Spy Candy

by Gina Robinson

  It was just minutes until class and the kidnapping started. I peeled my note off the pad and dashed into the hall.

  I’d just shut Pussy’s door when Ethan and Bishop burst into the hall on their way to class. They were dressed in desert fatigues and had their eyes blackened. Already jumpy, I was startled by their sudden appearance.

  “Geez,” I said to them, hand to heart, hoping they didn’t wonder what I was doing outside Pussy’s room. “Are you two the good guys or the bad?”

  Ethan laughed. “Oh, we’re good.” He winked. “Be nice to us and we’ll show you how good.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “The kidnapping is going down tonight,” Bishop said. “We’re expecting the bad guys, so we’re prepared. No one’s gonna get us like they got Davie.” He reached into his pocket. “Wanna see what I got?”

  “In your pocket? Not really,” I said, knowing those two and their tendency toward lewdness. I really didn’t want to see his banana.

  But Bishop didn’t listen. He pulled out a small billy club and a tiny electronic device. “We’re not going down without a fight.” He grinned evilly as he thwacked Ethan with the club. “Police issue,” he said as Ethan swatted him away.

  “And this"—he held out the electronic thingy—"is a tracking device. If they get one of us, the other one will know exactly where he is and how to find him.”

  “You two really came prepared.” I should have been impressed. I really hadn’t expected much out of those two. And I hadn’t even thought of doing the same myself. But then, my trip to camp had been a surprise. “Genius.”

  Ethan grinned. “You got it.” His gaze ran up and down me, lingering on my bum ankle for just a sec. “You feeling up to participating tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  “Excellent,” Bishop said, but I didn’t like his tone or expression.

  “What?” I said, gaze bouncing between them. “What?”

  “We were hoping you would.”

  I had the feeling it wasn’t because they just loved my company or had been horribly concerned about my recovery. “Why?”

  “'Cause with that bum ankle, you’re the perfect vic. They’re going to take you for sure,” Ethan said. “Which is just as well, ‘cause you sure as hell aren’t going to be much use on the rescue team.”

  “Hey!” I said, indignant.

  Bishop put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll save you, honey.” I shook his hand off.

  “Yeah.” Ethan winked. “Then you can show us your appreciation afterward.” He looked me up and down again and glanced at his watch. “You better run and change. You aren’t dressed for captivity. Put something warm on. It gets cold in the desert at night.”

  “Gee, thanks for your concern, boys,” I said. “Glad to see chivalry isn’t dead.”

  The boys laughed and turned toward class. “See you in a few,” they said in unison.

  “Hey,” I said, stopping them in their tracks as I felt worry well up and myself going all sentimental. “You two take care tonight. No wild heroics. Stay safe.” I swallowed a lump in my throat and my eyes got misty.

  They looked at me, puzzled, and, shaking their heads, walked off toward class.

  I made a quick stop by my room. The boys were right. I wasn’t dressed for combat. I rushed, trying to get ready, feeling a certain desperation about everything, including how I was going to go into battle with a bum ankle and a foot clad in a flip-flop. I propped the note for Emma up against the mirror in our joint bathroom, hoping she’d see it and come to my rescue, should it come to that. Then I hobbled to my room to change.

  Unfortunately, as I walked to the dresser, I stepped wrong on my bad ankle. I winced and leaned forward to catch myself on the dresser, coming face to cover with one of the magazines I’d snagged from Torq but hadn’t even had time to look at. In my effort to straighten back up, I bumped it off the dresser and a printout of an Internet news article floated out from it. I was staring at a headline about lottery winners who’d lost it all and frequented Vegas, trying to win it back. Poor saps, I thought. If only they had come to my Unexpected Money Institute before things got out of hand. I could have helped them.

  I bent to retrieve it and the captioned photo, a picture of an exuberant, striking woman—buxom with flowing brunette tresses, healthy and youthful, caught my eye.

  I gasped.

  If you looked past the differences in hair, weight, and bra size, the woman, identified as “Susan Saliner with her winning lottery ticket,” was undeniably Emma!

  Oh. My. Gosh! I was staring at a precancer Emma.

  Even though I was rushed, I hurriedly scanned the article, reading the highlights of how Emma/Susan had blown through her cash.

  “Emma, you big liar,” I said to myself, feeling sorry for her. She’d totally hate it if she knew I knew. And she’d probably never let me help her.

  There was no time to think about that now. Later.

  I folded Emma’s picture in fourths and tucked it into my bra for safekeeping. I was probably lopsided, but I had no time to fix that now. I grabbed a track jacket and dashed for the classroom. Well, okay, maybe “hobbled” is a better description. But I looked fast in that jacket—honest!

  When I arrived, I spotted Pussy sitting in the back of the room in the midst of her cadre of male admirers. I gave her a thorough up and down, looking for evidence of a bulging gun on her. Ethan and Bishop caught me checking her out and grinned lewdly as if they were imagining some lesbian action. I ignored them, thinking that Pussy could have tucked a gun in her fatigue pants. I debated warning Rockford right then, but my street cred wasn’t real high and I couldn’t be sure she had the gun on her. I decided to keep an eye on her instead.

  The only place left to sit was in the front row between Max, who greeted me with a nervous smile, and Emma. Rockford gave me a scowl but passed on the opportunity to ridicule me. The others ignored me.

  The room felt tense and poised for action. Everyone knew the kidnapping would happen soon. I felt nervous, but for different reasons.

  Emma leaned over and whispered into my ear, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting?” She sounded genuinely peeved.

  “We’re supposed to be preventing the kidnapping. Wasn’t that the whole reason for breaking into the Chief’s office?” I whispered back. “I couldn’t leave you to do it alone. What’s the plan?”

  With everything that happened, the plan-making had somehow slipped through the cracks.

  She stared hard at me. “I suppose you have a suggestion?”

  “Warn the class?”

  “While you were resting, I came up with a better plan.” She stood and everything happened rapid fire. She pulled a gun from her pocket, aiming it at Rockford. “Put the pointer down, Rockford. We’re taking you hostage.”

  “No!” I screamed at Emma in the same instant the classroom door burst open and four armed, hooded men rushed in.

  All pandemonium broke loose. CTs scrambled for cover and escape.

  Emma swung around and took aim at one of the kidnappers, who was built suspiciously like Torq. I knocked Emma’s arm just as she pulled the trigger. Her aim went high and a wad of paint hit the wall behind him and oozed down, leaving an orange splat in its wake.

  “Are you crazy?” Emma screamed at me, shaking what was obviously a paintball weapon at me.

  “Sorry! I panicked.” Which was completely true. Geez, how could I have missed that she was packing a paintball gun? How could I believe that Emma was going to shoot Torq with a real gun? I was losing it.

  In the second that I distracted her, the kidnappers seized the advantage and disarmed Emma before ordering us all facedown on the floor. We complied like lambs. Then they grabbed Wade, shoved a hood over his head, took him and Rockford and fled in a volley of paintball fire before I could warn Torq or Rock about Pussy’s gun.

  “Hey, what about her?” Bishop called after them, pointing at me. “Take her. She’s no use to us.”


  He grinned when I scowled at him.

  Ethan popped to his feet. “After them,” he shouted, waving his billy club.

  “Oh, sit down and shut up,” Emma said. “We need a plan.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we had a plan to search the compound and find the hostage. We decided to divide into four search pairs and leave one person behind in the room to coordinate our efforts.

  “Max should stay behind,” Pussy said before I could speak.

  “I agree.” Hard to believe Pussy and I agreed on anything, but headquarters was the safest place for Max. I avoided looking him in the eye. I was about to seem like a big traitor of a friend. But, hey, all’s fair in love and spying and saving someone’s life. “Considering his recent accident, I don’t think he should be left alone. I’ll—”

  Pussy cut me off. “I’ll stay with him.”

  “You?” I pointed to my ankle. “I’ll stay. I’m no good in the field.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan and Bishop grin as they placed bets on who’d win the argument. Their body posture said they were hoping for a little hair-pulling, female wrestling action.

  Pussy crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Someone else has had a little head trouble.” She arched a brow and flashed me a sinister smile. “Someone here at HQ needs a clear head. I’m the best at coordinating missions.” She smiled and winked at Ethan, Bishop, Tanner, and Q. “Right boys?”

  “Pussy stays,” Q said.

  The others murmured their agreement.

  I glared at Ethan and Bishop. “Less than half an hour ago, you two yahoos offered me to the kidnappers because I was of no use to you.”

  They smiled and shrugged, obviously under Pussy’s spell.

  “Traitors.”

  Ethan and Bishop paired up; Tanner, Q, and John; leaving Emma stuck with me and my bum ankle, and us with only three field teams.

  I leaned into Emma and whispered with as much urgency as I could muster. “We can’t leave Max alone with Pussy.”

  Emma shrugged. “As you wish. I’ll take care of it.” She sidled off to say something to Max.

  Pussy gave the plum assignments to the guys and instructed Emma and me to search the orchards and the orange-packing shack.

  “I hate the orange shack,” I said as we approached it, my flip-flop clacking loudly every other step I took. Try hard as I could, I wasn’t exactly stealth. “And I hate that Pussy. She should have given us the rappelling building. That’s where they’ll be.”

  Emma ignored my complaining as she surveyed the shack in front of us.

  “Pussy obviously thinks so. Why else would she send two teams there?” I paused and leaned against an orange tree to rest my ankle, rambling about inconsequential things to keep my mind off the real danger I was certain Max was in. “Ethan and Bishop are just going to bungle things. And Tanner and Q? John’s the only good one of the bunch.” I looked around. “Where’s Max? Shouldn’t he be joining us soon?”

  “Any minute,” Emma said. “I told him to give us a minute or two and then tell Puss he needed to use the loo and sneak out to join us.”

  “What if she catches him?” I shuddered. I didn’t like leaving Max alone with Pussy for even a second.

  “She won’t.” Emma studied the building.

  I should have been concentrating on the task, too, but my mind kept coming back to Emma’s situation. Even though my timing was wrong and I knew she’d hate it, I had to say something to Emma about the article I’d seen. “I know about your money problems. After this is over, you have to let me help you.”

  Emma gave me a blank stare. “Whatever.” She returned her attention to the building. “Okay, here’s the plan. While we wait for Max, we’ll secure the building.” She looked at me. “You go in the front and I’ll take the back. We’ll search the premises and meet in the room in front. If you run into any trouble, scream and I’ll come running.”

  I made a mental note to confront her again later and nodded, agreeing that it was best to have the building secured before Max came. “And I’ll do the same for you.”

  She held a finger to her lips. “Quietly now.” Then she waved me into the building as she sneaked around back.

  The orange shack was creepy in broad daylight. And really creepy at night. But since Grace Under Pressure, I’d been sort of inoculated against its haunted-housely charms. I slipped in quietly, wondering how I was going to get to Torq and warn him. Maybe the whole thing was in my head. My imagination gone wild …

  I heard something behind me, the spin of a doorknob, the breath of wind an opening door generates, the rustle of clothing, the groan of the floor under the weight of a footstep. Instinctively, I spun toward the sound.

  Bam! Something, someone, struck me from behind at the base of my head. I winced, cocked my shoulder to protect the injury, and let out a rush of breath, stunned. My head exploded with shocking pain. My ears rang with an electronic whir—like earsplitting feedback through a sound system.

  I stumbled forward, trying to catch myself against the wall for support. Over the ringing in my ears, I heard a whoosh, like the power swing of a baseball bat cutting through the air. Damn! Rockford hadn’t taught us how to disarm a bat-wielding fiend!

  Too late, I lunged forward. Something cracked against the back of my head, snapping it forward. I slumped down the wall, fighting with everything I had to stay conscious.

  Bond would not pass out. Bond would not pass out. Neither would Christmas Jones or Kissy Suzuki.

  But they were fictional characters assaulted with movie props. Even my hard head couldn’t withstand the crushing blow of a real weapon. I was growing thin and weak and my thoughts were jumbled and random, a potpourri of the week at camp.

  “You! Why?” I whispered, or maybe only thought. “So stupid …” Had to escape. Had to tell Torq. Had to get help.

  My assailant watched me, waiting patiently and confidently for me to lose consciousness.

  I fought to keep my eyes open, to focus, to stop my world from narrowing. But it constricted to a pinprick all the same. Then it went completely, densely black….

  Chapter Twenty

  Just call me bound and confused. I woke up lying on my side in a small, dank room without windows, shivering from a cold that put normal air-conditioning to shame. The air was thin, thin, thin and icy. I definitely was not in the sick bay. My head pounded and cried for an extra-strength Excedrin. Paralyzed by pain and fear of having my head used for batting practice again, I listened for sounds of my assailant’s evil presence. Maybe some maniacal laughter or heavy, sinister breathing. Too bad I couldn’t remember who my assailant was.

  There was a click and I started. It was followed by a hum, like a refrigerator running. As I struggled to fight off panic, I realized I was not in the Antarctic or Blofeld’s frozen Swiss Alps lair, but locked in a refrigeration unit.

  On the plus side, I was breathing. No telling how long I’d been out. My head hurt, but given the power of the blow it sustained I was lucky my cranium wasn’t shattered into a million tiny pieces and I was able to think at all. My ankle throbbed. And I felt stiff from being bound. As my eyes became accustomed to the dark and some semblance of clear thinking returned, I realized I was surrounded by shelves holding crates of oranges—the refrigeration room in the orange shack!

  I was lying on the floor, face flat against cold concrete, with my arms bound behind my back with zip ties. My teeth chattered and I was shivering beneath my tank top and crop pants. Somehow I’d lost my track jacket. Deciding I was unlikely to be clubbed again, I gingerly tugged at my bound wrists, hoping, fruitlessly as it turned out, for a little slack. I tried moving my feet—trussed like a turkey at the ankles, too.

  If I could just reposition myself into a sit—

  The refrigeration motor shut off. Too bad this wasn’t a Bond movie, ‘cause this would be a terrific and exciting time for James to swing in and save me. In real life I settled for a little mental screaming—where in the na
me of 007 were all the heroes when a girl really needed one?

  Emma! Emma would be looking for me. Emma would come back!

  I paled. Emma would be coming back all right—to kill me!

  I shuddered as my memory came flooding back along with a clear image of Emma standing over me, waiting for me to pass out.

  I closed my eyes and tried to think. Vague images swept through my mind. Torq had circled “hit man” in the movie review next to his computer. He’d been searching for info on Emma. The Internet article had mentioned she was from a rough section of Brisbane, and knew how to shoot and take care of herself. She came to the United States to get a new start and won, and lost, the lottery.

  Emma was a hit man, or woman! The thought came from nowhere but made absolute sense. The article had said that she was desperate to get rich quick again.

  “No way am I living poor,” she’d been quoted as saying.

  She’d been hired to kill Max. Had to be. I’d just been too blinded by my friendship with her to see it. I wondered for just a second why I wasn’t dead. And if I had any hope of surviving, or if she’d be back for me.

  I squirmed. My cheek came into contact with something cold and sticky on the floor. It was too dark to see, but my nose told me it wasn’t orange juice. It had the metallic scent of blood.

  “Davie!” I whispered to the empty room as a tear slid down my face. I swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in my throat.

  I bet she’d lured him here and killed him. Probably came back for his body the night of the paintball game and dumped him in the desert.

  Another random thought hit me—the itinerary in Rockford’s office. Was it Davie’s? Had he met Emma in Vegas? I thought of the car in Hal’s parking lot, of the skill of the driver. I wondered if a partnership made in hell had gone bad.

  I had to get out of here and save Max. If he wasn’t dead already. Damn! I’d inadvertently led him right into a trap.