Diamonds Are Truly Forever: An Agent Ex Novel

by Gina Robinson

  Still stunned, she looked at Drew. “Two to the head. Someone wants you dead, execution-style.” She used her What else is new tone, because it was better than screaming like a panicked maniac. “You owe me a new door and window.”

  Drew peered back at her and shook his head, obviously thinking she was deranged. He pointed up at the holes. “Me? You’re crazy. I wasn’t standing next to the pantry.”

  He’s right. She went so cold, she felt almost numb. The men he played with wouldn’t make a dumb mistake like shooting at the wrong person.

  She flashed back to Paraguay and drug lord Beto Bevilacqua, the Brazilian Bevil, as Drew called him. Beto had tortured Drew’s location from her and sent his death squad after Drew and his fellow agent Jack Pierce while Beto stayed to finish her off.

  Emmett’s team had burst in just in time to save her from Beto’s knife. After they subdued him, Beto looked her in the eye and smiled. “I’ll get you yet, bitch. Pray you die now. This was mercy compared with what I’ll do to you next time.”

  Then she blacked out. The next thing she knew she woke up in an American hospital.

  She hadn’t believed the Bevil’s reach was this long or that she was important enough to come after. Until now. But who else would want her dead? Another of Drew’s enemies?

  Next to her, Drew watched her closely, compassion and worry in his eyes. “You sure you’re okay? You’re pale.”

  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and nodded. “As well as can be expected after being used for target practice, yeah.”

  “Take your time. Breathe deeply. You’ll feel better once you get over the shock.” He gave her a lopsided grin that was probably meant to cheer her up. “The pale feeling will pass. And then you’ll get mad. Anger is better, believe me.”

  Drew pulled his cell phone from his pocket. She couldn’t believe it—he was actually dialing for help? In the spy world, that was practically like asking for directions. Taboo even in a spur-of-the-moment danger situation.

  If Drew was calling for help, she probably should panic. “Who are you calling? Spook central or the cops?”

  “Neither.” He showed her the screen of his phone.

  A security feed of her house, inside and out, and the surrounding area scrolled past.

  “The bastard’s good at hiding,” Drew said, studying the screen again. “He’ll have left a clue. He can’t have gone far. We’ll get him.”

  “You promised me you’d never look at the security camera feeds again. I changed the security code.”

  He shrugged. “As if that could keep me out.”

  “Hey!” Her anger rose out of nowhere, just as he’d predicted. She smacked him in the shoulder, hard.

  “What?” He rubbed his shoulder, looking surprised her outburst was directed toward him.

  Good. Domestic fury felt better than fear. Drew was right about that, too.

  “You promised,” she said, realizing as she spoke how lame she sounded.

  “I lied.” He didn’t wince or look sorry in the slightest. “What? I was supposed to leave you to the mercy of my enemies?”

  She glared at him. “What about the cameras in my bedroom?”

  He grinned. “Of course I watch those. Enemies love pouncing on sleeping victims.”

  “Damn it, Drew. Exes don’t have peep-show privileges.” Her voice had gone hard and icy, veering way off from her Make him sorry plan.

  “Kidding.”

  She didn’t believe him.

  Drew pushed to a squat, carefully avoiding glass splinters. “Stay put while I investigate.”

  Not being the brave, charge-into-danger type, she wasn’t going to argue with him. “Be careful. What if it’s Bevil or one of his contacts?”

  Drew stared at her. “I can handle myself.”

  “It’s dangerous weather out there. Take a weapon with you.”

  He flashed her a glimpse of his handgun.

  She should have known. “And what am I supposed to do for protection?”

  He handed her a razor-sharp butcher knife from the block on the counter.

  “Brave man, handing me this after telling me you’ve been watching me sleep. You’re taking your life in your own hands, buster.” She stared at the knife in her hand, then up at him. “What if I turn out to be a backstabber?”

  He looked her right in the eye and laughed. “I like to live on the edge. Besides, cutting up raw chicken gives you the willies.” He lowered his voice into the sultry range. “Tell me, could you really stick a knife into the hot flesh of a man who’s given you so much pleasure over the years?”

  Stupid, smart-ass nearly ex-husbands.

  She swallowed hard, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction to his words. She lifted her chin. “Don’t tempt me. Just because I prefer ready-roasted fryers doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a knife.”

  He smiled and shook his head.

  “If that’s what you really believe,” she said, “you’re leaving me with a weapon that’s about as useful as if it were made of rubber.”

  “You’ll get over it if it’s your life or his.” Then he laughed and sneaked out with all the stealth and confidence of a commando on the prowl.

  “Y’all come back now, you hear?” she called after him, trying to sound braver than she felt.

  * * *

  Every sense on alert, Drew slipped outside, careful to take cover. All quiet on the intruder front. Not a footstep, not a breath that wasn’t his. Not another shot. Nothing but a gentle breeze, the sound of his neighbor mowing his lawn, and the pleasant call of a robin.

  There were no curious neighbors out. The sound of the lawn mower had masked the sound of the gunshot and the window exploding. Only the two of them, who’d been in the same room as the window, seemed to have heard it.

  Drew doubted the sniper had lingered once he and Staci dropped out of sight. Still, he had to check. He pulled a tiny pair of spy-grade high-powered binoculars he kept on his key chain from his jean pocket and surveyed the area.

  Damn! He’d lost the bastard.

  On his own, he would have traced the path of the bullet and surveyed the area where the sniper had been hidden. But he was concerned the sucker would double back. He couldn’t leave Staci unprotected. Not with a RIOT assassin—SMASH, as they called themselves—on the prowl.

  He cursed beneath his breath, trying to calm his anger. He hadn’t really expected RIOT to go after Staci at all, let alone this soon. He’d been her bodyguard all of what? Ten minutes, maybe fifteen?

  At least this time, I protected her.

  Small comfort. How in the hell was he going to explain this to Staci? He couldn’t tell her about Sam. He’d have to let her believe the drug lords were after her and take the blame for her life being in danger. Again.

  Isn’t danger what killed my marriage in the first place?

  He tucked the binoculars into his pant pocket and returned to the kitchen.

  Staci sat huddled on the floor with her knees held tightly against her chest. She looked so pale and vulnerable, he had to resist his first instinct to scoop her up, hold her tightly against his chest, and comfort her. Just hold her and shoot anyone who came too near.

  She only made it harder for him, staring up at him as if begging to be rescued and reassured.

  “He got away,” he said, hardening his heart. “Until we know what this is about and who’s responsible, if it’s Bevil or someone else, it’s not safe to stay here.” He sighed. Heavily. “Come on. You’ll have to stay with me until we figure out what’s going on.” He held a hand out to her.

  She frowned up at him and pushed his hand away, looking at him as if he’d gone mad. “Stay with you? That’s pushing the civil-divorce thing too far. Even for me.”

  Even for me? What the hell does she mean by that? That civility hasn’t exactly reigned supreme with me, too?

  In his opinion he’d been so damn civil he verged on looking like a wimp.

  She shook her head. “I’ll call
Mandy.”

  Drew crossed his arms and frowned back at her, reminding himself he was a man on a mission. A spy on a mission.

  “Mandy’s trained in how to stop assassins now, is she? Must be a newly acquired skill. Last time I saw her she couldn’t fend off a drunk hitting on her at the bar.”

  Staci’s frown turned into a glare. “She’s taken self-defense since then. She knows how to use a Kubotan.”

  “Do you know how lame that sounds?” he said, trying not to laugh at her.

  “Not a good choice?” Her stare was all ice and defiance. “Fine. I’ll stay with Mom and Sam then.”

  Nearer to Sam was the last place she needed to be.

  He fought hard not to swear beneath his breath. He could not let her get away. And no way he’d send her to stay with the enemy—of both the state and his marriage. Instead he simply stared at Staci, hoping she’d see reason.

  Staci blinked first. She should have learned—she couldn’t out-stare him.

  She growled and clenched her fists. “No. I’m not staying with you at your parents’! Your mom drives me nutso.”

  He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t argue with her logic. His mom drove everyone nutso.

  “I’m not staying with my parents.” He tried not to sound as insulted as he felt. He couldn’t live with his mother, either.

  Staci arched a brow. “You aren’t with them? Who are you staying with?”

  He helped her up. “No one. I have a condo.”

  “You what?” She pulled free of his grip and gaped at him. “Where? Here? In town? Like a timeshare?” Her voice pitched higher.

  “More like a semi-permanent arrangement.”

  He’d obviously stunned her. It took her a minute to find her voice. “Since when?”

  “Since two days ago when the Agency moved me in and set up my cover for this mission.”

  She shook her head as if trying to digest the news. “You’re here—”

  “A few miles away, actually.”

  “—on a mission.”

  Drew shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Staci hugged herself and shivered. He stifled any instinct to comfort her and tried not to stare at her breasts as they budded up and poked through her blouse.

  “I can’t believe this! Most of our marriage you were on foreign assignment. And since we’ve separated you were in Hawaii and now here?”

  He should have known this was coming. He braced himself.

  “You finally get a home assignment. Now, of all times.” She hugged herself tighter and rubbed her arms, looking as if she was either about to break into tears or ram him with her shoulder. “What’s your cover while you’re here?” Her eyes narrowed. “Won’t bringing me home blow it?”

  “Not at all. I’m undercover as myself.” He took her arm again.

  She released herself from her hug and stared at him as if he were crazy. And maybe he was. But it was the Agency’s plan, not his.

  “Undercover as yourself—that’s … that’s insane.”

  He sighed, inwardly agreeing with her. “I’m in my hometown, Stace. I grew up and went to high school here. My parents live here. Your parents live here. We lived here together. Trying to carry out a mission in the area while pretending to be someone else is just too damn risky. Someone’s bound to recognize me.

  “I have to be me, Drew Fields—a salesman who’s spent too much time on the road and is losing his marriage because of it.” He laughed a little too bitterly. “A guy who’s finally found a job that allows him to stay home for more than a day or two at a time and is trying to pull his life back together.”

  He swallowed hard and went for gold. “A man who’s trying to reconcile with his wife. Nothing more normal than that, is there?” He didn’t mean to sound so testy, but he hated explaining himself.

  “Reconcile?” She sounded breathless with shock.

  “A fake reconciliation, why not?” He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “It fits with the rest of my cover story.”

  She shook her head. “Did you just think up this great reconciliation plan now, on the fly?”

  “Of course I did.” What a liar he was.

  She looked as if she was wavering. Now was the time to convince her.

  “Look, Stace, I’ve done a lot of crappy things in my life. A lot of it to you.” He lowered his voice, trying to sound contrite. Which he was. He’d given her a shitty deal in life. He hadn’t been either the husband he should have been, or the one she expected. “But I am not leaving you alone and defenseless for someone, possibly a mad drug lord, to pick off. You can either come willingly or I’ll carry you out of here, kicking and screaming if you choose. But you’re coming with me.”

  Her lips quivered. Her eyes sparkled, on the edge of tears.

  “Hey,” he said more gently. “Cheer up. This isn’t a life sentence. It’s just for a few days, a few weeks at most, until we catch this bastard and my mission’s over.”

  “Then we go back to the divorce as scheduled?”

  Damn, she knew how to slice his heart in two. “Back to our regularly scheduled divorce, absolutely.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “Come on,” he said. “I’m getting jumpy. Time to pack a bag and get out of here.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Drew pulled his car into his secure condo garage and turned off the engine. Staci sat in the seat next to him, a pale imitation of her usually animated self. The fact that someone wanted her dead, once again, must have finally sunk in. Two streaks of blush were the only sign of color in her body, let alone her face.

  Drew could still not believe he’d lost the bastard. On the positive side, “getting back with Staci” had gone surprisingly well.

  He unbuckled his seat belt and hit the controller to close the garage door.

  Staci made no move to undo hers. “I could have driven myself, you know.”

  She was still pouting because he hadn’t let her drive her car here. For good reason. One, he didn’t trust her to follow him and actually show up at the condo. He wasn’t chancing losing her. And two, the shooter could have been following them, and Staci would have been helpless on her own.

  “I’m a better evasive driver than you are. I know how to lose a tail.”

  She turned to him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Staying together was a terrible idea, and not his. But he was under orders and trying to protect her. As for Staci, she was always second-guessing herself and him. What was it with women?

  “Yeah, I suggested you stay here because the idea stinks.”

  She frowned at him.

  “You want to go to your mom’s? Put her life in danger, too?” As if it wasn’t already. “I can take you there. I’m sure she could protect you.”

  “Shut up!” She took a deep breath and looked instantly contrite. “Sorry. Stress.” She stared into her lap. “You could learn to sympathize.”

  He blew out a breath, trying not to lose his cool or be affected by her vulnerability. “I’m not one of your girlfriends.”

  She still didn’t budge. “Is it just me, or does this whole situation and you being undercover as yourself not make any sense?” She shook her head and gave him the flimsiest ghost of a smile.

  “It has a certain nonsensical ring to it.”

  She nodded and gave a single snort, possibly of laughter. He couldn’t be sure.

  “So I get to be me?”

  “Yep.”

  “Who’s going to believe this ruse of us getting back together? Who reconciles on the eve of their divorce?” She turned to look at him, her brown eyes filled with fear. “Do we have to be reunited? Why can’t I just hide out at your place?”

  He had to think fast. “From your mother and the world? Be a prisoner in the condo until this is over? Is that what you want?”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, I guess not.”

  “Then someone is bound to see us together. Besides, it’s better for
my cover, Stace. People are less suspicious of married men.” He had no idea if that was true or not. He didn’t care. He made up statistics to suit his purpose all the time.

  Staci seemed to accept his reasoning. “Can we really pull off a happy reunion?”

  “I can.” He hoped.

  Her eyes widened. She studied him. He got the feeling she was looking for loving feelings. He reminded himself this was a mission and kept his expression neutral and unreadable until she gave up and frowned at him.

  “And we moved into your condo instead of our house because…”

  “I don’t know. We’ll think of something. Maybe we’re remodeling the house.”

  “A new pantry door and window constitutes remodeling now?” She smiled, and looked for a moment as if she might full-out laugh.

  Even though he had the feeling her good humor had more to do with hysteria and shock than anything else, he surprised himself. He liked the sight of her smile. “Get out of the car. I’ll let you in and make sure the place is secure before I come back for your suitcase.”

  * * *

  Staci followed Drew into his condo where he disarmed the security system. The garage entry led into a laundry room and up a flight of stairs onto the main floor. She stepped from the stairs into a spacious combination living and dining area. The kitchen sat off to her right, along with a small bathroom.

  In front of her lay utter mayhem—unpacked boxes lining the walls, TV and video remotes scattered far and wide, every closet door open.

  She clamped her mouth shut, fighting to hold in the Oh, look, someone’s tossed your place comment that sprang naturally to mind.

  But the mother of her dismay hung in front of her on the living room wall in all its sixty-five-inch LCD glory—the TV he’d been angling for before the divorce proceedings started, underscored by a Blu-ray player and at least four game consoles. The cost of the TV alone would have made her mortgage payments for several months. She was laid off and unemployed, carefully managing her resources, and he was buying electronics as if money were no problem.

  Drew stood beside her, probably waiting for her to say something. She forced herself to speak. “So this is the Batcave?”