Spy Games (15 page)

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you go off by yourself?” Van was still laughing and shaking his head in amusement. “Nice try, Miss Chivalrous, but no way. And don’t give me that math professor nerd stuff. I’m a trained marksman and driver.”

“Listen, Mr. Extreme Sport—”

Grandpa walked back into the room, interrupting my defense. “Of course he’s going with you,” he said. “That’s what a gentleman does. You think I’d let my granddaughter go alone with that nasty son of a gun out there after her?”

“Outmoded thinking,” I said, feeling some relief that I wouldn’t have to go it alone. In truth, I felt safer with Van by my side even if he was a math professor.

“I’d go with you two if I didn’t have to stay and look out for your mother,” Grandpa said. And he was dead serious.

Mom walked back into the room. “Where are you two going?”

“Back to the hotel.” Van explained the situation to her, and although she didn’t like it, she agreed with our plan to head out.

Mom had the same “we can’t have Grandpa shooting someone” look in her eye that I’d had earlier. “I made gingerbread and lemon sauce for dessert. Can you at least stay for that?”

Van and I both felt antsy to be gone so Mom packed up a dessert care package for us while Van checked out the car again.

Ten minutes later, we’d said our good-byes and were on the road.

“That was a bust,” I said as Van backed the car out of the garage. “All I did was get Mom worked up and put her and Grandpa in danger.”

Van turned the car around and pointed it down the driveway. I pulled the Beretta out of my purse and set it in my lap.

“What’s that for?” Van asked.

“Guess.”

“I’ll do any shooting that needs to be done,” he said.

“No way. You can’t shoot. You’re driving. You have to keep your eyes on the road, buster.”

“I can shoot and drive.”

“Not left-handed. For that maneuver to work, you’d have to shoot left-handed. Are you left-handed? Huh, buddy, huh?”

“I’m ambidextrous.”

“Nice to know,” I said, though he was probably bluffing. We drove in silence for a minute. But the silence made me feel like crying. And big girls don’t cry. I mean, little petite girls cry and they get sympathy. Girls my size just look silly. To divert myself from my pity party, I spilled about my research at Mom’s.

“I found a connection between Steve, Cliff, Peewee, the dongle, and Peewee’s Mafia mobster uncle, Sil Canarino. I read all about them on a crime website after I Googled Peewee Canarino.”

Van sat impassive while I told him all I knew, but his gaze kept flicking to the rearview mirror.

“In Hollywood, Sil Canarino’s been the wiretapper to the stars since the mid-seventies. He’s worked for just about everyone who’s anyone in the biz.

“Plus Sil’s not only an expert wiretapper, but a world-class encoder. He got his encrypting experience while he served in Vietnam, which is where he also apparently got his skills with weaponry and explosive devices.

“The FBI took him, his computers, tapping equipment, and encrypted tape library into custody months ago. But the Feds haven’t been able to decode the files. If they don’t succeed by this Friday, they’ll have to drop the case and let Canarino go. Goon said the dongle was the key to decoding some software. I think it’s Sil’s key.”

“Nice family Peewee has.” Van paused. “How was Sil caught? Did someone rat him out?”

I didn’t know if he was really curious, or just keeping me talking to keep my mind off those pesky garage raiders. Though talking about mobsters wasn’t really the equivalent of a peaceful bedtime story.

“Sort of. Though it’s a fishy story.” I paused, smiling at my own cleverness. “I’m actually a little hazy on the details. I was reading fast, trying to finish before Mom caught me or called me to dinner. Something about a fish on the windshield of a reporter’s car, some kind of intimidation to get him to back off a story.”

“A horse’s head?”

“Exactly. And that led the cops to the lowlife Canarino used for the job, who fingered him. So the cops went to Canarino’s office and found an arsenal. They arrested him on weapons charges, and later went back with a warrant to search for wiretapping equipment and discovered the files.”

I kept glancing in the mirror, too. If anyone was following us, they weren’t being obvious. But the feeling of being chased made me feel rushed and flustered.

“Where do the rest of our fellow campers come in?”

I spoke fast, as if there was barely time to get the story out. “Cliff allegedly hired Canarino to illegally bug other directors’ and producers’ homes and offices. He’ll do anything to give himself the creative upper hand. He has what he thinks is a huge blockbuster in the making. A flick that will make his reputation and secure his financial future. If Canarino’s tapes are released, he’ll lose everything. That makes him an extremely dangerous man.

“And Jim. Odds are he used Canarino to illegally obtain information that he used for his clients’ benefit. He’ll be disbarred and possibly jailed.”

“None of this has been proven?”

“Not yet. Not without the tapes,” I said. “But everything points to it being true.” I took a deep breath. “Van, whoever has the dongle has tremendous power.”

Van nodded his agreement. “Or is in tremendous danger. We can assume Canarino doesn’t want it to surface. Not before Friday.”

“True,” I said. “Nor does anyone else. But after Friday, it’s a blackmailer’s gold mine. Whoever has it can cut a deal with Canarino for just about anything they want. He’ll have the tapes and they’ll have his key. The crime files said that there is only one dongle, and Canarino destroyed the blueprint for safekeeping. Unless he has a hell of a memory…”

“Huff?”

“I think Huff was Sil’s man charged with safekeeping the thing. Then Huff got me to make the drop in the ladies’ room. Something went wrong and whoever was supposed to pick it up didn’t. Then word got out that I had the dongle. And here we are with goons after me. If I ever get my hands on Huff, I’m going to kill him.” I slumped in the seat. I felt defeated. Anyway, slumping had the added benefit of making me less of a target.

Van shot me a deadpan look. “I wouldn’t go making idle threats. Not in this climate. Take heart. With any luck, someone’s beat you to it.”

“Not funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. And Jay?”

I sighed and blinked back an unexpected tear. “Okay, maybe Ket didn’t get him. He was a PI to Cliff’s nemesis. Could be he got too close and someone took him out.” I paused. “Could have been anyone who wants the dongle.” Which didn’t leave me feeling very secure.

“What do you propose we do?” Van swerved to avoid a pothole.

I started, gasped, and almost screamed.

I put my hand to my heart. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Just trying to preserve your suspension,” he said, grinning. “So? The plan?”

“We’ve already made the anonymous tip,” I said, thinking aloud. “Any police force worth its salt is going to find the same connection I did in a matter of minutes. Our problem seems to be information dissemination. Ooooh, I like the rhyme of that—information dissemination.”

“Okay, big word girl, continue the thought.”

“Oh, right. We need to get the word out that I no longer have the dongle. Those guys back at the garage might not have gotten the word. Either that or they were Ket’s men. But breaking into garages isn’t really Ket’s MO. That’s why I decided to leave. I don’t think it’s him.”

“I agree about Ket.” He paused. “You mean we advertise that you don’t have the dongle?”

“You got it.”

Van shook his head, but he was smiling like he found me amusing. Which was what I was going for. I chatted on about silly things all the time, but it was just my warped sense of humor. Ninety percent of it wasn’t serious but merely meant to prevent silence.

“Okay, when we get back to the hotel, we’ll post flyers for all mobsters and potential dongle stealers.” Van signaled his intention to turn.

“With an artist’s sketch of the goon so the bad guys will know who to go after. Can you draw?”

Van laughed. “Not well. Can you?”

“I thought with your mathematical prowess you’d be able to draw. Drawing’s all about proportions and numbers. How disappointing.”

“I have prowess in other areas.”

My heart burst into overdrive. “Okay, no drawing talent. And here I love men who can draw, but never mind. We’ll have to go to Plan B—call all the camp gang and tell them about the dongle theft. We’ll simply have to describe Cindy Lou Goon.”

“You serious?”

“But of course! Those guys will get the word out. They’re all after the dongle, too. Then the bad dudes will leave us alone.” My turn to wink, hoping his heart went into warp speed. I pulled out my cell phone and began dialing. “Did I mention I get benefits with this option?”

Van rolled his eyes and asked the inevitable question. “What benefits?”

“Jim’s promised me free legal help if I help him out. He was looking for Huff, ostensibly for the dongle. He’s promised to get rid of my little Ket problem. He’s a legal exterminator of sorts.” I grinned. “Oh, and Cliff has promised me a movie roll. A big one. Don’t worry. I’ll invite you to the premier. And Steve claims there’s a reward out that he’ll split with me. I’ll cut you in on that, too.”

“Aligning ourselves with the mob. That sounds like a great plan.”

“Oh, it’s ringing. Hey, Steve…”

Twenty-five minutes later, we pulled into the same parking spot we’d left hours earlier. I snapped my phone shut, calls complete. “This parking spot gives me déjà vu, that feeling you get that you’ve already experienced something. Déjà vu—”

“All right, Miss Python, get out of the car.”

“This lot is creepy in the dark.” I did a quick perusal of the perimeter in unison with Van and then we both stepped out of the car. “Do you think we drew the creeps off Mom and Dutch? I didn’t see anyone following us.”

“I think we did. A good surveillance guy isn’t going to be seen.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better, Dudley.” I batted my eyes at him.

“Right, Nell.” He laughed.

“Those guys weren’t that good or Dutch wouldn’t have surprised them,” I said, trying for a moment of seriousness.

“Maybe Dutch is just good.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, that must be it. Gramps is good. And he had the element of surprise. They probably didn’t expect a camouflaged, rifle-toting deer hunter to come after them. Although they should have thought about that. I mean, deer are almost in season.”

Van was grinning as he pulled our bags from the car, and looking at me like I was a delectable, mouth-watering morsel. Well, that’s what I liked to think anyway, because that’s how I was looking at him.

“No one expects the Dutch Inquisition,” Van said in a Monty Python tone as he handed me my car keys back.

“I thought that was the Spanish Inquisition?”

“Your grandpa out to protect you is way scarier.”

“Just keep that in mind,” I said.

We made our way back to our rooms without incident. Van rolled my suitcase in front of my door.

I paused, fending off a panic attack. “I can’t sleep in there. Not even with Old Slugger and my girl gun for protection.”

“All right,” Van tried to sound resigned, but there was a flirtatious tease to his tone. “You can stay with me. If you have to.” He pulled out his key card and opened his door, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. “After you.”

I grabbed his arm and pulled it down. “Are you crazy?” I whispered into his ear. “Someone, for example Ket, might see me going into your room. I’ll go into my room.” Brave words. “And meet you at the connecting door. In the meantime, we’d better look like we’re fighting, that we don’t even like each other.”

“Right. Good plan,” he said. “It keeps with the whole spy camp theme we have going on. Everything must be surreptitious.”

“Exactly.”

The door across the hall opened and Cayla stepped out. “I thought I heard voices out here. Have you heard the news?”

We both stared at her expectantly.

She waved us closer. “Some jerk dressed as a Cindy Lou sales associate trashed the women’s room in the bar and then accosted a patron as she came out. Then he held her in an elevator before releasing her. Everyone is very concerned and frightened. No one wants to use the public restrooms. The hotel has posted extra security, but still! I thought I should warn you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Perverts in the bathroom. And blaming the Cindy Lous. Can you believe the nerve!” She shook her head in total disgust. “At first, the hotel wanted to bill our organization for the damage we supposedly caused and ban us from returning. Fortunately, the police were on it. The outrage. One imposter could ruin our whole brand reputation!” She barely took a breath. “Hang on a sec.”

Cayla ducked into her room and reappeared with a composite drawing of the goon, both in Cindy Lou drag and without. She handed it to me.

I stared at it and shuddered. Van peered at it over my shoulder and whispered into my ear, “What do you think?”

“Good likeness,” I whispered back.

“The police artist drew that,” Cayla said. “They came around asking about a man who might have bought a lot of jewelry earlier today. Well, several of us had made big sales to a man who fit the general description the police gave. We were only too happy to help out. And we came up with that!” Cayla was inordinately pleased, almost as if she were the artist herself.

“Fantastic.” I nodded like I appreciated their cooperation.

“We’re always glad to help. Though it’s a shame, just a shame that a man would use Cindy Lou products for evil. If only we’d known his background and his evil intent!”

“Yeah, what’s next? Background checks and waiting periods to buy costume jewelry?” I said. Van gave me a gentle elbow, but he was trying hard not to laugh.

“Exactly,” Cayla said. “So now we have to be on the lookout for that creep
and
that handsome man you told us about earlier. What is the world coming to?”

“What indeed.”

“Well.” Cayla sighed.

I reluctantly held the flyer out to Cayla to take back.

“Oh, keep it,” she said. “I have more. And if you see that creep, call the number listed.”

I thanked her and she popped back into her room.

“Nice to know we have a block watch thing going on our hotel floor,” Van said in his dry sense of humor.

“Yeah. I wonder if there’s a CrimeStoppers award for this guy. I could use some extra cash. And they take anonymous tips. I wonder if I can retroactively claim mine?”

“May I?” He held his hand out for the flyer.

I handed it to him. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and scrawled. “FYI, this guy has the dongle. If you want it, go after him.” He showed me his handiwork. “Advertising.”

“Very nice. I like a man who can write.”

“Stay here. I’m going to get some tape.” He disappeared into his room. A second later, he was back with the tape and posted the flyer on my door.

“That’ll do, pig,” I said.

“Okay, babe, I’ll meet you at our adjoining door.”

With that, we both darted into our rooms and closed our doors.

My heart was racing, from double excitement—fear and anticipation of spending the night with Van. How was I going to control myself?

The was a gentle rap on the adjoining door. Van called softly through it, “Everything okay in there? Any more untoward gifts? Costume jewelry? Flowers? Chocolates? Idle threats? Unidle threats? Bombs?”

I threw open my side of the door. “Nothing obvious. Want to check it out?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He did a quick search of the room and bathroom, and hefted my suitcase back onto the suitcase rack. “Sorry to disappoint you—no boogeymen at this time.”

I flashed him a smile. “There’s always next time.”

Van glanced at his watch. “We have an early morning tomorrow. I say we hit the sack.”

I was hoping for “hit the sheets.” Hit the sheets had more innuendo attached. “Sure. Fine. I just need to change.”

I thought his eyes went wide. Just for a second. Then he motioned toward his room. “I’ll do the same. I’ll just close the door and when you’re ready, knock.”

I nodded my agreement. As soon as he was gone, I sifted through my suitcase for my PJs. I was a single girl. I was supposed to be better dressed at night than the married gals. I was supposed to be ready for all romantic emergencies by traveling with the sexiest of lingerie. Only I wasn’t.

I slept in camis and boxer shorts because I figured if I had to make a quick escape from Ket in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t be thoroughly embarrassed to be seen running through the neighborhood in a cami and boxers. Partially embarrassed, maybe. The PJs were the right blend of sleeping comfort and respectability. I comforted myself by thinking that a cami and shorts wouldn’t blink like a beacon to Van, “I’m expecting some hot sex tonight.” They gave both of us an out.

I sighed. At least I had a matched set.

I changed and reluctantly took off my makeup. I wore the kind that was powdered minerals. You were supposed to be able to sleep in it, wear it for days, and it was actually good for your skin. It had the obvious advantage that if Ket ever kidnapped me and stuck me away somewhere, I’d look fresh for my rescue, possibly days later. However, I wasn’t currently being held hostage. I scrubbed it off, brushed my teeth, and applied a fresh squirt of perfume. I wasn’t a saint. I wanted Van to know he was sleeping with a woman.

I threw a zip-front hoody over my cami and tapped on our door with Mom’s gingerbread in one hand and Old Slugger in the other. When he opened the door, I held the bag with the gingerbread out to him. “I come bearing food to this pajama party.”

“Thank goodness. You look vicious with that bat.” His eyes weren’t on the food. His gaze was actually focused in the exact area of my double Ds. I wasn’t wearing a bra. I budded right up for him so hard I was certain he saw the budding through the hoody.

He took the bag from me. He was wearing a T-shirt and knit boxers that left practically nothing to the imagination. I looked around the room to keep from staring at his package, which was nice by the way. We were practically a matched set. I tried hard to keep from drooling.

I know. Call me a hard woman. Jay was dead, and I was upset by that. But, really, I wasn’t close to him. I’d spent the last several years in a constant state of fear. Life was short. And during the last day and a half, I’d realized it could be much shorter than anticipated. For the moment, I was feeling relieved and out of immediate danger.

The minute I was in Van’s room, I realized something was wrong. Well, different about it than mine. “You only have one bed!” Which led to all sorts of inner speculation on my part.

“Yep.” He opened Mom’s goody bag and spread it out on a round table by the window. Good old Mom had put it all in disposable containers and included plastic forks and paper plates.

“My room has two.”

“I know. How did you get so lucky?” He was slicing gingerbread and putting it on plates. “Go ahead and put Old Slugger on whichever side you prefer. I’m easy.”

I bet he was. When I didn’t answer, he looked up. “You want me to sleep in your room tonight?”

“No, that’s silly. That would defeat our purpose of mutual safety,” I said, meaning it, but still puzzling over whether this night would involve sex or not. “I don’t want you to get killed in your sleep.”

“Then you don’t mind sharing?”

“Not if you don’t.” I paused. “I assume the bundling board’s in the closet?”

He grinned. “Come eat cake.” He placed a piece in front of the empty chair across from him.

I put Old Slugger on the right side of the bed, noting Van’s gun on the nightstand on the other side, and took the empty seat and pulled the dessert toward me.

“Looks like we’ll be safe tonight,” Van observed. “Where’s your gun?”

“In the in-room safe with my purse and keys.”

He arched a brow in question.

“Hey, you’ve got a boy gun. I’ve got a girl gun. The last thing we need is a bunch of little baby guns in the morning.”

“Do guns reproduce that quickly?” he teased.

“They do on the mean streets of the city. Cops will tell you that.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head to mock him. “Please! They’re worse than rabbits.”

Van had never had gingerbread with lemon sauce before. “My mom serves gingerbread warm with whipped cream,” he said.

I made a face. “But the whipped cream would melt and soak into the gingerbread. Soggy, milky gingerbread.” I shuddered.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s great.”

“Oh, no! Irreconcilable differences! I may just have to sleep in my room and take my chances with the boogeyman there. I don’t think I can share a bed with a whipped cream man.”

Van grinned again. “Just hang on there, Quitter. We may be able to come to a meeting of the minds. Convince me of the merits of lemon sauce.”

“Well, for starters, usually the lemon sauce is hot. If Mom were here it would be hot.”

“But other things would not,” he said. “I’m glad she’s not.”

I grinned back at him, ignoring his slight to my mother. “When it’s hot, the sauce is thinner and oozes over the cake—”

“Does it soak into the gingerbread?”

“A little, but not like melted cream. Is that a problem for you?”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“Good. Cooled, it congeals. Tastes the same, just different texture.” I spread some over my cake like jam.

He did the same.

I took a bite and lemon sauce oozed out onto my lip. When I licked it off, Van said, “Now
that
I like.”

When we were finished, we still had half a gingerbread left. We dumped the paper plates in the wastebasket.

“I don’t suppose you have any games? Like maybe Twister,” I asked, suddenly delaying the inevitable bedtime thing. What was the protocol here?

“No games.”

“Sleepovers always have games.”

He was standing directly in front of me, staring at my lip.

“How about a movie?”

“You have lemon sauce on your lip again.” He leaned over me. I liked a tall man with a big presence. And Van’s presence was definitely growing on me.

“I don’t suppose you have a napkin on you?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled me into him, bent over and licked the sauce off my lip. “Lemon sauce is good on girls, too.”

“Better than whipped cream?”

“Could be.”

The lick turned into a kiss. Gentle. Tentative. A whisper of lip on lip. Then deeper. Fuller. Harder. At his insistence. At my insistence. Full mouth on mouth. Open mouth. Thrusting tongues. He tasted of my mother’s gingerbread and lemon. I kissed him with the full force of my being. I could not get enough.

I ran my hands through his hair, pulling his face to mine. He tangled his hands in my hair. Put his hand on the back of my neck to keep me tipping toward him. He cupped my butt with a hot, scorching touch. His hands were big and confident. I cupped his ass. It was feel and feel alike, taste and taste alike.

“V?” I threw my head back and arched my neck.

“Yes?”

“I think I dripped sauce here.” I gently pushed his head lower, deep into my perky, standing-at-attention, begging-to-be-noticed double Ds.

“Here?”

“There. Lower. Everywhere.”

I could feel him grin against me, feel his hot breath. Then his tongue flicked my nipple through my cami and I shuddered with pleasure.

“You’re a slob.”

“I am.”

“Good. I like messy girls. And I concede the lemon sauce point. Lemon sauce is heaven.”