Diamonds Are Truly Forever: An Agent Ex Novel 2 (32 page)

Inside the ladies’ room, she found the Plant Lady’s cart and badge.

Come on. Leaving a badge to a black-box facility carelessly lying around in a bathroom is a definite breach of security.

But who was she to complain? National security’s loss was her gain. She found a spare apron tucked inside a drawer in the cart, tied it on over her empire-waist dress, and stared down at the flowing, gray skirt of her dress. Not exactly a match for khakis. Nor were her pink platform pumps a match for Crocs.

Guts and confidence.
Drew always told her those were a spy’s two most important assets. Act like you belong and people will believe you do.

She applied green eye shadow liberally and the reddest shade of lip gloss she had. Then she grabbed the badge and prayed as she wheeled the cart out of the ladies’ room and across the lobby. The security guy didn’t give her a second look as she swiped the badge. Finally, the black-box area!

Staci found Sam’s cubicle without trouble. The coast—or actually, the aisle and cubicle—was clear. She ducked in.

Sam’s co-workers walked by, but no one paid any attention to her. Security guards and plant waterers were totally invisible. And probably expendable.

Sam’s jacket hung from a peg on a coatrack. She couldn’t help herself. She had to check it out. If there was lipstick on it that didn’t belong to her mom, she was going to find it. She knew her mom’s shades by sight. She didn’t see any lipstick so she got out her black light, which would illuminate any other type of body fluids—ugh!

She ran the light over the coat and frowned. On the right sleeve under the black light, a long, thin series of stains that looked like blood droplets glowed. When she inspected it more closely, she saw the telltale brown traces of rinsed blood. Someone had tried to wash the stain out and not completely succeeded. Curious, she ran the light over the sleeve again.

She was no CSI, but the blood pattern didn’t make sense. How could Sam have gotten blood on his sleeve?

An Attitude engineer walked by and popped his head in. “A black light? What’s that for, Plant Lady?”

Staci froze and cleared her throat, keeping her back to the newcomer. She lowered her voice, hoping it didn’t sound too put on. “Black light therapy.”

She waved it over an African violet sitting on the bookcase next to Sam’s coatrack. “It’s a new thing. Plants left in the office without natural light don’t get the full spectrum they need to properly photosynthesize. Shining a black light on them several times a week improves their health. Less need for fertilizer and chemicals.”

“Ah,” the newcomer said. “I’ll have to try that at home.” He paused.

Staci ignored him and pretended to be hard at work. Why wasn’t he leaving? What did he want?

“You look different today, Plant Lady.”

Staci’s heart stopped. She was done for.

“Have you lost weight?”

She refused to turn around, but fluffed the back of her hair as if primping. “New hairstyle.”

“Wow.”

She felt his gaze slide down the back of her from her hair to her heels.

“It looks
great
on you. Have a good one.” He slapped the cubicle wall and walked off.

Staci nearly collapsed with relief. She’d done it! She’d lied on the fly. Drew was right about one thing—in the heat of the moment, the best lies came organically.

Enough messing around. Every extra second she spent here was a second she could get caught. She pocketed the black light in her apron and headed to the desk.

Carefully and quickly, she riffled through the papers in his desk drawer until she found the brochure she’d seen on the teddy cam. She pocketed it, left the cubicle, and was nearly to the lobby door when Sam’s boss rounded a corner and stepped in front of her.

“Wait a minute, Plant Lady!” Jay Brown had a deep voice that could be positively commanding. She’d met him on several social occasions. Generally, Jay was an ass, a power trip in a loud tie and short-sleeved dress shirt.

She froze.

“One of my plants has white flies. Make sure you spray it before you go.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll just get my fly spray from the van and be right back to take care of it.”
Not.

He didn’t budge or move out of her way as he studied her and frowned. “Don’t I know you? You look familiar.”

Yeah, like from a dozen different functions over the years, including most recently at the reception desk.

But, of course, she didn’t say that. Good thing most people weren’t observant.

Buck up. Be a spy, Stace. Remember Drew’s advice in the spy supply store—deny knowing him, no matter what, even if he remembers my name.

“No, sir. But I get that a lot.” She smiled and stared back at him.

He shook his head as if puzzled while she held her breath. “Okay, then. I must be thinking of someone else. They say everyone has a twin.” He held the door to the lobby open for her.

It took every ounce of self-control not to run as she pushed the cart slowly across the lobby until she heard the door close behind her. Then she dashed to the ladies’ room as fast as her cart would move.

She’d just removed the brochure from the apron, stuffed the apron back in place in the drawer, and replaced the badge when the door opened and the Plant Lady returned.

Staci stood innocently by the sink as far away from the irises as possible, with the brochure tucked beneath her compact, “fixing her makeup.” Which really meant wiping off the red gloss and green eye shadow so she no longer looked like Christmas having a bad day. This was
the
life!

She’d done it. Gotten away with
spying.
She had to bite her lip to keep from shouting and screaming her triumph. If her life had been a musical, she would have broken out into song and dance with a troupe of performers for backup.

She’d lied! Really and truly lied like a pro. Like Drew. She felt exuberant, wonderful, superb. Guilt-free. Yes, where was the guilt?

Remorseless lying was evidently an upper and an aphrodisiac. She wanted Drew. To call him, brag, compare spy notes, and … celebrate!

By celebrate, she meant “celebrate,” as in a three-off. Now she
knew
why Bond had such a huge libido. It was all that spying and lying.

Her inability to lie had always come between her and Drew. With that obstacle gone, maybe they
could
make it? If she could continue to lie when it mattered most, then she wasn’t a danger to him anymore. Mandy was right—she should tell him about Iguazu Falls and let him decide what he wanted. She would, before Drew’s mission was over, when she screwed up her courage and the time was right. Because she knew what she wanted, what she’d been denying wanting all along—Drew.

*   *   *

The brochure Staci had taken so much trouble to steal was a big disappointment, just a stupid promo for a boring place called The Random Institute. Why would Sam want to hide this? He hadn’t even jotted any notes on it.

Staci Googled the institute. Nothing juicy there, either. It wasn’t as if it were the Mustang Ranch. Staci stuffed it in her purse to show Drew later, mostly to prove her spying prowess to him. She hoped the data she’d recovered from Sam’s phone would be more interesting.

The Plant Lady left about one, shaking her head as she dropped off Staci’s bear cam. “Can’t figure it out. The people in there are crazy. Something’s gotten into their water. The big boss kept staring at me and asking me if I’m sure I don’t know him, even after I told him he knows me because I’ve been watering his plant for five years. Half of everyone else was asking me about black light therapy for plants.”

She shook her head. “Engineers! You never know what they’re talking about. Probably read some silly study about it in one of their egghead techie journals.” She sighed and smiled slyly at Staci. “And one guy asked me why I’m hiding my gorgeous legs.” She winked. “I got his cell number. I’m going to text him a picture of them later.”

Staci tried hard not to laugh.

At two, her mom called and invited her and Drew to dinner that evening. She wanted to hear all about Staci’s first day on the job. In reality, she probably wanted to know what Staci had found out about Sam.

Oh, boy.
Staci had been planning to analyze her spy data. With Drew’s help, of course. But there was no way to put off her mother. She reluctantly accepted and shot Drew a text to prepare him.

The day dragged on. At four, the office emptied out. Just as Staci was ready to leave, one of the managers created a firestorm. He needed a package overnighted
right
then. She had to wait for the delivery service to pick up the precious parcel before she left. She texted Drew and told him she’d be late.

He texted back.
Fine with me. I have work I can do. Text me when the deliveryman shows up. Do not go outside. I’ll meet you at your desk.

She smiled at Drew’s protective concern. She could handle herself here in this secure environment. She had her Kubotan. It was Drew she worried about, and whatever mission he was on. At least he hadn’t reported more dead bodies showing up on the job.

By five, the office was dead and the deliveryman hadn’t showed. She called the service. They seemed puzzled. They hadn’t received a pickup order. Must be a mix-up. Their man would be right out. Staci was alone in the lobby when he showed up and took the package ten minutes later. She was just about to shut down her computer and text Drew when an email popped up from him.

I’m just outside the door with the car. Wait for you here.

She logged off her computer, closed up the desk, and grabbed her purse, keeping her keys in her hand. The security guard wasn’t at his post as she left. Probably making his rounds of the building.

As promised, Drew waited for her in his car just outside the door. He didn’t see her as she walked up. He had his head down as he fiddled with his phone.

She opened the car door and slid in, eager to tell him about her genius spying accomplishments.

“Have a good day, babe?” The man behind the wheel turned and grinned as he pointed a high-caliber pistol level with her heart, eyes glittering with malice.

Same general build and age, but this evil imitation wasn’t Drew.

She grabbed the door handle just as the car locks snapped shut. She tugged and struggled with the handle. Kicked the door. Banged the dashboard. Hit the button to roll down the window. Nothing budged.

“Child safety locks,” the man said in a voice as cool and evil as the drug lords of Ciudad. “Now buckle up like a good girl before I shoot you.”

“Where’s Drew? What have you done with him?” Too late she noticed subtle details. Like the scratch on the dashboard. An MP3 hookup where the radio should have been. This wasn’t Drew’s car. Same make, model, and color, yes. But not his. She’d walked into a trap.

First rule of not being killed—don’t let the abductor take you to another site. You’ll never be found. She lifted out of her seat and lunged at him with the Kubotan, going for the pressure points in his neck.

He wrenched her wrist back, disarmed her, and slapped her across the face with the pistol so hard it momentarily stunned her. Which gave him enough time to grab the knee-length skirt of her dress, pull it over her head, and tie it into a bag, effectively binding her.

As she struggled, he pushed her back into her seat. She felt the seat belt tighten around her. Even though she fought it, the buckle clicked into place as she screamed into the skirt that held her captive.

What had happened to the security guard? Where was Drew?

She cursed her own lack of awareness. She should have paid more attention to details. A good spy always does. Now she was going to pay for her stupidity. All she could think about was Drew. She’d never get the chance to tell him she still loved him and ask him to forgive her for Iguazu Falls.

*   *   *

At a stoplight a few blocks from Attitude, Drew checked his phone again. No message from Staci. He’d texted her five minutes ago saying he was on his way. She was waiting for his text. Why didn’t she reply? He had an uneasy feeling. Attitude was keeping her too late for comfort.

He turned in to the Attitude parking lot and his heart stopped. A car—the same, make, model, and color as his sedan—pulled away from the curb in front of the building and headed toward the back alley that ran along the river. A figure with a sexy gray dress tied over its head struggled in the front seat. He recognized that dress.

Staci.

For a second he couldn’t breathe. Then anger bubbled to the surface and took over.

Damn! How Bondian. His youthful vision of Vesper, black velvet skirt over her head as Bond raced to rescue her from Le Chiffre’s thugs flashed back to him. He’d been twelve the first time he read
Casino Royale.

But unlike Bond, who cursed Vesper for her stupidity in walking into a trap, and nearly left her to her fate, Drew jumped to the rescue. He drew his gun and floored the car.