Page 13 of Coffee and Tea

“I’m certain we’ve met before.” Colby was regarding Ben, head on one side. “Were you in Berlin, at all—perhaps giving a talk, or part of a diplomatic reception—oh, maybe twenty years ago, or so?”

“Maybe,” Ben said, very easily, a man unbothered by the question. “I’ve been to Berlin, but it’s been a while. My work’s taken me lots of places.”

“Yes,” Colby said, “I imagine it would. And do you like what you’re doing now? Retired from travel, but teaching history, Simon said?”

“History and rhetoric and politics. I do, yeah. It’s rewarding. And I like knowing that maybe it’s making a difference, in a way, for the future.”

Jason watched him. The answer seemed honest, simple, unassailable. But Colby also sounded confident. And Jason would always bet on Colby.

“I expect you’ve got a great deal of firsthand knowledge,” Colby mused. “About keeping the future safe. I know we’ve met. And your name wasn’t Ben Smith, and you weren’t a history teacher, either. Some sort of junior aide or attaché. Something like that. At least that was what you told our nighttime security.”

In the silence, in their little corner, everyone’s gazes swiveled to Ben.

Who attempted, casual and dismissive, “Someone who looks like me, maybe? I’ve heard that before. One of those faces, I guess.”

His husband, trying to help, put in, “Perhaps at a book signing? You’ve said you read romance; you might’ve met in a shop? At an event?” He was not the best actor among them.

“No,” Colby said, not precisely ignoring Simon but answering Ben instead. “Did you get what you needed, out of my father’s office, that night?”

This time all their gazes went to Colby. Then back to Ben.

Ben did not move. But his shoulders, his expression, changed.

The edge of a metaphorical knife scraped down Jason’s spine. A threat. Pointed.

He himself had played a superspy, an action hero, on camera. This—

This was real. This was completely, bone-chillingly, real. And he had absolutely no doubt that Ben Smith, supposed history teacher, had every single skill Jason had only ever pretended to have.

The night teetered on a balance beam, unsure which way to jump, if a jump was imminent.

Fortunately Ben at the moment seemed caught between wryness and real surprise, a retired lion calmly aware of his own strength, regarding a young daredevil kitten with astonishment. Jason adjusted his stance anyway—some martial arts knowledge, some Krav Maga, years of fight training, all at hand—and put himself and his muscles more in front of Colby, not that it’d do any good if an actual real-life secret agent decided to do…whatever someone like that did.

Still worth the attempt. Protecting Colby. Jason’s job, no matter what.

“All right,” Ben said. “You obviously know I was there. That mission’s been declassified for years, anyway, and it was just a document retrieval. But how do you know? You were, what, twelve?”

The night exhaled, and sat down on the balance beam. No wild protective leaps necessary.

“I’d just turned twelve, yes.” Colby’s eyes sparkled. “And I didn’t know for sure—not completely—until right now. But I saw you that night. It was all perfectly aboveboard, you know, or so it seemed. You were calling yourself Brian Hunt, some sort of junior attaché, and you were there to pick up something my father’d left in the office, and I honestly believed that was who you were, right up until you came in with Simon tonight and introduced yourself as Ben Smith, history teacher. CIA? NSA? An even more secret acronym?”

“Something like that. The family wasn’t at the official residence that night. We checked.”

“Yes, but whenever anyone said anything like, oh, the family went on holiday, that only ever meant my parents, not me. No one ever remembered I existed.”

Jason, watching, saw Ben’s expression change. He knew that reaction; he had it often himself, when Colby’s parents came up in conversation. He liked Ben a little better for it.

“Father’s office was unlocked,” Colby offered. “Wasn’t it?”

“I thought it was odd at the time, but we knew he had a reputation for carelessness—” Both Ben’s eyebrows went up. “That was you?”

“It was locked,” Colby said. “I learned how to pick locks the first time they went to Italy and forgot I’d be coming home from school. I didn’t know you were there for any sort of mission, of course, but I knew one of the senior secretaries had the keys, which meant you didn’t, and obviously you needed whatever document it was, if you’d come over while Father was away. So I opened it for you while you were explaining your credentials to the evening’s security detail. Did it help?”

“I can pick locks too,” Ben said. “But this was faster, and no one had to wonder why a harmless junior attaché knew how to break in. So yes, actually, thanks. Though…for all you knew, I was a spy. On the other side, I mean.”

“Well, I didn’t think of that then. But I thought you were trustworthy.” Colby’s smile lit up his eyes. “I saw you stop to pet that little stray kitten, the one that lived on the grounds, on the way in. She came right up and trusted you, and you were gentle with her. So I decided you were a safe sort of person. And it actually was a secret spy mission? That’s marvelous.”

Ben looked at him for a heartbeat or two. “You trusted me because I like cats.”

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