My Spy

by Christina Skye

  Outside the door, Annie's fax machine beeped twice and Izzy pushed to his feet. “I expect that's for me.” With an easy stride he covered the distance to the machine and scanned the newest sheet.

  Only because she was watching closely did Annie see his jaw tighten. “What is it?”

  Worry flared in his eyes, just for a second. “It's nothing. Sam's holding firm, and everything's on schedule.”

  “What was in the fax, Izzy?”

  “Just transport options. We'd better get to work.”

  Annie noticed that he folded the fax carefully and slid it into his pocket. What she didn't know was that the words, written in code, would have made no sense to her anyway.

  “I WANT ANSWERS NOW. ”

  Admiral Ulysses S. Howe glared at the frightened surgical nurse. “How did an intruder get past my guards?”

  “I didn't see anyone. None of us did, sir. Just an orderly and someone from maintenance, but neither went into any patients' rooms.”

  “I'll have that checked.”

  The nurse shifted uncomfortably. “When the patient woke, he was confused and upset. He'd already torn off his oxygen mask, and his IV was out.”

  “Don't you people have equipment to monitor things like that?” Howe shot back. “This is intensive care, damn it. What the hell went on in here?”

  “The monitor was working, but the attendant had a priority call from the security desk downstairs. That's why it took a few extra seconds for him to notice the problem in Commander McKade's room.”

  And those few seconds could have cost the SEAL his life.

  He'd damn well check out that “priority call,” Howe thought grimly. He was sure he'd find that the call couldn't be traced. “I want to know who was in his room.”

  “I doubt that anyone was.” A graying man with a faint southern accent finished checking Sam's pulse, then stood staring down at his sleeping patient.

  “Are you telling me McKade was hallucinating? We're talking about a man with fifteen years of field experience and a chestful of medals.”

  The surgeon shrugged. “We see it all the time in postsurgical patients. Anesthesia and pain leave them disoriented. They wake up and see …things.” He nodded to his worried nurse. “You can go now, Eileen. You did the right thing, calming him down, then paging me.”

  “What about the cut on his arm?” Howe said after the door had closed. “Did my officer imagine that, too?”

  “As the nurse said, he'd been struggling. He could have caught the needle when he tore out his IV.”

  “I don't want guesses, Doctor. You've got one hour to tell me exactly what caused that slash on his arm.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Admiral Howe looked up at the sound of angry voices echoing down the hallway. He raised a brow at the surgeon.

  “The senator from Montana has been camping out near the nursing station, hoping for news. He's becoming very persistent.”

  Howe chewed angrily on his unlit cigar. “Doesn't the man have legislation to shape, interviews to give? More votes to buy?” he added under his breath.

  “I've put him off, Admiral, but he's getting nasty. He keeps trying to sneak onto the floor.”

  “Trust me, the man has been sneaking around from his first day as assistant to the attorney general of Montana.” The admiral listened to the echo of angry questions. They were soon drowned out by another voice, one that Howe recognized well. So the president's aide had tracked McKade here, too.

  FUBAR was the expression that came to mind.

  There was going to be hell to pay. Unless someone pulled a truckload of strings, Sam McKade was going to become a political football.

  Not on his watch, the grizzled officer swore. After flying a desk on the Pentagon's E-wing for the last thirteen years, Admiral Howe knew whose strings to pull.

  The door opened. A Navy guard looked in, his face carefully expressionless. “Sorry to intrude, sir, but Senator Jeffries is making a fuss out here. Also, your son is downstairs in the lobby waiting to take you to your physical.”

  “To hell with my physical.”

  The guard cleared his throat. “Lt. Howe said to remind you that you've postponed twice this month, sir. If you don't come down, he said he's coming up.”

  “Later,” the admiral snapped.

  What he meant was never.

  He glared at Sam's surgeon, including him in the orders that followed. “This patient is to be kept completely isolated. I want one of my guards in the room with him at all times.”

  The surgeon said nothing, and the guard waited impassively. Only Admiral Howe knew the reason for all the secrecy.

  During three months of deep cover work in California and Mexico, Sam McKade had targeted serious problems in the Navy's weapons research program at China Lake. He was on his way to report in person to Admiral Howe and his staff when he'd jumped aboard that school bus. Now three months of highly sensitive information was locked inside his head.

  Admiral Howe had to keep his asset alive—and awake— long enough to convey the results of his investigation.

  Howe left the surgeon to his work and strode off the ward with the senator close behind. “Admiral, I must protest this high-handed—”

  “Later,” he barked, barreling into the elevator.

  He found his son pacing restlessly at the first-floor nursing station.

  “How's he doing?” his son asked.

  “You know better than to ask for that kind of information.”

  Lt. Peter Howe glared suspiciously at his father. “Don't tell me you're planning to cancel another physical.”

  The admiral ignored the question, frowning at his son's cast. “How's the arm?”

  “It was a simple fracture. They say I'll be back to work in about two weeks. Stop changing the subject. Your doctor's been holding all his patients for the last hour so he could fit you in, and you're not missing another physical.”

  The admiral sighed. Physicals were worse than piloting a rowboat in a force-ten gale. After the annoying questions, they got out the gloves and the real torment began.

  Suddenly the admiral smiled. Maybe a physical was a good idea after all. Even the president's top aide couldn't follow him into an examining room while he was getting gowned and prepped for a rectal exam.

  “Miss my physical? I wouldn't dream of it.” Howe hid a smile at the surprise on his son's face. “Now, enough about my health. Tell me about this new task force you've been assigned to. Better yet, come home for dinner tonight and give me the full story.”

  Chapter Seven

  ANNIE'S FAX MACHINE CHATTERED NONSTOP FOR THE NEXT FOUR days. In between making final arrangements for Sam's arrival, Izzy scanned the incoming flood of reports and schedules. A Navy doctor was to accompany Sam on the flight, and Annie had already faxed him a list of questions.

  Next had come the question of security. Turning over her guest list had pained Annie keenly, but Izzy had explained it was necessary. Since Annie suspected he could assemble the information from other sources, she'd finally given in.

  Not that she thought the honeymooners in suite 36 posed a threat to world freedom. On the other hand, maybe the rabbits did.

  It was almost two in the morning when Annie finally walked Izzy to her guesthouse, which was separated from the main house by a courtyard and a small garden. Hiding a yawn, she checked that he had fresh towels, then added a down comforter.

  “Anything new I should know about?”

  “Nothing crucial. Sam's itinerary is set, barring any lastminute medical complications. They're still watching that metal plate in his knee.” He frowned. “I know you haven't had a lot of time to deal with this. Why don't you catch some extra sleep in the morning while I familiarize myself with the resort and your staff?”

  “Can't.” Annie fought off another yawn. “I'm a basket case without my morning run. After that I have two honeymooning couples arriving, and I want to be on hand to greet them.”

  “Your call.
” Izzy took the stack of towels and tossed the comforter on the couch. “Just remember, as far as your staff knows, I'm here to handle the upgrades on your computer system and check out resort security, but I'm fully prepared to handle whatever else you want to throw at me.” He took a sleek laptop computer from his flight bag and set it carefully on the dresser. “Sam's going to need you a heck of a lot more than he needs me, so consider me at your disposal. I can handle followups, guest bookings, and inventory checks. I can even calculate your payroll.”

  “Something tells me doing payroll's not in your usual job description,” Annie mused.

  “I put in some time on a cruise ship last year. It was an interesting experience.”

  “Why am I thinking murder, mayhem, and national security threats?”

  His lips curved. “Beats me. Let's just say, I know the drill.”

  “I'm sure it would make an interesting story. Then again, you're probably not allowed to discuss any of it.”

  Izzy smiled and said nothing, pointing to Annie's cell phone. “Remember to keep that with you. It's programmed so all you have to do is punch the star key if you need me.”

  “I seriously doubt that I'll have any emergencies involving inventory or staff payroll.” She examined the high-tech phone as if it might bite her. “On the other hand, if my test pilot doesn't agree to ditch his stash of gin, I may need you to escort him from the premises.”

  “Not a problem.” Izzy finished checking the room, then headed back to the door. “After you.”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I'll see you to your house.”

  “That's not necessary. It's just across the courtyard and we haven't had a robbery here in ten years.”

  “I'm glad to hear it, but from now on it's SOP.”

  “Silly old plan?”

  Izzy's eyes glinted. “Standard operating procedure.”

  Annie went very still. “Is Sam in some kind of danger?”

  “There's no reason to think so.”

  “In that case, am I?”

  Izzy continued to stand in the doorway. “None that we're aware of.”

  “Then why all these precautions?”

  Izzy motioned her outside, all the time scanning the darkness. Annie realized he had memorized the layout of the resort and its outlying buildings. Beneath his engaging facade, the man had a razor-sharp intelligence and years of solid experience. Annie was also sure that most of his work was classified.

  Why had the Navy sent a smart, experienced operative to protect a wounded man from possible media exploitation?

  It didn't add up.

  Surf rumbled in the distance as they cut through the dark courtyard. “Well?”

  “Twenty million viewers saw Sam save that bus. The Navy can use that kind of good publicity.”

  “It's better than sexual harassment suits,” Annie murmured. “So they're going to get as much mileage as possible out of their newest hero.”

  Izzy moved a branch out of Annie's way. “Every journalist in America wants a piece of this story. If his location is leaked, Summerwind is going to be knee-deep in Mike Wallace wannabes.”

  Annie frowned. If Izzy was right, Sam could lose the peace and quiet he needed for recovery, and she would lose all her high-profile clients, who guarded their privacy obsessively. “What's the problem? The Navy has taken precautions so that no one will know Sam is here.” She stopped in the darkness, struck by a sudden, uneasy thought. “Unless there's a slip at your end.”

  Izzy said nothing.

  “That's the real reason you're here, isn't it? Somehow the news has gotten out.”

  They were outside the garden around her house now. Moonlight had turned the hollyhocks into a row of dancing silver petals. After scanning the darkness, Izzy climbed the steps, tried Annie's door, and frowned.

  “I told you to keep this locked.” Before she could protest, he stepped inside, switched on the inner light, and vanished.

  Another security check, Annie realized.

  Some powerful people were taking Sam's safety very seriously. But she wanted the whole story, not a carefully edited civilian version. When Izzy reappeared, she was waiting, arms crossed. “I agreed to help Sam, but I didn't agree to take on a bodyguard, no matter how helpful. I also don't like having the Navy's mess dumped in my lap.”

  “I've told you everything I know.”

  Oddly, Annie believed him. “What about the leak?”

  “Let the experts handle that.”

  She fingered the sleek cell phone. “All this cloak-and-dagger stuff feels ridiculous.”

  “When you accepted Sam's care, you accepted the whole package,” Izzy said gently. “As far as the Navy's concerned, that's nonnegotiable.”

  “In other words, tough.” Annie's voice was tight. “If I had any sense, I'd back out now.”

  “I don't think so. You care too much.”

  She took a slow breath, trying to gauge his expression in the half-light. “Why is he so important?”

  “He's the Navy's biggest hero,” Izzy said softly. “He's also the man you're going to put back together.”

  “What else is Sam Mitchell?”

  “His real name is McKade.” Izzy walked her to the door.

  “Sleep well, Annie. Be sure to lock up after me.”

  SECOND BY SECOND.

  He drifts, slipping down into dreams.

  Instead of a hospital bed, Sam McKade finds a place where torn ligaments, battered knee, and burning shoulder are forgotten, a place with golden sun and waves slapping on a fiberglass hull. Here are calm seas and wind out of the west as he drifts with sails slack.

  It is good to be in that place, wherever it is, with the smell of the sea in his face.

  His mind clicks, a new image rising. He recognizes her scent even before he sees her face, challenge in her eyes and laughter floating on the steady wind. The teak deck rocks gently as she walks toward him, barefoot, wearing his old 49ers jersey, a copy of the one Montana wore on his run to glory.

  He is on the verge of gruff questions and reckless promises in that moment. He hovers on the brink of emotions too dangerous to explore.

  But she gives him no time, tossing a wet fish at his chest. “There's dinner. Better get going, ace.”

  He catches the fish in one hand, flings it high over his head, back into the blue water, never taking his eyes from her face. “I have a better idea.”

  Stripping off his T-shirt, shucking his sneakers, he comes for her, scooping her up and leaning dangerously over the rail.

  Her eyes are huge. “You wouldn't!”

  “Afraid I would.”

  His mind clicks again, fast forwarding to Annie's body locked against him as he drops over the rail, savoring the cool slap of the sea when they hit.

  Like a precious cargo he carries her back to the surface, already peeling away the red jersey and tonguing the cool skin beneath until she shivers against him, presses hard, wanting what he wants.

  Click-click.

  Images race. Her legs long and bare as she licks warm marshmallows from his fingers, laughing at their mess.

  Click-click.

  Her body bent above him, first tentative, then strong with need that leaves her panting, searching, straining.

  Click-click.

  Their fingers locked in the bright flare of blood and muscle and his sudden knowledge that she is crying. But she never explains and he is too careful to ask questions as they lie spent beneath a world of stars.

  Click-click.

  Again the memories, this time in broken conversation.

  “I have to go back too many guests four meetings tomorrow a new receptionist—

  —stay—

  —interviewing a chef meeting my sister for lunch ordering a dozen chairs for the—

  —stay, Annie—

  I can't no I can't I really can't—”

  Collapsing on the deck, their clothes in a tangle, the sky black silk shot through with hot white stars
as he pulls her down, down to meet his body, hard with desire.

  Click-click.

  Click-click.

  The images race by as Sam McKade tosses in his hospital bed far away from Summerwind's quiet cove. The memories burn hot and sharp as stars—Canopus, Vega, and Orion with his belt of fire.

  But like stars at dawn, the images fade and break and he wakes, knowing somehow that in waking he will forget not only her name but everything else that truly matters.

  HE OPENS HIS EYES IN A COLD HOSPITAL ROOM. HE LIES BATHED in sweat, feeling something move close.

  When he reaches up, the thing with no name flows through his fingers, elusive as sea wind, the what or who or why of it lost beyond reclaiming. He is left with a sadness beyond words.

  Chapter Eight

  FIVE.

  Six.

  Seven.

  Annie's brain slowly began to clear as she finished her first set of predawn stretches. Mist curled around her, ghosting through the twisted cypress trees above the beach.

  She had to forget the cloak-and-dagger stuff. Her sleep had been fitful, broken by unsettling dreams. Being around Izzy was making her paranoid.

  As she jogged in place, two otters played a game of touch football in the kelp beds, and she felt her tension lift. Everywhere she looked was sand and sea. She'd loved this beach since she was old enough to paddle through the surf and watch a pod of dolphins click out indecipherable questions. Summerwind commanded a view of twenty miles of coast and Annie savored that beauty, turning slowly, letting the wind play over her. There was no place more beautiful.

  She turned to find Izzy rounding the path from the resort, his nylon jacket snapping in the wind.

  Who else? Annie thought. Her staff knew that her morning runs were sacrosanct, disturbed for nothing less than fire, bankruptcy, or earthquakes.

  She waited with her hands on her hips. “I run alone, Mr. Teague.”

  “Not anymore you don't, Ms. O'Toole.”

  Polite but relentless, Annie thought. “That's ridiculous.”

  Izzy raised his hands, palms up. “Rules.”

  Fuming, Annie set off at a hard clip. When she glanced back, Izzy was maintaining a three-yard distance. Curious, she speeded up.