by Angel Payne
“And good thing I wore my lined jacket,” Ry quipped back. “Holy shit, girlfriend. It’s cold enough for Otter Pops out here.”
“Then I’d like a Sir Isaac Lime, please.” She sipped from her refilled glass. “And the cold is…good. At least tonight.”
“Needing a little distraction?” He waited for a decently long moment, like any good friend, but jumped back in as soon as he possibly could. “From thinking of a certain Dom-alicious individual who rocked your world a few nights ago?”
“It’s…a little more complicated than that.” Though she managed to keep the tears from completely ruining the last of her statement, Ryder’s sympathetic tsk pushed her over the edge.
“Ohhhh, honey.” He fell to his knees next to her chair and pulled her into his warm hug. “Crap. I’m so sorry. Me and the nasty cesspool of my mind. Like you’d be thinking of shag-worthy Shane after all the shit those cockbags put you through, and—Zo?”
She buried her face against his shoulder, letting the sobs come again. “Oh, Ry…”
“Jesus.” He slammed down his wine in order to hug her more tightly. “Zo. Shit, girl. What is it?”
She shocked herself by actually growling. The sound blatantly dazed Ry, who’d never heard her pull a blubber-fest like this since they’d known each other. “Screw it,” she finally blurted. “I’m a mess and I don’t care who knows.”
That caused the guy to squirm. Ryder might have been a walking, talking expert about everything Sondheim, Prada, and penis, but he also hated rom-coms, GaGa, and people who whined in the gym—which meant a bawling woman in his arms likely didn’t rank high on his list. “You want to talk to Ava? I could get her on the phone, sweetie.”
“No!” she snapped. “She’ll call Papi. His cardiac check-ups have finally been better, and I’m not going to ruin that energy two months before her wedding.”
He huffed. “So much for not caring who knows you’re a mess, hmmm?”
Mierda. The only one who did hot angry better than him was Shay. “Ay. Callate, pendejo.” She forced a tease into it, throwing a hand through the trendy new crop cut of his dark blond hair.
“Hey. Not the hair!”
Just before they debated trying to fling each other into the reflecting pool, there was a forceful knock at her front door.
“Odin’s fucking beard.” Brynn emerged from the kitchen, intercepting Zoe on her rush to the door. “Did you invite Thor and his hammer and not tell us?”
Zoe swung open the portal as the pounding started again. She barely avoided a fist in the face from the man who stood on her porch—correction, consumed her front doorway—like a full-scale Malibu Ken doll.
“Are you Zoe Chestain?” His guttural demand cut the Ken doll impression by half. The accent immediately gave him away as a Texas boy, only it was the Chuck Norris side of Texas, used to confronting a lot of danger.
Which wasn’t a great comprehension for her gut. “Uh…”
“Who the hell wants to know?” Ryder stepped forward, producing an inner alpha dog that Zoe didn’t know he had. It was stunning. A little scary.
The guy tossed a furtive look over his shoulder as he stomped in and slammed the door. “My name’s Dan Colton.” He flashed a gold badge. “I’m with the CIA. And you were the dancer with Shay at A-fifty-one, weren’t you?”
“Don’t tell him a thing, Zo.”
Ryder had gone to full-on protective hound mode. Now the whole thing was a little irritating. Zoe gave him a bop on the shoulder and a soft she-growl.
“Yes,” she told the agent, “that was me. Is he okay? Are you his contact from the agency?”
“I am.” His face tightened. “Or at least I was.”
“Was?” Zoe clutched at Ry. Her body went cold. Oh, God. Didn’t they bring priests along when they informed loved ones that a soldier had died?
But she wasn’t Shay’s “loved one,” was she? What had she been? A nice diversion, if that? Maybe she should be grateful for Colton’s house call, instead of a phone message or email.
“Yeah.” Colton’s green eyes turned stormy. “I’m pretty damn certain my involvement with the guy is past tense.”
From clenched teeth, Zoe demanded, “Which means what?”
The agent pierced her with a harder stare. Whatever he saw in her face clearly disturbed him. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
The urge to drill her fist into the man’s jaw intensified by the second. “Tell you what?”
“Okay, back up the trolley. I’m not on board.” Ryder frowned. “Who the hell is Shay?”
“Ditto,” Ellie and Brynn added in unison.
Zoe glanced up, biting her lip. “Remember when I told you it was complicated?”
“Complicated enough to involve the CIA?” Her friend dropped onto an ottoman when she only bit her lip. “Holy shit, Zo.”
“Pop a chiller, sparky. Let the man explain.” After the sarcasm of her jibe at Ry, Brynn pulled a one-eighty in her cordiality to Colton. “Come in, Agent Colton. Are you hungry? I just pulled some lasagna out of the oven.”
“Sure. Whatever.” The agent was oblivious to the fact that Brynn clearly thought he was better than Thor and the hammer. His palpable stress crunched Zoe’s gut even harder. “So Shay hasn’t contacted you at all in the last four days?” he turned and asked her.
Zoe joined Ryder on her worn leather couch. “No. I’m sorry, Agent Colton. I can see how stressed you are about this. If I could tell you anything else, I would.”
“How about telling your friends who the hell this guy is?” Ry snapped. “Or was?”
“Is.” Zoe bit it out before falling against the cushion, cradling her head in her hands. “His name is Shay Bommer, but you know him as Shane Burnett. Agent Colton was his main line at the CIA because he was working with them on an undercover basis, and—”
“Whoa,” Ry cut in. “Now the trolley’s jumped all the tracks.”
Brynn stomped back in, oven mitts on the hands she braced to her hips. “Damn straight it has. Shane Burnett? The world’s last chunk of chivalry from the airport?”
“Shit.” Ellie gasped. “The one with the supersized fries in his crotch?”
Ryder straightened. “You didn’t tell me about the big fries.”
Brynn stomped closer. “You didn’t tell me that you spent any more time with him after we got back to the hotel.”
“And there was time to do that…when?” Zoe shot back. “Remember the hangover you boarded the plane with?”
“The plane.” Ryder repeated it like the words brought new revelation. “Oh, hell. Shane is Shay. And he was with you during the shit at A-fifty-one. So does that mean that Dom-alicious was also one of the dickwads who hijacked your plane?”
“Dom-alicious?” Brynn and El were once more an echoing chorus, complete with their own accusing gapes.
Colton came to her rescue in the nick of time. Rising with a sweep of his impressive height, the man silenced the three of them with a single glower.
“As much as I’d love to hear that story and have a sweet piece of blackmail material to hold over my friend’s head, there’s a larger cow pile to shovel here.” He paced to the patio door so forcefully, Brynn flattened to the wall to let him by. “I officially don’t know where they’ve taken Shay. And I’m freaked as a virgin in a whorehouse about it. Now none of my calls are being returned, my secure email address is no longer accessible, and my key card doesn’t work at the office.”
So much for the rescue. Zoe surged to her feet. “What does that all mean? ‘They’ who?”
Before she could interpret anything from his cryptic glare of a reply, her cell vibrated on the dining room table. The window didn’t identify a caller. She showed it to Colton, who nodded at her to answer but keep the device tilted so he could listen. She wiped her clammy palms on her thighs before clicking open the line with a wobbly finger.
“H-Hello?”
Several sickening beats of silence went by.
�
�It’s Ghid.”
“Uh, hi.” Hi? Really? Think you can handle things a little better than reverting to the age of fifteen, Zo? “How’d you get my number?” she charged. “Why are you calling?”
“It’s a good thing the I-man has an excellent memory chip. Remarkably, he was able to dig your digits out of his ass, even in this condition.”
Zoe scowled, baffled. “What?”
“Hey…dancer.”
In the same instant, his voice lit up her soul and broke her heart. He sounded parched, exhausted, weak…and alive.
“Shay?” It was a combination of sigh and sob. “Ay Dios mio. Where are you?”
Another unnerving silence. Ghid’s burlap tone filled the line again. “Has Colton found you yet?”
She looked over to the agent, unsure how to answer in light of the way his eyes had gone Hulk green with rage. “Yeah,” he seethed, “I’m right here, ass munch.”
“Thank fuck.” Shay mumbled it that time, sounding more pained. Zoe winced before exchanging a confused glance with Colton, who spoke up on behalf of them both.
“What the hell is going on?” Colton charged. “Who are you and what do you want with Bommer?”
Shay came on again, replacing his strain with wrath. “Goddamnit, Colton. Stop being Cowboy Bob. He’s not the bad guy.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Colton flung. “You’ve been MIA for four days, Bommer.”
“I’m well aware of that, you ass.” He sifted the anger from it to add, “And pretty sure today would’ve been my last one alive, if it weren’t for Ghid.”
“Nah.” A horn sounded in the background to help punctuate it, clarifying the two of them were in a car somewhere together. “They wouldn’t have killed you, kid. Not before dicing you up a bit more.”
“Dios.” Zoe couldn’t help emitting another sob. “Then thank heaven for you, Ghid.”
Colton didn’t look anywhere near ready to join in her gratitude. “‘They’ who?” he challenged.
Ghid paused before answering—long enough to let a strange, foreboding lump form at the base of Zoe’s throat. “The same ‘they’ I’m not going to talk about over the phone, even if we’re using a burner.” The traffic noises behind him grew a little louder, as if they’d gotten onto the freeway. “And the same ‘they’ who are likely on their way to scoop you both up now.”
“Both of us?” Zoe questioned. “You mean Agent Colton and me?”
“What the hell?” Colton charged. “Why?”
Zoe couldn’t interpret the snorts Ghid and Shay emitted, roughening the line. Wait. Maybe she could.
Were they chuckling about this?
“Let’s just say that your big brothers don’t like it when someone comes and takes their toys, Colton.”
The agent frowned. “I don’t have any brothers.”
“Yeah, you do. The big, happy Langley, Virginia family, remember?”
Zoe found herself the lone witness to Colton’s stunned glare. She was pretty certain she shared the expression.
Had the CIA been holding Shay for the last four days?
“Ghid…that’s a big gap of belief to jump,” she finally said. “And if it were the case, why wouldn’t the feds just call Colton in, instead of ‘scooping him up’?”
“Don’t bother answering that, man.” The astonishing interjection belonged to Colton, who had his cell pulled out—with an expression that blew from fury to alarm in two seconds. “I’m already looking at the explanation. You’re not shitting about this.”
“Wish I was,” Ghid muttered.
Brynn, pressed up behind Colton’s other shoulder, also frowned. “What are all those red dots on the screen?” she asked. “And why are they all bunching up in the parking lot at the grocery store up the street?”
“It’s not for a fucking sale on Bugles and beer,” Colton muttered.
Ghid grunted. “You’re able to track the other agents in the city?”
“For safety and security purposes,” Colton supplied. “In this case, mine.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how long they let that last.”
As Ghid declared it, all the dots vanished from the screen.
“Oh, no!” Brynn grabbed Colton’s wrist and shook it, along with the phone. To Zoe’s surprise, the agent reacted with what looked like enchantment instead of anger.
“It’s not an Etch A Sketch, red.”
Brynn was too stressed to latch onto the humor. With panic in her eyes, she looked across the room. “Ellie!”
The hail was redundant. El was already halfway across the room, one hand extended. “Give,” she commanded Colton. The agent, too nonplussed to argue, complied. By the time El had tapped the device a dozen times and completed her technical magic, the trace dots were so globbed together at the grocery store, it appeared like a blood splotch on the screen.
“Shit,” Brynn rasped. “I liked it better when it was an Etch A Sketch.”
“Zoe.” Shay’s voice, though still craggy, now reverberated with his Dominant’s baritone. “You’re in danger, too, dancer. A shit-ton of it.”
“M-me?” She hated herself for getting tremulous. The last thing Shay needed right now was a woman going soggy on him. Still, her confusion was legit. “Wh-why?”
“You know about me now.”
“Know what about you?” That you have the strongest arms that have ever held me, know the fastest paths into my soul, give kisses I’d sacrifice a kidney for?
“I’ll explain soon, I promise. You just both need to get out of there. Now.”
“We can go to my place.” Ryder pulled out his keys. “As long as you all promise to take off your shoes. I had the carpets done last week.”
“El and I are closer,” Brynn countered.
“None of that works,” Ghid ordered. “I guarantee these guys will be pounding on all your doors next.”
“I’ve got something that’ll work.”
Colton’s assertion was quiet but strong, enough to still everyone in the room. Still, Ghid countered, “Fine and dandy, spook man, but you can’t spill it on this party line.”
Colton smirked. “Sure I can.” After a second, he called out, “Yo, I-Man?”
“Yeah?” Shay’s reply had weakened again, turning Zoe’s gut into a pretzel.
“Listen up.”
There was a rustling on the other end, as if the phone were being picked up. Sure enough, Shay’s next words were louder, right into the phone but just as tired. “Go ahead.”
“I want you to subtract eleven from thirteen, then go south but shoot north.”
“Huh?” Zoe stammered.
“What the hell?” El and Brynn chorused.
“Got it,” Shay confirmed.
“Huh?” Zoe bugged her eyes but Colton maintained his focus.
“I won’t repeat for obvious reasons, but it’s in the decoder,” Shay stated.
“The decoder?” That one came from Ghid. “What decoder?”
“The one between my ears. What’s after that, Dan?’
“Double your age,” the agent replied. “When you’ve gotten to the target, ask for Oz.”
“As in the Wizard of?” Ry sneered. “Oh, this should be fun.”
Ellie drummed a finger at Colton’s phone. “No time for fun. The red dots are on the move.”
“Which means we are, too,” Colton ordered. “Leave your phones, grab your purses, and let’s bug. I’m driving.”
“Ry always carries the purses.” Brynn stated it as they hung their bags along one of Ryder’s long, lean arms. “In the mall, that leaves us free to shop. In a situation like this, I suggest replacing shoes with booze.”
Despite the stress lining every inch of his face, one side of Colton’s mouth yanked up. “Zoe, I must commend you on your taste in friends.” He didn’t veer his gaze from Brynn. “They’re beautiful and smart.”
“Awww. Thank you, cutie.” Ryder beat Brynn to the punch on a response, though he had an unfair advantage. It was tough
for Brynn to speak around the giggle she shared with Ellie as Ry gave an appreciative squeeze to Colton’s ass on his way out the door.
* * * * *
An hour later, Zoe tried to remember the metaphor she’d conceived while gazing at the stars back home. Something about life and somersaults…
Well, the comparison needed a serious upgrade now. Something along the lines of a couple of loco backflips.
She could only see a few stars now, though the light pollution from The Strip was a full fifty-four floors down. That didn’t matter when one was competing with a nighttime playground so iconic, some say it could be seen from space. From this picture window in the Vdara’s penthouse, all the icons looked like sleek postcards—the gold bastions of the Wynn and Encore, the Bellagio fountains, the Paris’s Eiffel Tower and hot air balloon—increasing the sensation that this was somehow all the craziest dream she’d ever had. In a second, she’d surely wake up in her room at the Hilton back in LA, rocking the hangover from hell along with the realization she had joined the gang on those margaritas—and that Shay Bommer had been nothing but a perfect man in a magical dream.
“Miss? The food has arrived.”
The statement, though soft, was issued in a voice so deep that she felt it to her toes. Just like Dorothy Gale, her dream had its own wizard, though hers wore tailored black leathers instead of a carpetbagger look, rocked two full sleeves of exotic tattoos, and had a face so beautiful, one barely noticed the severe skull cut of his jet black hair.
“Thanks, Oz,” she replied, just as subdued, “but I’m not very hungry.”
Furrows appeared in the man’s silk-smooth forehead. “Are you unhappy with the accommodations?”
She almost burst out laughing. How could anyone be dissatisfied with this place? The two-bedroom suite, with its modern lines, gray and purple furnishings, and state of the art everything for amenities, was fit for rock stars and moguls, not a bunch of backup dancers from a show up the street. When Colton told them he “knew a guy here” who’d promised he’d always have a place to stay, she wondered if that man was the damn owner, and exactly what kind of favor he owed Colton.