The Spy Ring (Cake Love Book 4)

by Elizabeth Lynx

My head jerked. “You make your own dressing?”

  The servants made the food in the house I grew up in. I may have only been six when my mother died, but I remember she never cooked. As for my dad, he refused to even eat in the same room as me.

  As she stirred whatever was in the metal pan with a wooden spoon, she turned her head. “Of course. I’m not a fan of the bottled dressings. My mom used to make her own dressing before she died. Luckily, she taught it to me before I went off to college. I guess she thought I might need it because of all the salad college students eat.”

  Tiffany snorted at her own joke.

  “I forgot about your mom,” I said and realized too late at what I revealed.

  “What?” Tiffany put down the spoon and turned to face me.

  “I mean, I’m sorry about your mom,” I said as I leaned against the counter to appear casual as my heart pounded in my ear.

  She hesitated but shook her head before turning back to the stove.

  “It was right after I met John, my late husband. He was a senior at Northwestern and I was a sophomore. We had only been dating a few weeks and then, my mom had a heart attack.” She pushed the pan off the burner and turned off the heat.

  Tiffany stood there, staring at the pan like a statue frozen in a memory. She sighed. “She was a great cook. A little too good. I think all the fattening food she loved to eat and the toll of being a single mom finally got to her. There’s a part of me that still regrets not being there when she died. Not holding her hand and telling her I loved her. She had done that for me a thousand times, but when she needed it the most from me, I was at some party at school. The music too loud to hear my phone.”

  Coming up behind Tiffany, I put my hand on her shoulder. She turned and without a thought but loaded with emotion, I embraced her. Her pain was my pain. Not because I loved her. How could I? I barely knew the woman. No, it was because my life had been battered by that same regret. When I was too young to understand and when I was older and knew better.

  Regret like that forces a person to make lonely decisions and unhappy mistakes.

  Her arms came around my back, tightening. A fluttery soft sensation made circles on my back as Tiffany comforted me as much as I was trying to console her.

  Tilting my head, I brushed my lips over the top of her head, inhaling. She smelled like garlic and flowers. Two scents that should work against each other, but for some reason, I had never smelled anything so amazing in my life. My hand lifted into her hair. So thick, that when my fingers curled, I wondered if she even felt it.

  Her fingers stopped. It’s what they did next that caused my head to lower until my lips were brushing hers. Tiffany moved her hands to my ass. Nothing subtle. No light movements that could be mistaken for an accident.

  They cupped my cheeks and dug in.

  “Mom?”

  Tiffany’s hands moved from my backside to my front in seconds, pushing me away from her. I grasped the granite counter so I wouldn’t fall to the floor. For a petite woman, she had some strength.

  “Yes, David?” Tiffany said as she turned her back to me, to her son, and resumed cooking.

  I glanced over at David as he moved closer to the kitchen. His eyes remained on his mother, refusing to even turn my way.

  “Is it okay if Diego and I have dinner in my bedroom?” David asked as his voice cracked halfway through talking.

  “Sure. Sure. Just eat at your desk.”

  “Good. Uh, hi.” David finally turned his head toward me. His eyes remained glued to the floor, but at least I knew he was speaking to me.

  “Hi, David. It’s nice to see you again. I guess we’re getting started after dinner.” My eyes bounced between him and his mom.

  “Yes. In fact, if you take a seat over at the dining room table, I can bring you your plate,” Tiffany said.

  I turned back to her and was surprised to find several bowls filled with pasta as she was grating a hard cheese over top.

  “Why don’t you get something to drink for you and Diego, David.”

  I suddenly felt out of place. David knew what to do and helped his mother without her having to say a word. Just before he was ready to leave with two cans of soda in his hand, she turned to kiss his cheek.

  “Mom,” he groaned as his eyes flickered to me before shuffling out of the kitchen.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  “Just bring these plates back to the boys. Thank you.” She handed me two large plates with salad, forks, and a bowl full of pasta on them.

  I easily found David’s room from the sounds of explosions and gun fire. The boys leaped up as I placed the plates on his desk. They awkwardly thanked me before shoveling some angel hair pasta into their mouth.

  Once I came back out to the main area, Tiffany had already placed our plates on the dining room table.

  As she came over I tried my best to pull out her seat in time, but she waved me off.

  “I’ve gotten used to doing everything myself. It feels weird when someone tries to help. I guess I’m just not used to it,” Tiffany said as I insisted on helping to push her chair in before I took my seat.

  “Being alone for a long time will do that to a person.” I smiled at her as the aroma of the food made my mouth water.

  The small, round wooden table caused my knees to bump into hers. A jolt of electricity seemed to make me sit up a little straighter.

  “I’m not used to this sort of thing either,” I said.

  And I wasn’t. The past twenty minutes felt nothing like a ninja session and everything like a date. It caused my neck to burn with doubt and my heart to surge with wonder.

  ELEVEN

  Tiffany

  “Your mother’s sweet,” I said before shoving a fork full of chicken into my mouth. Trying to fill it so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore.

  Greg smiled and turned toward his mom, taking her hand in his.

  “She makes sure every woman I go out with is good enough for me. She’s the perfect judge of character,” he said.

  I almost threw up the dry chicken I had swallowed.

  “My little Greggy never told me how you two met?” the robust woman with a black, protruding mole on her cheek asked.

  The mole matched her short, curly hair, which matched her son’s hairstyle as well. Even their outfits—plaid button-up shirts and khaki pants—appeared to be planned to coordinate.

  “Through a dating app. It helps single men and women find locals with similar interests,” I said and forced another piece of chicken in my mouth.

  Despite my dinner being a bit overdone with very little flavor, I had to distract myself from this abysmal date.

  After what almost happened between Jagger and me four days ago, I knew I had to do something, and quickly. I liked Jagger, but I was looking for someone that valued safety and support for my family.

  While I knew very little about Jagger’s job—other than it was secret and he worked for the government—I knew even less about the man himself. I thought he would tell me something about his life over dinner the other night, but he only wanted to know about me. Every time I asked about his past, he would change the subject or explain there wasn’t anything to discuss. Everyone has a past, yet he acted like he didn’t.

  And when I asked anything about his job, his response was, I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you.

  I had no doubt that Jagger was good at what he did but was it dangerous? I had a feeling it was, and I’m not about to put David or me at risk because Jagger had a tight butt. Or that he had the ability to see into my soul and made me weep in the park last week. Or that my heart melted when he helped David out with those bullies when they tried to steal his skateboard.

  No, that wasn’t important. Safety, that’s what counted. There’s been too much trauma in my life, too many losses. I don’t believe I could handle anything like that again.

  “An app? Greg, you told me you two met while volunteering at the children’s hospital,” his moth
er said with a frown that accentuated her mole.

  “Oh, he didn’t tell you?” I said, trying to hold back my smile.

  Perhaps this morsel of information, which was much juicier than my chicken, would be the knife that killed our date. I felt very little guilt that Greg was breaking out into a sweat and his plaid shirt was sticking to his chest.

  His dating profile was completely misleading. Everything, except his photograph, was a lie. I wasn’t disappointed when I saw him tonight. He’s not a bad looking man—slim with handsome features. The frustration came when he led me to a table with his mom. And that wasn’t the worst.

  “Tell me what?” his mom asked.

  Greg shook his head, pure fear creating lines on his face.

  “He’s a doctor. Your son doesn’t volunteer at the hospital. He’s a doctor. Isn’t that right, Greg?”

  I knew he wasn’t. My son spent most of his life in and out of that hospital. If Greg worked there, I would have come across him at least enough times to recognize him.

  “Greg, you’re not a doctor. You’re the assistant accounting manager at RT Mitchell. Why would you lie to Tiffany? Or to me, your mother?”

  We both kept our attention on Greg waiting for an answer, but nothing came. His eyes flickered back and forth between the mother that wondered what happened to her perfect man-child, and me, the date that just wanted to spend a few hours with a normal guy.

  “What’s that over there?” Greg pointed to something behind me.

  I glanced back but only saw the other patrons enjoying their meals at matching round tables covered in green linen. When I turned back, Greg was maneuvering through the tables, bumping into one and almost knocking it over, on his way toward the front of the restaurant.

  “Greg,” his mother yelled as she stood and went after him.

  I sat there for a few minutes expecting one of them to come back, but they didn’t.

  “Would you like anything else, ma’am?” the waiter asked, who was dressed better than my date in a blue button-up shirt, gray tie, and dark slacks.

  “No. I guess I’ll take the check,” I grumbled and made a mental note to punch Greg if I ever see him walking down the street.

  After the waiter left, I leaned back in my chair and I wondered if I had been spoiled with men. I met my husband in college; John wasn’t perfect but he was a good man—a wonderful and amazing dad, which was all that mattered.

  I remember once I threatened divorce if he didn’t pick up his socks and put them in the hamper. But those were superficial problems. He was incredible where it counted, with his heart.

  “The bill has been paid, ma’am,” the waiter said upon returning.

  “It has? By whom?”

  Maybe Greg redeemed himself a little by paying the bill before he ran off.

  “The gentleman at the bar.” He pointed to the long bar that hugged the front of the restaurant.

  When I gazed over, there was a fluttering in my heart. My hand cupped my chest, trying to push back the exhilaration. It was just a man after all. Someone I knew, but not a person that I should be having that reaction toward despite his simmering stare.

  He stood, his eyes shone and homed in on me as he moved closer.

  “Jagger. Thank you for dinner,” I said and only just noticed the waiter had left.

  I thought it odd that I hadn’t even realized he was gone. My surprise at discovering Jagger here and staring too long at his hips as he walked over to me must have made me forget there were other people in the room.

  “I felt obligated,” Jagger said as he pointed to Greg’s abandoned chair.

  I nodded and he took a seat. He looked good, but Jagger always seemed to be wearing something that caught my eye. Tonight, it was a dark navy suit, and it fit him perfectly.

  “For what?”

  “For the show. I have to admit when I came here tonight to have a drink at the bar, I never expected there would be a comedy show.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.

  I gasped and was about to let him have it but when I opened my mouth, laughter spilled out. And the more I laughed, the more his green eyes sparkled. Which finally killed my merriment, replacing it with a meandering heat that settled between my legs.

  “I suppose you’re right. The mother and son show was ridiculous. That’s the last time I use the dating app Morgana suggested. I don’t care if it was, as she put it, ‘scary accurate’ when she used it.” I gave another chuckle.

  “No, those apps can’t be trusted. In fact,” Jagger leaned closer, lowering his voice, “most men can’t be trusted.”

  I angled near so his warm breath slipped down my neck causing my turquoise blouse to flutter around my chest. “Can you?”

  His stare fell to my lips, and the ambient noise of the room dimmed to the point I wondered if we had floated away. It took a few moments but Jagger finally answered my question, “No.”

  A shiver sparked by the heat of his breath and the chill of his voice ran down my body.

  I watched him study me, perhaps memorizing my nose, my cheeks, and my lips. Knowing it was wiser and by his admittance, safer, to have pulled away but I didn’t.

  There was something in him that seemed to heave open a door I bolted shut a long time ago. And I was having a terrible time trying to close it again.

  “Then you’ll hurt me?” I asked. The anticipation of his answer had me wetting my lips with my tongue.

  Jagger scooted forward so his cheek was only an inch away. His body heat became mine. When he tilted his head, I felt the scrape of his stubble.

  “I would never hurt you, Tiffany. There are many things I dream of doing to you but nothing that would ever cause you pain.”

  His breath was sharp, laced with whiskey, and when he pulled back just enough his lips hovered over mine. If I gasped or shuddered or did anything that caused my head to shift, I knew his lips would be on mine.

  There was a tickle in the back of my chest that grew with each passing second. That itch turned into something I knew no amount of clawing from my fingers would appease. Having spent so much time alone and reading every article ever written on love, relationships, and dating, or at least it felt like every article, I understood what that thing in my chest meant. And how much it took to satisfy.

  It made me uneasy to stare at his lips knowing they were the cure.

  It’s with that thought I got up.

  “Thank you again, Jagger, for the food. It’s getting late, and I need to relieve Evaleen of her babysitting duties.”

  Grabbing my small black leather clutch, I moved toward the front door.

  “Please, do come again,” the hostess said as I briskly strolled past her station near the door.

  Turning my head, I smiled and nodded at her, not wanting to be rude. As I reached my arm out to where I thought the door was, nothing but warm air remained.

  I turned my head back to the front and found Jagger had sneaked past me and was now holding open the door like a gentleman. Ugh, why did he have to be so polite? It was annoyingly alluring.

  Just about everything Jagger did had caught me off guard. Sometimes with irritation but more often than not, with pleasant surprise.

  “Thank you,” I grumbled as I scurried up the street.

  The restaurant was near my building so I could easily walk home which was a good thing. The bad thing was Jagger knew where I lived and walked with me.

  “You don’t have to see me back home. I’m only two more blocks away.” I pointed up the street.

  “It’s a nice evening. Besides, it’s not safe to walk alone.”

  “I’m pretty sure nothing is going to happen to me in the one minute I have left in my walk. It’s summer, there’s plenty of light left. I think I’ll be okay.”

  During our conversation, I picked up my pace but couldn’t outmaneuver him. I guess when he trained to work for the government he was taught power walking as well.

  “Well, I’m here.” I pushed open the door to my building, but h
e grabbed my arm before I could escape.

  “You trying to pull a Gregger?” Jagger asked.

  That stopped me and I turned. “You joking about my date?”

  “Yeah, how he jetted out.” He chuckled.

  I tiled my head. “But I never told you his name . . .”

  TWELVE

  Jagger

  “You’ve been spying on her?” Tenn said.

  I thought he would laugh. That was the sort of thing my partner got a kick out of—as awful as it was—since he had a childish sense of humor.

  “I had to make sure she was safe. Being with her, in her life, was putting her at risk,” I said accentuating my point by sawing my hands in the air.

  It made sense. I didn’t want anything to happen to Tiffany or her son. What better person to make sure no one hurt them than me, a government agent.

  “Then stop having her in your life! Like I talked to you about last week when you swore you were going to end things.”

  “I was. I meant to but . . .” I drifted off not wanting to finish. Luckily, I had a cup of coffee in front of me to bring to my lips.

  We were back at Wake Up Joe’s taking a break from work. I was trying to get him on my side, make him understand why I still needed to see Tiffany and David.

  “But what?”

  “Tiffany grabbed my ass. And I sniffed her hair.” With each explanation, Tenn’s eyes grew wider. “Then after spying on her date three days ago, I almost kissed her.”

  Tenn sat back in the booth with a curious look on his face.

  “But that’s all that happened. I swear.” I held my hands up.

  “Does she know?”

  “No. She started to figure something out when I mentioned her date’s name, and she had never told it to me. But I quickly recovered by telling her I heard his mom yell out his name before they left the restaurant. That was close.” I scratched the back of my neck as it was really itchy since we got here.

  Tenn’s eyes widened before shaking his head. “And how were you spying on her?”

  “Hmm.” I brought the cup to my lips again turning my gaze to the other people in the café.