“Wait a minute—when did I agree to answer questions about Sol?” Rock said.
“It falls under the allegiance clause. It’s in the fine print.”
Rock shook his head and smiled. “Okay, you got me there. This could take a while. How long do we have?”
“Until Lani comes back downstairs.”
“You’ll need the short version then,” Rock said. “We were roommates and pals when we were both starting out and taking classes at the Magic Castle.
“Back in those days, we were cocky, ambitious young guys. Full of ourselves and certain we’d be big stars.” Rock grinned. “Come to think of it, we haven’t changed, just aged. Anyway, Sol was good, just not as good as I am. He had flair and showmanship, but not creativity. He could copy, but he couldn’t create.
“I’ve always been creative. I see tricks in my head and envision how to work them, how to stage them, the costumes, every detail.
“People started noticing me and my act. I got buzz. Filled small venues and got booked at bigger ones. I was doing better than Sol. Surpassing him. With an ego twice the size of his talent, he couldn’t stand it. It didn’t make any sense to him. It wasn’t fair.
“Sol’s a chronically jealous bastard. The more I succeeded, the angrier and more vindictive he became. Behind my back, he started bad-mouthing me, spreading rumors, sabotaging tricks, leaking some of my secrets.
“I put up with a lot of shit from him until he got so crazy, I couldn’t take it anymore. We got into a fistfight one night. I broke his pretty-boy nose.” Rock laughed. “That was it. We parted ways.
“But we’ve never stopped competing.”
Tate nodded. “You were RIOT’s first choice, too, weren’t you?”
Rock frowned, taking a trip down memory lane. “Yeah. I realized that once Nelson dragged me into this mission. About the time Sol and I parted ways. I had bigger ideas than my bank account could afford. A group of investors, venture capitalists they said, approached me about backing me. Or rather their representative did. I never met the actual big guys behind it. I turned them down.”
“Why?” Tate asked.
“They wanted an equity stake in my show and tricks.” The memories came flooding back. “The assholes wanted creative control, too. They wanted to dictate what tricks I could and could not perform. I told them to go to hell. No one tells me what to do as an artist. The money wasn’t worth the loss of control and artistic direction. Looks like I made a lucky escape.”
Rock frowned and snorted to himself. “Shortly after that Sol came into a pot of cash and started performing some of his large-scale illusions, the ones that launched his career.
“Including one he stole from me. One I was trying to finance on my own. I always figured the little shit took those big shits’ money. He sold out.” Rock stared at Tate. “Why am I telling you this? You know at least the basics already.”
Tate didn’t answer.
“I never knew how Sol got that trick,” Rock said, still thinking about it. “I’d kept it top secret. Told no one. It was one of those illusions I’d had no money to set up and perform. I knew it was a winner and I was right. He got his first TV appearance because of it. It launched Sol’s career.
“Sol has always claimed he came up with it independently. A case of great minds thinking alike. But that’s pure bullshit and he knows it. The execution was identical to what I’d planned. He wasn’t even smart enough to make a few changes to throw me off.”
“Were you working on Outlandish Marauders while you lived with Sol?” Tate leaned forward.
“I’ve been working on and dreaming of Outlandish Marauders since I was sixteen. I have notebooks filled with doodles and notes.” Rock stopped short. “Sol stole Outlandish Marauders that long ago? But it wasn’t finished—” Rock cursed beneath his breath. “You mean RIOT has been spying on me all these years?”
Tate nodded. “It appears so.”
Rock swore some more. “I stepped up security after I realized what Sol had done. And since I’ve gotten famous, I’ve hired the best security experts. If RIOT got past them, they’re very good.”
“They are,” Tate said. “Almost as good as we are.”
Lani came downstairs dressed in a sleeveless, short, flirty, casual dress with black, white, and gray horizontal stripes and enough spandex to hug her curves. She wore black platform peep-toe pumps and the blond wig and carried an oversized white purse. She was Gillian again, but she still turned Rock’s head and turned him on.
“Ready to go, boys?”
Rock couldn’t stop staring at her. “We could take one of my cars, but the Lamborghinis only fit two. In fact, except for the SUV my staff uses, they pretty much all only fit two.”
Tate shrugged. “Looks like we’re stuck with the rented Audi S8.”
CHAPTER TEN
The valet brought the gray Audi S8 sedan around.
“It’s not as sleek as a coup, but for a sedan it’s pretty hot. With three of us, it’ll have to do.” Tate was staring at it as if it were a woman he’d like to sleep with.
Rock admired it, too, but he wasn’t the car buff Tate apparently was.
The valet parking attendant reluctantly got out of the Audi and held the front passenger door open for Lani. She slid in, giving him a view of her long, lean legs. Rock admired them, too. Lani caught him in the act and frowned at him.
Rock balled his fist and climbed into the backseat as Tate grabbed the keys from the attendant and climbed into the driver’s seat. Seconds later, they peeled out of the lot and darted through traffic toward I-15 and the open road.
“Rock, buddy, as my friend,” Tate said, “you’re going to have to stop ogling my girl so openly.” Tate laughed.
Lani made a kissing motion at Rock in the rearview mirror and laughed. “I hope you don’t get motion sickness. The way Tate drives, riding in the backseat can be hell.”
“What are you, saying, baby?” Tate laughed. “I drive smooth.”
Lani ran her fingers along Tate’s jaw and laughed. “I have Dramamine,” she said to Rock.
Rock just clenched his fist.
The open road wasn’t really all that open. But it didn’t seem to faze Tate, or slow him down. He took the car up to 120 mph. Slow-moving traffic, meaning anything traveling under a hundred mph, was nothing to Tate. He dodged and wove through traffic without cursing or calling people idiots, and without slowing down. He was completely unperturbed. Rock would have felt more comfortable if he’d been in the driver’s seat. He sure as hell wouldn’t have been going 120.
“What does this thing top out at?” Rock asked to be conversational. If he’d been a woman this might have been construed as a hint to slow down.
For her part, Lani looked as if she was enjoying the ride.
“Top end is so yesterday. No one talks about red line,” Tate said as he darted into the right lane to pass a slow-moving car in the left and the guy in the car he passed gave him the finger. “It’s all about acceleration. This baby can go zero to sixty in four seconds. Not bad for a sedan.”
“The trip’s about three hundred miles,” Rock said, doing the math. “You’re planning on getting us there in two to three hours?”
“Less if we hit an open stretch of road and no one needs to stop to take a piss.”
“Sure you don’t want that Dramamine?” Lani said with a tease in her voice.
Rock ignored her. “Is that ETA with or without the automatic jail time you’ll get if you get stopped?”
“Not to worry,” Tate said. “I have a radar detector and an official get out of jail card from the CIA.” He laughed and stole a quick look in the mirror at Rock. “Worried about my driving? I’m a pro. I’ve taken so many extreme driving courses I’m certified to teach.”
“No, not at all worried about you. Just a bit concerned about stray dogs, potholes, bumps, blowouts, and little old ladies with slow reflexes who pull out for a Sunday drive.”
“None of that’s a problem. I
can dodge all that in my sleep. Besides, it’s not Sunday.” He winked at Rock.
Rock arched a brow. “I hope you have a pilot’s license, buddy, because we’re flying.” Done with his civic duty and pleading for his life, Rock settled back to enjoy the trip.
Two and a half hours later, they pulled to a stop along Malibu Beach.
“Are we holding auditions at the beach?” Rock said, looking out the window.
“Sorry, man, forgot to mention we have to pick up a friend.” Tate turned off the engine and jumped out of the car, followed by Lani.
Rock trailed after them. “Friend or fellow agent?”
Tate shrugged. “Both.” He took off his sunglasses, glanced at his watch, and looked around. “We’re two minutes early.” He sounded disgusted, like he should have lingered at the last stop sign just so he could arrive precisely on time.
“I could have told you not to drive so fast,” Lani said with a smirk. “We had plenty of time.”
“You timed this whole trip down to the two-minute mark?” Rock couldn’t believe it.
“The spy game is all about precision. And I know my shit.”
Just then a bronzed surfer dude with rippling abs, sun-bleached brown hair, and dressed in board shorts flipped his hair out of his eyes as he walked toward them. Three women in his path sighed.
“Ah, there he is now.” Tate waved to the approaching surfer.
“Now that’s magical timing.” Rock couldn’t help being impressed.
“Ty, dude!” Tate grabbed the approaching surfer and the two shook hands and slapped each other on the back.
Rock got a whiff of coconut and suntan lotion on the stiff breeze that was blowing.
The surfer saw Lani and pulled her into a hug. “Good to see you, Magic.” He took a step back and looked her over. “You look terrific. Good to be back in the field, huh?”
It irked Rock that this new guy immediately recognized Lani in disguise and called her Magic.
“How’s the surfing today? Epic as always? There’s a nice wind blowing,” Tate said.
Ty shook his head. “Too many geeks and poseurs out. And the heavies are getting out of control. In a minute they’ll fly the meatball.”
Rock had no idea what Ty was talking about, probably, again, because he was speaking in code. It was all Greek, make that surfer slang, to him. While Tate nodded along as if he understood, Rock pondered the sight of flying meatballs. He hoped it wasn’t code for bullets whizzing by. In the company of spies, you just never knew.
Tate made introductions. “Ty, meet my man Rock Powers. Rock, Ty.”
“Dude, like the magician?” Ty said as he shook Rock’s hand.
“The same.”
“Mondo.”
Rock looked at Tate with a what the hell does mondo mean expression. Tate smiled and shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
“Ty, you up for joining us for some drinks and a little magic? Rock here’s our ticket into the Magic Castle.”
“Awesome!” Ty said.
“Magic Castle?” Rock said.
Lani leaned over and cooed in his ear, “You mean you didn’t guess? It seems the obvious place. Where else would we hold auditions for magicians?”
“Just about any auditorium would do,” he said.
“But it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. Besides, we’re all dying to get into the Castle.”
Spies!
Rock looked Ty over, wondering if the surfer even owned a suit. “You’ll have to change first. We’ll all have to change. Suits and ties are required.” He looked down at Ty’s bare feet. “And shoes.”
“No problem. We can change at the bungalow.”
Rock speared Tate with a look. “You should have let me in on the plan. I would have grabbed my tux. I hope you packed us a change of clothes.”
Tate winked. “I’m sure Ty has something for us at the bungalow.”
There wasn’t room in the Audi for the surfboard. Ty headed out on foot, saying he’d meet them there. Tate seemed to know the way without needing directions. The bungalow was only a few blocks from the beach, but they had to wait nearly ten minutes for Ty to show up on foot, carrying his board over his head. It had taken Tate, Lani, and Rock mere seconds to reach it in the airplane Tate called a car.
Ty unlocked the bungalow door and held Tate, Lani, and Rock back with his board. Not horribly hospitable of him, but nothing surprised Rock anymore. As Ty scanned the small premises, he aimed the board like a weapon from point to point around the room. “Disabling the security system,” Ty whispered. Finally, he nodded, held the board out of the way, and extended his arm in a gesture of welcome. “All clear.”
When they were all in and the door closed behind them, Tate grinned and ribbed Ty. “A surfer cover, again? At this rate you’re going to be typecast.”
Ty shrugged. “Says the man who never goes undercover as anyone other than himself.” He punched Tate playfully in the arm and set his surfboard down in the corner. “I’m a damn awesome surfer, dude. The best in the Agency. I have the looks.” He winked as if making fun of himself. “I know the lingo. There are worse covers. I could be a dishwasher.” He grinned at Rock and winked. “Or a magician.”
Ah, the Popov reference again, Rock thought, ignoring the jibe at magicians.
“So how’s the wife? How’s Treflee doing these days?” Tate asked Ty.
“Crabby. Big as a blimp and ready to pop. The kid’s due in less than a month. If we don’t get this mission wrapped up so I can get my butt back for that birth, I’m in deep shit.”
“Poor Treflee. It’s horribly uncomfortable to be pregnant in the heat,” Lani said.
What does Lani know about being pregnant? Rock thought.
“She loves the car seat you gave her for the shower,” Ty said to her.
“Oh, I’m so glad. I knew she’d get a kick out of the tropical beach print of the seat cover. But really, with the speeds you drive, Ty, your baby needed the safest one on the market—”
“Wait a minute,” Rock said, interrupting the banal baby banter. “You’re married and expecting a kid?”
Ty nodded. “Our first.”
Rock frowned. “Your wife is a spy then, too?”
Ty shook his head and snorted. “Of a sort. She thinks she is, anyway.”
Now this was really too much. Rock glared at Tate and Lani. This no-wife stuff was bullshit to keep him in line. “I thought you said agents aren’t supposed to marry outside the Agency and no one is supposed to have kids.”
Tate slapped Rock on the back. “Ty was already engaged when we recruited him and stubborn enough to insist he wouldn’t join unless he could marry the wench. There wasn’t much the chief could do about it.”
“And now we’re expecting our first little agent,” Ty said. “It’s a risk. But the wife wanted kids.” He shrugged. “The chief doesn’t like it, but that’s life.”
Rock glowered at Tate.
Tate shrugged. “Don’t blame me. I only said the Agency frowns on marriage.”
Ty walked to the fridge, pulled out three beers, and shot one each to Rock and Tate. Good thing Rock had quick reflexes. He caught his and popped it open. Ty handed Lani a flavored water. He evidently knew Lani well.
“Ah shit, that’s right,” Ty said, with a tease in his voice. “You’re Magic’s old man.” He turned to Lani. “I keep forgetting you took the plunge.” He was obviously ribbing her now. “Did I ever send you a wedding present?”
“Shut up.” Lani glared at Rock and back to Ty. “Treflee’s been threatening to. I told her not to bother.”
Rock scowled.
Ty pulled a shirt on. “I can’t believe you had an Elvis wedding, Lani. Tref says you’re a girlie girl at heart. We always pegged you for a big, fancy, princess-style wedding.”
Lani shrugged. “Next time around.” She glanced at Rock as he tried to keep his cool. “I know. I’m not a fan of the King. Not even the 1970’s one with the white spandex and the fringes.”
&n
bsp; How did these two know so much about Lani that he didn’t?
“You never mentioned you didn’t like Elvis,” Rock said to her. “We could have gone somewhere else. If I’d known—”
She shrugged. “What does it matter?”
“It matters because I would have found another chapel. Anything to make you happy and give you the wedding you’d dreamed of.”
“It was a quickie thing,” she said. “I didn’t even want to get married.”
“She told us you drugged her,” Ty said with twinkle in his eye.
“I did not drug her.” Rock looked to Lani for help. “Tell them.”
“Hypnotized her, then,” Ty said.
“You can’t hypnotize someone and make them do something against their will. Especially not if they’re drunk. Lani married me because she wanted to.” He stared her in the eye. “The rest is all bullshit denial on her part. I didn’t have to do any coercing. And I didn’t.”
Lani didn’t defend him.
Ty exchanged a look with Tate. “I’m pretty sure we can hypnotize someone while they’re drugged, can’t we? Or drunk? Or drugged and drunk?”
“And tied up,” Tate said. “Or not. Hell, we have drugs that we slip to people to aid with the hypnosis process. For those highly resistant subjects. It’s all part of our intel gathering, interrogation war chest. The conspiracy theory nuts are always accusing us of that very thing. Like hypnotizing entire crowds, thousands at once.”
Tate shook his head. “Yeah, that crowd theory thing is over the top. We can’t do that. I mean, maybe a dozen willing subjects, like in a show. But thousands?”
“Exactly,” Ty said. “I think I’ve seen a few hypnosis-induced marriages in the case files. Am I wrong?”
“No,” Tate said. “You’re right. You’re very right.”
Rock couldn’t tell whether they were messing with him or not, but he was tired of the conversation. “Enough of this bullshit. What’s the plan at the Castle? Do these kids think they’re just auditioning for me? I assume you haven’t told them they’re actually auditioning for the CIA.”
License to Love (An Agent Ex Novel) Page 14