The Seven Year Itch by S D Skye Read Free Book Online

him the moment he separated from his group. Given his shoplifting habit,
a solo activity, he’d split at the first opportunity.
    About an hour into her surveillance, she followed him into
the cesspool that was the men’s room. The location was ideal, as the bathroom
sat in a remote section of the outlet center. Few visitors would find their way
there. There she waited. Listened. Smelled. Gagged. Her stomach convulsed. The
odor permeating the room would make a Marine cry foul. When he emerged from the
stall, her tall frame blocked the exit.
    He froze.
    “Who are you? What are you doing in here?” He appeared
startled at first, but a moment later the tension in his shoulders released.
Now his expression alarmed her.
    J.J. paused before speaking. His colleagues might be searching
for him. She had to be careful. Looking downward with her hand covering the
visible side of her face, she poked her head outside.
    No passersby. All clear.
    She closed the door and moved toward the nearest stall. In it
she could conceal her presence if someone walked in.
      “I’m Special Agent
J.J. McCall with the FBI. Please. Feel free to go ahead and wash your hands.”
    She eyed the large shopping bag he carried, wondered how much
loot he’d lifted. Regardless, it might come in handy later. Then the bling
caught her eye.
    There it is .
    The stainless steel band on his familiar watch glimmered in
the bathroom’s light. It was government-owned. Courtesy of Tony Donato and the
lead case agent.
    Plotnikov eased over to the sink, pressed his hand against the
soap dispenser. He sucked in a deep frustrated breath as he thrust his hands
under the stream of water. “Yes. Agent McCall,” he said. “You are quite
legendary in the Embassy—or perhaps a better term would be infamous? What pray
tell brings you to the men’s room on this glorious afternoon?”
    His comment told her the one thing she hadn’t been sure of
until he spoke—he was an intelligence officer. A clean administrative officer
would have no concerns about the FBI. Perhaps he’d revealed more than he
intended. Or if her instincts were correct, he may have shared exactly what he
wanted her to know.
    “Well, if you’ve heard the legend of me ,” she fought the urge to roll her eyes, “ then I think we both know why I’m here.”
    He silently walked over to the hand drier, rubbed his hands
beneath, and looked down at his expensive watch. “I’m a diplomat and have no
interest in speaking with the FBI. Leave immediately or I’ll file a complaint
with the State Department.”
    He balked. Standard procedure. Although she’d expected him to
be a little more original. If his comrades knew her at all, he’d understand
that reporting her to the State Department wouldn’t expedite her departure.
They had a department with her name on it—The Secretary of Foreign Intelligence
Officer Recruitment.
    “Shit!” Her skin prickled, and she flinched. She gasped,
pressed her knees together, and tried to brace herself. If he lied again, the
sensation would be even worse.
    She hated the crotch itch the worst. Only occurred when
people told the most unconvincing lies. The realization brought an ironic sense
of relief. J.J. inhaled deeply and strained to stay composed until the wave
subsided.
    She had him.
    She just needed to close him.
      “A-are you okay?” He
stared in an awkward confusion. “I could stand watch while you use the
bathroom.”
    “I’m...fine,” she said, her voice tense. “I, uhhh, it’s a
condition. It’ll pass, just give me a minute.”
    “Oh, I see. I see.”
    She straightened her gait as the feeling dissipated. “Listen,
you don’t have to lie to me. I’m not your security officer. Consider me more
like family. I know what you’ve done wrong and want to build a relationship
with you anyway.” He stood motionless, jarred by her abnormal behavior.
    She continued. “I had a lot to discuss with you today. Your
recent acquisitions from Lord & Taylor and