Free Street Game by Christine Feehan

She didn’t add that running into the professor had given her the freedom to keep from running back to Mack, afraid and a failure. It had actually felt good to make her own decisions and be responsible for her own life, once she’d gotten past the pain of separation.
    “So you think you’re good enough to make it on your own?” Kane prompted. He took a few minutes to get settled again.
    The room was pitch-black, Jaimie’s eyes working to adjust as she stared up at the ceiling. “I was better than Chilton, Kane, right from the start. He knew it too. I used his name and he used my expertise. He’s back teaching—that’s what he loves—and I’ve got enough of a reputation now to hold my own. It worked out great.”
    “So you actually break into buildings?” Mack didn’t sound happy about it.
    “Sure, I study the security system and find a way to beat it. The theory being, of course, if I can do it, so can someone else. Then I try to design a system exclusive to the particular needs, setting, and personnel of the client. Sometimes it’s a onetime shot; other times I’m on retainer as a full-time consultant. I’m also developing new software for a bomb detector. There’s a lot of interest in that.”
    “I’ve got to hand it to you, Jaimie”—Kane’s voice was frankly admiring—“you’ve done well for yourself.”
    Beside her, Mack stirred restlessly. Jaimie ignored him. “Thank you,” Jaimie said softly to Kane. She refused to care whether Mack approved of what she did or not. She thumped the pillow and snuggled deeper, trying to ignore his close proximity.
    “I didn’t spot your cameras.” Kane was casual, his voice coming out of the darkness from the direction of the couch.
    “My cameras?” Jaimie turned toward the wall, curling up, her voice drowsy, unconsciously sensual.
    “None of our team triggered the alarm. I looked at the tapes myself yesterday during the report. You know we always record any action. We made it into the warehouse clean, yet you knew we were there. You even knew who we were. You grabbed the frying pan instead of the gun.”
    Mack could feel Jaimie go perfectly still. Her body trembled. She twisted the edge of the sheet between her fingers. Without conscious thought, Mack’s hand went to the nape of her neck, easing the tension out of her.
    Kane allowed the silence to stretch and lengthen. It was a full five minutes later before his soft, insistent voice disturbed the night. “The cameras, Jaimie, where are they?”
    “I didn’t bother with cameras on the ground floor.” Although she sounded sleepy, Mack was certain she was selecting her words carefully. “The cameras will be on the second floor.”
    Mack found himself smiling at the misleading nuggets of information. She hadn’t changed much. She was less sure of herself with them when it came to work. She was picking and choosing what information she wanted to give them, but she had a difficult time not falling into the old pattern of camaraderie and friendship.
    “And Kane,” Jaimie added, “I don’t use a gun.”
    Kane didn’t buy any of it and was being unusually stubborn, not letting her off the hook. “So how did you know?” he persisted.
    Jaimie curled up away from Mack, settling back into the pillow, snuggling beneath the covers. “I guess you must have been a little noisier than you thought.” There was a lazy note of humor now.
    “Damn it, Jaimie.” Kane was frustrated. “That’s not possible.”
    “No?” She was laughing openly at him now. “Then it had to be my acute sense of smell. Take your choice. What other explanation is there?”
    Kane’s curse was only partially muffled by his sleeping bag. Beneath his hand, Mack could feel Jaimie’s shoulder shake slightly with laughter. She had managed to elude Kane’s questions again, the same questions he and every instructor and field operative she had been pitted against had asked.
    Mack lay still, savoring the feel and scent of Jaimie.