High Stakes

by Fern Michaels

  “It’s war,” Ted said. “Some of the biggest drug dealers have a bevy of legitimate businesses they use to launder money. They also have the biggest, the brightest accountants and lawyers out there at their beck and call, people whom they pay ginormous amounts of money for their loyalty.”

  “You work for the CIA, Abner. You guys should know what’s going down in Cuba, since the CIA is foreign, whereas the FBI is domestic. Are you hearing anything?” Harry persisted.

  “Yes, I do work for the CIA, and I should be there right now, so I’m going to leave and see what I can come up with. I’ll get in touch with Phil, and I’ll get back to you. But to answer your question, I have not heard anything. Chapo was just arrested, so intel is only now working its way back to us. I should know something later today. See you guys.”

  “Abner!” Harry called out.

  Abner turned. “What?”

  “When you talk to your pal, it wouldn’t hurt to see what he can come up with in regard to the Sanderses, too.” Seeing the expression on Abner’s face, Harry turned defensive. “You’re the one who said there was nothing that guy can’t find out. So here’s your chance to prove it.”

  Abner flipped Harry the bird, to which Harry responded in kind.

  “A text is coming in from Bert,” Charles said, breaking the lighthearted moment. The room once again went silent.

  “The Sanderses are interested. There are some issues. A few demands. I think it’s safe to say they’ve taken the bait,” Charles said, reading the text from his encrypted phone. “So far today, he’s gotten two texts from Ms. Sanders. As I said earlier, he had a one-on-one conversation with Mr. Sanders. They are going to get back to him later this evening, after they meet with their dancers. But then I already told you that. Until then, therefore, we’re in a holding pattern.”

  “Then I suggest we brainstorm for a while, then call it a day and meet up first thing in the morning,” Jack said.

  “Good idea. But Fergus and I want to get back to the farm right away, to see what’s going on with our girls and their veterans’ healthcare efforts. They might require our help. Can I count on the rest of you if that turns out to be the case?” Charles asked.

  Cyrus bounded up and ran over to Charles and barked twice.

  Charles laughed. “I knew I could count on you, big boy.” He fished a treat out of the pocket that he always kept filled for Lady and her pups and, on occasion, Cyrus.

  The others settled down to consider alternative possibilities that depended upon what decisions the Sanderses made about China, LA, and the like.

  Chapter Eleven

  The cold air was refreshing, Toby thought. He hated being cooped up in a room full of people in the middle of the day. Being cooped up onstage in a supper club at night wasn’t the same thing. Nights were to be spent indoors; that was the natural order of things to his mind. He took big, gulping breaths as he headed to where Mia’s rocking set of wheels waited for them. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. That was another thing: he hated being driven around by a woman who was his bodyguard, his protector. That damn well was not the order of things. He strode ahead, his long legs putting distance between himself and Mia, knowing she had to run to keep up.

  “What’s the big hurry?” Mia gasped.

  Toby looked over his shoulder. “I live and operate on a schedule. You should try it sometime,” he snapped irritably.

  “What? What? Is the gym going to close down if you don’t get there by a certain time? Will people look at you and wonder why you’re late? What?”

  Toby slid into the car the moment he heard the remote-controlled ping that unlocked the door. Like he was going to walk around and hold the door for her. She could stand out there till she took root, for all he cared. He tucked his long legs up, then leaned back and closed his eyes. Her comments didn’t require a response.

  Mia slid behind the wheel. “I’m going to need the address, Toby.”

  “Of course you do. How stupid of me not to have thought of that. The address is six-twelve Cosgrove. It’s between Sycamore and Plantation Road. Just so you know, you cannot go into the gym. It’s guys only. I’m going to be there for two and a half hours, so you might want to find something to do.”

  “Really! Two and a half hours! I thought you said you worked out an hour a day.”

  “I also do yoga every other day. This is the other day. Then I have to do the tanning bed. Like I said, find something to do while I’m in there, and do not come looking for me like you’re my babysitter. I have a reputation to uphold. Then, when I am finished at the gym, I have to check in at the house and hang around like I live there, which I do. Then it’s a shower, get dressed, go out to eat, and head to the club for the meeting with Pilar. Maybe you should go to a bookstore and stock up on some reading material to occupy yourself while I’m doing what I need to do to get past this.”

  “What’s suddenly got your panties in a wad, Toby? Everything sounded on target back there at Never Never Land Headquarters, so what’s the problem? I thought we were good. Now you’re acting . . . like some pansy-ass puke. That attitude does not work for me. And let’s get this straight right now. You do not tell me what to do. I tell you what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. I have a job to do, and I’m doing it. Now, you are either part of the problem or part of the solution. Decide now. Are we clear on all of this?”

  Toby offered up a cocky salute as he grimaced. “Crystal.”

  “Good,” Mia said cheerfully as she pulled the Ferrari to the curb. “Oh, and, Toby, don’t even think about pulling a fast one and scooting out the back door. I have it covered. Break a sweat, cowboy. I’ll be right here when you come out all sweaty and cranky and mean looking. At which point I will drive you home, and while you are primping for tonight, I will be getting my car disinfected. No funny stuff, you hear me?”

  Toby didn’t respond as he climbed out of the car; nor did he look back once he started walking. He kept on walking, wondering how in the hell she knew what he’d been planning. He should have known she’d have someone by the back exit. His shoulders slumped as he headed to the elevator that would take him to the weight room, his nerves twitching and twanging all over the place. He knew he was a hot mess and needed to get to his center core, or he was going to explode.

  With that thought in mind, he opted to skip the weights and headed straight to the yoga room. A couple of hours of yoga and he’d be good to go. He would never admit it to anyone, but he loved the deep relaxation of yoga. He always felt renewed after a particularly long session, and he really liked the instructor with the mellow honey voice telling him what to do. So unlike that barracuda with the razor tongue in her fancy set of wheels.

  Toby changed out of his daytime garb, pulled on loose-fitting trousers and shirt, grabbed his mat and pillow, and settled in. The instructor smiled at him, even though he was coming in at the end of the class she was conducting.

  Two and a half hours later, Toby exited the gym, feeling like a million bucks. He felt at peace with himself, renewed in body and spirit, and ready to take on the world and whatever it held in store for him. He spotted Mia and her flashy car immediately. He sauntered over, opened the door, hopped in, buckled up, and said, “Home, James, and don’t spare the asphalt.” He leaned back, closed his eyes, and, to Mia’s chagrin, power napped. The moment the car skidded to a stop in front of the house, Toby’s hand was on the door.

  “Hold on here, cowboy. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Was he? Ah, yes, the lip-lock. Before he planted his lips on hers, Toby whispered in her ear, “Call me cowboy one more time, and you will regret it.” Then he did everything but suck her tonsils out of her throat and between her teeth. Before he climbed out of the racy sports car, he reached up and tilted the Stetson at a rakish angle. “You’ll see me when you see me.”

  He whistled all the way into the house and back to the kitchen, where all he could smell were delicious aromas. “Martha, it’s me, Toby,” he calle
d out. “I won’t be here for dinner this evening. Smells good. Sorry to miss it.”

  Martha glared. “Again! I’m starting to think you don’t like my cooking, young man. Or are you afraid of my cooking? Which is it?”

  “Neither, Martha. I just prefer to stare into Mia’s incredible eyes across a candlelit table. Did you forget I’m in love?”

  Martha shrugged as she went back to chopping vegetables. Toby left as fast as his feet could carry him. Inside his room, with the door locked, he reached into his backpack and withdrew a lukewarm bottle of Coke. He swigged it down in three long gulps before stuffing the empty bottle back into his backpack to dispose of later.

  Toby flopped down on his bed and put his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. He tried to define what exactly he was feeling, but the words eluded him. Too bad he didn’t know that guy Jack Emery a little better. If he knew him better, he would have called him for advice since he was some kind of love expert. Not that he was in love. At least he didn’t think he was, but he was sure having some really strange feelings where Mia Grande was concerned. Don’t go there, Toby, he warned himself.

  Just as he was drifting into sleep, his cell phone pinged. He fumbled around until he found it, and powered it on. “Dennis, why are you calling me? I was just about to take a nap. I’m beat, physically and mentally.”

  “I just called to wish you luck with your meeting tonight. Not that you’re going to need it. That’s what friends do, Toby.”

  “I know, Dennis. I’m glad you called. Can I ask you something, friend to friend?”

  “Sure. It always helps to talk things through with someone.”

  “It’s Mia. I’m . . . I guess what you would call old school. You know, the guy protects the girl, not the other way around. Jesus, Dennis, she packs a gun. She knows martial-arts moves and could probably kill me with her little finger or something like that. I am resenting her and her capabilities. I’m surly, snotty, and obnoxious when I’m with her. You know me. That isn’t how or who I am. She is bringing out the absolute worst in me.”

  “It’s her job, Toby. It’s what she does. Obviously, she’s good at what she does, or Avery Snowden would never have hired her. He works only with the best of the best. I do get what you’re saying and where you’re coming from, but, pal, you are going to have to get over it.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. She keeps kissing me. I know it’s all for show and part of the . . . game, mission, whatever the hell you guys call what is going on. She kisses me the way I used to kiss Carrie. Those kisses meant something. How can she kiss me like that and not mean it? I swear to God, Dennis, when she reminded me I had to kiss her before I got out of the car when she dropped me off, I almost sucked her tonsils out. I was so out of it, I don’t know how I made it into the house. What’s that mean? Can you ask that guy Jack and send me a text before I see her again and the kissing starts up?”

  “Ah . . . sure, yeah, I’ll talk to Jack. Look, sorry I interrupted your nap. Send me a text if you have time after the meeting, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Toby mumbled.

  Setting his internal clock for one hour forward, Toby closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Back at the BOLO Building, Dennis let loose with an earsplitting whistle to gain everyone’s attention, not that there were that many members left in attendance.

  “What’s up, kid?” Jack asked.

  “I think we may have a bit of a problem, people. I just got off the phone with Toby. He’s not in a real good place right now, but then I assume you all more or less noticed that while he was here. At the moment, he’s pretty confused. As he put it, he’s old school, where the guy protects the girl and not the other way around. It bothers him that Mia packs some heat. His male pride is wounded. Don’t any of you pooh-pooh this away, because Toby is not as tough and gung ho as all of you. This is new to him. He’s had a lot on his plate recently—his breakup with his fiancée after moving here, living out of his car, bagging groceries for a living, then hooking up with the Sanderses and becoming a male dancer. That’s all playing on him, that plus the danger he’s put himself in. But . . . what is really bothering him is . . . um . . . all the kissing that Mia is insisting on.” Dennis held up his hands when he saw that Jack and Ted were about to explode with laughter.

  He went on. “Don’t go there, you guys. Just don’t. He’s likening the kissing to the way his ex used to kiss him and he kissed her in return. He knows this is all a game, this caper, this mission, but his body is telling him something else. I think he’s falling for his protector. Okay, now you can say something. No, no, wait. He specifically asked me to ask you, Jack, since you are an authority on women, what he should do. Okay, now you can talk.”

  Jack threw his hands into the air. “Where in the hell did he get an idea like that?”

  “From me. Sorry, Jack. I just referenced all the times you helped me out when I was . . . whatever I was when I was involved in relationships. Tell me something to tell him, so he doesn’t go doing something stupid. Right now, if stupid could fly, he’d be a jet. Take my word for it.”

  Maggie started to laugh and found that she couldn’t stop. The others joined in, to Jack’s chagrin. “Yeah, Jack, let’s hear your advice.” She quickly turned to the others and said, “Maybe we should ask Nikki instead of Jack. Bet she isn’t privy to all Jack’s secrets.” The laughter continued until Cyrus reared up and let loose with a howl of outrage.

  “All right, all right, you’ve had your fun. I think, based on the little I know of your friend Toby, that he is just confused right now. He’s not stupid. I do not know this for sure, but I assume that he has not had a . . . ah . . . meaningful relationship since he broke up with his fiancée. If I’m right, then he just might be in a position where he is misinterpreting ‘all the kissing,’ as he put it. He might want it to be more. I think he’s confused right now with Mia being his protector and the romantic emotion he himself is feeling.

  “On the one hand, he says she kisses him intensely, which would then make her the romantic aggressor, as well as his protector. Most men would not like that. I wouldn’t. Then he says he almost sucked her tonsils out. That’s his bid to be the romantic aggressor. But he really wants to be her protector, because, as he put it, he is old school, and men protect women, not the other way around. Does all that make sense?” Jack said anxiously.

  Cyrus barked joyfully to show he was on his master’s side as the others simply stared at Jack.

  Maggie held up her hand. “Have any of you given any thought to the possibility that Mia just might find Toby to her liking? Aside from the job. Toby is a good-looking guy. He’s ripped, and women like that. He has a boyish naïveté to him that women find appealing. At least I do. And the best part of all is that he is what he said he is, old school. He knows how to treat a woman. Just because he prefers to talk about spreadsheets, price-earnings ratios, and marginal tax rates doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a romantic heart. I’m sure Mia Grande has never met anyone like Toby Mason, and she just might be falling for him. You all need to think about that.”

  “I agree with Maggie,” Harry chimed in. “I’m just like Toby.”

  “Well, damn,” was all Jack could think of to say. Ted and Espinosa echoed his sentiments. Maggie giggled, while Harry winced as though he were in acute pain.

  “So then, your advice is . . .” Dennis said as he waited for a response.

  Jack sucked in a deep breath. “Listen to your heart and don’t do anything stupid is about the best I can come up with,” Jack muttered. “And from here on in, Dennis, stop telling people I am an authority on women. I’m not.”

  “Okay, Jack, but you really did help me all those times. Your advice was spot on each time I was ready to leap into the unknown. I will always owe you for that.”

  “God, no! You don’t owe me anything. Nothing. Do you hear me, Dennis? You don’t owe me anything. I was glad to be of whatever help I could. I just li
stened to you, and you made your own decisions. We’re done with this now. Let’s close up shop and go out to get something to eat. My treat.”

  And that was the end of that.

  As the group prepared to leave the BOLO Building, the talk centered on the time and Toby’s meeting with Pilar Sanders.

  “Toby should be arriving just about now,” Dennis said as he looked down at the new Apple watch on his wrist, whose workings he had yet to figure out. Why didn’t I just get a nice, simple, reliable Timex? he wondered.

  * * *

  Dennis couldn’t have been more right. Mia drove around to the back of Supper Club One and parked. She hoped she didn’t look as upset as she felt. Toby had hopped into the car, buckled up, and said not a single word on the entire drive to the club.

  “Gotcha here right on time, Toby. Ten minutes to spare. Hey, you look good,” she said cheerfully as she pointed to his creased khakis, his white button-down shirt, and navy blazer. “And you smell good, too. I’ll wait out here in the car till seven thirty, when the other gals get here. We’ll go into the club and order dinner. We’ll sit in the back, so we can watch the whole room. Is there anything else you think I should know?”

  “Nope.” Toby unbuckled his seat belt and waited for the words he knew were coming.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Nope. No one is watching. It’s dark out here. Try not to get mugged while you play at being Super woman.”

  Mia stared after Toby’s retreating back. She sniffed, the scent of his aftershave still lingering. She didn’t know if she should run after him; the urge, or whatever it was she was suddenly feeling, was so strong. Her eyes started to burn.

  Must be the heater in the car, and the filter needs to be changed. Yes, yes, it must be the heater.

  Toby fished for his key to unlock the door that said EMPLOYEES ONLY. Safe inside, he leaned against the door and took several deep breaths. Did he just act stupid? Or did he come across as blasé? He hoped it was the latter. More than likely, though, he’d acted stupid, and hope was just that, hope. He sniffed the air around him, but all he could smell was Mia’s scent. She’d smelled like lily of the valley. When he was growing up, his mother had had a flower bed full of the delicate, tiny, bell-like flowers. He used to pick them for her, and she’d gush all over him and tell him how sweet he was for picking her favorite flowers for her. She’d always hug him and kiss him on both cheeks. His eyes burned at the memory.