The Spy Ring (Cake Love Book 4)

by Elizabeth Lynx

  “I don’t know if that’s appropriate for David. He’s still building his strength and core muscles.” I crossed my arms, worried that this would be too much on my son.

  But the look in David’s eyes had me doubting myself. I was used to protecting him; it’s my job as a mom. But he wasn’t a little boy anymore.

  “Mom, please,” David said with a tone filled with worry bordering on desperation.

  I stood there staring at my son and realized for the first time that my job had changed. It still included protecting him, but the job description grew to include letting him take risks so he could learn to be a man.

  I let my arms fall as I faced Jagger’s mossy green eyes. “All right. As long as you make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

  “I’ll make sure everything I do with him is safe. When I’m done with him, he won’t need protection from the most evil of villains,” Jagger said with a wink.

  I could feel the heat in my cheeks and wondered if it was because there would be a day when my son no longer needed me.

  Or, perhaps, it was the tall man with the strong arms watching me for slightly longer than he should.

  FOUR

  Jagger

  “You’re a ninja?” Tenn laughed so hard he splashed his coffee on the small round table.

  “Come on, Tenn. It’s not that funny,” I said as my eyes swept the café out of habit.

  A few people sitting at small, square, wooden tables turned in our direction due to the volume of Tenn’s chuckles.

  “Oh, it’s funny. You ask me to take our lunch break here at Wake Up Joe’s and then drop bomb after bomb after bomb on me. Each one funnier than the last.” He shook his head and started to lift his coffee cup before stopping mid-rise.

  “We should start an act. Tenn and the Ninja. You could do your moves around me while I tell jokes.” He snorted.

  “That’s not even funny. How is that funny?” I leaned forward and turned my head from prying eyes.

  “Think about it.” He tapped the side of his head.

  I sighed as I knew I had to battle Tenn’s laughter and sad jokes in order to get his help. When I went to Tiffany’s place on Friday, I had forgotten about her son. When I read her file before I went off to Vegas over a month ago, I skimmed the part about her son—probably where it mentioned he required some special help.

  That was sloppy work on my part. It seemed when I took a step toward the idea of family, even an accidental one, I became careless. Another reason to end this and stay away from close relationships of any kind.

  “Does he have Cerebral Palsy?” Tenn turned serious.

  “No, I don’t think so. I looked up physical disabilities and if a child has Cerebral Palsy, they had damage to the brain before, during, or just after birth. From what Tiffany told me, David was two when he was in the car accident.”

  “My aunt has CP. She had lots of therapists. Maybe I can call her and get you some information for your role as a physical therapist,” Tenn said before leaning back in our corner booth and taking a sip of coffee.

  The memory of my cousin popped into my head. He was my best friend despite how my family told me to keep my distance. I wish they had been more open to him like Tenn’s family was to his aunt.

  “No. The reason I told you all this is to help me get out of it. I didn’t mean to pretend to be her son’s PT—”

  “Look at you already getting into the role! You sound legit using the acronym like a pro.” He smiled and finally picked up some napkins to wipe up the spill he made earlier.

  I groaned. Dealing with Tenn was like dealing with a talented athlete who was still in high school. Yeah, the athlete was gifted, but they made ignorant life decisions and had the mental agility of a teenager.

  “I told you, I don’t want to be the physical therapist. I went there to give her papers for the divorce. I had them folded up in my back pocket, ready to break them out the moment we were alone. But she started talking about her son’s accident and then her son walked out. I felt like . . .”

  “An asshole,” Tenn added.

  I thinned my lips. “No, dick. I felt terrible, like I took advantage of this good woman trying to do right by her son. Fuck.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “The worst part was she didn’t recognize me. I thought when I walked up to her at the bar in Vegas she was sober, but maybe she had already had a few drinks.”

  “Or, maybe she took one look at you two days ago and thought it was best to play dumb for fear you might try to kiss her.”

  I balled up a paper napkin and flung it at him. He grabbed it out of the air, balled up a few more napkins, and began to juggle.

  “Why are you an agent? Shouldn’t you be performing at the circus?”

  “They wouldn’t take me. So, I entered the government instead.”

  I stared at him in silence. For once, Tenn wasn’t joking.

  “Putting that scary thought aside, I do need your opinion on how to get out of this.”

  “You never want my opinion. Why now?” He kept on tossing the balls of napkins in the air until one finally fell.

  “You’re my partner. We work together.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s news to me. Usually, you take control of a mission and delegate all the communication and paperwork to me. I’m at home keeping everything clean while you gallivant across the country.”

  “That’s not true,” I said and tried to come up with an example.

  Nothing came to mind.

  “What about Plastic? You had me research his family history and place wire tapes in his house. While you got to trail him to New York and Miami.”

  I held up my finger. “But, it was what we got from the wiretaps that brought him down. And the same with Emma Hawthorne. Didn’t you fly to Vegas to put in the tap?”

  “Nebraska. The warehouse was in Big Springs, Nebraska. Woo hoo! I had the best time because you know, what happens in Big Springs, stays in Big Springs,” Tenn said without inflection as his lips thinned.

  I held up my hands. “Okay, I get it. Maybe you should call the shots for a while. The next big case that comes up, I’ll stay back working on things here.”

  “Really?” His brows shot up but he nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll help you get out of it. Now, show me what Tiffany looks like.”

  I was about to ask why he needed to see her picture but grew tired of trying to figure out Tenn’s mind. Somehow, I knew that if he explained it, I would end up more confused.

  Bringing up the pictures on my phone, I showed him some of the shots I took as we walked the streets of Vegas.

  “Which one, the redhead or the brunette?” He swiped his finger across my phone.

  “The brunette.”

  The corner of his mouth curved. “You must have had a good night.”

  I did. For the first time in over a decade, I stopped being an agent for the government and chose to be a guy out for the night. I drank. I danced. I kissed a beautiful woman. And, finally, I got married.

  That last one might not be what an average guy does during a night of drinking, but even with that, I had fun. And if I had to get married to anyone, I didn’t mind it being Tiffany. She had a smile that did things to my heart and a body that made it very hard not to have sex with her that night.

  She was drunk and knowing that, I couldn’t do something she wasn’t in her right mind to say yes to. Even when she played hide-n-seek with her clothes, I had to bribe her with a ring. Since it was a quick wedding, she really wanted one of those candy lollipop rings. The kind that’s plastic but had the candy jewel on top. I told her I would get it first thing in the morning if she got under the covers.

  I left her in bed and slept on the couch. Not the best sleep, and I worried I would wake her when I got up early to take a long, muscle relaxing, hot shower. Apparently, I did wake her as she was gone when I came out.

  “It was intel,” I said as I stared at my fingers, curled around my coffee cup.

  “You were really thorough o
n the information you gathered, I see. How did marrying Tiffany help you capture Emma Hawthorne?”

  I reached over and grabbed my phone from his hands. “I made a mistake. That’s why I’m here. You said you could help me if you saw what she looked like.”

  “No, I didn’t. What I said was I wanted to see what she looked like. Then I told you I would help you get out of this. I never said one had to do with the other.”

  Gritting my teeth, I willed my hands not to wrap around Tenn’s throat. “Okay, so help.”

  “Just tell her you aren’t a physical therapist.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that!” I slapped my hand on the table and glared at Tenn.

  “What’s the worst she could do? Run off? Then you never have to see her again.”

  “But I need her to sign the divorce papers.”

  He nodded. “Right. Forgot about that. Can you hire someone to hand them to her?”

  “I thought about that. What happens when she looks me up? She’ll realize I’m her son’s PT. She might even go to the police. I can’t have this getting out. That might cause the government to reassign me.”

  “Reassignment, fuck no.” Tenn shook his head.

  He knew what reassignment really meant.

  Tenn’s face lit up with a wide smile as he nodded his head. He had something and a part of me, foolishly, hoped it was something solid—the answer to my dilemma.

  “I know. Rip the bandage off with Tiffany. Confront her and explain you aren’t a physical therapist. Remind her that you met her in Vegas, accidentally married her, and now you need a divorce. She may be mad but if she does anything . . .” Tenn leaned forward but said nothing.

  “And?”

  “If she does anything have Chester get you a new identity. Problem solved.” Tenn sat back. He had a look on his face that told me if he was a cat, he would be licking the cream off his paws.

  “Can’t happen.”

  Tenn’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “I asked Chester already for a new identity. She said no.”

  He shrugged. “Then I can’t help you. I tried. Anyway, I have to get back to work. Mondays, am I right?” Tenn chuckled as he got up.

  Left at the table gripping a cold cup of coffee the same thoughts swirled around in my head. What’s so bad about being married if both people, in this case, one person, doesn’t know about it. If Tiffany ever decided to settle down with a man in the future, she would realize she got drunk and married in Vegas. By the time she contacts me, I could claim I had no idea too.

  We would get divorced and move on with our lives.

  As easy as that idea seemed, I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling it left behind. It wasn’t fair to her. Realizing I was going to have to tell her the truth and risk my job, I began to turn in my seat but a voice stopped me.

  “If it isn’t Agent Dick-punch.”

  Glancing up, I saw a pair of gray eyes settle on me like steel.

  “If it isn’t Edgar Mimir. And how are your nuts?”

  FIVE

  Tiffany

  Early as usual.

  Every Thursday my friends and I meet for drinks at a bar. We’ve been doing this for about six months now. We call it SWIM Meet, which is an acronym for Smart Women with Idiot Men.

  It was started by Morgana Drake, who had a thing for her boss and my good friend, Henrik Payne. And her best friend, Aria Dixon, joined along with Morgana’s coworker at the time, Evaleen Bechmann.

  They all had troubles with the men they were dating, hence the name of the group. I was the odd one out because I wasn’t dating anyone or hadn’t since college, over a decade ago.

  I started coming around the time of David’s surgery. It gave me a break from the ups and downs of wondering if he would come out of the coma he was in for a week after surgery, and the stress of not knowing if the surgery even worked.

  It was a low time in my life, and these ladies helped me make it through by letting me talk, cry, and get a little tipsy from time to time.

  Now, it gave me something to do that was just for me. Up until earlier this year, my life consisted of working on graphic design projects for clients and taking care of my son. Running to David’s doctor appointments, specialists, therapists, bathing him, feeding him, making sure the medical equipment arrived on time, and countless other tasks.

  I never had time to go to the movies with friends or do all the things single women at thirty-two do. Now that David had some independence from the operation, everything had changed.

  “Here’s your whiskey sour.” The waiter placed it on the round wooden table in front of me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  It’s funny, but I never used to drink whiskey sours. For some reason over the past month, whenever I came to SWIM Meet, I craved one.

  “What a day.” Morgana appeared as I was taking a sip of my drink.

  She threw her purse on the table, removed her jewel green blazer, and plopped down on the dark leather booth seat opposite me. Her fiery hair pulled back into a long ponytail.

  “Busy at work?” I asked.

  “You’d think Armageddon was about to happen if we changed the color of our logo from blue to green.” Morgana pulled at the band holding her ponytail in place and shook out her hair.

  “Can Henrik help? I know he used to do that.” I smiled, trying my best to help my stressed friend.

  “Ugh, no. As much as I would love to be able to ask for his opinion from time to time, when I do ask for help, he proceeds to explain the entire history of Mimir and how marketing the past thirty years has changed drastically. If I wanted lectures, I would go to college again.”

  Morgana lifted her arm, signaling our waiter and placed her drink order when he arrived.

  “I heard from Aria and Evaleen. They are both running a little late.”

  “I bet they are.” Morgana smirked.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Aria works from home—painting—and Evaleen now spends her day writing from home. I know for a fact that Edgar left early today. I think they are being held back, so to speak, by their men.”

  I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and tried to cover it up by tilting my head forward to drink through the little red straw in my glass. Some tendrils that fell out of my braid fluttered around my face, shielding the embarrassing blush.

  Despite knowing these women for six months, I still felt like an outsider. Morgana’s wedding was coming up in just over a month, and I had a terrible feeling I was going to be the single woman at the reception that every relative and friend in attendance would try to set up with any “perfect man” they knew.

  Maybe I could hire an escort for the wedding, just to ward them off. I’ve heard some crazy stuff about Morgana’s family, especially her grandmother. Best to be prepared with a male shield.

  The waiter arrived with Morgana’s white wine.

  “I wanted to discuss with you about David having a part in the wedding,” Morgana said as she placed her glass down.

  “Of course. I think he would love that.” I smiled but wondered what she would expect of him.

  Maybe she wanted David to draw something creative for their program. He’s been getting into comics and dabbling with creating a special hero for a comic book he wants to write. He won’t let me see anything, but if it’s anything like the digital drawings he did for art in school, it’s going to be amazing.

  “Henrik would like David to be one of his groomsmen.”

  I stared at Morgana, her round hazel eyes full of hope. She didn’t realize, even Henrik was naïve at times, when it came to David. My son couldn’t stand for long periods of time—especially, through a wedding ceremony.

  “Would he be allowed to sit or maybe use a cane?”

  I added the cane as an option but knew David would hate that. With his new ability to walk, he did everything he could not to use a walker or cane. Even when he took his first steps earlier this past spring, the therapist tried to get him
to use a walker but he said he’d rather fall than use one.

  The boy that spent most of his life reliant on medical equipment to get around and live and never wanted to look back.

  Her eyes widened as she frowned. “Oh, well, I guess we hadn’t discussed that. Henrik mentioned how strong David had become this year and he thought David might like to be included with the guys. He’s getting older—”

  I held up my hands. “It’s your wedding Morgana and I don’t want to put limitations on it. That’s not my place but as strong as my son has become, he wouldn’t be able to stand through the ceremony without some help. Perhaps he can help design the program or even be an usher.”

  Morgana nodded and turned her sight to the growing after-work crowd in the sports bar. Her brow wrinkled as she tilted her head. “That guy is staring at you. He looks really familiar.”

  I glanced in the direction Morgana was staring at to find Jagger across the room, in a corner booth by the hallway to the bathrooms.

  My head whipped back as I cupped the side of my face so he couldn’t see me. “Oh no. That’s David’s new physical therapist. He’s an idiot. I’m guessing that David is the very first client he’s ever had as the man doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  Morgana’s face brightened as her smile grew. “Really. He may be an idiot, but he’s a mega-hot idiot.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows as she stared at me.

  “No. Just, no. I’m done with one-night stands. After what happened in Vegas, I don’t ever want to go down that road again. Who knows, next time I might wake up next to a serial killer.”

  “You wouldn’t wake up if he was a serial killer.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  Morgana tilted her head. “It’s really weird about that night. I can’t remember anything other than meeting you and Aria at the bar. Some guy bought you a drink. I tested it with my special nail polish to see if it was drugged, but it wasn’t. Then I ordered my drink after Aria left and that was it.”

  What Morgana said didn’t sit well with me. I thought I had too much to drink in Vegas but if Morgana can’t remember anything either, then perhaps it was something else. She tested the drink to see if it was drugged, so that wasn’t it. What could have happened?