This new sickening display of public affection between Sam and Linda made him rethink his strategy to warn Staci away from Sam. He couldn’t let anything slip, anything that might make Staci suspicious. Which meant he’d have to find some other way to protect her. Just until this afternoon. Then, if the mission went as planned, Sam wouldn’t be a danger to anyone but RIOT.
Jerry climbed aboard the plane, recited the safety instructions, pointed out the exits, and jumped into the cockpit. A few minutes later, they skimmed across Lake Union and became airborne just before water met land.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Linda said.
Staci murmured a response.
“Yeah, it’s a great view from up here.” Drew looked out the window. He was serious. “Awesome.”
Linda laughed. “No, well, yes sure, that too. But I meant about the four of us, all going off together to celebrate reunions.
“Two weeks ago you two were about to finalize your divorce and Sam and I were going through a rough patch. Now look at us!” Linda smiled fondly at Staci. “All happily reunited.”
Linda reached across and patted Staci’s hand. “This is such a pleasant difference from the last trip Sam and I took you on, Staci. Remember Westport in March? You were a different girl then, so sad and depressed. Nothing we did could cheer you up. Not even going out on Sam’s fishing boat, the Attitude and Latitude.” Linda winked at Drew. “She missed you too much.”
Staci frowned, looking as if she’d rather avoid the topic. “Of course I was depressed. I got horribly seasick, Mom! You escaped that particular misery because you begged off from fishing to go shopping, insisting Sam and I go so it would be like old times with Daddy.”
“I don’t like boats. Water’s not my thing,” Linda said, as if that justified things. “Just ask Sam.”
“She’s right. I don’t remember the last time she set foot on Attitude and Latitude.”
“Yeah, well, I remember my last time. It was horrible—windy and the river runoff was high, which made crossing the bar a nightmare even most professional fishermen avoided.” Staci turned an accusing eye on Sam.
“I don’t know what came over you. You’re usually more cautious.” She shook her head. “I spent most of the day belowdeck, groaning, trying to sleep it off and not toss my cookies while watching drawers and cupboards fly open and stuff pop out. I was lucky nothing beaned me. Good thing Sam had enough skill to bring us back in one piece. There were times during the day that I wondered.”
Sam grinned. “Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I limited out—rockfish and lingcod.”
Greg and Jake, the “father-and-son” fishermen, spun around in their seats and gave Drew and his family friendly waves.
Greg addressed Sam. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but sounds like you’re an avid fisherman. Are you taking a charter tomorrow?”
Sam laughed and nodded. “Taking one this afternoon and one tomorrow. Fishing’s the reason for this trip.”
“What are you after?” Greg asked.
Sam’s grin spread over his face. Once again Drew sensed a dangerous sense of elation in Sam, as if he were fooling everyone. “The usual—halibut, lingcod, rockfish.” Sam paused. His eyes glittered with greed. “Of course, I’d love a nice Tyee.”
A Tyee was a chinook salmon that weighed over thirty pounds. Sam is expecting a hell of a payoff, Drew thought grimly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Victoria, BC, sits on the south end of Vancouver Island, just off the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the shores of a fine harbor. Less than an hour after they left Seattle, Jerry pulled the Beaver into the Inner Harbor, bounced once on the water, and slid into a slot next to a dock on Government Street.
Finally, Canadian soil, Drew thought with satisfaction. He was already feeling the thrill of adrenaline course through his body as he thought of the mission going down this afternoon.
Sam didn’t have a fishing charter scheduled—he had a drop to make and a payoff to receive. Too bad for him it wouldn’t be going down as he’d planned.
Drew helped Jerry unload the bags and cheerily met up with his wife, mother-in-law, and Sam on the dock. Victorians liked to claim Victoria was more English than England. Maybe it was. All he knew was that he felt pumped, while acting as calm and stoic as a Brit.
“How would you like to get to the hotel, sweetheart?” Sam said to Linda. “Taxi, horse-drawn carriage, rickshaw?”
Linda slapped him playfully on the arm.
“I’m not joking. In Victoria, all means of transportation are available.” Sam kissed Linda on the cheek.
The whole phony display made Drew sick. Or would have if he weren’t so hardened to deceit. Drew suspected Sam planned to skip the country after his payoff. Drew doubted very much Sam planned to take Linda with him.
Drew pointed up the street. “The brewpub is that way, maybe half a mile. It’s a nice day. I say we walk.”
Staci nodded her agreement. “It’s beautiful weather and all our suitcases roll.”
She seemed happy, which gave Drew hope.
“No,” Sam insisted. “I think a carriage ride is in order. My treat.” He flagged a carriage.
They arrived at the Trumpet Brewpub and Hotel by horsepower. For the first time in a long time, Drew felt grateful to his stepfather-in-law. The carriage ride set the perfect romantic tone to start the weekend.
The Trumpet, however, was more masculine than romantic. He watched Staci’s face fall slightly at the dark wood interior, the overstuffed deep leather chairs in the lobby, the fishing motif and stuffed fish on the walls. Not exactly an anniversary getaway destination, especially as it reminded him, and probably Staci, too much of Sam’s taste in decor. Drew would have preferred somewhere more romantic, too. But deceptions must be adhered to. The Agency cover artist, Malene, had done a great job finding this place and setting the cover story in motion.
A jovial clerk at the front desk gave them their room keys. “Once you’re settled in, come on down for a few pulls of beer. Or would you prefer to start now?” He grinned at the ladies. “They’re on the house.”
Staci laughed. “Speaking for myself, I’d prefer to freshen up first.” She glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. “Besides, it’s only ten thirty. I never drink before noon.”
Drew loved the tinkle of her laugh. He found himself completely enamored of her. The quaint English atmosphere didn’t hurt. For Americans, particularly those in the Northwest, going to Victoria was like a mini vacation to England on the cheap.
The clerk laughed with Staci, not at her. “Clearly, you haven’t been hanging around a brewpub long enough.” He took a poke at Drew. “Haven’t you come to talk to the boss about starting a brewpub hotel yourself? First rule of marketing—school the wife and make sure she develops a taste for ale for breakfast. Served up with some bangers and mash it’ll hold you over until lunch well enough, ay?”
Drew grinned and shrugged. “Give me time. I’ve barely been on the job a week.”
“That long?” The clerk shook his head and gave them directions to their rooms.
It had been a feat to get the two couples rooms in the same hotel, close enough that Drew could keep an eye on Sam, yet far enough away to allow him some privacy with Staci. Linda had insisted they stay at the same hotel.
He carried Staci’s bag to the third floor and let her into their room. Once they were safely in, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him thoroughly.
“What did I do to deserve that?” he said.
“Oh, I don’t know? Maybe it was the chocolates. Maybe it was taking me along on this romantic mini spy-cation of yours.
“If only Mom and Sam weren’t along. Mom’s a garden maniac. She has us booked on a walking tour of Historic Victoria this afternoon and hopes to have time to tour Beacon Hill Park. She would have had us at Butchart, but she couldn’t get tour reservations until tomorrow.
“And she has an idea to tour the shops after that.”
“Sounds like a great
plan to me. You love doing all those things. Just don’t wear yourself out. Save a little something for me later. It is our anniversary.” He winked at her. “I’ve made dinner reservations at the Empress Room for seven. We’ll be having royal table service. Wear something tight, low-cut, and fabulous with nothing underneath. Buy something new if you have to. We’ll pretend we’re Bond and Vesper tonight.”
Staci kissed him lightly on the lips, just a brush. A feather-light touch that aroused him. He hoped it wasn’t the last one she ever gave him.
She laughed and shook her head. “Now, there’s a tragic love story to emulate. Have you forgotten your Bond lore? Vesper’s a double agent who betrays Bond, falls in love with him and wants his baby, then kills herself to save him from SMERSH assassins. And for all her trouble, he calls her a bitch. That’s the last line in the book, isn’t it?”
He squeezed her playfully. “Yeah, but I think Bond meant it affectionately.”
She raised a brow. “The bitch is dead now? That’s what you call affectionate?”
He laughed. “I’d never call you a bitch, baby. I don’t suppose you’d tell me if you’re a double agent. But you don’t have any SMERSH assassins after you, do you?”
“Well…”
He loved her sense of humor. “Okay, they might be part of a terrorist death squad, but they’re definitely not SMERSH.”
She kissed him on the cheek and pulled away, plopping on the bed and kicking off her sandals. “Yes, but there’s Sam—”
For a minute his heart stopped. She was so close to the truth, but he knew she meant something different.
“Stace, leave Sam to me. I’ll follow him and make sure he gets on that charter boat and isn’t meeting another mistress. You just enjoy yourself with your mom. And don’t go down any dark alleys or break away from the tour. I’ve called in a few favors from some Canadian agents up here who’ve promised to look out for you. One of them may or may not be one of your tour guides.”
“Thanks for the warning. As if I’m not already jumping at shadows. I hope this agent is well versed in botany and history. I’d hate to think everything I’m going to hear about historic Victoria or the gardens is simply a well-polished lie.”
“Well-polished lies are the best kind and can be extremely useful.” He sat down next to her and squeezed her thigh through her jeans, wishing she’d been wearing a skirt so he could feel the sexy tautness of her shapely, toned legs and the smoothness of her warm skin. “Don’t worry, the agent I’m thinking of is retired and old enough he may very well have witnessed Victoria’s founding.”
“You take such good care of me.” Staci’s expression softened. She smiled at him. “Do you really have time to chase after Sam? I thought you had spying to do.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, sorry, spying waits for no man, and no anniversary, either. I have a phony brewery meeting or two thrown in. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll be all yours at dinner. Promise.”
“What if Sam’s meeting his paramour on the fishing vessel? What if she’s a fisherwoman after his heart and his cushy document control engineer’s salary?”
“What if?” He grinned and pushed her back onto the bed.
* * *
Beacon Hill Park covered two hundred acres. Staci and Linda stood on the edge of a group of tourists at the park entrance as their botanical tour guide recited park facts. It was a good thing her mom had warned Staci to wear walking shoes. After a two-hour walking tour of the Victorian homes of James Bay, and only a brief stop for lunch, Staci wanted to collapse. Her mother, however, was all vivacity and sparkling, energetic happiness. Earlier, Linda had peppered the historic district tour guide with all manner of enthusiastic questions. She showed no sign of slowing down on this tour.
Cynically, Staci wondered how many of the answers were the truth. Oh, they had all sounded valid enough—informed, even. But given what Drew had said about retired CSIS agents giving tours, well … They were all professional liars, after all.
Frankly, though, she wondered at everything. Was this master gardener who was giving them their tour another CSIS agent? Where was Noe? She was half disappointed he hadn’t turned up yet. She’d thought he might be their garden tour guide, but no such luck.
The thin, elderly gentleman conducting their tour seemed completely harmless and looked incapable of protecting a fly, let alone her. Then again, Staci had underestimated the octogenarian assassin in the grocery store last week. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. But she would have felt better, safer, if Noe had turned up as their guide.
Noe, however, was probably off spying with Drew, doing the exciting, active-duty stuff rather than playing bodyguard for her. She took a deep breath, hoping whatever Drew was up to wasn’t too dangerous and knowing it probably was. She just hoped he made it to their romantic dinner. During their marriage he had a terrible habit of missing dinner, especially when she’d cooked something special, or it was their anniversary.
He’d been hinting at the importance of tonight’s dinner. The last time Drew had acted similarly suspicious, outside of his job, he’d proposed to her. The memory made her smile. Not wanting to get her hopes up, she quashed the wish that Drew was going to propose a permanent reunion over a flute of champagne and not just a happy resolution to a mission. Either way, she was intent on telling him the truth about Iguazu Falls and hope there was a chance they could patch things up.
She checked her phone for a message from Drew. Sam’s fishing charter was scheduled to sail at two. Drew had promised to let her know if Sam actually boarded the boat. So far, no news.
She shrugged. Sam probably wasn’t top of Drew’s priority list right now. Not while he was off saving the world, or at least southern Canada. She’d get the intel out of him tonight, one way or another.
She thought of the backless evening gown she’d bought at lunch and had sent to the hotel. She’d been fortunate to spot it in the boutique window during the five minutes her mother had allotted for shopping. Staci felt sexy and Bond girl in it.
Staci snapped from her thoughts as the group moved forward into the park. Butchart Gardens advertised as the big draw for the area and got all the glory in the tourist brochures at home in Washington State. But Beacon Hill Park looked and felt glorious, particularly on a sunny May day when even romance was in bloom.
Horse-drawn carriages clopped along, giving the feeling of stepping back in time. Blue herons waded in the shallow ponds of the park as ducks floated by. The groomed grounds extended to the trees, some of which were pruned in intricate designs. And even though the native foliage—Douglas firs and western red Cedars—were just the same as in Seattle, the site felt elegant, as if Staci’s little group was taking a turn about the extensive grounds of an English estate.
As they meandered down a pathway, leisurely navigating a curve in the path while the tour guide pointed out a bald eagle nesting site, a movement off to her right caught Staci’s attention. She turned to look and froze. No, it wasn’t an assassin staring at her. She thought she saw—no, she clearly saw—Lucy, looking pale and flustered, taking a shortcut across the lawn out of the park. What was Lucy doing in Victoria?
Staci thought about what Drew had told her and felt her anger rise. Was Lucy here for a tryst with Sam, right beneath her mother’s nose?
* * *
A mission was just a mission, even a mission to save the world from the maniacal ranting of a dangerous world-class lunatic. Drew’s pulse thrummed with the adrenaline high of the chase. He had to keep his nerves in check, remain calm and unreadable in the face of excitement and possible failure. Even death. So many little things could go wrong at the last minute. Fatal errors.
But this mission was something new, a true test of his abilities. Many times, yes, he’d taken in men and women he’d befriended, fooled, beguiled. But he’d never arrested a family member, a man whom he’d tried to think of as a father, tried to please at Christmas and the holidays, bought gifts for, discussed with his wife, and known for y
ears.
He tried to force out the amiable picture he had of Sam at Christmas carving the prime rib. Tried to replace it with the Sam on the video who coldly fired two shots into Martel’s brain without the slightest look of remorse or distaste crossing his face. Tried to remember that the amiable Sam was only one part of the man.
People were complex, multifaceted. And several of Sam’s facets needed polishing. Or more correctly, excising. Sam would sell out his country, the world, to line his pocket, for his own comfort. Drew tried to picture thousands, millions of faceless people who would be harmed by Sam’s actions. To keep in mind—Sam was just another evil, heartless target. To forget any lighter shades of gray that made him human.
As ignoble as it was, Drew hid in the bushes, dressed in a park sanitation worker’s uniform, compliments of Noe and CSIS. He wore a bag slung over his shoulder, ostensibly for stashing trash, but in reality filled with implements of the trade. He had a brush and dustpan, a pointy metal stick for stabbing garbage and shooting poisonous darts, and a sniper’s rifle for everything else.
He trained the sniper’s rifle on a fat middle-aged man dressed in coveralls, the kind worn by master-gardening park volunteers with PARK PLANT MANAGEMENT silk-screened on the back. The man wore a large straw hat to shade him from the sun. He knelt on a foam kneepad, tending the begonias that grew in the bed next to a pond with a magnificent spewing fountain in the heart of Beacon Hill Park. The woods where Drew hid hummed with the sound of splashing water. Very nice white-noise cover. Loud enough to cover most means of execution and any idle chitchat. The Gardener was smart.
Though it was warm, and the Gardener rotund, the man wasn’t sweating, which unnerved Drew. He’d heard too many stories about the Gardener and his unflappable cool.
The Gardener was a RIOT legend. A man who would nurture a sick fuchsia back from the brink of death and withering dehydration, and then shoot a man who begged for his life without even blinking. A gardener’s backpack sat next to his feet. Probably contained the payoff Sam was expecting for his treason.
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