Drew had told her in a panic situation to just jab the Kubotan where she could do the most damage. Jab it anywhere with as much force as she could. Get free. Get loose and get away.
Anywhere was likely to puncture the old man’s paper-thin skin. She tried not to think about it.
“Like the view?” she said to distract him.
The old man cackled and coughed. “Love it. You have nice legs, too. Pity I have to slit your throat. Messy business. Damn trembling hands. I’m not the shot I used to be or I’d have gotten you from the parking lot.”
She felt his arm tense as he prepared to rip the knife across her throat.
“You’ll never get away with this!” She lunged her weapon back into the old man’s left thigh.
He groaned, dropped her right arm, and grabbed his leg. The pressure on the knife against her throat lessened. She cocked her hand for another blow.
Her focus had narrowed to her fight for life, to just the two of them. The rest of the store—everything else—ceased to exist.
His age showed. His reactions were slow. She stabbed him again.
He grunted. His hand fell away. The knife clattered to the floor. He clutched his chest and gasped for breath.
She stared at him.
His face went ashen, definitely grayer than the old-man pallor it had been before.
A heart attack? Now? She stared at him, amazed at her good fortune.
The sound of a familiar voice and the firm clasp of a friendly hand on her shoulder snapped her out of her daze.
“Pity. It appears the old man is having a heart attack.”
Staci looked into the smiling eyes of NCS chief Emmett Nelson. She caught the slight movement of him stuffing a syringe up his sleeve. He’d always had the deft fingers of a magician. Some said he’d been trained in sleight of hand by one of the world’s greatest illusionists.
“Put the Kubotan away, Staci,” he said as he picked up the knife and stuffed it in his jacket. “I’m just about to call for help. We don’t want any questions or anyone wondering why you jabbed an old man with a Kubotan and gave him a heart attack.”
Her mouth fell open. “Em!” She threw herself into him and hugged him. “What are you doing here?”
He looked a little sheepish. “Keeping an eye on you. I got a text from Drew that you’d veered off plan.”
Next to them, the old man fell to the ground.
Emmett gave him a pitiless look. “Don’t worry, he won’t make it.” He dropped into a squat next to the old guy. “You’ve made your last kill, Grimley. Tell me who you’re working for. Who hired you to kill Staci?”
Grimley gurgled and clutched his chest, but didn’t speak.
Em shook him. “Who? Tell me! There’s no need to protect your employer now.” He shook him again. “Come on, old man.”
Grimley’s eyes glassed over.
Em shook his head, let go of Grimley, slapped his knee, and swore beneath his breath. “He’s too far gone. He’s not going to tell us anything.”
Staci wondered for just a second if whatever Em had administered was laced with truth serum and whether Em had miscalculated its effect on feeble, old Grimley.
Em looked up at Staci. “Staci, keys. Put them away.”
Staci stuffed the key ring into her purse.
Em shot Grimley a cold look full of hatred. “Time to get this performance over with.” He turned to Staci. “Ready to play your part?”
He appraised her as she nodded. She evidently passed the test.
“Good. Dial nine-one-one, slowly,” he said and turned back to Grimley. He took a deep breath. “Help!” Emmett yelled, sounding convincingly worried, upset, and urgent. “He’s having a heart attack. We need help!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The two old women came around the corner just as Staci hung up with 911.
“Stop, thief!” they yelled and pointed at Staci. “She stole his wallet.”
They stopped their scooters and their faces went pale when they saw Grimley on the ground.
Emmett knelt beside Grimley and opened Grimley’s shirt, ostensibly trying to help him breathe and listen for a heartbeat. Staci doubted Em would administer CPR, though he undoubtedly knew how.
Emmett pulled Grimley’s wallet from the old man’s pant pocket and held it up for them to see. “You mean this wallet?”
The two ladies looked confused. The paramedics rushed in. Emmett stood and stepped aside.
The store manager appeared, looking shaken. “What a day! A deadly spider in produce! Nearly scared my staff to death. Oranges everywhere. An oil spill on aisle five and now this!” He looked at Emmett. “Did the spider scare him to death, too?”
Emmett shook his head and gave a performance worthy of a Daytime Emmy. “Looks like a heart attack. I think that accounts for your oil spill. He lost control in the baking aisle. This woman says he was chasing her on his scooter.” Em gave Staci a sympathetic look. “I think the old man lost consciousness and control of the scooter. It just looked as if he was chasing her.”
The store manager looked at Staci. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just shaken. I saw that spider and ran. It was in the bananas. Did you get it?” She didn’t mean to sound so vindictive.
The store manager nodded. “We’re turning it over to the proper authorities. Probably came in with our shipment of bananas.”
Under different circumstances, Staci would have set him straight about the spider’s origin.
Thanks to Emmett’s story, no one suspected anything other than natural causes as the old man fought for his quickly ending life. She’d heard rumors Emmett had been trained at Juilliard. Seeing him in action, she no longer doubted them.
There were all kinds of gossip regarding Emmett. That he’d been in Special Forces and had single-handedly disarmed a nuclear bomb. That his mother was a Hollywood makeup artist who worked on films and that’s where he’d learned disguise techniques. That he’d been born on the planet Krypton.
That last one probably wasn’t true. Probably.
He put a fatherly arm around Staci as the EMTs hooked the old man up to a portable defibrillator. Maybe it was just Staci’s imagination, but she thought Em, beneath his outwardly concerned exterior, seemed way too pleased when the EMT yelled “clear” and zapped the old man with a futile heart-starting jolt of electricity. The poor old guy’s whole body jumped and shuddered.
Staci looked away.
“Nothing like seeing the enemy squirm,” Em whispered in her ear.
Nope, not her imagination.
The EMTs loaded the old man onto a gurney and wheeled him off to a waiting ambulance, still zapping away.
“Futile,” Em whispered in her ear as if sharing wise words and consoling her. “He’ll be dead before they’re out of the parking lot.”
Staci felt pale and cold, and couldn’t stop shaking.
“You’re white,” the store manager said to her. “You need something to eat and drink. Go to the café. Order whatever you want. On the house.” He looked around and frowned. “Did you have a cart, or a list? Any groceries are on us today, too.”
She gave him her list and told him about the cart she’d left behind.
“The groceries will be bagged and waiting for you at customer service. And please accept my apologies on behalf of the store. We’ve never had anything like this happen before.”
Yeah, probably because not that many spies’ wives shopped there. He seemed completely bewildered, poor man.
Emmett led Staci to the store café and pulled a chair out for her at a quiet, secluded corner booth. Knowing Emmett, the booth was probably out of view of any security cameras, too. Emmett had a knack for getting utmost privacy.
The store staff recognized her as the woman who’d found the spider and been “chased” by the old man. One of them brought her a glass of water. Em ordered a cup of coffee for himself and one for Staci.
When the coffee arrived, Staci pushed hers away. “I’m alr
eady a trembling wreck. The caffeine in that will send me over the edge.”
Em smiled and took a sip of his.
Emmett didn’t allow many people to call him Em. As far as Staci knew, she was the only one. Drew called him Chief, or Emmett, or sir. Somehow Staci had developed a rapport with the chief that allowed her to tease him. Maybe it was because she wasn’t one of his employees.
Em was a master of disguise. One day he could appear as a devastatingly handsome man somewhere between the ages of thirty and sixty. So hot and attractive that at one point Drew was jealous of the attention Em paid to Staci. After that, Em subtly toned down the handsome around her. Or so she noticed. No one knew his true age.
If he chose he could be painfully plain, almost invisible. Today he looked kind and fatherly, calming, reassuring.
Staci was sure that was all purely intentional, too.
“Do you think people are going to believe that story we told about the old man? What if someone looks at the store security cameras?” she asked Em.
He waved his hand as if cameras were no big deal. “Not a problem. Except for the cameras at the entrance, the rest are fakes. Decoys to discourage shoplifting.”
That was one relief, at least.
She switched to the more pressing topic. “Someone’s trying to kill me, Em. If you’re watching me for Drew, I’m sure you know all about it and how I’m staying at the condo with him.” Staci stared Em in the eye as she whispered to him. “The spider…” She shuddered. “I think it’s Bevilacqua.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Staci. It wouldn’t take much to make it look like the Bevil is after you.”
“But who else knows about the spiders?” She could barely control her trembling hands. She clutched her water glass and stared across the store to the dancing vegetables on the produce aisle sign.
“You talked in your sleep at the hospital. You screamed about spiders. It’s not common knowledge, but it’s available. We’ll catch whoever it is, Staci.”
She turned her gaze back on Em, wanting to believe him. “So you just carry a vial of digitalis around for fun, then? In case you need to save a vulnerable young woman from a murderous old man, and lethal force must look like natural causes?”
Em smiled and took a sip of coffee. “I’m always prepared. I keep everything handy in my spy kit. Poisons have many useful applications.”
He pushed her water toward her. “Take a sip of water and breathe deeply. I don’t need you fainting on me.”
“Since you’ve obviously talked to Drew, I suppose you know, too, that we’re pretending to be reconciled until we catch whoever’s after me,” Staci said. “It was the easiest way to explain why we’re hanging out together for now without arousing suspicion. Drew convinced me our ‘being together’ would help his cover and be safer for me. People are less suspicious of married men.”
Emmett nodded and smiled. “Too true.”
“I had lunch today to tell my mother the ‘good news.’ I wimped out. I didn’t tell her. Drew is going to be furious. I just couldn’t lie to her.”
“Of course you did,” Em said, cryptically.
Staci frowned. “Did what?”
“Lie to your mother.”
Her frown deepened. “I just told you I didn’t. I can’t lie, Em. You know I can’t. That’s why … why I can’t stay with Drew. Whatever he’s up to, I’ll blow it.”
Em reached across the table and patted her hand. “Everyone lies. It started with Adam and Eve. It comes as naturally to us as breathing. You just lied to your mother, your own mother, the woman who gave birth to you.” He pinned her with his gaze.
“I did not.”
“Did you tell her that someone tried to kill you yesterday?” His eyes danced, somehow both serious and amused at the same time.
“No, of course not.” She shook her head.
“That Drew stopped by?”
“No.”
“That you spent the night at his condo?”
“No way!”
“Then you’re lying, lying by omission, letting her believe an untruth—that you’re safe, and life is completely normal. And yet things have dramatically changed in the last forty-eight hours.”
She stared at him.
“Am I wrong?”
Unfortunately, he was spot-on and made a good point.
“Staci, lying by omission might just be your strong suit. Use it to your advantage. Whenever you’re faced with having to make a barefaced lie, tell the truth, as much as you can, and let the omission be your lie. You can handle that, can’t you?”
She nodded, uncertainly.
“In fact, you lied by omission to Drew this afternoon, in the parking lot before you came in. You told him you came straight here from lunch, which, of course, you didn’t.” Em gave her a piercing look.
Her heart raced. Of course he knew she’d been to Temporary Office Services. But how could he possibly know she hadn’t told Drew?
She swallowed hard. “I … I—”
“No need to make excuses to me. You got a job, didn’t you?”
She nodded. What was the point in trying to lie to him?
“As a temp,” she said. “At Attitude, Inc., where my stepfather works. My mother wants me to spy on her husband. She thinks he’s having an affair.”
Em had a truth-serum way about him that made her blurt things out.
He cocked an eyebrow, pursed his lips, and shook his head from side to side. “How long have they been married?”
She nodded. “Nearly fifteen years.”
“Men his age do stray. Midlife crisis,” he said. “Get Drew to help you. He’s pretty good at spying.” He winked at her.
“You mean tell him what I’m up to?”
“Why not? You said yourself you’re a terrible liar. You’re going to have to make some excuse for why you’re suddenly going back to work now. Get him to help you. Ask him for some pointers.” He grinned full-out so that only she could see. His eyes shone with excitement.
One thing was clear to Staci—Em loved spying to the core of his being.
“Make him buy you some gizmos, things to make the job easier. Try Spy Gear Seattle downtown. Listening ears, recorder pens, tracking devices!” He sighed happily. “You’ll love that place! We’ll make a spy out of you yet.”
Staci eyed him skeptically.
“Look, you’re living with a spy, take advantage of the situation. Have fun! Roll with it.”
He had a point, up until the have fun part. This was definitely not fun.
“Speaking of living with a spy,” she said. “I want out of this situation as soon as possible. Do you know what it’s like living with the husband you’re trying to divorce?”
Em looked as if he was trying to be sympathetic and not burst out laughing at her dilemma. “No, can’t say as I do. Can’t imagine it.” His eyes twinkled as he pulled his hand back from hers.
He turned serious. “Staci, you know how I feel about my agents divorcing. It’s bad business. Exes tend to talk and bad-mouth their former lovers. Not good in my business. Are you sure you couldn’t give your marriage another try? Now’s the prefect opportunity.”
She crossed her arms so that Em couldn’t see her start to tremble again. “No, I can’t, Em.”
Em stared at her. He could be so unnerving sometimes.
“Besides, I’d never talk,” she said.
He didn’t look convinced. “You know, sometimes I envy the old Soviets,” he said with a dreamy look in his eye. “If they had a security risk, they simply took it out.”
Staci froze. Very funny, Em.
Em laughed. “Kidding, Stace. You’ve got to learn to take a joke.”
If he was indeed joking. Staci wasn’t so sure.
“Put the divorce on the back burner. Stay with Drew for now. Until we know for certain why someone’s after you and who. It’s safest for you, and everyone else, if you’re with Drew.”
Staci glared at him. Staying with Drew wasn�
��t going to be easy. Mostly on her emotions. She wondered if it were possible to chase Drew away?
Em read her mind. “Wipe that evil look off your face. I need you to play nice and treat him well. Drew’s on an important mission. Under a lot of stress. Stress that would make most men crack.” His eyes danced as if he was enjoying himself immensely and there was some inside joke she was just outside of.
“Help me out, treat him well, and if you still want your divorce when this over”—he shrugged as if indifferent—“I’ll make sure it’s expedited and guarantee you a generous settlement.”
Staci eyed him warily.
“Resistance is futile,” he said when she didn’t respond. “Your divorce won’t happen unless I say it can.”
She believed him. The CIA had a way of making things happen. Or preventing them from happening. Ever.
“Define nice. Just how nice do I have to be to Drew?” she asked.
She liked specifics. When dealing with Em, it was always important to get the terms clarified up front. Otherwise, he’d wiggle out of his agreement.
One of the café staff came by with a pitcher of water and refilled their glasses. Em put on the expression of a person who’d just been through a traumatic experience.
“A girl after my own heart,” Em said to the woman with the pitcher.
Always a flirt!
The woman smiled at him and returned to the counter.
“Nice is like pornography,” he said to Staci when the woman was out of earshot. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
“That’s sufficiently vague,” she said. “Leaves you plenty of wiggle room.”
He smiled and glanced at his watch. “Coffee break’s over. Time to get back to work.”
Which reminded her, “My groceries. The manager said to stop by customer service.”
“I’ll help you out with them.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “I insist.”
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