels. It almost made me laugh.

I haven’t figured her out yet, but I can’t let her cloud my present mission, which is infiltrating a cell on a nearby campus. Al Qaeda is recruiting students on American soil. The thought doesn’t sit well with me. I will organize a team to bring them down. My colleagues, Mason Zinsser and Ignacio Benedicto, are prepared to back me up. They wait in the shadows, ready to strike.

On a lesser note, the NSA also wants me to bug Paisley Storm’s phone, to see if she works for anyone. A connection to Al Qaeda operatives, whether she is aware of it or not, is present. To infiltrate her life inside and out is the only option. Everyone has secrets, and I know how to uncover them. For starters, I need to install a camera, a simple task. I drill a tiny hole from the outside. Nothing goes unseen by Big Brother. Becoming whoever I need to be, I can enter her home anytime. Whether she’s at home or not, Paisley would never know. If I didn’t want her to. Welcoming me is worse than welcoming a vampire. She doesn’t have the tools necessary to repel me once I’m in. No one does.

Normally, I do my job and go home to northern Virginia. The exact location is confidential. Feeling safe there, I take time to regroup. Much haunts me though I rarely revisit the past. I have no use for memories, but I cannot let go of Paisley Storm’s innocent face. Paisley, the culprit—a vulnerable-looking woman with wispy bangs and stubborn eyes. I’m not sure why she needs to be a target for surveillance since our paths crossed, at the restaurant, a week earlier. But if required, I will do it. I await further orders. My will is the government’s will, so it shall be.

But this woman…Paisley is either very naive or more cunning than any person I have known. I haven’t decided what to do about her yet. Dragging her to bed is one idea. Her sultriness makes me hard. All I think about is slipping down those panties and diving my cock into that pussy. Watching through binoculars, the way she shaves it almost bald, turns me on. Pretending she does it for me, my fingers long to outline the trembling lips and sample the silkiness before probing with my cock. With her legs spread wide, held up over her head, she’d take in every inch of my throbbing erection before coming in waves. I want her to be my bliss.

No. I can’t. I need her out of the way and away from danger…away from me.

It started out simple enough, just an accidental crossing of paths. But Paisley should not have noticed me. I don’t exist, at least, not to those outside of my mission. But when she did, she unwittingly welcomed Big Brother into her life and into her bed. Big Brother can be present even when people think they are alone under the sheets. Knowing many secrets. Getting what we want. People cannot begin to understand the things we witness and the places we monitor. That’s a guarantee.

Watch out, Paisley. Seeing you naked in your bed is enticing. I don’t know how long I can wait before pulling back your sheets to taste that body. I imagine your pussy hot and wet, ready for me. A sample will never do. My missions are always completed thoroughly. And Paisley Storm is now my mission.

Chapter One

How did the NSA fall into her lap? It started innocently enough.

Writing a romance novel, she sought inspiration for a story with no idea how to begin. Having no lover in her life and not wanting to write about a miserable spinster, hence an autobiography, she invented a daring heroine who sought a hero, fighting for justice among the shadowy realms. She had no idea it might become real. This blonde needed a little zing and hoped to have a bit of fun. To lure fate into a tango, she decided to have lunch in town, hoping to get her creative juices flowing. Maybe a tall, dark and handsome man would whisk her away or, at least, make use of her curves. She could sneak up on an unsuspecting man in a suit, twirl his tie around her fingers and pull him to her lips. How could he resist this temptation? Yes, a businessman might make a suitable meal. Oh, my, it is already getting hot.

Under the prodding fingers of the sun, her flesh glowed, alive like rows of dogwood trees and pink and white azalea bushes dotting the cities of Virginia Beach and nearby Norfolk. Living here all her life, she enjoyed this blend of quiet suburbia and pleasurable resort, offering three miles of boardwalk along bone-white beaches where she often played in the surf. Today she knew just where she wanted to go. Perched between legal offices, an architect firm and an advertising agency, the trendy new spot in Norfolk seemed the ticket for the hottest professionals.

Don’t get your hopes up, Paisley. She curled her lashes, blotted her lipstick and blow-dried her flat strands. Obviously, today would not be a ‘good hair day’. Feeling constricted in her too-tight pants from last season, she gave her rear a once-over in the mirror. Not too bad, though she wasn’t sure she felt ready to meet someone. A little flirting might ease her back into the dating scene. She held her head up, ready to give it a go.

Too late to back out now, visions of love already danced in her airy head. Her mood couldn’t sink any lower; it could only improve. Besides, she needed a day out of the house. What can it hurt? Seeing others in love might inspire me. A sly glance, a furtive kiss, could coax a story. She grabbed her purse, along with her writing notebook. Watch out, single men, I’m on the prowl. Besides, her stomach growled; it couldn’t hurt to eat out. A woman had needs.

* * * *

With a sweeping glance, she scanned the café, like a bee searching out the perfect flower. Ah, now there. A man, looking dark and brooding, sitting in the shadow of the sunny window, drew her attention. With broad shoulders and handsome features, he could hold any woman's attention. His cool manner gave him the illusion of control, the type of man she admired. She longed to buzz right over to him and grip his white shirt to challenge his power. How could he resist? Then she’d undo the buttons and run her hands over his chest and shoulders, pushing the shirt from his body.

But who was he? The perfect posture, the expensive suit and the short hair, along with his darting eyes of caution, said government agent. Sitting there like James Bond, an aura of secrecy hung over him as the noon sun flitted carefully over his shadowed being. He bit urgently into his roast beef sandwich. Resting his elbows on the table, his sole focus seemingly on consumption. Paisley knew better. Dating didn’t seem on his agenda, she decided, so she looked around some more. Men in jerseys from Wesleyan University talked about the game. Too immersed in talking cheerleaders, they became rowdy. Next to them perched a hunched-over businessman who kept all his food separated, as if he would freak out if the foodstuffs touched. So openly anal in his obsessive-compulsive actions, he made her cringe. No, no such luck here, so she got in line to buy lunch.

She ordered a sandwich and waited for her name to be called.

While waiting, she scanned the room one more time and saw a man sitting at the table to her left, with his back to her. Dressed in a nice gray suit, he spoke a foreign language, Arabic or something, on his cell phone. An air of importance surrounded him, as if a dignitary of some sort. That might be interesting. Seemingly too busy to notice her, he dined, immersed in some exotic culture she had no knowledge of. His loss, she told herself.

Sighing, she reconsidered the possible government agent in the white shirt. She grew up with programmed men like this. Since her father had worked in the CIA, she had interacted with those who rang of danger. Always interested in the hunt, they clandestinely searched the room, waiting and planning a move. As a child, she played cat and mouse games with them. She’d sneak up behind them while they played chess, seeing how close she could get, without being caught. To let her feel more adept, they humored her and pretended not to see her. Good at play-acting, they jumped in surprise, making her laugh. They tolerated her, even though her dad often told her to get lost and stop bothering them. Sometimes that hurt. She wanted to be accepted, to exist in their circle. Maybe now, her chance might come.

Could this be an agent? The heat of anticipation rushed through her. Could she find out and enter his world? Perhaps childhood wounds had something to do with the risky behavior she prepared to undertake. Ready to pick him, Paisley stared in his direction. Come on; look at me. As he ate, she felt his intensity. It seemed a great weight played on his mind; maybe that’s why he kept peeking out the window.

Maybe he spied on his girlfriend, or maybe he realized his lunch break ended too soon. Eating the last of his food quickly, his gaze searched the distance and occasionally eyed the room. His concentration lingered mainly on the foreign man in the gray suit. She assumed the stranger intrigued him, for some reason. She became more and more curious, wanting to solve the puzzle. Her inquisitive mind always searched beneath the scene. She found her curiosity sucked into the intrigue. She spied on a spy. Who is this man? Grab that tie and subdue him, her inner siren demanded.

What am I waiting for? His alpha male bearing lured her. So mysterious with dark good looks, stirring reaction from deep within her body… She wanted to experience the depths possessed in those unfathomable eyes. The sudden attraction made her heart thump. What did she find so appealing in this stranger? The burden of work hung over him. His body language seemed guarded. Aloof, he lorded it over the room like a predator, though guided by justice, like law enforcement on the hunt. She sensed a noble aura around him, maybe manifested by his impeccable grooming, trimmed black hair, clean-shaven jaw. Wearing a stiff black suit, his jacket resting on the chair, he looked distinguished, and orderly. His eyes watched everything astutely. Noticing his lips pressed firmly together, she wondered how they would feel against her skin. Every time she examined him, he glanced up. Now he seemed keenly aware of her surveillance, which stopped her from gleaning anymore information.

 Taking a bite of her sandwich, she attempted to be sneaky in her fantasies. While her gaze roamed over his broad shoulders, her head stayed down. Secretly, she painted his body with her longing, wanting one of these imagined American heroes of her own, but how could she reach him if he served as an agent? Over his tensely corded neck to his muscular chest, her desire probed. Can he sense me?

Her attention riveted firmly on him, she nearly choked when his gaze fell directly onto her. Dark brown orbs stared straight at her. A shiver raced through her. Fear or arousal? It could be both. It almost felt as if his suspicion pressed into her. His perfectly erect posture tensed. She feared he readied to jump up and confront her. She had come, seeking inspiration, for a book. Now she felt like she dived inside that book, living a part she wasn’t prepared for, the conclusion way out of her control. The possibilities left her breathless and yet alive.

Her fear must have been apparent though she tried to hide it, gloss it over as if she took no interest in him. She bowed her head and resumed eating. Her food stuck in her throat. She could sense him still, watching her. Wished he’d look away long enough to compose herself. She swallowed some soda to keep from choking. His awareness unglued her. He did not just stare. He did so, without blinking, as if using it as an intimidation tactic. It worked. Humiliated at having her interest questioned, in her own mind, she felt too nervous to look his way again. She felt as if she lost the game; her self-confidence plummeted. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for dangerous types, after all. Crumpling up her napkin and gathering her trash, she proceeded to the garbage can. In her peripheral vision, she saw his gaze still locked to her, making her feel shaky in the heels she wore.

So sure his eyes stayed locked to her, she bailed as nonchalantly as possible, fearing she’d attracted the wrong kind of attention. What if he was a terrorist? He looked like the men from TV she’d seen from Iraq and Iran, only much more attractive. After the Twin Towers disaster and bombings around the world, people could no longer be too careful. He stared her down. If she had been braver, she would have stared back, but she no longer challenged authority nor rebelled, like a teenager. This man might not be aware that her actions were harmless entertainment.

 Outside and heading to her car, parked in the next row over, she felt safer. Her silver Maxima reflected the sun, like a beacon, leading her to safety. Wasting no time, she dashed over, tripping in a pothole. She barely maintained her balance and grabbed onto the car for support. Though still distracted enough to trip, she felt a lot better away from that man. With distance between them and less chance of confrontation, her heartbeat slowed. Still she could not deny the thrill of the encounter. Opening her car door, a tingling feeling raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Compelled to glance behind, she warily looked around.

Standing on the sidewalk, watching her, the dark haired stranger wrote down something in a notepad. Her license plate number, she assumed. Looking like a humorless policeman, she worried he may try to find her. How could she communicate with him about her goal of simply seeking a character model for her book, without him thinking her crazy? Of course, she wouldn’t tell him that he also excited her or that she longed to experience the intensity of a night with him. For a quick moment, she imagined that hard body naked and entwined with hers. Oh, my! He evoked a lust she hadn’t felt in years.

 What now? What type of woman did he desire? Her mind seemed numb, her gaze lost in his. She wanted to reach him on some level, but she forced her bones, which may have turned to jelly, to move her body, shutting and locking the car door.

I have to get out of here! He doesn’t understand my motivation or my attraction to men like him. I’m not a troublemaker.

Panting, she tried to avoid a panic attack because he might track her down. Starting the engine, with shaking hands, she hit reverse gear. Zooming out of the parking space, she pressed the gas and headed out of the shopping center, driving onto the highway. Cars careened around her. Despite the danger, she forced herself to look back at him. Standing with his arms crossed, he stood near the café. He looked about two hundred pounds, and it all focused on her. As if bearing a promise that they would meet again. That thought did not bother her as much as it should. She just needed to move cautiously, so that neither misunderstood what the other’s attention implied. Adrenaline gushed through her, resurrecting every neglected fiber and imprinting on her memory. His intensity affected her, even at a distance.

Definitely good inspiration for a thriller, but she wrote romances. Her characters wielded flowers and spouted poetry. Maybe time for a change? Free her heroine to take on a more daring lover, or did Paisley need that?

He seemed ready for a chase. She only wanted inspiration. If he were an agent, maybe he would leave it be now. One innocent glance turned into a game of cat and mouse. The glare he returned ridiculed her actions somehow. The fright of the encounter lingered with her. So did the arousal. What if he pursued her? What if he didn’t? Her body and mind fought a royal battle.

“Great going,” she chastised herself, “What if I lured a psycho?”

After a twenty minute drive, she returned to her brick ranch house, on the tree-lined street. She climbed out of the car and hesitated in her driveway, just in case, to check for followers. She lingered on the cracked pavement, where weeds nudged through. The street remained quiet. Only an occasional presence emerged from the rows of similar two and three-bedroom homes, alternating in primary colors. Dwellings in the working class neighborhood were kept in good repair, except for a few with old roofs and chipped paint. Spending her childhood in this area, she felt safe here.

Still wary, she checked for passing cars. A brown Mazda zoomed by. Then quiet settled all around. No one came after her, yet she still rushed to her side door, careful to check the dark corners. Luckily, thorny bushes grew under her windows. Only a masochist could get past them.

Once inside, she safely faced her thoughts. The man sitting in the restaurant consumed her. Her memory restored his image, and she analyzed the crisp white shirt, the red suspenders. Wait. Did he wear a shoulder holster instead? She should have paid more attention. She fought for more details. His black jacket draped over the chair. The table had blocked her view of his right side. Weapons or no weapons, he looked tough. Still, he had the manicured look of a government employee. Something in her gut screamed ‘law enforcement officer’. But, what kind? For all she knew, he could be Al Qaeda? Her nerves had her leaning toward secret government assassin, maybe because of his aloofness. And what of the gray-suited man? His nationality was no secret from his accent. Perhaps both men were involved in a plot. But, that would be alarmist. And what were the chances of such a man crossing her path accidentally, let alone two? If danger reached out a hand beckoning her, she almost wanted to put her hand out and join him in the dance.

Jolted memories of her younger days stewed near the surface. Ready to face them, she reclined on her couch, thinking back to being nineteen and still living at home. Back then, she attended college, though her mind focused mostly on boys. More accurately, they centered on the older men she wasn’t allowed to date, especially Richard Krakauer. A silent wooing passed between them. One evening, while her father casually conversed with this presumed government man in the family room, Paisley sat at the nearby computer, typing a thesis for an English class. She couldn’t concentrate. The aloof man in the suit sat so still, as if not even there. Seemingly relaxed, yet his gaze darted all over the room. His demeanor intrigued her. Average height, elusive blue eyes, and sandy colored hair, this man she contemplated dating. Though he pretended to listen to her overbearing dad, she sensed him, watching her out of the corner of his eye. To keep him spying, she played with her hair, letting blond wisps fall slowly down her neck. The guys at school always reacted to that. Then she arched back in the chair, stretching, thrusting out her chest. Both Richard and her dad stopped talking. Her father must have caught Richard looking at her. With brows arching together and cold eyes threatening her, he jumped up and said, “Get to your room!”

I’m not a child anymore!

She would not stop hanging around when Richard came to the house. Then, she heard Richard had been stationed to Bulgaria. Maybe her dad did it to protect her. She didn’t want protecting anymore. Paisley Storm wanted a man of passion to want her.

Thinking about this, a flash of loneliness surged through her. The man from the restaurant awakened ancient feelings of a past crush. But, along with them, surfaced new wanton feelings. As far as she knew, just like Richard, she might never see the stranger again. Where would she find him if she wanted to?

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