Spy Games

by Gina Robinson

  I noticed he was frowning. “Something wrong?”

  Dear God, don’t let him have found another calling card from Ket, I thought. My heart raced with fear at the mere thought.

  Van slid the closet door closed without comment and I relaxed a little. He took a step into the room and spied my packed suitcase sitting on the suitcase stand by the dresser and turned back to look at me. “You’re certainly prepared. Everything zipped up and ready to go.”

  “Yep. That’s me.”

  He picked up my suitcase. “I’ll carry this for you.”

  “You mean, wheel for me?”

  He grinned. Across the hall, he performed the all-clear inspection in my new room before taking the suitcase stand from the closet, setting it up, and depositing my luggage on it. “There you go,” he said, “you’re all settled in.”

  Only I wasn’t quite. I’d set our uniforms down and had my back to him. Ignoring him, I inspected the deadbolt lock and security latch on the door.

  He came up behind me. “More Oprah tips?”

  “A girl can never be too careful.”

  “Let me take a look. I have some experience with locks.”

  I stepped back out of his way and over to my luggage. I know it was cowardly, but on the off chance that Ket, or someone, had stuffed a little present in my suitcase, I wanted to open it while Van was still there. Fortunately, my suitcase came up clean and so did the locks.

  We finished our inspections simultaneously. Van came over to where I stood in front of the luggage rack between the dresser and the adjoining room door.

  “The locks are good,” he said, standing very near me, crowding in on the heart of my personal space so close I could feel his body heat.

  “Great.” He was distractingly good-looking. He smelled delicious, too. Scientists say that if you like someone’s scent it’s a good indicator of compatibility. Well…I loved his. And the best part was he smelled completely different than Ket. The smell of Ket’s signature cologne was an automatic turn-off. I rejected any man who wore it. “Thanks.” I felt almost shy and suddenly nervous as I looked up into his eyes.

  “You going to be okay here tonight by yourself?” His question sounded more like concern than a come-on. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed by that or not. Part of Ket’s legacy was that I didn’t trust my judgment in men anymore.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He reached an arm past me and thumped the adjoining room door. “I’ll be just on the other side of this door. I’m going to unlock my side. If you need anything, come on over.”

  I nodded. Up close, I could see the golden flecks in his eyes. Our lips were so close, it would have been too easy to lean into a kiss. Only I panicked and looked down.

  He took his cue and stepped back. “Until tomorrow then.”

  I walked him to the door and locked up behind him, thinking what a big, scared dummy I was. One little kiss, what would that have hurt?

  The thing was, I liked Van. Probably way too much for having just met him. Though he looked like he could take care of himself, he was a math professor, not a cop or an FBI agent or something. Not someone who was equipped to deal with a maniacal Ket.

  I sighed. I’d had very few dates, and no real relationship, since Ket. And it was going to be hell starting one if I rejected every guy I genuinely liked because I feared I was bringing danger their way.

  I hated being scared and vulnerable. By the end of camp, I intended to be a stronger, more confident woman.

  I eyed the adjoining door. Thinking of Van getting ready for bed on the other side, I smiled.

  Chapter 5

  Breakfast at 0700 seemed cruelly indecent after the night I’d had. The beer-daiquiri drinking mix from the night before was a definite do-not-repeat combo. Dreams of Van are best not interrupted by visions of Ket in slasher mode. I woke frustrated and tired. And too scared to go to the hotel weight room for my usual morning exercise.

  I preferred getting up, working out, and grabbing breakfast—an energy bar and a skinny, nonfat, sugar free, vanilla latte—on the fly. I’ve never been haute couture or world class and maybe my eating habits explained why.

  I would have bagged breakfast altogether and headed for the bus at 0730, but I got the feeling that I’d need a protein hit to get through the day. Plus I didn’t like the thought of all the macho men being at breakfast, leaving me to a mostly deserted hotel floor.

  So I dragged my butt out of bed, pulled my hair into a high, intimidation ponytail, and hit the showers. When I got out, I dressed in my form-hugging 3D black, moisture-wicking tee, combat boots, and BDU. I decided against the natural look in makeup and went with smoky and hot. One thing I’d learned from my modeling days was how to apply makeup for just about any occasion. When I was satisfied that I looked reasonably like Lara Croft, Tomb Raider, and was ready to kick some spy-wannabe boy butt, I prepared to head out.

  But first, I locked my purse in the in-room safe. I tucked my key card and a lipstick in one of those travel neck pouches and slid my cell phone in my pocket. Now I was ready.

  When I opened my room door, Van was lounging just outside it, waiting for me.

  “Ohmygosh! You scared me to death,” I said, hand to heart. And it was only a slight exaggeration. I don’t know what was worse, the fact that Van had caught me jumpy or realizing that Ket could have just as easily been lying in wait. “What are you doing skulking in hallways?”

  “Waiting to walk you to breakfast.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” If I hadn’t been annoyed with myself, I would have tried to sound more appreciative. Maybe even flirted.

  Van looked tousled and dewy-eyed and I liked my men that way. He looked way more attractive in his BDUs than I did in mine. Face it. BDUs were designed with the male physique in mind.

  “You shower and clean up quickly…for a woman.” He was grinning.

  I didn’t have to ask how he knew that. He’d probably been listening to the shower.

  “I didn’t wash my hair,” I said to be flippant. “When we don’t have to wash, condition, and dry yards of hair, we can be just as fast as men.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” he said. Only the way he said it implied another meaning.

  I ignored him and ran off at the mouth. “If you want to keep hair healthy, you should only wash it two or three times a week, tops.”

  “I didn’t know. Oprah tell you that?” he said as we walked to the elevator. “You forgot to complain about how women have to put on makeup. If they went barefaced, that would save a lot of time, too.” He pushed the button to call the elevator. “I’m not complaining. I like what you did with your eyes.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. At least that effort hadn’t been wasted.

  Breakfast was supposed to be served in a small, private dining room off the main restaurant. To get to it, we had to take the elevator down from our floor and walk through the lobby.

  When the elevator doors opened, I barely recognized our stop. The lobby looked like the invasion of the Seattle Women’s Fair—wall-to-wall ladies, hundreds of them and more arriving by the minute, their lavender-wheeled suitcases and sample bags trailing behind them. A welcome table had been strategically placed by the hall to the main conference area. A line snaked around it. At the table, a heavily bejeweled woman handed out name tags and goody bags.

  My first thought was Mary Kay Convention. Only there was a shocking lack of makeup and pink. However, what the women lacked in makeup, they made up for with a profusion of jewelry dangling off earlobes, looping around necks and waists, and cuffing wrists in coordinated sets.

  Beside me, Van hesitated before stepping out of the elevator. Probably overwhelmed by so much estrogen. I thought he mumbled, “Holy shit.”

  Before we could move, we were accosted by one of them.

  “Cindi Lou Jewelry. Cayla Smith, regional director.” A tall, brunette woman about my age approached me and extended her hand. Her gaze flicked between Van and me as she obviously tr
ied to make out our relationship.

  “R,” I said, shaking her hand, thinking how great code names were. I made it a habit never to give out complete personal info to strangers. Like full names. Maybe I was a bit of a worry freak. But so be it.

  Cayla’s eyes held the hint of a question, but her smile didn’t waver. She was too busy appraising me, taking in my battle gear garb and distinct absence of accessories.

  “Nice to meet you, R. And this is?” She was looking at Van. Well, in my opinion it was hard not to look at Van, not if you appreciated masculine eye candy. So I forgave her. “This is V.”

  “You’re not here for our convention, are you?” She was talking to me but still looking at Van.

  “No,” I said, trying to draw her attention back to me. “I suppose my lack of jewelry gave me away?”

  She laughed. “You could say.” Her gaze ran over my garb. “Military?”

  “Vacation.”

  She didn’t have to voice her thoughts. As she twirled her long, loopy ribbon and bead necklace around her fingers, you could see the wheels turning. What kind of a vacation required camo and combat boots? I had the feeling she thought we were some kind of paramilitary freaks. Or maybe white supremacists who’d escaped from the wilds of Idaho for a vacation in the big city. But the real question was written on her face—how in the world was she going to sell jewelry to GI Jane? Would GI Joe buy it for me?

  “We have a very nice line of military-inspired jewelry,” Cayla said, undaunted, a hint to Van in her voice. She produced her card from her oversized purse and handed it to me. “Are you staying in the hotel?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Great! We’re having a benefit show tomorrow night that’s open to the public. Free admittance. We’ll be showcasing our new fall line. Half the proceeds benefit breast cancer research. Be sure to pop by. And if you’d like to take a look at our selection before the show, stop by my room, six twenty-two.”

  Maybe it was just me, but I thought she put in a big hint to Van there.

  Then it struck me—622!

  Curses! She was staying in my old room, the matchbook-haunted one. Which didn’t bode well on two fronts—one, it was right across the hall from me. I recognized the light of rising to a challenge in her saleswoman eyes. I’d just become her next project. Or maybe Van had. Or both of us. Anyway, she was sure to find out where I “lived.” And two—I suddenly had a horrible vision of Ket breaking in in the dark and mistaking her for me. Not that she looked like me, but she fit my basic description. Huddled under the covers with her brown hair peeking out, she’d pass for yours truly.

  One of the sickest things about being a stalking victim is the guilt you feel for always putting others in danger. It makes for a lonely world.

  I tried not to look too shaken and assumed my woman-to-woman-word-of-advice tone. “You shouldn’t be giving out your room number or answering your door for strangers, or even hotel staff.”

  She looked skeptical and like I was probably a jealous hag over Van.

  “Let me guess—Oprah tip? You just saw a show on safety for women travelers?”

  Poor Oprah! She always gets the blame.

  “Not exactly,” I said, hoping I wasn’t coming off like a crackpot alarmist. “I overheard the hotel staff discussing some jerk who’s been hanging around and trying to pick up women in the bar and lobby. He’s…overly persistent. And he’s been seen following them to their rooms.”

  Her eyes widened and I decided I’d better soften things up a bit, so I added, “So far, he’s been chased off without doing any harm.”

  I couldn’t help pausing for dramatic effect.

  “I wouldn’t open my door for anyone, not unless I was sure it was someone I knew well. And beware tall, dark, handsome strangers.”

  Her gaze flicked back to Van. Yeah, she definitely thought I was being territorial. He was tall, dark, and handsome. But so far he didn’t seem like a jerk. Besides, he wasn’t mine. I really was being altruistic with my warning.

  I didn’t mean to sound like Madame Reilly, the all-knowing prognosticator of doom. I really didn’t. Nor did I mean to scare Cayla. But what could I do? I had to dispel her of the jealous theory. I had to keep her on her guard.

  I gave her a loose description of Ket. Just as Cayla and I fit the same general description, so did Van and Ket. But they didn’t look the same. Not at all. Ket had several inches and thirty pounds or so on Van. I hoped she’d see the difference and take my warning to heart.

  I finished by saying, “You might warn the other women.”

  It wouldn’t hurt to have a couple hundred more pair of eyes keeping a watch out for Ket. For her sake and mine.

  Cayla nodded. “Thanks for the tip.”

  Her thanks was so insincere, she may as well have done the heavenward glance. She’d barely tolerated listening to my warning. And I’m pretty sure she thought it was bogus.

  “You will be at the benefit, won’t you?”

  Only I think she was looking more at Van than me.

  As we walked away, Van caught my arm. I paused to look up at him.

  “What’s this about a man hanging around? Since when did you hear the staff talking?”

  I shrugged and started walking. “I dunno. Must have been yesterday.” Which was kind of wiseass because when else could it have been?

  “Something or someone has you spooked.”

  Despite his intimidating, penetrating stare, I didn’t validate his accusation. I didn’t deny it, either.

  “You don’t strike me as the flighty, high-strung type so I’m going out on a limb and saying it’s not the FSC break-in gag. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a six four, two hundred twenty pound, dark-haired man…” He went on to repeat my description of Ket.

  By the time he finished, we’d reached the breakfast room.

  “Let’s eat! I’m starving,” I said, ignoring his question. I might have been leery of having a fling or anything else with Van for his own safety, but I didn’t feel like scaring him away completely by telling him about twisted Ket, the celebrity trainer/gym owner turned stalker, just yet. Van wasn’t a big, bad PI like Huff.

  Our run-in with the jewelry queen in the lobby made us late for breakfast. When we finally arrived, all the boys were present except Huff.

  “There’s two more.” Cliff sat at a table, eating a half of grapefruit. Taking my suggestion, he’d commandeered a pair of scissors from somewhere and hacked off his camo pants at the knees, exposing his stumpy, hairy legs.

  I should have kept my mouth shut about the scissors.

  “Huff with you?” Cliff seemed edgy.

  “No. Isn’t he here?” I asked. “Nice shorts.”

  Cliff mumbled a thanks.

  “He’s probably just sleeping in,” Steve said, standing in front of the buffet with a look of disgust on his face as he surveyed the breakfast offerings.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall over the buffet. It was 0715 already. “If Huff doesn’t hurry, he’ll miss out on the chow.” Such as it was.

  “He’d do better to join us at the bus,” Steve said.

  I took one look at the breakfast spread and agreed with Steve. “Continental breakfast? Where’s the real food? I need a protein fix.”

  Van and I grabbed a plate and started through the line. The spread was disappointing, heavy on sweets and carbs, and lacking in substantive protein.

  I turned to Van. “Do you think they swapped our breakfast with the jewelry ladies’? They’re probably complaining about eggs loaded with cheese, nice fat sausages, and stick-to-the-ribs oatmeal. How are we going to go to combat on this?”

  Van just smiled, looking like he could go to combat on an empty stomach.

  I finally settled for a cup of yogurt, some granola, and fruit. I think I’d have been better off with my energy bar.

  At 0728, we all headed to the FSC bus that was waiting for us out in front of the hotel in the passenger pickup zone. Huff still hadn’t showed. Van asked the d
river to wait and ran inside to the front desk to have them ring Huff’s room. Peewee and I tagged along after him.

  When the front desk got no response to their call, Peewee tried Huff’s cell. “Voice mail. I think he’s got it turned off.”

  Out of options, the three of us headed up to Huff’s room to smoke him out.

  Peewee banged on the door with a fist that could’ve doubled as a meat tenderizing mallet. “Huff, you lazy son of a bitch.” He let loose with a string of cursing. “Get up and answer the damn door!”

  I would have used politer language. But I wasn’t willing to step in as Miss Manners, not when Peewee was that hacked off. Besides, I had the feeling that foul language was his mother tongue.

  A guy in the room next door poked his head out. “What the shit’s going on out here?” That was the genteel part of the spew of curses that followed. Brave, or maybe foolhardy, soul.

  Peewee gave him a look that would have silenced me for life. “None of your business.”

  Van stepped between them and apologized before things got uglier.

  The guy finally ducked back into his room with a slam of his door.

  Van turned to us. “Let’s go. Huff’s not here.”

  “Where do you think he is?” I asked, frustrated as we gave up on rousing Huff from the hopefully not dead, and headed back to the bus before the driver gave up on us.

  “No idea. I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself,” Van said, but I noticed he kept glancing back at Huff’s room as we walked to the elevator.

  “He better not be off screwing around with one of the jewelry ladies,” Peewee said, sounding more like someone who’s been double-crossed in a business deal than a concerned buddy and fellow CT. Annoyed didn’t even begin to describe his tone.

  As I pressed the button to call the elevator, Peewee flicked a glance at me as if he’d suddenly remembered who was with them. “Sorry about back there. Huff’s not a one-woman man. Better you know.”

  I blushed, not happy that Van overheard.

  “Yeah,” I said distractedly. I had a bad feeling about Huff’s no-show status. A guy didn’t spend thousands of dollars on an extreme vacation, fly up from California to take it and then just blow off the first exciting morning of it. Not even for a quick screw with a babe clad only in fabulous costume jewelry. I turned to Van. “Maybe we should leave word at the front desk to call one of us if Huff shows up.”