The Spy Who Kissed Me

by Pauline Baird Jones

  “Stan. How charming to run into you again.” It was Flynn Kenyon. Another weird coincidence. Hadn’t seen him for months and now I’d run into him twice in as many days. He had a PT-PAC button pinned to the lapel of his Armani suit and looked more salvation salesman-ish than usual.

  “I didn’t realize you were involved in this. Am I the only person I know who isn’t?” I asked.

  He smiled whitely. “You’d be surprised who is.” He looked at his watch. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have a meeting across town I have to attend.”

  I watched his tall figure retreat through the crowd, turned to leave and slammed into a chest. Hands gripped my arms, I looked up, half expecting Kel, but the after shave wasn’t right. It smelled more like Dag.

  Looked like him, too.

  “Great.” I jerked free of his hold.

  “What a pleasant encounter, darling Isabel. See I didn’t confuse you this time.” He glanced around. “No big boyfriend in tow?”

  “No. You don’t have to be afraid.”

  “I’m never afraid, darling, just cautious. Have you ever wondered why you’re so anxious to avoid me?”

  “No, Dag. I know why I’m so anxious to avoid you. You’re a toe rag.” I showed him a stiff back as I marched away.

  Nasty, but he’d accomplished something a shower and a six pack of muffins hadn’t. He’d got my blood moving.

  Boiling actually.

  * * * *

  My editor looked up as I approached. Small and stocky, Marion looked brisk even when seated behind a table.

  “Stan?” Her brows rose as she took in my appearance. “You look—”

  “Like hell. I know. You’re lucky I made it. Just give me a pen and point me toward the bug butts.”

  She did as requested. “Do I hope that someday you’ll explain why you look like that?”

  “Just watch for me on Fox News.”

  She sighed. “You’ll do anything to get out of autographing books, won’t you?”

  “And yet here I am.” I picked up the pen and pulled the first poster butt toward me. The Dag induced energy surge faded fast. I signed steadily for a small eternity and finally the line decreased to a small trickle, then stopped altogether. I stretched my tired hand and gave Marion a piteous look.

  “Can I take a break?”

  “Fifteen more minutes. How bad can it be?”

  Before I could tell her, the table shook as a pile of books were dropped in front of me. I let my gaze rise up the stack of books to a large woman with a gold front tooth.

  “Oh, Miss Stanley! I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you! My class just loves your books!”

  “I’m glad.” If they liked them so much, why was she returning them?

  “I told them I just knew you’d autograph their books for them. I had them put a little slip inside with their name and the inscription they’d like. If you don’t mind?”

  “Of course she doesn’t mind.” Marion gave me a ‘you’d-better-not-mind’ look.

  “Of course I don’t mind.” I opened the first book and picked up the white slip tucked inside. “To Michael, my main man. From your hot, hot mama. Uh, what grade is it you teach?”

  “Remedial high school students.”

  I turned to give Marion a look that would have killed her on the spot if she hadn’t taken the opportunity to slip away.

  Smart lady.

  * * * *

  I was on the way back from my long delayed bathroom break when I saw the round-headed man standing next to the sand sculpture, pretending to read some fliers while he cast furtive looks around. He was older than he’d looked in the dark, probably in his late forties or early fifties, and wearing a western-cut polyester suit that highlighted his figure flaws, particularly the place where stomach spill hid his belt. His pointed feet were shoved into cowboy boots and turned out, remarkably like the cartoon character I’d sketched him as. Only he wasn’t a cartoon.

  He was a killer.

  And he was looking for me.

  He looked up and found me. He started toward me when something low and gray, hit him dead center. Cowboy and the spy protecting me sprawled into the sand sculpture. Grappling awkwardly, the two men, one round, and one straight, rolled through a sand child before crashing to the floor. A cascade of sand followed them down as a week’s worth of sculpting dissolved under the hands of startled workers.

  Above their grunts and groans and the gasps of onlookers, I heard the shrill wail of whistles. Two security guards rushed onto the scene and pushed their way through the crowd that formed around the struggling figures.

  For a minute it was a game of Twister without the mat as the guards tried to drag my suit off the round-headed man. All of them were slipping and sliding on the sand. None of them looked like they were enjoying it.

  Then the four men broke apart. The round-headed man was free and furious. He shook sand from his scant hair and glared around. In a classic case of clueless, the two guards jumped my suit.

  I didn’t wait to see anymore. I took off, running right out of my high heeled shoes. My heavy purse banged rhythmically against my side as I scampered between exhibits and people. I contemplated off-loading it, but it was the only thing I had that remotely resembled a weapon. Besides, inside it was a driver’s license picture that was actually decent. They’d have to pry that from my cold, dead fingers.

  I dashed and dodged, riding a wave of panic that swept away any rational thought. When I saw the double doors to one side, I made a sharp right, slid across the cement floor and crashed into them. Jerked one open and slid through.

  I knew right away I’d made a bad choice, but my body was still running ahead of my brain. It just kept fleeing down the hallway, leaving behind the safety of bright lights and the comforting sounds of potential eye witnesses.

  There was no cover in the hallway, so I picked up the pace a bit, went round a corner and almost launched myself down a stairway. Only by grabbing the iron rail as I went by, did I change a header down the stairs into a body slam into a brick wall.

  This gave my brain a minute to catch up with my body.

  The stairs marched down into a murky, half lit world rumbling with the muted sound of machinery. My body started to listen to my brain screaming caution, until my ears heard the door open and the distinctive snap of cowboy boots on cement.

  Instinct took over again.

  My stocking feet were soundless against the steps, my brain screaming at me to run, as I plunged recklessly down into the bowels of the physical plant. A brief landing at the bottom, a skid, then I was running down a dark passage like a Gothic heroine, my purse and braid streaming behind. On either side rose huge, dark shapes, groaning monster inhabitants of this nether world.

  I kept turning down passages, always choosing the darker, until I ran out of steam and passages and into a brick wall. My chest heaved with fright and the need for air. I slid to the floor with my back against the wall. As my breathing gradually evened out, I realized the thump, thump, thump I thought was my heart was actually cowboy boots against the cement floor coming directly toward me.

  FOURTEEN

  I pressed into the small space under a kind of boiler as a scream tried to crawl up and out my throat. Fear put a choke hold on said throat when a dark figure paused, the roundness of his head clearly visible against the dim overhead bulb.

  He waited, his head bent in a listening attitude while light found and lit a dull gleam in the weapon he carried. I closed my eyes, so he wouldn’t see my whites and shoot. That’s when I heard more footsteps.

  Rescue or an accomplice?

  I peeked. The round-headed man tensed, reached up and loosened the bulb overhead, then stepped back into my shadows. He was so close I could smell his noxious after-shave mixed with acrid sweat. What came first, I wondered, the bad taste, then bad guy or the bad guy, then bad taste? Not my finest hour, I’ll admit, but the sheer terror, followed by shallow thought made me realize I could think.

&nb
sp; While I had my mini-epiphany, whoever was approaching came into the round-headed guy’s range. He spoke in this growly, bad-guy voice, “Hold it right there, bitch.”

  I guess I could understand the error, given the lack of light, but I didn’t like it. And I couldn’t cower and let someone get shot for me.

  If only I had a gun.

  Wait. I did have a gun.

  I eased my hand in my purse and felt through the debris until I found the handle of Rosemary’s glue gun.

  “You shoulda kept pretending you didn’t know anything, doll. Mighta stayed alive. Let’s see some hands.”

  Not too bright if he thought he could see anything. I’d had time for my eyes to adjust to the dark and I could barely see his round-headed outline against the general murk. Still, even a mental midget would eventually notice the difference between a female victim and what I suspected was a CIA suit. And realizing the guy was CIA would only hasten the shooting.

  I pulled the glue gun clear of the purse.

  “That’s it, get those hands up nice and high. And let’s have your purse. I need that picture you made of me.”

  What? This guy wasn’t just evil, he was stupid. Didn’t he know the police had the picture? I left my purse on the floor and eased upright, gripping the glue gun with both hands, the way they did it in the movies.

  The round-headed man didn’t move. All of his little brain was directed to where he thought I was. I took a steadying breath. Then jammed the glue gun into his fleshy back as hard as I could.

  “Don’t move, toe rag!” I growled trying to sound deep and official. “Lose the piece!”

  He started, then said, “I have the bitch in my sights, spook. Now mebbe you better drop your heater before I do her.”

  With a clarity honed by adrenaline, I acted on instinct, sliding the gun down his back until the glue gun was digging into his fat behind.

  “Only way you have me in your sights, is if your eyes are in your ass with your brain, idiot. Now drop that gun before I make you into a freaking soprano!”

  I gave him a good, hard jab to press home my point.

  “Now, lady,” his voice spontaneously rose a couple of octaves, “don’t get your drawers in a twist! See,” he extended his arms, the gun swinging from his fat finger and thumb, “I’m putting it down. Just stay calm.”

  “Don’t tell me to stay calm. It makes me nervous. Did I mention this has a hair trigger?” It wasn’t a lie. Rosemary had bought top of the line. This baby could produce a thin line of glue if you just thought you wanted it to. “Put the gun down and kick it toward the spook before I do something you’ll regret!”

  I gave him another jab. It felt good. Maybe I should have been a cop. Or a spook.

  “Okay! Okay!”

  He bent to lay the gun down. The suit had his gun up, peering into our dark passage. Then the other suit called out, the sound making an eerie echo. It was just the distraction the round-headed man was waiting for. He elbowed me. My breath woofed out. He lunged forward and applied one of those shoulder butts football players do to the suit’s solar plexus. His breath woofed out, too.

  Gamely the suit made a grab for the round-headed man, got a knee to the jaw for his trouble and went down.

  Round head made a grab for his gun, but I saw that one coming and kicked it into the shadows.

  “We’re here! Help!” Self-defense 101. Make a lot of noise.

  I made more noise and the round-headed man staggered forward, his cowboy boots skidding against the floor for several dancing steps, then he got his footing and scampered down the passage, the frantic echo of his footsteps gradually fading away.

  “You all right, Miss Stanley?” The suit helped me to my feet.

  I did a little shimmy. It hurt, but no pain that was out of the ordinary. “Yeah.”

  He brought out a little flash light and shined it around, then pointed it at the glue gun. “You should’ve shot him.”

  “I couldn’t.” I held it up, so that he could see the cord dangling from the butt. “It wasn’t plugged in.”

  He stared at the gun, incredulity breaking out all over his face.

  * * * *

  Even Marion didn’t want me to stay. With a promise to explain later, if I was still alive and not in jail, I limped back to my car. They assigned me some new suits because my old ones had to “mop up.” The new guys tried but failed to look identical. One was tall and round, the other short and thin. As I drove home, I realized the incident had left more questions than it answered. How had round head found out I could ID him or that I was at the convention center?

  The evidence was stacking up against Kel.

  On the other hand, the suits had made serious, if ineffective efforts, to save me. If Kel had wanted me dead, why had he assigned people to protect me?

  This seemed to make Kel a good guy. Which meant there was something or someone in the mix we didn’t know about. Maybe round head had seen me and it had taken him that long to track me down. He could have taken the license plate number off the car and had it traced. Or someone at the police station could have tipped him off.

  I liked this scenario better than the one where Kel kissed me, then tried to get me killed. And not just because he kissed like a romance hero. He didn’t give off bad guy vibes. Sometimes a girl just had to trust her heart, even if the heart had taken to beating too fast. Thanks to these cogitations and despite my near death experience, I was light of fast beating heart when I made my shoeless way home and found a yummy looking white Porsche occupying my spot in front of the house.

  I shut off my car and opened the door. That’s when I heard the category five din emanating from Rosemary’s house. In the backyard I could also hear Addison barking furiously.

  When I looked at the new suits, they looked away.

  My heroes.

  Dog first. I found him in the backyard with Rosemary’s baby. Dom was perched on the fence in full pirate regalia, brandishing his plastic hook hand.

  “What’s with the noise, Blackbeard?”

  “Ar, Candy’s on the phone,” Dom growled.

  “Oh. Right.” Of course, that would explain the noise level, wouldn’t it? “Why’s Addison barking like that?”

  “There’s a scalawag up our tree. I’m going to give him a peg leg when he comes down.”

  “Really?”

  With his plastic sword, he gave me one instead. I mock-limped my way round the corner to the tree Addison had staked out. It was a fine cherry tree, despite being winter bare. Dom hadn’t imagined it. There was a man up there.

  Kelvin Kapone.

  He looked fine sitting up a tree.

  * * * *

  He looked even better out of the tree. His soft dark chocolate tee shirt was tucked into khakis that fit smoothly across romance hero thighs. His brown leather jacket gave him a relaxed, rakish aura. The sunlight filtering through the bare branches of the tree found each strand of gold in his light brown hair and his eyes were both sheepish and amused.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  He seemed poised for a man who’d been treed by a dog, then given a coup de peg leg by a small pirate. Perhaps Kel recognized his own kind in Dom. He smiled, the dimple came into play, igniting lust. My heart started this tom-toming in my chest. Between fear and lust, the old ticker was getting quite the workout.

  “So, what were you doing up my sister’s tree?”

  “I came to see if you have a license for that glue gun.”

  Repeated exposure to his charm was giving me, if not immunity, at least the ability to be reasonably coherent while basking in it. I grinned. “You going to arrest me if I don’t?”

  His smile widened into wicked. “No, but I might have to search you.”

  “Well,” I plucked a twig from his hair, “my mother taught me to be law abiding, so I guess I’d have to let you.” My mother hadn’t taught me to play with fire, but she probably knew that came naturally. My words put a satisfying blaze in his blues eyes.

>   It was like believing I was the rabbit and finding out I was really the magician.

  “Never let it be said,” his mouth curved dangerously, “that I didn’t do my duty.”

  The hand he held out to me had a slight tremor in it. I felt an echoing one rattle my knees. At this rate, I wouldn’t have a solid bone left in my body. When his palm made contact with my skin, we both sighed. His fingers spread, then slid around to the back of my neck, starting fires on the way. His head bent toward my mouth. My mouth parted, eager for tutoring in the delights of the flesh.

  In the background, the pounding music kept time with my heart.

  He took his time, was very thorough. As a taxpayer, I was pleased and felt entitled to some searching of my own. I spread my hands over the tee shirt and the chest underneath, felt his heart pound into my palms. Felt it pound for me. I was careful to keep my hands above the bandage, but that left plenty to be explored and enjoyed. The wonder of it spread down to my toes. I went up on them to get closer. He helped, wrapping his arms around me and deepening his search.

  “Stan? What are you doing?”

  Dazed, and not a little annoyed, I peered around Kel’s shoulder. Joelle and Justine were staring solemnly up at us. I could have ignored them. They’d seen worse on television. But what I couldn’t ignore was the stump on the left side of each small head where a braid used to be.

  * * * *

  The noise was worse inside. Everything that could be turned on had been turned on. At the epicenter, I found Candice lying on the floor with her feet propped up on the wall, talking on the phone as if she were in the sound proof booth of a TV game show.

  I unplugged the telephone, her mouth forming a protest I couldn’t hear, and sent the twins off on a quest to restore quiet. Conversation was impossible until they succeeded. Candice came after me, trailing the dismembered telephone and an inaudible whine, until silence spread through the house. She caught sight of Kel leaning against the counter next to me and stared at him with cow eyes.

  “Whoa, who’s this?”

  I performed introductions, then stood back and watched Kel give her his dimpled smile. She melted. Did I look like that, I wondered. Did I care? The twins returned from their quest for silence and leaned against Kel’s legs, gazing up at him with adoring expressions. Lucky little brats. Kel looked at me, inquiry in his eyes, and I shrugged back. Hey, children attaching themselves to your legs is just one of the many hazards of the suburbs. I turned towards another one. The teenager.