Dragon and the Dove Read Online Free Page B

naked,
stretched out like some sacrificial offering to Eros, it wasn’t
surprising that her mind tended to wander into forbidden territory
when she thought of him.
    The practical thing to do, of course, was to
continue on to London and do the job she was being paid to do. Now
that the initial shock had worn thin, if not entirely off; now that
she’d looked things over and given the information some thought,
she knew she
could
do the job, which left her little
choice in the matter. That’s what she told herself. Her ego, her
pride, and her feminine responses had nothing to do with it.
    She reached for her carry-on bag and
unzipped the side pocket. After a quick search, she found a credit
card and her address book. She used both to place a phone call to
her old boss in New York. By the time she landed in Heathrow, she
should be on her way to understanding the financial loss caused by
modern-day pirates, the relative worth of maritime bounty hunters,
and the needs of the shipping companies they both preyed on.
    While she was waiting for her connection the
flight attendant approached her with a tidily wrapped, congealed
omelet in hand. Jessica blanched, but managed a wan smile before
waving her on. Once the attendant had the offensive meal out of
view, Jessica settled back into the comfort of her seat. Now that
she knew what she needed to accomplish, the London trip should go
smoothly, if not exactly pleasantly. There shouldn’t be any more
surprises.
    * * *
    Cooper stood outside the Boarshead Tavern,
looking up at the signboard swinging in the wild English wind. Rain
had soaked him near through, and he still had not found Jessica
Langston and George Leeds. Ms. Langston had not taken one look at
the green folder and his London associate and turned tail as she
was supposed to have. Leeds had not taken one look at the woman and
sent her packing. Rather, the two of them had hit it off and,
according to Leeds’s associate, Mr. Zhao, were even now carousing
around the seedier dockside pubs of London.
    The Boarshead was the worst of the lot.
Cooper had saved it for last because it was the last place he would
have expected to find his Ms. MBA-from-Stanford assistant. If she
didn’t belong in his San Francisco office, she most certainly did
not belong in the Boarshead with the likes of George Leeds.
    A fresh gust of wind blew up the river,
snapping his coat around his legs, and Cooper pushed on into the
familiar pub. He wasn’t known for misjudging people. He found it
particularly hard to believe he’d misjudged Ms. Langston. But her
surprising affinity for pints and Leeds wasn’t what had made him
pay Concorde prices to get to England before the dawn of another
day.
    The Boarshead was dimly lit inside, with a
few men leaning against the bar. The tavern’s other patrons were
scattered about a maze of booths and tables. Cooper’s gaze skimmed
over the seamen and bawds, looking for a woman who didn’t fit in
with the rest of the clientele. She should have stuck out like a
sore thumb or, more accurately, like a hothouse hybrid in an
untended garden. She didn’t.
    “Damn,” he muttered. He was about to admit
that sending her to London had been a bad idea when a woman’s
laughter captured his attention. He needed no other clue to locate
the reason for his inopportune international flight. He turned
toward the clear, fresh sound and began walking down the length of
the pub to its farthest, darkest corner. He hadn’t heard her
laughter before, but he recognized it with the same certainty that
he’d have recognized his own heartbeat. He wasn’t pleased with the
knowledge.
    He’d waited two days for her to do her
transatlantic flip-flop and show up with her resignation. The least
he’d expected was the courtesy of an irate phone call. All he’d
gotten was a fax Wednesday afternoon:
Negotiations with Mr.
George Leeds, representing the Somerset Shipping Federation, will
extend beyond the projected date. We are awaiting the