Spy Games

by Gina Robinson

  Van had the decency to look sheepish a second time. “You can cooperate or we can get a warrant.”

  I waved him off. “Fine. Go ahead and look.”

  I hesitated. “Are you going to tell me what you find?”

  “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  “Cop-out.” I gave Van’s guys my key card and the password to the in-room safe. “You’ll send someone right out to protect my family?” My voice broke and it took me a minute to get control back. “If Ket gets desperate enough, he’ll go after them. And the bad guys…”

  “We’ve got someone on it already.”

  Chapter 24

  The team dispersed.

  “FSC has arranged for an armed escort back to the hotel when we’re ready for you,” Van said.

  “You mean when your team’s finished pawing through my belongings.”

  “Yeah.” He was packing up to leave.

  “Tell them to paw gently and clean up after themselves. I’ve seen the cop shows. They manhandle the shoes and they’re gone.”

  “Sure.”

  “Liar.”

  He smiled and turned to go.

  I caught his arm. The startled, optimistic look he gave at my touch was almost enough to thaw my anger. Almost.

  “I want to leave before the press does. Get me out to the car while the cameras are rolling.”

  “You don’t want to avoid the press?”

  Almost subconsciously, I rubbed my big, fat goose egg. “Not this time. I’m not Ket’s girl anymore. And I’m not modeling, making my living on my looks. I don’t have a perfect professional image to protect.” I gave him a pleading look, begging him to understand. “I want people to see what he did. I want them to know who to blame. I don’t want to be afraid.”

  He stared at me for a long minute. “Don’t say anything that will compromise the case.”

  “Wouldn’t dare.”

  “You didn’t hear that from me.”

  “I never even talked to you.”

  When it was time to leave, Van came to get me in the “sick” room where I’d been resting. To preserve his cover, he was riding back with the rest of us.

  “We’re ready to go. The reporters are still out there waiting for fresh blood.” He gave me a look that asked if I’d changed my mind about braving them.

  “I’m ready.”

  His gaze flicked over me, and it wasn’t exactly the most appreciative, lusty gaze I’ve ever received. “Do you want to freshen up first?”

  “I want them to see me exactly as he left me.”

  “Preserve the evidence?”

  “My VC is always nagging me to keep a victim’s diary. Let them have a photo essay.”

  “Let’s go then. War wants to meet with everyone in the lobby before we leave.”

  “What about?”

  “Another discussion on whether we should continue to sally on with our camp.” Van paused. “We need you to insist that you want to come back for the final day.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t real keen on being on my own quite yet, anyway. Not with Ket and Goon on the loose.

  “The new security guys are fresh from the security company and we’ve checked them out. No Goon.”

  I gave him a half smile. “Good.”

  “They’ll be guarding our floor at the hotel all night.”

  “Good PR stunt,” I said.

  “My guys will be watching us, too.” Van touched my arm. “Thought you’d want to know. We found the real security guy locked in the trunk of his parked car in a grocery store lot near his home.”

  “Is he?”

  “Shaken up, but fine. Ready?”

  Our meeting with War lasted only minutes. We all quickly agreed to come back.

  War introduced our bodyguards. “This is Bob. And this is Bob.”

  Tall, sturdy, no necks. Sunglasses. Black tees and jeans. They looked like guys you’d hire from Bodyguards and Bouncers R Us, Hollywood office. Next time War could hire Pete and Re-Pete.

  War turned the show over to the Bobs. Bob and Other Bob gave us instructions on how to safely get to the bus. We formed up and prepared to move out with Bob and Bob flanking us.

  I took off my jacket. I’d been huddled in it ever since War had brought it to me in sickbay. I shivered.

  “Put that back on. It’s cool out there and you’re still in shock.” Van gave me a stern look.

  I shook my head and glanced down at my bare right arm where a handsome set of welts in the shape of Ket’s hand had formed, underlined by the distinctive purple of bruising. “When we go out, stand on my left. I want the reporters to see this arm. Ket’s handprint is so clear, there’s no way they could miss it.”

  It was hard to peg the look Van gave me. Kind of a mixture of sympathy and pride. “They’ll be in our faces. They know who Ket is. And you. And Cliff and Jim. Everyone here but Steve and me are high-profile fodder for the story.”

  “You’re high profile. You’re the hero, the knight in shining armor of this tale.” I don’t know why I said that. I was still mad at him. I took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’m counting on the fodder. You can stop trying to talk me out of this now.”

  Bob and Bob got the group of us moving.

  “Let them see your good side,” I whispered to Van.

  “My good side has a black eye.”

  “That’s the side I mean.”

  Flanked by Bob and Other Bob, we stepped out into a crush of reporters, who let their questions fly rapid-fire. Some at me. Some at Cliff. Some at Jim. Some at Van. Steve, they pretty much ignored. And it may have been my imagination, but Steve seemed steamed by that.

  Given a day or two, my cognitive powers would have returned to normal, but at the current moment, I was still finding it hard to think straight and focus on the questions directed at me. Mostly, I just cued in on my name and took it from there. Ahead of me, Cliff was trying to steal the show, to the point of breaking with the pack and being herded back in by Bob and Other Bob. Cliff blatantly played the PR card for his upcoming film, answering questions that weren’t even his with answers that extolled the virtue of his soon-to-be shooting movie.

  “Ms. Peterson? Reilly?” A local female reporter I recognized from the five o’clock news stuck a mic in my face. “What happened in there?”

  Bob, or maybe it was Other Bob, brushed her back.

  I tucked my head down. “I can’t comment on that.”

  “We heard your ex-boyfriend Ket Brooks tried to abduct you?” someone else shouted.

  I neither denied nor verified.

  “Did he hurt you?” Still another reporter.

  I turned my full face to the bank of reporters long enough for the photographers to get a clear shot of it and my arm, and then looked down and away.

  “What were you doing at Fantasy Spy Camps?” another reporter yelled.

  “Vacationing.”

  “This session teaches participants self-defense, close quarter combat, and hostage rescue techniques. Do you find that ironic? Is that why you’re here? Were you afraid of Brooks?”

  I teared up a bit. “No comment.”

  “How did you escape?”

  Van was walking next to me. I touched his arm, did a Nell looking at Dudley Do-right, and flashed him a “my hero” look. “No comment.”

  “Were you afraid for your life? Did you fight back?”

  I reached the shuttle bus steps. “I used what I learned here at FSC.”

  It was rush hour. The radio news—traffic, news, and weather every fifteen minutes—repeated the day’s top story. Ket Brooks, celebrity trainer to the stars, was wanted for the attempted kidnapping of his former girlfriend, former UW fastpitch star pitcher and sports model Reilly Peterson, and an attempted vehicular homicide for trying to run down her rescuer, math professor Van Keller.

  By the time we got back to the hotel, the story was blaring all over the five o’clock news. Bob and Other Bob escorted us through another rabid pack of reporters and back to our rooms.


  Van and I were the last to be dropped off. As we reached our side-by-side doors, Cayla popped her head out from her door across the hall.

  “So it’s true! Look at you two.” Her gaze flicked over Van and she suppressed a wince, her thoughts written all over her face. He definitely wasn’t as pretty as he used to be. She may as well have clucked her tongue.

  Her gaze bounced to me and she flashed me her sympathetic look. When she shook her head, her myriad of beaded necklaces rustled. “At least you’re all right.” She smiled at Van. “You’re being hailed a hero.”

  “Yeah, he’s my hero.”

  Cayla looked taken aback by the obvious sarcasm in my voice. “Didn’t he—”

  “Yeah, he saved me.”

  Next to me, Van did his half-face grin.

  “I didn’t think you’d be coming back to the hotel tonight.” Cayla looked uncertainly between us and then at Bob and Other Bob.

  “We have protection.” I nodded toward the two security guys. I’d memorized Bob and Other Bob’s every facial detail on the bus ride back. No more switcheroo for me. Not that Goon could ever do a convincing impression of either of those two pieces of beefcake. “Meet our bodyguards.” I introduced them.

  “And as an added bonus, the hotel has beefed up security and the cops will be making extra rounds by here tonight. We’ll all be safer than we’ve ever been.” Where had I heard that before?

  Van paused at his door, watching my conversation. We hadn’t spoken on the ride back.

  Cayla looked over my two hunky bodyguards, sizing them up as potential jewelry customers and one-night stands.

  Bob and Other Bob were a little too buff for my personal tastes. And a little too strong-silent-type, heavy on the silent. Under normal circumstances, she was welcome to them. But tonight I needed them on duty and standing between me and the Grim Reaper dressed as Ket or Goon.

  Cayla ogled the Bobs as she spoke to me, putting out some strong come-hither vibes. Cayla was attractive in her own heavily bejeweled Sweet Gypsy Rose way, rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. She actually didn’t have the bells on her toes…yet, anyway. Maybe one of the Bobs would go for her. Stranger things have happened.

  “If there’s anything I can do for you?” Cayla said.

  “No. Thanks.” I answered for all of us, even though the guys might have had other ideas.

  Cayla bobbed her head up and down, but made no move to retreat into her room. Maybe she was still hoping for an opportunity to slip the Bobs her number.

  There was an awkward pause while we all stood silently in the hall. I glanced at the Bobs. As soon as I was safely in my room, they were free to go about their business and protect life, liberty, and the American way, not to mention the hall. Kind of like the guards at Buckingham Palace, they weren’t moving or smiling, simply standing and guarding. Maybe once I was inside my room they’d turn into total cut-ups. Maybe it was only in the presence of the guardee that they had to act like statues. They were probably eager to be on their way. I glanced at my door.

  I really, really did not want to be alone in my room. Not with two very real boogeymen after me. I had the same creepy feeling I’d had as a kid when, against my parents’ orders, I’d watched the old horror flick, The Shining. It’s pretty scary when your dad goes psycho and tries to kill you. It’s not so different when your boyfriend does the same and could show up with an ax at any minute.

  Van stalled at his door, too, waiting for me to go into mine. Which only irritated me. I made a flicking motion, indicating that he should head on in. He ignored it.

  I rubbed my red, raw wrists. Goon’s binding hadn’t been kind to them.

  Cayla lingered, watching the action, or rather inaction, and looking like she wanted to say something more to me. Maybe like did I know the Bobs’ numbers?

  So there we were, standing in the hallway, staring at each other. Very boring. Someone had to say or do something.

  Cayla spoke up first. “You poor thing. Your wrists look horrible. I have some nice lotion that might help. And some beautiful bracelets that would hide those wrists. Hypoallergenic. Just the thing. Want to come in and see?” She motioned me to her room.

  If I hadn’t been so desperate not to be alone, or so curious as to what Cayla had to say that she obviously couldn’t in the hall, I might have declined. The sudden, ridiculous image of me emerging from her room wearing huge cuff bracelets like Wonderwoman almost scared me off.

  I turned to my bodyguards, sounding a little overeager. “Thanks, boys. You can go now. I’ll just be across the hall.”

  Van had been watching the whole exchange. He shook his head.

  Cayla had my arm.

  “We’ll wait out here until you’re finished,” Bob said.

  “I will, too.” Van leaned against his door.

  “You, go in your room. Get some rest.” My words said one thing. My tone said go to hell.

  Cayla’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I won’t be long,” I said to Bob and Other Bob, and followed Cayla in, leaving the door open.

  Cayla got me the lotion. Pink, with a nice sweet pea scent. Reminded me of my mother’s scented lotion obsession. As I put it on, Cayla dragged out one of her large cases of jewelry and laid it on the bed. “Van and you and a picture of your old boyfriend have been all over the news.” Cayla picked up a bracelet she thought might work and handed it to me.

  I nodded. The bracelet wasn’t half bad. I tried it on and admired my wrist.

  “All the Cindy Lous agree. They’d remember seeing a man as handsome as your ex.”

  I snorted. I hadn’t thought of Ket as handsome for a long time. Now I mostly thought of him as the Source of All Evil. And evil, once exposed, isn’t all that pretty. “You’re telling me no one’s seen Ket?”

  She nodded. “No one. I don’t know where he got that necklace, but it wasn’t from us.” She paused significantly.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, you know what is odd? I did a little sleuthing of my own, trying to find out who all had sold the black and crystal necklace you were asking about?”

  I paused in my perusal of the jewelry and looked at her. Cayla was sharper and nosier than I’d given her credit for. “Uh-huh.”

  “Only one person has sold one all conference. Linda Small. She sold it to your friend Steve on Monday.” Cayla walked to her dresser and returned with a business card in hand. “Here’s her card. In case you want to talk to her.”

  I took it, frowning. Wondering the same as Cayla at the coincidence. “Thank you.”

  “It’s the least I could do.”

  “Don’t mention this to anyone else. Please.” I gave her a sharp look.

  She got my message. “Never.”

  Ten minutes later, I walked out of Cayla’s room humming “Hello, sweet pea, won’t you dance with me,” and wearing two cuff bracelets that weren’t all that Wonderwoman-like and looking pretty decent. I carried two of Cayla’s business cards and had Linda Small’s in my pocket.

  Back in the hall, Van had ignored my command and was chatting with Bob and Other Bob, who evidently weren’t mutes after all. The three were all having a jolly time. I felt a twinge of jealousy. I wanted the Bobs to like me better. Like me better, guard me better. Or so my reasoning went. And I wanted Van to…

  Well, I wanted Van. But I was still peeved at him.

  Ignoring Van, I tucked Cayla’s business card, one each, into Bob and Other Bob’s pocket like a tip. “In case you need anything.” I pointed at Cayla’s room and winked. “Once you’re off duty, of course.”

  I shot Van a defiant look and, unable to avoid the inevitable, cruised into my room to find…

  Chapter 25

  Nothing amiss.

  Bob, or maybe it was Other Bob, I really had to get them straight, pushed past me and checked my room, including under the bed, for the big, bad wolf, and finding none, left.

  “We’ll be right outside,” he said as he closed the door behind him.


  “Yeah? Well beware handsome gym owners bearing gifts,” I called after him. I think maybe he grinned.

  I stood frozen by the door, weighing my alternatives for the evening.

  Like any girl who’s been violated in any way, my first instinct was to bathe, bathe, and bathe again. But add actual blood, grit from the alley, germs from lying on the bathroom floor, and perspiration from a strenuous workout to my “dirty, want to wash it all off” feeling and I really, really needed a good scrub. And a good soak. A good soak and a good scrub.

  Maybe, if I hadn’t felt like I was staying in the Stanley Hotel in the midst of an emporium of evil, I would have acted on my urge. But the last thing I wanted was to be caught naked by either Ket or Goon.

  It’s not like I didn’t trust the Bobs, the cops, and the FBI guys. But Ket and Goon loomed in my fears like a bad odor, able to float under doors.

  I moved on to urge number two. Check out the room. See if the FBI guys had taken anything. Inquiring minds wanted to know. I would have asked Van, but…I had my pride.

  I began my investigation with my suitcase. It sat on its rack with every fiber of my neatly folded clothes in place. I rummaged a bit, but everything looked pretty much present and accounted for.

  I couldn’t stand the silence in the room. I turned on the TV and flipped through the network channels, scanning the local news. The anchors had moved past the hard news and were on to weather and sports. The top of the hour when the national news came on would tell where we ranked in the national news scene. I flipped briefly to one of the all news channels and watched for a few minutes.

  We made the news ticker, banner, whatever you call it, that scrolled across the bottom of the screen. I stifled an urge to call out to Van, switched back to network TV and headed for my closet. Next door, I heard Van’s shower turn on.

  Somebody didn’t have a problem showering alone and without a guard posted immediately outside his bathroom door. Which only made me madder at him. Confident, arrogant…

  I forced my attention back on my closet. The only things I kept in the closet were my sexy, strappy party shoes and the valuables in my safe. I picked up my silver sandals and cuddled them. “You look marvelous,” I cooed to them. “Those mean, old FBI guys didn’t manhandle you, did they?”