Chapter 9: A Fronte Praecipitum, a Tergo Lupi

After leaving the hotel, Goren met up with Agent King and explained what had happened.

"That's all she could tell you?" King asked.

"It was a public place. We couldn't say too much. She had something else to tell me."

"How do you know?"

"Before I left...she looked at me."

"That's all? She looked at you?" King asked skeptically.

"We do that. We...read each other."

King nodded. "So Dwight offered, and you accepted."

"It wasn't just so I could talk to her. I was afraid if I didn't, he'd try it with someone else. I can't let that happen. We can arrest him for this, get Eames out of there now."

"If we did that, we might never know who Dwight's dirty cop is, and the rest of his network would go into full cover-up mode." King handed him an envelope containing a stack of $100 bills. "This contingency fits into the purview of our investigation. Protect the operative."

Goren looked at him as he took the envelope. "You really do understand, don't you?"

"I understand that you'll go in there whether I approve it or not," he replied. "That she's your partner, and you'll do anything for her. I also understand that one of the dangers of undercover work is that, if you're not careful, the act can become real."

"Does that have something to do with why you left the CIA?" Goren asked.

King's face remained impassive. "What makes you think I was CIA?"

"When you got my fake I.D.s, you called them 'bona fides'. That's...what they're called in intelligence work. When the operation didn't work out like you expected, you didn't abort it. You improvised by bringing me in. That's not FBI training. To me, that looks more like...well, what a spy would do. The CIA was just a guess."

"If that were true, it would be classified," King informed him. He added slowly, "What's not classified is that I have experience that my superiors believe qualifies me to handle an intricate undercover operation, but the psychological evaluation in my employment records recommends that I don't do long-term undercover work myself."

"I see." Goren looked down at the envelope. "Thank you."

As Goren climbed out of the car, King added, "You should keep in mind, Detective, when you do lose her...it's going to hurt like hell."

Eames circled the room, adjusting the lamp on the bedside table, loosening the covers on the king-size bed, opening and closing the curtains. She was looking for where the hidden camera might be, and she was trying to come up with a plan.

There so many ways this could result in disaster. If she tried to run and someone was already watching her-which was exactly the level of precaution that had kept Dwight in business and out of prison all these years-then not only might she be killed, but they might take Bobby when he came back for her. Too great a risk. She had to keep up the act. Somehow, she had to let Bobby know what was going on. If either of them said or did something to give them away, they weren't likely to survive the night.

If they did what Dwight expected, there would be video evidence that would come to light in an investigation. Even if they weren't accused of prostitution, if the tape came to attention of the NYPD, their careers would be over.

She could take the fall. As senior partner, it would be her plan; he would just be following her lead. Bobby might keep his job. But he might never speak to her again.

That was another thing that terrified her: if she went through with it, he would know...he would realize that she wanted to. Even if the surveillance footage never turned up, he might request a new partner.

But he would be alive. That was the important part. Whatever the consequences for her, Bobby's life was on the line. If anything happened to him because of her...she didn't know how she could live with it.

Eames took a deep breath and tried to suppress her fears. Best case scenario: put on a show for Dwight, make a convincing act for the camera that she was nothing more than a seasoned prostitute, and he an ambitious lawyer with a dubious moral standard. Convince the people behind the camera, but avoid any proof of incriminating activities. Get a message to him without it being visible on film.

Looking in the mirror across from the bed, she took the clip out of her hair and brushed it loose, and examined her makeup . She rubbed at an imaginary blemish on her forehead, then scratched the mirror as though she thought it might be a speck on the glass. There was no distance between her fingernail and its reflection. She'd been in enough interrogation rooms to recognize a two-way mirror when she saw one. The camera would be somewhere behind the mirror. Nearly the entire room was visible from that vantage point, from the door in one corner to the writing desk in the other, the bed was front and center. There was probably another camera in the bathroom mirror.

She moved to the writing desk. There was a memo pad and a ball-point pen bearing the hotel's name in gold lettering. She thought about writing a message, but realized just writing would look suspicious. Someone might come in to see what she'd written.

She sat on the edge of the desk facing the mirror. Looking bored, she clicked the pen a few times, then set it back down on the desk. She looked at the clock and sighed. She turned down the thermostat to sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Then she began fixing her hair in the mirror again. Her stomach was fluttering with nervousness, and not just because of the palpable knowledge that their lives were in danger. In only a few minutes, she would be kissing her partner. Bobby. Her eyes drifted closed and she sighed shakily, remembering the feeling of his hands on her as they danced, imagining his lips on hers. This would be a tough balancing act. A small laugh escaped her lips as she imagined explaining this in court. Your Honor, this isn't what it looks like. I was only in bed with my partner to keep us both from getting shot. I didn't even have sex with him. Well of course I wanted to.

And there was another fear: once she crossed the line, would she be able to stop?

Goren entered the lobby a few minutes after midnight. Without a word, he handed Dwight ten hundreds. Dwight gave him the key card to room 1016.

The elevator seemed slow to arrive, and even slower to take him to the tenth floor. He tried to think of what he would say first. Probably apologize for bartering for her. But all he really cared about was seeing her.

He paused outside the door. His hands shook as he slid the key card into the slot.

Eames stood up quickly. "Mr. Robertsen," she said before she even saw him.

He closed the door behind him and looked at her with confusion.

She gestured down at her stiletto heels, lying on the floor next to the bed. "I took them off. They were killing my feet. I wish I could've worn some sensible shoes. But it's important to have the proper footwear for the occasion."

His confusion dissolved into dawning comprehension as her words reminded him of a case where they investigated a manipulative conman who ran an empowerment workshop. He'd made them as cops in a minute, and when Goren asked how, he said the first clue was Eames' sensible shoes. She was warning him that they still had to keep up the act.

They were under surveillance; it was the only explanation. He froze.

Eames smiled and stepped toward him. "You look nervous, Mr. Robertsen."

"Alex...call me Alex," he said.

It the situation hadn't been so serious, she would have laughed. She would ask him later why he chose that alias. Maybe it was so he could say her name without sounding like he was addressing her. She put her hand on his arm. "Don't tell me this is your first time, Mr. Robertsen," she teased.

"Alex..." he whispered. What was she doing? Did she have a plan?

She fervently hoped he would play along. "Relax."

He shivered as she trailed her hands up his arms and around his neck. She pulled his head down toward her. Inches from him, her eyes met his. Her eyes were filled with apologies, uncertainties, fears. He could feel her breath on his lips.

Only an act, Eames reminded herself, and she pressed her lips softly against his.

His arms circled around her back automatically. He was finding it difficult to think. If only he'd had more time to prepare for this, as she seemed to.

After several seconds of stillness, Eames began to nibble at his lips. Bobby's hands slid up her back, then he pulled her against him.

Eames deepened the kiss. Her tongue ran along his lips. Her breathing quickened, and with each breath her breasts pressed against his chest. She felt herself losing her focus, losing control of the illusion. She drew away suddenly. For an instant she thought she saw a look of longing on his face.

She began slowly unbuttoning his suit. "You seem tense," she said. "Just imagine I'm the woman of your dreams."

"You are," he told her. He stepped closer and pressed his lips into her hair. He inhaled deeply.

His shirt and jacket fell to the floor. She ran her fingers across his shoulders and chest, then down his stomach. With a sly smile, she hooked her fingers through his belt loops and tugged him after her as she retreated across the room. She sat on the edge of the desk and pulled him between her legs.

Goren tried to focus on controlling his body's response to her, but it became hopeless when she started pressing small kisses along his collar bone, then she nibbled her way up his neck. When she began sucking on his earlobe, it was all he could do to keep from losing control completely. "Lily," he forced himself to say instead of her name. "Oh, Lily..."

Eames tried to focus on her plan. She had deliberately positioned Bobby between herself and the mirror, where she thought the hidden camera was. Her hand fumbled around the desk behind her until it closed around the pen. Keeping it hidden, she slid her hand up her dress and across her breast, then tucked the pen into her cleavage. Then she let go of his ear and began kissing his shoulders.

He pressed his hands against the bare skin of her back, then ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms to take her hands. He brought her left hand to his lips and kissed her palm, then her wrist, then up the smooth skin of her arm. He paused and traced his fingertips over the bumps on her skin. "You're cold," he noticed.

"You mentioned the ballroom was too hot for you while we were dancing; I wanted you to be comfortable."

He looked at her. He was sure he hadn't said that. This was part of her plan somehow. "Want to go to bed?" he asked.

"I thought you'd never ask." She slid off the desk and led him to the bed, where he threw aside the blankets. She pushed him down and spread herself out on top of him, kissing him hungrily. He pulled the covers over her and wrapped his arms around her.

Eames drew back, smiled at him, then slid down his body. Hidden from the view of any cameras, she dug the pen from under her dress and tugged Goren's pants down.

Goren wasn't sure what she was doing, but he trusted her.

She wrote her message on his thigh. Possible NYPD informant: 917-555-0803. Meeting Dwight tomorrow noon. She hoped the ink would stay on. Now she just had to make sure he got out alive to deliver the message.

She could smell him. He smelled good. She couldn't help but notice how close her hand was to the evidence of his arousal. She could touch him...accidentally. She moved up, trailing her lips along his stomach. Her hand brushed across his erection.

A gasp escaped from his lips.

She placed a kiss on his chest. He moaned. That had been...unnecessary. It wasn't part of the charade. She'd done that because she wanted to. Because she wanted him.

His Eames.

He pressed his fist against his lip to keep from saying her name. What was her alias? It escaped his mind at the moment.

Eames emerged from beneath the blankets. She took his hand and covered his mouth with hers.

Bobby slowly unzipped her dress and ran his fingers down her spine. She shivered. She could feel his erection against her inner thigh. So close. She was throbbing, wanting to feel him inside her.

But she couldn't, she reminded herself. Not now, not when he couldn't refuse. It was difficult to break the kiss this time. She looked down at him, running her fingers through his hair, and looked in his eyes, afraid that she'd gone too far.

He gazed back at her. She couldn't read his expression.

Unexpectedly, he turned over, pinning her beneath him. She closed her eyes.

"Am I hurting you?" he worried.

"No," she breathed.

He just looked at her for a minute. It was unbelievable: here he was, closer to the woman he loved than he'd ever hoped to be, and it was just an act. "Lily..."

When he said the name, she flinched. Her lips moved almost silently. "Bobby."

He stroked her cheek, ran his thumb lightly over her lips. He began kissing her neck. His hands slid down her bunched-up dress and came to rest on her thigh. He wished more than he could have described that this could be real, could be happening under different circumstances. It was hard to be this close and resist crossing the final line. But he had to. He moved his hand away.

Eames ran her hand down his arm and interlocked her fingers with his. "Kiss me," she whispered.

He did. They kissed and touched and enjoyed the feeling of their bodies together.

It was nearly four in the morning when he reluctantly drew away. "I need to go," he said.

"I know."

She watched him as he dressed. At the door, he looked back. "I'll never forget you, Lily." He dropped his eyes and left quickly, before he could change his mind.

Eames sighed and closed her eyes. If their performance had been convincing, Bobby would get out of the hotel safely and deliver her message to King, and she would remain undercover with Dwight until he was arrested. If not, it was entirely possible that was the last time they would see each other alive.