He squinted, looking as if he was deep in thought. “Yeah, sure,” he said finally.
That went well.
“I rented a few movies to watch after dinner,” she said casually.
He nodded, still looking deep in thought.
“Which would you rather watch first—Mr. and Mrs. Smith or Red?”
He sputtered. “Interesting choices. Did you pick those out yourself?”
She shrugged and smiled. “I had a little help. I thought we could use some humor around here.”
She tried very hard to not break out laughing again. But it was either that or cry.
CHAPTER NINE
“Are you going to be okay by yourself tonight in the guest room?” Drew asked Staci, sincere in his concern.
She took the movie out of the DVD player and put it in its plastic case. “I think I’ll survive.” The look she gave him meant she’d rather be alone and would probably lock her door.
Not to worry. He had no intention of jumping her bones again. Damn her.
“Sure?” he asked, half hoping she’d relent and sleep with him again. After the incident in the grocery store, he wanted to know she was safe every minute.
She lifted her chin, a dead giveaway she was using defiance to cover her fear. “According to Gary the Exterminator’s note, all the big, bad spiders should be dead. Gary seems very reliable. I’m sure you did your due diligence and made sure he has an A-rating.”
She headed up the stairs for bed, pausing a few steps up. “Be ready to go by ten tomorrow. I want to get to the spy store early.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. In the past, when he was home, off duty, and between missions, he liked to sleep in. It was practically the only sleep he ever got.
Staci knew that. She liked to rise earlier than he did. In happier days, she used to get up and make him breakfast, then come back to bed and tease him awake with a message and sex. He was certain she was getting back at him for what they’d done on the sofa earlier. It hadn’t been all his doing. She knew that.
Staci eyed him warily, nodded, and headed up the stairs. A few seconds later he heard her in the bathroom, running water, probably brushing her teeth.
He jumped up and grabbed the two DVDs she’d rented. Sure enough he spotted NCS’s QR code sticker on the back of Red. Personally, he thought the theme of the two movies—assassination and elimination—was a message in itself. He grabbed his cell phone and snapped a picture of the QR code sticker.
It took him to a website advertising movie snacks. NCS used a bunch of these sites as dummies and decoys in case anyone else checked the QR code. He captured a picture of a bag of popcorn from the website, ran it through the steganography decoding software on his phone, and came up with another QR code, which he ran through a software decoding program, which pointed him to another website. He typed in his password of the day and came up with an incident report on Staci’s attack in aisle five.
Thaddeaus Grimley had been one bad dude. In his heyday, he’d been an expert sniper and poisoner, a SMASH assassin. Knives had never been his thing. He was responsible for killing more than a dozen CIA agents over the years and at least two hundred civilians. Not so great a feat by today’s standards when terrorists and psychos took out thousands at a time. But Grimley killed one at a time, and had never been caught or convicted.
Almost ninety, he hadn’t been suspected in any killings for over a decade. Like the Morgan Freeman character in Red, he’d been pastured and put in a nursing home. Redmond Valley Nursing Home, to be precise. It was conveniently located five blocks from the grocery store where Staci had been attacked. Apparently, Grimley, who was legally too blind to drive, had taken the nursing home bus to the store along with the other residents who needed to pick up a few items.
Emmett had seen Grimley try to prick Staci’s right thigh with something. So much for Staci’s assertion that Grimley was feeling her up. Though he may have been doing that, too. Staci swatted Grimley’s hand, knocking the vial away before Grimley could inject it. He’d then gotten a knife on Staci’s neck before Emmett could reach her.
Grimley must have been desperate, or simply reckless with old age and overconfidence, to think he could get away with slitting someone’s throat in broad daylight in a store full of patrons.
Drew frowned. Either that or Grimley was terrified of failing and would rather risk being caught than not succeed.
Drew tried to shake off the thought—RIOT was after Staci. Really after Staci. Stalking her. Following her. They knew where she was, who she was with, and even the store where she shopped.
He returned to reading the report.
The chief found a vial on the floor next to Grimley as the assassin lay dying from the injection of poison Emmett had given him. A bit of poetic justice.
The chief had watched Staci carefully and hadn’t seen any signs of poisoning. He slipped her a mild sedative to keep her calm.
He’d sent the vial to the lab to be analyzed. It contained a dose of full-strength venom, big enough to kill two or three Stacis, from the most lethal spider in the world—the Brazilian wandering spider.
Drew could have sworn his heart stopped for just an instant before kicking back in again and banging angrily in his chest.
So that was the plan—inject Staci with the venom and then pretend the spider had bitten her?
Clever. Jack would have gotten a kick out of it.
But Drew didn’t like the obvious reference to Bevilacqua and his boss Carlos Meano.
The Bevil was in prison. Jack had killed Meano before dying in the explosion.
It was a good thing for Grimley that he was already dead. If he’d lived, Drew would have tracked him down and tortured him.
Drew swallowed hard and kept reading the report.
Drew was to keep a sharp eye on Staci and, if any of the following symptoms manifested, get her to the NCS-approved ER immediately: loss of muscle control, breathing problems, paralysis, asphyxiation, pain, or priapism.
What the hell was priapism? He was pretty sure it didn’t have anything to do with a small electric car.
He looked it up.
Priapism was a painful medical condition in which the erect penis or clitoris doesn’t return to the flaccid state. In fact, venom from the Brazilian wandering spider was being used in research to treat erectile dysfunction.
Damn. You mean that female hard-on Staci’d had for him could possibly have nothing to do with love, lust, unrequited longing, or his blatant sexiness and prowess?
Drew stared at the wall and frowned. There was the possibility a man like old Grimley was experimenting on himself with the stuff.
Drew shook his head. He had to get a look a Staci’s thigh and see if there was any painful swelling. Not that he’d noticed anything before. In fact, she’d been doing some heavy breathing, but definitely hadn’t lost muscle control.
He closed the report, removed the QR code sticker from the movie, and destroyed it. He took the stairs two at a time and barged in on Staci in the bathroom as she was removing her makeup.
“Drew! What in the world?” She looked startled.
For just a second, he thought about telling her about the spider venom. And how worried he was about her. And how he was sorry for everything. And how, hell, how this whole incident had shaken his world.
In the next instant, he thought better of it. “Just checking on you before I head to bed. If you start feeling at all unwell, call out. I’ll come running. Promise me.”
She stared at him. “I’m not a wimp. I can handle a little stress. I’m not going to panic. I’m fine.” She took a deep breath and softened her voice. “But thank you.”
She turned back to the mirror, dismissing him, and caught him assessing her thigh.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Drew!” She gave him a surprisingly hard shove toward the door. “Get out!”
Her thigh looked fine. Creamy and smooth. No sign of any inflammation at all, if you didn’t count what she did to him
.
She gave him another shove and slammed the door closed behind him.
Wasn’t married life great?
Back in his room, Drew had an encrypted text from the chief.
My sources tell me Staci has taken a temporary job at Attitude, Inc., to spy on her stepfather. We can use this to our advantage. Take her to Spy Gear Seattle and buy her some toys. I’m planting a few things for you there.
Emmett went on to give directions as to what to look for. Never one to rely on someone else’s intel, Drew wanted a look for himself at Grimley’s room at Redmond Valley Nursing Home. But he couldn’t leave Staci. Not for a few hours at least. Until he made sure Grimley hadn’t dosed her with even the tiniest amount of poison. He’d just have to wait until the wee hours to play orderly and do a room check. NCS or RIOT, one of them for sure, had probably already scrubbed—“sanitized”—Grimley’s room. But there was always something a good spy could learn.
Drew took a deep breath. This mission was going to kill him. With all he had to do tonight, he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep.
He’d been thinking about what Staci had told him about Sam’s boat, too. NCS had searched it several times over the last six months and come up empty. But it didn’t sit easy with Drew that Staci had been on the Attitude and Latitude. Did RIOT know something about what Sam kept on that boat that he and NCS didn’t, and were they worried Staci had seen whatever it was?
* * *
Staci waited until she heard Drew’s door close. She finished her bedtime routine and grabbed her phone. Despite the risks, she had to talk to Mandy. She needed her perspective and advice. And no matter what Drew had commanded, she was going to tell Mandy the truth. No way was she lying to her best friend.
It was late, but Mandy was a night owl and wouldn’t mind. In fact, Mandy was probably waiting for her call and wondering why she hadn’t phoned sooner.
Mandy Harris and Willow Pierce were the only people among her friends, acquaintances, or family that she could talk to about Drew and be completely candid. They were all part of the Agency family. They’d both been married to spies. But since Jack’s death, it was too hard for Staci to talk to Willow about anything of consequence. Staci had too much guilt.
Staci was the only one whose husband was still alive. And she was going to do everything in her power to make sure Drew stayed that way—alive, handsome, and vital—even though it meant pushing him away and divorcing him.
Drew, Jack Pierce, and Mandy’s late husband, Kyle Harris, met one another before Staci met Drew and became best friends as recruits at The Farm, the CIA training facility in Virginia. Drew couldn’t reveal much about the months-long training, except to say the movie The Recruit was a fairly accurate depiction and smile fondly at the memories. During those months, the recruits were kept on The Farm and away from the outside world, which explained why the three became so close.
Drew joked that the trio of them made one perfect spy—Jack excelled at paramilitary ops, Kyle at languages, and Drew at tradecraft. Kyle had been killed three years ago in Afghanistan. Jack died because of Staci’s inability to maintain a lie a year and a half ago in Paraguay. Drew would not die because of her. He wouldn’t.
Staci snuggled into the lumpy sleeper sofa and wrapped her pillow on either side of her head to shield her call before speed-dialing Mandy.
“Stace! Thank goodness. I was getting worried. What’s up with you?”
“Drew.”
“Don’t tell me he’s still delaying the divorce.”
“Worse. We’re faking a reconciliation and I made love with him in the living room. And should anyone ask you, particularly Drew, I told you that we’ve really reunited and you have no reason to believe differently. That’s the party line.”
“You made love with Drew?” Mandy whistled softly. “Was it good?”
“Of course it was good. Better than good. It was phenomenal. Like always. And a huge mistake.” Staci told Mandy the whole story, from Drew arriving to pick up his junk until now.
“Whoa,” Mandy said when she was finished. “Bullets whizzing by, old men chasing you on scooters, and mind-blowing sex with your nearly ex—you’ve had quite the forty-eight hours. You really think the drug lords are after you? Why?”
“I don’t know. Drew and the Agency don’t think they are, but who else could it be?”
“Not to get you worked up or anything, but it could be a whole host of terrorists and foreign nationalists. But let’s not dwell on that now. You’re perfectly safe with Drew.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s him. You know I’m bound to blow this operation, just like I did in Ciudad.”
“No, I don’t know, and you did no such thing.”
Staci put her head in her hand and sighed. “We’ve been over this time and time again. I remembered in therapy with Dr. Helene. Bevil knew Drew was my husband. Because of me.” Staci let out a heavy sigh. “You know I gave Drew away while we were on our romantic weekend at Iguazu Falls. I slipped up. When the steward asked me who I was waiting for, my boyfriend? I told him, no, I was waiting for my husband. My husband! How stupid could I be? Why couldn’t I lie to a complete stranger? One small lie would have saved Jack.”
“You don’t know that’s true for sure,” Mandy said. Staci could hear her shifting positions. “And even if it is, you had no idea the drug lords would have spies at the resort.”
“Does my naïveté make a difference? The result is the same. Jack is dead. When the drug lords attacked me, they knew Drew was my husband. How else would they know? That’s why they targeted me.” She took a deep breath and tried to call up the coping methods Dr. Helene had taught her. “And then I told them where Drew and Jack were.”
“They tortured it out of you. A far lesser woman would have cracked immediately. Sheesh, Stace, you held out longer than many agents who are trained to resist torture.” Mandy paused.
“Besides, missions are inherently risky and prone to mishaps and failure. Intellectually, you know that, Stace.” Mandy’s voice was like a good hug, warm and reassuring. “Stop blaming yourself. What are you going to do about Drew?”
“The plan hasn’t changed. I’m going to divorce him.”
“Oh, Stace. I really wish you’d just tell him the truth about what happened at Iguazu Falls and let him decide what he wants.”
“He wants this divorce, too,” Staci said. “He isn’t fighting it. It’s best for both of us.”
“He isn’t fighting it because he has his pride. Drew’s like all spies, an adrenaline junkie. You’ll never get it out of his blood and you’ll never be able to protect him, believe me.
“All you can do is love him.”
“I’m protecting myself as much as him. I can’t keep living this life of lies. I’m no good at it.” But Staci was beginning to wonder if life without Drew would be any better.
“If this divorce is really what you want, then you know I’m behind you. Just make sure you’re sure.”
CHAPTER TEN
As Staci walked down the street with Drew toward Spy Gear Seattle, she couldn’t believe she’d slept so soundly the night before. On the crappy sofa bed. Even though she’d been worried she’d have a nightmare about the lush, beautiful, tropical Iguazu Falls, and the way she’d accidentally betrayed Drew.
Apparently fending off an attempt on her life really wore her out. Back in the day, Drew would have claimed it was the great sex. She would have countered that it was Mandy’s calming reassurances. But of course, she couldn’t tell him that. She’d told Drew she’d called Mandy, and following Em’s advice, lied by omission, letting Drew believe she’d told Mandy what she was supposed to.
A great night’s sleep was certainly beneficial to her health. Her skin looked rosy and healthy. The bags beneath her eyes had disappeared. She felt refreshed and full of energy. Determined.
Beauty by near-murder experience and sex with the ex. Nice to reap the benefits, but she’d prefer not to fend off death by throat-sl
ashing again. Unlike a mud wrap gone bad, you mess this beauty treatment up, you don’t recover.
She should have been more freaked out. Two attempts in two days? Someone was deadly serious. Maybe being so well rested was interfering with her sense of fear and self-preservation. Or maybe it was the sunshine.
Because attempts at snuffing her out aside, here she was, out in Seattle in clear, sunny daylight, honoring her promise to her mother. Any sniper with a decent scope could take her out as she walked next to Drew along the sidewalk toward Spy Gear Seattle.
She made another note—buy a bulletproof vest.
Drew opened the door to Spy Gear Seattle and held it for her. It may have only been her imagination, but she thought he looked sheepish going in, as if he wanted to run, or pull up his shirt collar to cover his face. Only he was wearing a collarless T-shirt. Going to a spy store was so beneath him. For amateurs only.
Well, she may be an amateur, but she was going to succeed at her mission to catch Sam at whatever he was up to. She had to if she was going to get her mother off her back. And she’d do anything to keep her mother from meddling and disrupting her life.
After that hard-hitting come-out-of-nowhere romp on the couch last night, she and Drew had been cautiously polite and distant with each other. She really needed him to go away. She didn’t trust herself not to do a repeat performance.
Danger calls, have sex. Good grief, now I know why Bond is always horny.
She walked through the door, took a deep breath, and looked around the store. “Look at this, would you! Electronic surveillance, espionage heaven.” Shelves of nanny cams. Racks of listening devices and covert cameras. Bugs. Tracking devices. Soda can safes. “It’s a spy’s dream come true!”
Drew gave her a deadpan look and shook his head as if to say, I don’t think so.
“Where should we begin?” she asked. “I’m thinking I need a bulletproof vest, a finger gun, Immobilo, though thirty seconds of an opponent being paralyzed hardly seems long enough. Absorbo pills, because you know I’m a lightweight with alcohol. I need that stuff to absorb it so I can drink my spy martinis. Fake fingers to place over a ledge to distract enemy spies. Not that I plan on hanging out on any rooftops. But you never know. A cigarette lighter gun, a teargas pen. And of course, a bullet bra fully loaded with forty-five-caliber shells.”