My Spy

by Christina Skye

  “No need. I handled it just fine my own way.” Annie swayed slightly and decided sitting down would be a good idea. “Name another time.”

  Taylor drummed her fingers on the carved oak coffee table. “High school, freshman year. You sneaked out during second period study hall. You made a rope out of panty hose, as I recall. I never could figure out where you got them.”

  Annie smiled faintly. “Stole them. Raided the locker rooms while the seniors were at basketball practice. Best fun I ever had.” Her smile faded. “Did you hear that?”

  “You mean the part about the senior basketball practice?”

  “No, the part about the best fun I've ever had, which is seriously pathetic. What have I been doing for twenty-seven years if stealing panty hose is my highest idea of fun?”

  “I'll tell you what.” Taylor gripped her hand. “You helped Mom and Dad build something special here. You were their rock, Annie. Both of them said that.”

  “Yeah.” Annie rolled her shoulders. “A rock. Big deal.”

  “Hey, take that back, pal. It is a big deal. Summerwind is one special place,” Taylor said hotly. “People love it here. They have fun, they learn things, and they go away feeling better. That's the best part of all.”

  Annie glared at her empty glass. “So what?”

  Taylor studied Annie carefully. “Is this some kind of hormone thing?”

  “What's that supposed to mean? You're the one who turns into Bride of Frankenstein for three days every month.”

  “I know. That's why you're starting to frighten me. You're supposed to be the steady, calm O'Toole sister. Floods, earthquakes, tax audits—nothing shakes you. There must be a law that says Annie O'Toole can't agonize over the wasted opportunities of life.”

  “Why?”

  “Hell, I don't know. Because that's the way it's always been.”

  Annie set down her glass with a snap. “That's about to change.”

  “You're serious, aren't you?”

  “Should I start quoting Richard III?”

  “Well, now, this calls for serious ammunition.” Taylor pulled out a new bottle. “Single malt, eight years in lovely oak caskets. Here's to the death of the noble-minded and long-suffering Annie O'Toole.”

  “Didn't you tell me not to mix port and scotch?”

  Taylor shrugged. “You only live once. Of course, you might curse me in the morning.” She frowned as she opened the bottle. “So no-good Tommy Clanahan put that frog in my locker. Who knew?” She filled Annie's glass, then her own. “Any idea where little old Tommy is now?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Little old Tommy weighs about four hundred and fifty pounds and runs a car dealership in San Jose. Word is, if you renege on a loan, Tommy will come lean on you.” Taylor grinned. “Literally.”

  “What about his high school sweetheart?”

  “Lou's an exotic dancer in Seattle. Something to do with snakes. I actually interviewed her for my last book.”

  “Maybe Tommy's frog turned her on.” Annie took another drink and studied her toe ring, which she had come to like hugely.

  “Lou is one sharp customer. In her line of work, you have to be part psychiatrist, part psychic. If she doesn't tune in to her customers' fantasies inside three minutes, she doesn't make the big bucks.”

  Annie frowned. She, on the other hand, knew next to nothing about tuning in to fantasies—her own or anyone else's.

  Take Sam's, for example.

  Her stomach went quivery at the memory of their last out-of-control encounter in her living room. He still had amazing hands.

  And they'd been mere seconds away from …

  Definitely don't go there.

  “So what's big in the fantasy department these days, according to an exotic dancer in Seattle?”

  “Male or female fantasies?”

  “Male.”

  “Anyone particular in mind?”

  Annie glared at her sister over the rim of her glass. “None of your business.”

  “Fine. Just fine,” Taylor said soothingly. A smile flirted around her mouth. “Don't suppose it's the man you're shacked up with? Denzel, who's checking your wires.”

  “I told you—”

  “Okay, okay.” Taylor sat back, crossed her legs thoughtfully. “Fishnet stockings are big this year.”

  “With what?” Annie looked confused.

  “With nothing.”

  Annie stared down at her legs, one eyebrow raised. “How do you hold them up?”

  “Garters are selling like hotcakes.”

  Annie sat some more, considering. “That's all?”

  “That's the word in Seattle.”

  Annie shook her head. “They must be drinking too much Starbucks out there. That's … well, nobody in their right mind would dress like that.”

  “It isn't exactly a ballet recital,” Taylor said carefully. “It's just you and him.”

  Annie stiffened. “Who said anything about me? This is a general discussion of social trends.”

  “Sure.” Taylor stuck her tongue in her cheek. “A general discussion. Speaking generally, I hear bondage is pretty big too.”

  “Bondage? That's disgusting. Depraved. What woman wants to be tied up?”

  “Not the woman,” Taylor said patiently. “The guy.”

  Annie stared at the fire. Now it was her turn to drum her fingers on the coffee table. “You mean that she gets to tie him up? To do whatever she wants to him until he …”

  “That's the general idea.”

  Annie took a substantial drink of scotch, choking back a cough. “How do you lead into something like that? You don't just pull out a rope and say, ‘Lie down, honey, time for some nice bondage.’ ”

  “With the right guy, you might not have to say anything.”

  Annie sank back against the couch. “No, it would never work. I'd get nervous and throw up.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, a person would get nervous and probably throw up. Not me. Not anyone I know.”

  “Annie.”

  “This is just general supposition.”

  “Annie.” This time Taylor said the word firmly, reaching for her sister's arm. “Being in love and wanting to turn up the heat is nothing to be ashamed about.”

  “Love,” Annie squawked, “who said anything about love? One minute we're discussing recreational trends and the next minute you're talking about amore with a full orchestral background.” She stood jerkily. “If a person wants to know about current fantasies, why can't you leave it at that? What's wrong with a few simple, sordid fantasies?”

  “Nothing.”

  “In my book, love is a four-letter word. Love is unpredictable and messy.”

  Taylor sighed loudly.

  “You don't believe me?”

  “You've always been transparent, Annie. You were the one who cried at weddings and went nuts at the World Series playoffs. It's just the way you're made.”

  “Maybe I've changed,” Annie snapped. “Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf. Why can't I have some fun?”

  “No reason at all.”

  Annie glared at her empty glass. “And for the record, my life's great, absolutely great. I finally meet the man of my dreams, but he proceeds to vanish without a word. After that, he nearly dies before a viewing audience of millions, only to reappear in the dead of night, strapped to a gurney.” Annie swallowed hard. “He also has no memory that we've ever met. What's not to like about that?”

  Taylor sat up straight. “What man of your dreams?”

  “Forget it. I didn't breathe a word, understand? Not a word.”

  “But you just said—”

  Annie focused hard, realizing her slip. “I said nothing.”

  “You did! Tell me every detail.”

  “There are no details.”

  “Why, is he in the mob?”

  “He's not in the mob. No one's in the mob. In fact there is no one.”

  Taylor stalked to the phone.

  “What are you
doing?”

  “I'm calling Buzz. Only a policeman could get you out of this mess.”

  “I don't need any help, Taylor. I'll be just fine.”

  “There you go again,” Taylor said angrily. “The great Annie O'Toole wouldn't dream of accepting help from anyone, not even her sister. Make that especially from her sister.”

  Annie turned slowly. “I'm picking up hostility here. Lots of hostility.”

  “There's more where that came from.” Taylor slammed down the phone. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I might want to change, too? Maybe I'm tired of being the flighty one, the one who skips out at the first hint of responsibility.”

  Annie opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I'm not stopping you.”

  “Of course you are. One saint in the family is fine, two is overkill. It's all been arranged: you get to be Mother Teresa and I get to be Goldie Hawn in Protocol. ” Taylor pulled her knees up, hugging her chest. “I'm the one who was caught smoking cigarettes behind the library in third grade. I'm the one who dyed my hair green for senior prom, then made a miniskirt out of duct tape.”

  Annie was stunned to see that Taylor was crying, gulping as she stammered out the words.

  “But I thought you liked being outrageous,” Annie said, totally confused now.

  “I had to do something for attention. You were always there, Miss Picture-Perfect Straight A. Let's face it, you were the bluechip standard as far as this town goes. While you were busy being the Rock, I was frantically playing the Rebel. Being outrageous was my only escape from total invisibility.”

  Annie felt her irritation zing away like a punctured balloon. “Why didn't you say something?”

  “It wasn't your fault that you were perfect.” Taylor gave a shaky laugh. “Besides, I soon discovered that having wild, abandoned sex in the backseat of a souped-up red Camaro had a way of taking the edge off the pain.”

  “I'm sure it did.” Annie knew a moment of pure jealousy. Why hadn't she had wild, abandoned sex in the back of a red Camaro—or any other car? She sat without moving for a long time, then sank down beside her sister on the couch. “So what do we do now?”

  “I don't know about you, but I'm going to finish this glass of scotch, get really drunk, and throw up painfully in the morning.”

  “Sounds good to me. What about after that?”

  “I'm open for suggestions.”

  “What about this hostility we've been nursing for years?”

  Taylor shrugged. “I'll let you scream at me if I can scream at you.”

  Annie refilled her glass and raised it high. “You go first.”

  Taylor cleared her throat and summoned a low growl that climbed into full gear as Annie joined in. The noise grew to a shrill crescendo, then broke into raucous laughter.

  In the silence that followed, the two sat side-by-side, warmed by the golden dance of the fire. The scotch wasn't hurting their mood either.

  Taylor shook her head. “Don't blame me if you have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow.”

  “I won't.”

  “That's what they all say.”

  “Care to elaborate on the wild, abandoned sex?”

  Taylor sniffed. “Only after I've had a few more drinks.”

  “You know, all these years I've envied you. You had flair and imagination and you weren't afraid of anything.”

  “I was a misfit,” Taylor said softly. “I was afraid of everything. ”

  Annie stared at the dancing embers. “Not to me. To me, you were the perfect big sister.” She blinked hard. “I think you still are. To me you were never a screwup.”

  “Oh, hell, Annie. There you go again, being Mother Teresa.”

  They were both crying, both a little unsteady, when they sank into an awkward hug.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  DAMP AIR BRUSHED ANNIE'S FACE, SLICING IN OFF THE SEA. Gasping, she wobbled off Taylor's porch, then stopped. “I'm not supposed to do this.”

  “Get drunk?” Taylor asked, equally wobbly.

  “Go back to the resort alone.” Staring into the darkness, she replayed Izzy's warning.

  Taylor clutched her arm. “This is too cool. Is he on some kind of covert operation?”

  “Hardly.”

  “So who is he?”

  “I can't tell you that.”

  “Why?”

  “I can't tell you that either.”

  “What can you tell me?” Taylor asked irritably.

  Annie thought it over. “He has one cute butt.”

  “Maybe I'd better check out this guy myself. Come on, I'll drive you back in the golf cart.” Decidedly unsteady, the two made their way along the porch to Taylor's small stucco garage.

  “Are you sure?” Annie wondered if driving was a good idea. Speaking for herself, she was seeing double.

  She frowned at the garage light.

  Make that triple.

  Of course Taylor had a lot more experience with this alcohol stuff.

  Annie stared at the gleaming vehicle. “I don't know about this.”

  “What?” Taylor slid behind the wheel. “This will be a cinch.” She waved one hand. “Head 'em up, move 'em out. Don't worry, the golfmobile only does seven mph.”

  Annie had barely fastened the flimsy seat belt when Taylor shot across the driveway, front-ended the lawn mower, and jumped the curb, burying the front wheels in a jade plant.

  So much for head 'em up, move 'em out.

  Taylor grabbed her arm. “You okay?”

  “Other than the whiplash?” Annie stood unsteadily, eyeing the fresh furrow in the lawn. “Martha Stewart wouldn't like this.”

  “I never cared for the woman. C'mon, let's walk.”

  Why not? Anyone within half a mile had already heard the crash of the golf cart. Secrecy and stealth weren't exactly an option.

  Taylor took her arm as they lurched down the path, which seemed considerably darker and steeper than it had four hours ago. “Tell me more about your mystery man.”

  “Can't.”

  “C'mon. I'm drunk, but I'm not that drunk. He has to be the man in the yacht.” Taylor smiled darkly. “I also know he has a fabulous butt.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “You did, about five minutes ago.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Annie was having a hard time getting that particular image out of her head, but she plodded on in silence. Taylor leaned closer, her voice falling. “Don't look now, but we're being watched.”

  “Where?” Annie whispered.

  “By the avocado tree.”

  When Annie saw the outline of broad shoulders in a nylon windbreaker, her tension lifted. “It's okay. I know him.”

  “Your mystery man?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I want some answers.”

  “Don't ask.” Annie wasn't feeling so good. The cold air was making her dizzy, and her knees were showing an unaccountable tendency to lean to the right.

  “Here he comes,” Taylor whispered as Izzy loomed out of the foliage. Annie wasn't sure, but he seemed to be fighting a smile.

  “Evening, ladies. Nice night for a walk.”

  “Grand.” Annie focused hard on walking in a straight line.

  Beside her, Taylor was busy studying Izzy. “We met this afternoon. You're here to redo Annie's security.”

  “That's right.”

  “Have you ever written a book?”

  “Can't say as I have.”

  Taylor stared some more. “Didn't I see you at the Edgar Awards last year?”

  “I'm afraid not.”

  Annie sighed. “Give it up, Taylor. You don't know him, and he's not a writer. He does security.” Among other things, Annie thought.

  Taylor frowned. “But what else is he?”

  Annie stopped walking and looked at Izzy. “What else are you?”

  Izzy gave a slow smile. “Tonight I'm whatever you want me to be, ladies.”

  The answer was so outrageous that Annie b
egan to laugh, and when she laughed, she lost focus on her knees and plowed into Taylor, who fell against an oleander brush. After hard concentration, the two managed to pull themselves upright.

  “Feeling no pain, are you?” Izzy drifted closer. Annie was pretty sure it was to render aid if needed.

  She was having none of it.

  She drew herself up to her full height. “We can manish— manage perfectly on our own, thank you.”

  “No problem. I'll just hang back here in case you need me.”

  “Won't,” Annie said.

  “Might,” Taylor muttered, hooking her arm through Annie's and squinting down the hill.

  “Want to tell me about that crash I heard?” Izzy followed them down the gravel path.

  “Golf cart.” Taylor sniffed. “Never did like the game. Hit a stupid little ball in a stupid little hole. Curse a lot while you do it.”

  Izzy coughed. Annie thought he might be muffling a laugh.

  “I know we've met before.” Taylor studied Izzy again. “Were you in San Diego last March?”

  “No.”

  “What about New Orleans at the library conference?”

  “I'm afraid I missed that one.”

  “I know your voice.” Taylor smacked her forehead. “Why can't I place it?”

  “You don't know him,” Annie said wearily, tugging her sister down the path. “Give it up. He's from one of those three-letter agencies.” Annie frowned. “I think.”

  “No kidding.”

  Izzy said nothing, his face carefully expressionless.

  “If you were, you couldn't talk about it. I know because I wrote a book about that once.”

  “You wrote a book about everything once,” Annie muttered.

  They were at the front of Annie's casita when Taylor stopped and snapped her fingers—after a little struggle. “The Farewell Code.”

  Izzy's brow rose. “I beg your pardon.”

  “That's where I heard your voice, researching my last book.”

  “You must be confusing me with someone else.” Izzy produced a key and slipped inside, then return to hold the door open.

  “I never forget a research source.” Taylor was indignant. “You were the one who helped me with the encryption techniques. We did most of the communication via E-mail, but we talked on the phone twice. That's where I heard your voice.”

  Annie wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the light, but Izzy seemed to stiffen, looking uncomfortable.