My Spy (21 page)

“You.” Annie cleared her throat. “And Izzy, of course.”

“You said strangers.”

Annie shrugged dramatically. “What do I know? Standing here in the dark everyone looks like a stranger.”

Sam's eyes were cold. “No one else?”

She shook her head. No way would she wring her hands and whine about Tucker Marsh. The man was her problem to handle, and Sam wasn't involved.

“Why do I think you're lying?”

“Beats me.”

“Nice toe ring,” Sam said gruffly. He leaned in closer and sniffed. “What's that smell?”

Probably her circuits burning, Annie thought. “The lingering bouquet of four cups of coffee?”

Sam shook his head. “No, it's sweet like fruit and fresh grass. It smells nice.”

He had good taste in fragrance, Annie conceded. “It's my grandmother's recipe for apple-lavender body cream. An old family secret, I might add.”

“You'll make a lot of money with it. Not that I'm an expert in things like that.”

The compliment softened Annie's irritation. “How was the whirlpool?”

“Izzy isn't tough enough.”

“No?” Behind him, Annie saw Izzy frown, then point to his left shoulder.

So Sam's shoulder had acted up. He had probably tried to push right through until the pain stopped him.

Annie immediately revised the program she'd been planning for the following day. “I'll have to see that Izzy gets tougher,” she lied. “Any other problems?”

“Izzy told me about the fire alarm. I want to look into that.”

“It was a simple circuit problem.”

“Maybe.” Sam stared up the hill as they followed the narrow
path through landscaped banks of trees. “Have you known your sheriff long?”

“Buzz? Fifteen years.” Annie raised a brow. “Why?”

“Just wondering. He seemed … taken with you.”

Annie stiffened. “You were watching?”

“German lenses don't miss much. The casita has a good view of most of the resort and all the beach. Good tactical advantage. I like that red tube top you're wearing, too,” he muttered.

“You
watched
me?” Annie repeated.

“I was worried about you.” Sam's jaw tensed. “Are you two seeing each other?”

Annie just kept walking.

“Well,
are
you?”

“That's none of your business.”

“Isn't it?” Sam's voice fell. “Not too long ago we were ripping off each other's clothes. Now you look right through me. If you're seeing someone else, I want to know.”

Annie felt heat flood into her face. “Maybe you should define seeing. Do you mean are we dating? Good friends? Reckless, passionate lovers?”

“Any of the above,” Sam said grimly.

Annie heard the crunch of gravel and realized Izzy had fallen back, giving them some privacy. “Who gave you the right to monitor my private life?”

“I guess I have this whole thing wrong. When you yanked off my shirt and went for my belt, I was stupid enough to think it meant something.”

So had Annie, but she didn't like the possessive tone Sam was taking. She didn't need him controlling her private life— not that she
had
one.

“I guess you thought wrong.” Relieved to see the casita before them, she shoved open the door, stormed into the pantry, and pulled down the first bottle she found.

“Where are you going?”

“Out to get drunk, and you're not invited. Don't wait up.”

“Annie, don't do this.”

“Watch me.” She sailed past him, not stopping for Izzy, who was leaning against the big oak at the front of the drive.

She stalked along the lighted path at the back of her property. At the top, she turned and called down to Izzy. “I know you're there, so you can stop hiding.”

A branch moved.

Silent as a shadow, Izzy appeared on the flagstone path. “I don't think he meant what he said.”

“I think he meant every word.” Annie cradled her bottle stiffly. “You can go back now. My sister's house is right up the hill through the trees.”

“I'll just tag along. I'd appreciate it if you didn't come back alone,” he added.

Annie sighed. “Stop worrying, will you? I probably won't be back until morning anyway.”

She turned before he could raise any other objections, but when she reached her sister's door, she could still feel him behind her, a silent guardian.

On the fourth ring, Annie heard the scrape of slippers.

The peephole slid open.

“Annie?” The door opened with a creak. “What are you doing with that bottle?”

Annie strode inside. “You and I are about to get seriously drunk.”

T
AYLOR
STARED
ANXIOUSLY
AT
HER
SISTER.
“G
ET DRUNK? THIS
isn't like you.”

“Maybe I'm tired of the old me. Maybe I want a
new
me.” Seated on Taylor's overstuffed leather sofa, Annie swirled her glass of scotch, which was considerably emptier than it had been fifteen minutes ago.

She finished the rest in one gulp, coughing slightly. “This isn't working. Let's try some of that vintage port you're always hoarding.”

Taylor looked at Annie's empty glass. “I don't think you should. You've already had two beers, remember?”

Annie swept to her feet, only swaying a little. “In that case, I'm leaving. You're no f-fun.” She blinked at Taylor's Tiffany light, which was moving oddly. “
You
always get to break the rules and live dangerously, but I have to do the normal things.” She frowned. “The boring things that no one else wants to do.”

“That's not true.”

“Name one time I broke the rules.” Annie crossed her arms, watching Taylor sip her scotch.

“Third grade. You threw up on Tommy Clanahan's spelling book, then buried it in the science fair compost pile.”

“Doesn't count,” Annie said stiffly. “I was sick that day.”

“So?”

“So he'd also put a frog in your locker. I was paying him back.”

“Tommy Clanahan did that?” Taylor shook her head. “You never told me.”

“No need. I handled it just fine my own way.” Annie swayed
slightly and decided sitting down would be a good idea. “Name another time.”

Taylor drummed her fingers on the carved oak coffee table. “High school, freshman year. You sneaked out during second period study hall. You made a rope out of panty hose, as I recall. I never could figure out where you got them.”

Annie smiled faintly. “Stole them. Raided the locker rooms while the seniors were at basketball practice. Best fun I ever had.” Her smile faded. “Did you
hear
that?”

“You mean the part about the senior basketball practice?”

“No, the part about the best fun I've ever had, which is seriously pathetic. What have I been doing for twenty-seven years if stealing panty hose is my highest idea of fun?”

“I'll tell you what.” Taylor gripped her hand. “You helped Mom and Dad build something special here. You were their rock, Annie. Both of them said that.”

“Yeah.” Annie rolled her shoulders. “A rock. Big deal.”

“Hey, take that back, pal. It
is
a big deal. Summerwind is one special place,” Taylor said hotly. “People love it here. They have fun, they learn things, and they go away feeling better. That's the best part of all.”

Annie glared at her empty glass. “So what?”

Taylor studied Annie carefully. “Is this some kind of hormone thing?”

“What's that supposed to mean? You're the one who turns into Bride of Frankenstein for three days every month.”

“I know. That's why you're starting to frighten me. You're supposed to be the steady, calm O'Toole sister. Floods, earthquakes, tax audits—nothing shakes you. There must be a law that says Annie O'Toole can't agonize over the wasted opportunities of life.”

“Why?”

“Hell, I don't know. Because that's the way it's always been.”

Annie set down her glass with a snap. “That's about to change.”

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Should I start quoting
Richard III
?”

“Well, now,
this
calls for serious ammunition.” Taylor pulled out a new bottle. “Single malt, eight years in lovely oak caskets. Here's to the death of the noble-minded and long-suffering Annie O'Toole.”

“Didn't you tell me not to mix port and scotch?”

Taylor shrugged. “You only live once. Of course, you might curse me in the morning.” She frowned as she opened the bottle. “So no-good Tommy Clanahan put that frog in my locker. Who knew?” She filled Annie's glass, then her own. “Any idea where little old Tommy is now?”

“Not a clue.”

“Little old Tommy weighs about four hundred and fifty pounds and runs a car dealership in San Jose. Word is, if you renege on a loan, Tommy will come lean on you.” Taylor grinned. “Literally.”

“What about his high school sweetheart?”

“Lou's an exotic dancer in Seattle. Something to do with snakes. I actually interviewed her for my last book.”

“Maybe Tommy's frog turned her on.” Annie took another drink and studied her toe ring, which she had come to like hugely.

“Lou is one sharp customer. In her line of work, you have to be part psychiatrist, part psychic. If she doesn't tune in to her customers' fantasies inside three minutes, she doesn't make the big bucks.”

Annie frowned. She, on the other hand, knew next to nothing about tuning in to fantasies—her own or anyone else's.

Take Sam's, for example.

Her stomach went quivery at the memory of their last out-of-control encounter in her living room. He still had amazing hands.

And they'd been mere seconds away from …

Definitely don't go there.

“So what's big in the fantasy department these days, according to an exotic dancer in Seattle?”

“Male or female fantasies?”

“Male.”

“Anyone particular in mind?”

Annie glared at her sister over the rim of her glass. “None of your business.”

“Fine. Just fine,” Taylor said soothingly. A smile flirted around her mouth. “Don't suppose it's the man you're shacked up with? Denzel, who's checking your wires.”

“I told you—”

“Okay, okay.” Taylor sat back, crossed her legs thoughtfully. “Fishnet stockings are big this year.”

“With what?” Annie looked confused.

“With nothing.”

Annie stared down at her legs, one eyebrow raised. “How do you hold them up?”

“Garters are selling like hotcakes.”

Annie sat some more, considering. “That's all?”

“That's the word in Seattle.”

Annie shook her head. “They must be drinking too much Starbucks out there. That's … well, nobody in their right mind would dress like that.”

“It isn't exactly a ballet recital,” Taylor said carefully. “It's just you and him.”

Annie stiffened. “Who said anything about
me
? This is a general discussion of social trends.”

“Sure.” Taylor stuck her tongue in her cheek. “A general discussion. Speaking generally, I hear bondage is pretty big too.”

“Bondage? That's disgusting. Depraved. What woman wants to be tied up?”

“Not the woman,” Taylor said patiently. “The guy.”

Annie stared at the fire. Now it was her turn to drum her fingers on the coffee table. “You mean that she gets to tie
him
up? To do whatever she wants to him until he …”

“That's the general idea.”

Annie took a substantial drink of scotch, choking back a cough. “How do you lead into something like that? You don't just pull out a rope and say, ‘Lie down, honey, time for some nice bondage.’ ”

“With the right guy, you might not have to say anything.”

Annie sank back against the couch. “No, it would never work. I'd get nervous and throw up.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, a
person
would get nervous and probably throw up. Not me. Not anyone I know.”

“Annie.”

“This is just general supposition.”

“Annie.” This time Taylor said the word firmly, reaching for her sister's arm. “Being in love and wanting to turn up the heat is nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Love,” Annie squawked, “who said anything about
love
? One minute we're discussing recreational trends and the next minute you're talking about
amore
with a full orchestral background.” She stood jerkily. “If a person wants to know about current fantasies, why can't you leave it at that? What's wrong with a few simple, sordid fantasies?”

“Nothing.”

“In my book, love is a four-letter word. Love is unpredictable and messy.”

Taylor sighed loudly.

“You don't believe me?”

“You've always been transparent, Annie. You were the one who cried at weddings and went nuts at the World Series playoffs. It's just the way you're made.”

“Maybe I've changed,” Annie snapped. “Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf. Why can't I have some fun?”

“No reason at all.”

Annie glared at her empty glass. “And for the record, my life's great, absolutely great. I finally meet the man of my dreams, but he proceeds to vanish without a word. After that,
he nearly dies before a viewing audience of millions, only to reappear in the dead of night, strapped to a gurney.” Annie swallowed hard. “He also has no memory that we've ever met. What's not to like about that?”

Taylor sat up straight. “What man of your dreams?”

“Forget it. I didn't breathe a word, understand? Not a word.”

“But you just said—”

Annie focused hard, realizing her slip. “I said nothing.”

“You did! Tell me every detail.”

“There
are
no details.”

“Why, is he in the mob?”

“He's
not
in the mob. No one's in the mob. In fact there
is
no one.”

Taylor stalked to the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm calling Buzz. Only a policeman could get you out of this mess.”

“I don't need any help, Taylor. I'll be just fine.”

“There you go again,” Taylor said angrily. “The great Annie O'Toole wouldn't dream of accepting help from anyone, not even her sister. Make that
especially
from her sister.”

Annie turned slowly. “I'm picking up hostility here. Lots of hostility.”