Diamonds Are Truly Forever: An Agent Ex Novel

  Emmett stopped as they walked past the Redbox. “Let me get you the movies you were going to rent on your way out, on the Agency.”

  “How did you know I was going to rent a movie?” she asked.

  “I saw you looking at the kiosk when you walked in.” He tapped his temple. “A good spy is observant. Red and Mr. and Mrs. Smith sound good?”

  “They sound great. But you really are too scary sometimes, Em. You read people’s minds too easily.”

  * * *

  Drew paused outside the front door of his condo with his key in hand. He was late coming home from the office. Overseeing the body’s removal, having an after-hours beer with his new Hook House co-workers, and stopping by the makeshift morgue to check on evidence had all taken longer than he expected.

  He’d gotten away with moving Martel. No one suspected a thing. It was as if an execution never happened at Hook House. He wondered if the silence about the murder had rattled anyone’s cage. And if that person would crack and show themselves.

  Damn, I’m a great brand manager. If only the Hook House brass knew how good!

  Drew’s body thrummed with a testosterone-laced adrenaline high. He could only liken it to euphoria mixed with lust. He hovered on the edge of frustration, full of pent-up want, needing release. He felt like celebrating. He felt like having hot, hard sex.

  And now he was going to have to go into his own condo and face Staci, a woman who certainly didn’t want sex with him.

  He took a deep breath and turned the key in the door. “Honey, I’m home!”

  He tossed his keys on the sofa table in the entryway and set his laptop bag beside it. The house smelled like warm, melted chocolate, and chicken doused with wine sauce, and a whole host of other delectable smells he’d almost forgotten existed.

  The kitchen table was covered with a white tablecloth and set for two, complete with two sputtering candles and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice.

  Steam swirled from a pot of pasta bubbling on the stove.

  Staci was in the kitchen. She stood next to the stove with her back to him, dousing slices of bread with garlic butter and Parmesan cheese. She wore a thin peach sundress with spaghetti straps that slid off her creamy shoulders. The hem of her dress fluttered and kissed her calves as she moved. She was barefoot. He didn’t know why he found that so sexy.

  Oh, hell yes, he did. In the old days he would have cuddled up behind her, lifted her skirt, and had her before dinner.

  Looking at the scene, it was hard for a man not to get the wrong impression.

  “Oh good, you’re home. I hope you’re hungry,” she said as she turned the oven on and slid the pan of bread in under the broiler.

  Oh, yeah, I’m hungry. Just not for dinner.

  When she turned around, her face was flushed from the heat of cooking. A gentle sheen of perspiration glowed between her full, perky breasts.

  The sight of her made his body go hard.

  What he really needed was a cold shower. He forced his gaze from her before he lost control. He glanced around the kitchen.

  A dark chocolate torte sat on a plate on the counter, along with a dozen chocolate cupcakes, and a plate of cream puffs. She’d been baking up a storm, which could only mean one thing. He hoped she was only upset about her lunch with her mother. Unfortunately, he estimated there were too many baked goods for something as simple as that.

  He returned his gaze to her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  He walked over and stood in front of her, trying hard not to stare down her dress as he put his hands on her bare shoulders.

  She looked up with eyes that begged him to protect her.

  “Someone tried to kill me today.” She threw her arms around him and pressed her head into his chest.

  Fury collided with the adrenaline pulsating through him. He would have dashed off to kill whoever had gone after Staci, but she clung to him too tightly. And he meant too tightly for comfort. His comfort.

  He put his arms around her. She was trembling.

  “Shhh,” he murmured. “It’s okay.” He kissed the top of her head.

  * * *

  Staci hadn’t meant to throw herself into Drew’s arms, but once she got there, she couldn’t force herself to leave. Why did he have to feel so good, so strong, so reassuring?

  It was like old times when being with Drew made her feel safe. Why didn’t she just pull away and ask him how his day was? Make her lies by omission and move on?

  The gentle brush of his lips on her hair startled her. As she looked up, a lock of hair caught on her moist lips.

  Before she could reach for it, Drew gently brushed it away. The heat of his fingers on her lips sent a ripple of desire through her. The look in his eyes was so strong and serious, so full of something powerful, she couldn’t look away. The combination was too commanding.

  Her lips were trembling. She didn’t mean to kiss him, but when he leaned down, she went up on her toes and their lips met.

  The trembling spark leaped into a raging fire. Drew didn’t just brush her lips, he took possession of them.

  The next moment was a blur of desire and dancing tongues.

  Drew dropped his hands to cup her butt, pressing against her as he slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders. She pulled his shirt loose from his pants and ran her hands over his hard abs and strong back.

  They did a shuffle of sorts toward the sofa, kissing and groping. She unfastened his pants and pulled them down. He spun her around, kicked off his shoes, pants, and boxers, lifted her skirt, and toppled onto her.

  He maneuvered around her thong panty and was in her in a single thrust.

  She gasped, but she was ready for him, so ready.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed him deeper into her as her skirt bunched around her.

  We shouldn’t be doing this.

  The thought didn’t stop her.

  His hand slid beneath her dress and played with her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair. She’d always loved his hair.

  He thrust again.

  She clenched a fistful of his hair.

  And again. Harder.

  She gasped as the pleasure built.

  Faster. Faster. Faster.

  Until her moan curled toward the ceiling.

  She closed her eyes and arched back against him, riding the edge of building ecstasy, wanting release, feeling so close to Drew she wished this moment would never end.

  She shuddered when crescendos of pleasure cascaded over and over her.

  Drew groaned and clutched her before collapsing onto her. She was hot and sweaty and breathing hard. So was Drew.

  And incredulous.

  She released her grip on Drew’s hair and stared him in the eye, transfixed. What just happened?

  Unfortunately, there was no time to answer that question. She smelled smoke.

  She lifted her head and looked over Drew’s shoulder, down the long length of his body, past his taut, naked butt, bare legs, and dress-sock-clad feet to the kitchen. An ominous black swirl of smoke wafted up from the oven.

  “Drew … something’s smoking,” she whispered in his ear.

  “We were smoking.”

  “No, I mean, really smoking. Don’t you smell it? The garlic toast!”

  The smoke alarm went off, screeching and cutting off further conversation.

  Drew pulled out and started swearing, rushing to the kitchen in his shirt and socks and butt naked. He grabbed a pot holder, pulled the toast out of the oven, and dumped it into the sink where he doused it with water.

  Staci sat up and coughed, pulled her skirt down, jumped up and ran to the smoke alarm, frantically trying to fan the smoke away from it and get it to stop buzzing. At last it turned off.

  She looked at Drew and started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked as he pulled the pot holder off and shut off the broiler.

  She laughed harder and pointed at him.

&nbsp
; He looked down at himself. “What? This is supposed to be impressive.”

  She shook her head and lost it. “No, not you. This whole day. Everything.” She couldn’t stop laughing. Her sides shook so hard, she almost couldn’t breathe. She managed to sputter out, “Put your pants on so we can open a window.”

  He pulled on his pants and cracked open the sliding glass door in the living room as he gave her a concerned look.

  Thank goodness the blinds had been pulled this whole time.

  Staci sat on the sofa with tears streaming down her face from laughing hysterically. She put her hands around her stomach. Why did she feel like crying?

  Now that her emotional dam had burst, everything she’d been holding in all day broke loose. “This whole day. Everything. It’s a black comedy. A man tried to kill me in the grocery store. And now I nearly burned down the condo.”

  Drew sat down beside her. “Not quite.” He handed her a paper towel to wipe her eyes with. “Rewind for a minute—who was trying to kill you?”

  She took a deep breath. “A lecherous octogenarian on a motorized grocery cart. He copped a feel of my leg in the produce section.” Her shoulders shook and she started hiccuping. “He souped that cart up, too. He took the corner on two wheels.”

  Drew stared at her as if she were crazy. “How?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a mechanic.” She tried to get a breath.

  “How did he try to kill you?”

  “First with a Brazilian wandering spider in the bananas. Then with a knife. In the soda row. Sounds like a game of Clue, but he was no Colonel Mustard.” She took another deep breath, trying to get a grip. “Turns out Grimley didn’t really need the scooter. He could walk on his own. He was surprisingly strong for someone with a weak heart.”

  Drew frowned. “Grimley? He told you his name?”

  “No, Em did. He was protecting me, which should come as no surprise to you. Do you know this Grimley?” She studied Drew and dabbed her eyes. He looked as if he knew Grimley, by reputation at least.

  “He’s a dangerous man.” His tone was soft and reassuring. But he was holding himself taut, as if he was angry. “What happened?”

  “I broke free. And then he had a heart attack and died. How was your day?” She was still hiccuping.

  “Better than yours,” he said. “I found a dead body in the brewing room. Foreign agent.”

  “Yeah, I’d say a dead body in the beer is a foreign agent. At least I hope it’s not a typical ingredient.” She couldn’t help herself. “Was he in a vat?”

  “No, in a pile of hops. I was hiding the body beneath fifty-pound bags of it when you called.”

  “Burial by hops, now that’s funny, in a black, black way.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, in a black way.”

  She took another breath. “Sounds like a great first day.” At last, she gained some control of herself. She dabbed her eyes with the paper towel again, and looked at Drew. “This can’t happen again.”

  And she meant it.

  “Laughing?” he said and sobered up.

  She shook her head.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I don’t have enough renter’s insurance to cover a full-scale fire.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “You know what I mean. Us. This was a one-off.”

  His expression hardened. The look in his eyes was almost crestfallen. But that couldn’t be. Drew wanted this divorce as much as she did.

  A sad thought occurred to her. “Is this all we ever were, Drew? A hormonal reaction to stress? The release to a spurt of adrenaline?”

  He didn’t answer her question. “Let’s eat.” He stood, offered her a hand up, and led her to the kitchen.

  Staci didn’t know what to think, feel, or say as she put the finishing touches on dinner and set it on the table.

  Drew gestured to the piles of fresh-baked goods on the counter. “The old man in the grocery store, that’s what all this is about?”

  She nodded, unable to look him in the eye.

  “What really happened to him? A feel of your leg didn’t really give him such a sexual high that he keeled over?” He was trying to be humorous, but she detected a note of hurt and accusation in his voice.

  “It was combined with a jab in the thigh by a Kubotan.”

  “Out with it, Stace.”

  She hated it when he used that soft, sympathetic tone. It made it harder to leave him. “Em stabbed him with a syringe full of something, probably digitalis, when he came to my aid. At least, I think digitalis is what it was. Grimley had a heart attack and died. I’m assured it will all look perfectly natural to the coroner.” She served him some chicken and passed him the pasta as if this were normal dinner conversation.

  Drew frowned and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it for reassurance as she held the pasta plate out to him. “Grimley’s an infamous assassin. I thought he retired years ago. You’re really okay?” He looked at her with concern shining in his eyes.

  She shrugged. “I’m fine. You should have seen me run when Grimley threw that Brazilian wandering spider at me. And heard my ear-piercing scream.” She laughed softly.

  Drew didn’t smile back at her. “I’m sorry about this shit. I really am. Emmett hasn’t briefed me yet. But I’ll get to the bottom of it and make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He squeezed her wrist again and released it. “Who was Grimley working for, does the chief know?”

  She shook her head and set the pasta down. “Em tried to find out, but Grimley died without talking. Em doesn’t know. He’s looking into it. I told him it’s probably the Bevil. I mean, who else would try to scare me and kill me with spiders?” She shuddered. “Em said anyone could make it look like the Bevil is after me. He told me to tell you about the incident.”

  Drew looked thoughtful. “That’s it?”

  She nodded. “That’s all I know.” She changed the subject. “The exterminator came today. He left his card.”

  “Have you been in the guest room yet to make sure our old friend is dead?”

  She shook her head. “No, not yet.”

  “I’ll do it.” Drew pursed his lips as she passed him the salad. “How was lunch with your mother?”

  Now he wanted details? Better late than never. It was nice of him to ask.

  “Oh, you know, the usual with her—drama. She thinks Sam is having an affair. She wants me to spy on him for her.”

  Drew sputtered. “She suspects Sam’s having an affair and she wants you to spy on him?”

  “Yes, me. Who else?”

  He looked as if he was about to laugh.

  “I’m glad to have lifted your mood.” She shook her head. “Don’t look so stunned. I can do it.” His lack of faith piqued her. “I already have a plan. I got a job as a temporary office assistant at Attitude so I can keep an eye on him and pick up any office gossip. I start on Monday.”

  “What?” He was about to come out of his chair. “I thought we had a plan to keep you safe here at the town house.”

  “Oh, come on. Attitude is completely safe, much safer than sitting around here. They have tight security, including guards on the premises. They’re a defense contractor. They have to take security seriously.”

  He sighed and she knew she’d won that part of the argument.

  “And as for Sam, office affairs are on the rise. The office is practically an affair incubator. It seems logical to see what he’s up to there.”

  “Sam, having an affair?” He looked and sounded skeptical.

  “Yeah, I know, who else would have him? But there it is. My mother is suspicious.”

  “You’ve spent a lot more time with him and your mom since we separated. Have you noticed anything suspicious?” Drew asked.

  “You mean, do I think he’s having an affair?” She pursed her lips and thought about things. Sam had been acting differently this past year. “He is gone a lot more often than he used to be. And he spends a ton of time and money on that boat he bought a year ago, the Attitude and Lati
tude.

  “He takes chances, going out in rough surf and bad weather like he’s auditioning for Deadliest Catch or something. Most men have a midlife crisis and buy a fast car. Sam’s that way with his boat.

  “He’s meticulous and finicky with it, too. You need his permission to go on board and heaven help you if you touch the wrong thing or open the wrong drawer. It’s his version of a man cave. Even Mom’s not allowed.

  “I’ve been out fishing with him a time or two on it, but I’ve never seen any signs of another woman. It’s not the kind of boat made for seduction.”

  Drew frowned, looking as if he didn’t like what he’d just heard. “You’re really going to be spying now? It’s dangerous stuff, Stace.”

  “I thought you’d be pleased. I’m finally taking an interest in your line of work.” She didn’t understand his concern. “It’s just keeping an eye on Sam. And I have you around to help and give me pointers.”

  He arched a brow. “You want my help?”

  “You are the expert.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” he said.

  “Good. We can start tomorrow. I need a few gizmos.”

  “Stace, no.”

  “Every spy has gizmos.”

  “No.” He shook his head.

  “Bond has gizmos. Maxwell Smart has gizmos. I bet you have gizmos.” She studied him closely as she twisted her napkin in her lap, but he didn’t give away whether he did or didn’t.

  “Thinking of you with gizmos gives me a headache,” he said.

  “If I can’t have gizmos, I’ll need weapons,” she teased.

  He gave her a deadpan stare.

  “I heard there’s an excellent spy supply store in downtown Seattle. I thought we could go there tomorrow and you could help me pick a few things out. You know, Q-type devices for the job.”

  He looked deep in thought and didn’t answer.

  “I can go by myself.”

  “No.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Still tied to the old ball and chain. If that’s the case, it’s either we sit here and stare at each other or go do something fun.”

  “Real spies don’t go to spy supply stores,” he said.

  She shrugged. “You’ll be the first. At least no one will suspect your true occupation. When you think about it, it’s a great cover.”