She was staring at him, but it was his turn to look past her for fear of giving himself away. “Don’t accuse me of putting my career before you. I was concerned about you, but I trusted my staff to take care of you. You of all people know how well-trained they are. You know I have medics waiting in case of an accident. I believed you were in good hands. The best.” He took a deep breath, struggling to maintain some control over his ragged emotions and hang on to his dignity. What was left of it.
“You left me in the worst possible state a woman can—not knowing what’s happened to you. Imagining the worst. Nightmares so terrible—”
He swallowed hard. “Unable to move on with my life. The moment the show ended, I rushed backstage, screaming to the crew, asking them about you, wild for information. The police stopped me. Pulled me aside. Delivered the news.
“A member of the hotel staff had seen you run out the back door by the loading dock. Someone else reported hearing gunshots near there and called the cops.
“They found puddles and a trail of blood. One of the cops held the scraped, bloodied, broken heel from your white shoe, the one you wore in the show, out to me in an evidence bag. ‘Recognize this?’ he said.
“My heart stopped. I went cold. I couldn’t piece it all together for a second. And then I realized you were missing, presumed murdered or kidnapped, and even though I’d been on stage at the time you disappeared, I was suspect number one.”
He made himself look at her, watching her closely for any sign of regret or sympathy. “That’s just the beginning of the nightmare for me. They found tire skid marks in the lot, but no body. It looked to the police as if a car had peeled out in a hurry.
“They interviewed the crew, stagehands, and Clara. They all said the same thing—you looked frightened, as if you were running from someone. For your life. And the natural assumption was it was me. That I’m a monster. A wife killer. A Bluebeard who disappeared his wife for good.
“A sample of the blood came back as yours. And then the rumors started to fly. I’d mistakenly gotten drunk and married you without a prenup. The crew was lying for me. I had you murdered to protect my assets.” He snorted. “As if I’m that kind of man.”
He imagined his eyes were bores and he could somehow pierce the truth out of her. But Lani remained placid and unreadable.
“What really happened that night, Lani?” he said. “I deserve to know that much.”
CHAPTER FOUR
This mission is going to be harder than I thought. Lani hadn’t anticipated that hearing what Rock had gone through the past two years from his own lips would tear her up so badly or bring up such an almost irresistible urge to reach out and comfort him. And she’d forgotten that next to a crack secret agent, Rock was probably the most observant and intuitive man on the planet. Which was partly why she fell for him in the first place. And now might lead to their downfall.
Lani forced herself into spy mode and composed herself as she sat down on the sofa, still wondering what magic Rock had worked to convince her to marry him. If it wasn’t drugs, what was it?
She changed tactics. It no longer suited her purposes to be professional and distant. Better to beguile and charm the enemy, if that’s what he was. “Yes, I suppose you do deserve to know as much of the truth as I can tell you. Most of what happened that night is classified, but now that you’re with us, I can give you the basics.”
They were still standing. She walked to the sofa and took a seat, patting the cushion next to her.
He took the chair perpendicular to the sofa.
But at least he sat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs as he watched her with his magician’s eyes that missed nothing. Good thing she wasn’t going to try to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Well, not literally. Maybe humor would work?
“As it turns out, I didn’t quite make the clean escape of it I’d hoped for.” She put a smile in her voice and spoke lightly, trying to diffuse the tense mood. “RIOT had the hotel covered. An assassin waited for me as I came out of the building.”
She didn’t care to remember the details and she didn’t want to shock Rock too badly. Surprisingly, she didn’t want him to believe she shot at people without conscience. But she had to be honest.
“I had a fellow agent, a sharpshooter, covering my back and waiting for me with a car in the lot out back. Unfortunately, he’d been shot at and fired back, killing one of RIOT’s men.
“Originally, I was going to leave before the show. I swiped the intel just prior. Until I realized I was being followed and there was no way out except to go on with the show and make a break for it in the middle, hoping I threw them off my scent. That’s the beauty of magic. It’s all a gorgeous diversion, isn’t it?”
She’d said it playfully, but he didn’t smile back.
“You should have come to me,” Rock said. “I do gorgeous diversions better than anyone.”
What he said was probably true, but—
She shook her head. “I did what I did to protect you. You have to believe me. Besides, how crazy would you have thought I was if I’d come to you seconds before the show with some crazy story about terrorists chasing me? And that I’m a secret agent working for the CIA? You’d have had me committed.” She smiled at him.
Rock shook his head, but he looked less angry. “Maybe not.”
“Maybe not isn’t good enough. I only take reasonable risks. Too many lives hung in the balance. Besides, terrorists can’t torture out of you something you don’t know.” She paused to let the seriousness of the situation sink in with him. “Come on, Rock. I’m not the bad guy. Give me a bit of a break here.”
He scowled. “What happened next?”
She shrugged. “The usual spy stuff. Murphy’s Law. As I came out of the building and sprinted for the car, I hit a pool of the dead terrorist’s blood at full speed. Didn’t even see it until I nearly slid onto my ass in it. Tunnel vision. No one expects a dead terrorist in her path, right?” She tried to coax a smile out of him, but he remained stone-faced.
She shrugged again. “Hindsight. Anyway, bam! I was suddenly windmilling and skidding in the blood slick.” She made a face and pantomimed the motion, trying to get a smile out of him. “And do you know what I was most worried about right then?”
“Your lovely hide?”
She shook her head. “Nope—my costume and how blood would never come out of that skimpy white dress that you’d specially designed just for me. And whether I’d gotten blood on the marriage certificate tucked in my shoe.” Her voice broke unexpectedly. Since she’d become a mother she’d gotten emotionally soft and sentimental.
But she had Rock’s attention now. He stared at her with something like hope in his eyes. “Stress does strange things to a person. Is that when you broke your shoe?”
“No. I tripped over the body and came down hard on my heel and that’s when it snapped off. As I bent to retrieve it, another of the bastards fired at me and I accidentally kicked the heel and didn’t have time to find it.
“It was sloppy spycraft, leaving part of a white wedding slipper behind like Cinderella on a bad night and I’m not happy about it. But I didn’t have much choice. In that white dress, I was too visible, a sitting bride, so to speak. I ran for the car, firing back at that RIOT jerk as I went.
“The bastard grazed my arm and it gushed.” She was still mad about being hit at all. She’d almost gotten a telltale scar.
At the mention of gushing blood, Rock flinched.
She’d forgotten for a minute he wasn’t used to real blood and gore like the spies she was used to hanging out with. To distract him, she mimicked the motions of her story as she spoke, just like she had when she’d related the incident to her buddies at the Agency. “So there I was—running with a distinct hobble because of the broken shoe, applying pressure to my gun arm, and trying to fire over my back. It was quite the scene. And funny, too, in retrospect.”
He scowled. “Not funny, Lani.”
“Th
e guys at Langley laughed when I told the story.”
“I’m not the guys at Langley. I don’t see what’s funny about you being hurt.”
“Oh, come on. It’s a bit like something out of Funniest Spy Videos.” She mimicked the actions again. “The hobbling and the running and the slipping—”
He shook his head.
“Well, to each his own, I guess. You’ll get used to spy humor. But to continue the tale, I guess I didn’t do a fantastic job of stopping the bleeding, which is why the police found my blood along with that villain’s.”
“Did you kill him?” Rock asked. There was no smile in his voice, either.
“Just nicked him. But then, being wounded, I was at a disadvantage. I’m usually a crack shot.” It was important he knew she was competent. “My fellow agent hit him with a clean kill shot. Which is what he’s paid to do, of course.” She still felt the sting of indignity in having to mention another agent had had to bail her out of trouble.
“We meant to clean up the site before the cops got there. We called our cleanup crew to take care of it. But the body was gone before they arrived. RIOT must have removed it, but missed the heel of my shoe. They didn’t want to be discovered any more than we did. There, does that comfort you? Or will you have more nightmares now?”
Rock stared at her with his head in his hands, his jaw set, his eyes hard. “So all this pointing at me and throwing suspicion my way—was that the CIA, too?”
So that’s why he didn’t warm to her story—he was mad about being slandered? He was quick on the uptake. A little too quick, maybe. But his intelligence was part of what made him attractive to her.
“Suspicious minds,” she said, shaking her head. But of course the Agency was behind them. Partly. “Rumors will fly. The public loves a scandal.”
He frowned. Opened his mouth. Shut it again as if he’d reconsidered what he was going to say. He paused and then continued. “There’s something I don’t understand—if these RIOT bastards saw you, knew it was you who took these plans, won’t they be suspicious and looking for you now? Aren’t you in danger? And why would one of their allies, Blackledge, take you into his company when they think you’re an enemy spy?”
She couldn’t help laughing. He looked so solemn. But he was right. And she was touched by his concern. “I’m always in danger.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. She was used to it.
“But to answer your question, we’re better than you think. The RIOT bastards have no idea I work for NCS. Any of their agents who could identify me as the spy who stole their Hoover Dam intel, or a spy period, are dead.”
“But they know Lani Torres isn’t dead,” Rock said. “So what’s their theory?”
“If anything, they think I was running from you. Running from something, in any case.
“Vegas showgirls, even magician’s assistants, generally aren’t pure as the driven snow.” She laughed. “There are all kinds of scenarios. Like I was in some kind of gambling or drug trouble and had to leave town in a hurry. Or I had escaped with a large chunk of your change, money-grubbing little me.”
“Yeah, I know. The cops went over and over my bank accounts.” He didn’t sound happy about it.
“Sorry about that, Rock. Really.”
He squinted at her and frowned. “Yeah, I know, collateral damage.” He scowled. “That’s all these RIOT people believe about you?” He didn’t look convinced she was in the clear.
“Not exactly. That damn broken heel.” She resisted, not for the first time, cursing beneath her breath. “It announced I was in that alley. They think I saw something I shouldn’t have.” She shook her head. “I’ll never wear cheap shoes again.”
“Hey! Those shoes weren’t cheap. I paid a boatload for them. They were custom designed.” Rock tried to smile at her, but she could tell he was shaken and defensive because he felt responsible.
She laughed at his indignation. “Then I suggest you hire a better designer next time, one with some engineering and structural expertise. A woman in my position needs to be able to count on her footwear, both on and offstage.”
She studied him with his penetrating stare. “Back to the original topic. RIOT believes my fellow agent stole their secrets. He’s a famous assassin in clandestine circles and his signature was all over those two kills. They aren’t concerned with him. They know they’ll come up against him again. It’s part of the game.
“But RIOT will welcome me into Blackledge’s crew easily enough. They want me where they can keep an eye on me and learn what I know. They can’t have a leak. Of course, they’ll never find out what I really know. I’ll convince them I know nothing.” She grinned. “When they clear me, I’m good to go.”
That was a lie, too. They’d try to kill her either way—whether she convinced them she knew nothing or spilled all the Agency’s secrets. They weren’t the kind of thugs who took chances. Her best insurance policy was to string them along until the completion of the mission. Not that she’d tell Rock any of this. It would only make him jumpier.
“And if not?” His gaze was penetrating.
“I’m dead. They don’t suffer leaks.” She shrugged as if it were no big deal.
But Rock came out of his seat and onto his feet. “What!”
Yeah, she’d been right to keep the whole truth from him. “Calm down. They don’t know who they’re up against. I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, obviously. Because you’re an ace shot when you’re not windmilling in blood slicks, tripping over bodies, and no one’s nicked your gun arm.”
She nodded. “Exactly right. Anyway, that’s a once-in-a-career bad luck situation. It won’t happen again.” She didn’t tell him stuff usually went wrong. Murphy’s Law was an integral part of the spy biz. The general rule in the Agency was that you should expect to fail half the time.
“You’re the one who needs to be careful,” she said to divert his attention away from her and remind him of what was really what. “I’ve come back to make sure you’re safe.”
He stared at her. “Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”
“Can you?” She stared back. “A little flash powder won’t save you next time.”
He studied her. “We’ll see about that.”
An uncomfortable silence followed.
Finally Rock shook his head. “This whole situation’s a little awkward, isn’t it? Is this the part of the conversation where I ask what you’ve been up to these past few years? I’m sure you know my every move so there’s no point discussing me.”
That sounded more like the old Rock, the one who had a sense of humor and irony.
“There’s not much to tell,” she said. Which was an out-and-out lie. She wished she could tell him about her pregnancy, and the birth of their son, congratulate him on being a daddy, and see his joy. Tell Rock how he’d given her the best gift of all and made life worth living. Share Stone’s first smile and steps. But the revelation of that secret hung on the mission. And could only ever be told if she were successful.
“That’s not classified, that is. Mostly I spent my time in hot water, confined to desk work and playing nursemaid to a recovering agent who was blown up in the field.” She couldn’t keep the grumble out of her voice.
“You’ll be pleased to hear, though, that I kept up my skills. As part of his therapy, I taught that agent a bit of magic.”
“None of my tricks, I hope.” Rock’s voice held the slightest hint of a teasing edge, which was encouraging.
“Of course not! What do you think I am?” On second thought, that was a bad question. She had a pretty good idea what he thought she was and it wasn’t pleasant. “I know how to keep a secret.”
“Yeah, I gathered that.”
“I suppose I deserve your sarcasm, Rock. But really, put this in perspective—I saved thousands of people. Thousands. How many people can say that?”
He didn’t answer. How could he? She had him fair and square.
“Now,” she said. “Ha
ve I satisfied your curiosity sufficiently? Can we get down to the mission? We only have a few hours left until daylight and I have to scram.”
“Not so fast.” He sprang out of the chair and sat down on the sofa disturbingly, enticingly close to her. “I have a condition, a term of agreement.” His voice was hypnotic, like the one he used to engage a crowd.
She didn’t trust him or herself. It would be so easy to drop her guard and melt into his arms. And so dangerous. “Don’t worry about terms. NCS will be paying you handsomely. And if they balk, you can blackmail them. You have leverage.” She laughed, but it came out nervously.
He shook his head. “Those are my terms with your boss and the government. I mean terms between us—you and me.” He took her hands in his warm, tight grip.
“Terms between you and me—what are you talking about?” She eyed him warily, too stunned to pull free from his grip. As usual, he had something up his sleeve.
“Give us a real shot at making our marriage work. If that means waiting until after the mission to genuinely get to know each other, so be it.” The look in his eyes was completely pleading and hopeful, so smoothly seductive.
He almost made her believe in the dream that they could make things work and live happily ever after. But that was Rock, the king of illusions.
Her heart hammered. “Rock, you don’t even know who I really am,” she said as reasonably as she could. And when he found out, would he ever forgive her or be able to live with who she was and what she did and had done?
“You only saw a small part of the real me during the time we were together. The part I let you see. The part I played. You have no idea what you’re asking.”
“I think I do.” His tone was uncompromising and confident.
She took a deep breath. “If I don’t agree?”
“I walk away now and your mission is toast.”
“You do realize that if you walk away you’re a dead man? RIOT wants you dead because, to their knowledge, you’re the only other person capable of performing Outlandish Marauders and thwarting their plans?
License to Love (An Agent Ex Novel) Page 6