Diamonds Are Truly Forever: An Agent Ex Novel

  The brass wanted to apprehend Sam outside the country. Better for everyone that way. Less chance of someone raising a fuss. NCS could take him to a top-secret interrogation facility and find out what he knew.

  Say hello to Noe. Canada will cooperate fully.

  Still tracking the Fisherman’s financials. Make sure we get the Fisherman in hand before the Canadians grab him. Canada doesn’t even have a damn death penalty.

  Drew read the message again to make sure he had all the details right. In the good old days of spying, a tape would self-destruct or a spy would have to eat and swallow a handwritten message. Drew simply hit DELETE and every trace of the message vanished. No computer genius could reconstruct it no matter how many software tricks and Porn Sticks were used.

  Drew sat for a moment, thinking. Being with Staci again was giving him ideas he’d probably be better off not entertaining.

  Is there a way to complete the mission and get the girl?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Dance Floor Winery was exactly what its name suggested—a winery with a restaurant and dance floor. Every night the spot featured wine from a different region of the world, paired with Pacific Northwest cuisine seasoned to match, plus a dance lesson and session with matching theme. Saturday night featured the most popular combo: Spanish wines—particularly Rioja and sherry, because Cuban wine was reputedly not up to the restaurant’s standards—Pacific Northwest salsa and chips, a menu seasoned with Hispanic flavor, and salsa dancing.

  Staci loved dancing, always had. However, given her situation with Drew, and the fact that she was once again out in public trying to convince the world that she was passionately in love with him, she would have chosen a night with a different theme. Actually, she would have chosen another restaurant, one without dancing at all.

  For all he’d acquiesced to Noe’s suggestion, Drew must not be any happier. He did not like to dance. The only dance he did passably well was the robot. All grace and athleticism in every other area of his life, on the dance floor the man moved like a piece of wood. Which was out of character—he sure knew how to move in the bedroom. It was good to know he was human and bad at something.

  He certainly played the part of happily-reunited, passionately-in-love, feels-like-the-first-time husband convincingly. He kept his arm around her naked back, hot, hot hand resting on her bare waist. Much as Staci hated to admit it, that possessive hand sent tingles through her whole body.

  He whispered sweet, commanding nothings in her ear, seizing the opportunity and nibbling, too. “Smile more. We’re in love. Let’s give them something to talk about.”

  Talk about? With his hot breath in her ear, she could barely think. She was smiling. Idiot smiling, lusty smiling. Her face felt frozen with it and she feared she showed too much emotion. Too much of how she loved him still.

  He stroked her hair in a way that made her want to lean her head into his hand like a cat purring its way into a scratch. And then he stared at her in that soul-mate, penetrating way, as if she were the only woman in the room. He was so effective, he took her breath away. And almost convinced her.

  Mandy grabbed Staci’s arm and whispered in her ear as they took their seats at their reserved table. “Are you sure you aren’t really back together? Drew looks like he wants to gobble you up.” She sighed. “And you should see the way you’re looking at him.”

  “I am not looking at him.”

  Mandy arched a brow and shook her head. She nudged Staci. “You didn’t tell me how hot Noah is.” Her eyes were wide and round, looking like a woman feasting on the sight of him and hoping to be sated later.

  Staci shrugged. “I told you he’s good looking.”

  “Good looking does not begin to cover it,” Mandy whispered back. “Who is he really?”

  Being a spy’s widow, Mandy was naturally suspicious, particularly of any friend of Drew’s.

  “I told you, he said he was a college friend of Drew’s.” Which was exactly the truth. That is what he’d said. Lies of omission. Staci loved them.

  Mandy frowned for just a second. “Oh, well. Who cares who he really is? He’s delicious.”

  And he had somehow picked up a perfect American accent. A Pacific Northwest accent, no less. Which sounded like broadcast English with a touch of Canadian thrown in, or so Staci had been told by people she met in other parts of the country. It would have been easy for a Vancouver-type Canadian to master. They’d have to do practically nothing. How Noe was managing was another matter. He no longer dropped his h’s or added them in odd places and the rest of his charming French Canadian accent was gone, too.

  The hostess handed them menus and walked off. The waiter appeared, poured them a round of water, and took their drink orders. Staci opened her menu, determined to get back at Drew and Noe for putting her in this horrible situation.

  She scanned the offerings. “The lighting’s very dim in here. I’m having a hard time seeing this.” Drew leaned over to help her, but she shoved her menu across to Noe. “Can you make this out?” She pointed to an entrée of halibut and smiled sweetly at him.

  Noe squinted at it, looked up at her, and grinned as if he had her number. “Halibut with mango salsa. Very appropriate this evening. A Latin American favorite.” He spoke in perfect English, no slipping h’s. “How about hors d’oeuvres?”

  “The oysters look tasty,” Drew said as he stroked her arm. He apparently understood what she was up to, too.

  Now he was just playing mean. Oysters? Aphrodisiac food? No way. She was having enough trouble trying to keep her heart from racing while Drew pawed her as if he couldn’t keep his hands off her. And Noe cheated. Hors d’oeuvres was a French word!

  Beneath the table, Drew gently stepped on her foot, warning her to ixnay on trying to trap Noe. She stabbed him back with her stiletto heel and had the pleasure of watching him maintain his adoring look while trying not to wince.

  Noe called the waiter over. “This is a celebration. Bring us a bottle of your best Rioja.”

  They went through two bottles of Rioja at dinner. Then Noe ordered a bottle of sherry to go with dessert. Even consuming so much wine, Noe did not mess up his h sounds, no matter how hard Staci ignored Drew’s warning and tried to trip him up.

  Drew sat too close to Staci, playing his own game with her. Trying to get her to mess up? Or trying to get her back in bed later? He brushed her breast “accidentally.” Held her hand, squeezing it tightly, holding on as if there were no letting go. He nibbled her neck until Staci was this short of wanting to take him right to bed. She wondered if that was his plan. If he planned to make a liar out her.

  And actually, if he succeeded in making a liar out of her, she should probably thank him. No one had succeeded before.

  Staci had just fed Drew the last bite of brazo gitano, a jelly roll filled with guava, when a three-piece band took the stage. The lights dimmed and two dance instructors went to the mike. “Ladies and gentlemen, grab your partners. It’s time to salsa!”

  The crowd clapped and cheered.

  Staci turned and smiled sweetly at Drew, taking his head in both hands and running her thumb along his jaw. “We can skip the lesson, baby. I know how much you hate dancing.”

  Her sweet consideration of him was all an act, of course. She did not want to salsa with him. Salsa dancing, done properly, was like foreplay. And she was already hot enough as it was. Done the way Drew danced, it was like taking a cold shower. In public. Something to be avoided in either case.

  Keeping up the act, she kissed him lightly on the lips. Which was not a good idea. That tiny meeting of the lips sent tingles all the way to her toes.

  He removed her hand from his cheek and kissed it, scooting out his chair. “I brought you here to dance, Stace.”

  It was the perfect, romantic thing for a man in love to say and do. If she hadn’t known otherwise, she might even have fallen for it.

  Before she could protest, he pulled her chair out for her, took her hand, and pulled he
r to the dance floor.

  * * *

  Contrary to popular belief, Drew knew how to salsa. You might even call him an intermediate dancer. He’d spent three months undercover in Cuba. Where he’d learned to dance in the arms of a sultry and curvaceous professional dancer—as part of his cover. And to impress Staci. There really was nothing like a hot, Havana night.

  But however much Lola had tempted him and tried to get him into bed, he’d never broken his wedding vows. He’d only ever had eyes for Staci. Not that she believed him. And if she ever got a look at Lola and her moves, she never would. Which is why he couldn’t tell her how he’d learned or who’d taught him. He’d decided to classify Lola as a mission detail, something he was forbidden to share by the Agency.

  He’d love to show Staci his moves. In private. When things could get not only hot and heavy, but get completely carried away. To bed. Unfortunately, showing off his dance moves while he was undercover as himself would draw too many pesky questions. He was going to have to put on an act and do his classic robot imitation, which was not hot at all.

  * * *

  Drew elbowed his way to the center of the crowded dance floor, holding Staci’s hand in a tight grip, as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. Even for a second.

  Really, Drew is carrying this act too far. This isn’t face acting or a close-up on the big screen. No one’s going to notice the subtleties, like his possessive hold on my hand. Then again, he’s probably right to be concerned I’ll make a dash for the table. There’s only so much my country should require of me.

  Staci glanced around, desperately trying to catch some guy’s eye, any guy’s eye, and encourage him to cut in. As soon as possible.

  Drew caught her and gave her a sharp look.

  “We could have stayed on the outskirts,” she whispered in his ear. And she meant it. All the easier to escape to the table if Drew’s dancing became too embarrassing to stomach. “You don’t have to impress me.”

  He arched a brow. “Don’t I?”

  “Just don’t do the robot. If you do, I’ll have to kill you. And I mean it.” She pointed to her feet. “I have the technology—stiletto impaler-heels. The latest from Em. Under the table earlier was only a taste of their pain-inflicting power.”

  “You’re an evil woman,” he whispered back with a tease in his voice. “I suppose they’re tipped with poison?”

  She grinned most evilly back at him. “Don’t test me.”

  Noe and Mandy angled in next to them.

  “It’s hot on the floor.” Noe’s eyes twinkled. He winked at Mandy and held out his hand for hers, giving her a sultry look. “Very hot.”

  It was too bad Noe couldn’t have used his native French Canadian accent. That would have slain Mandy, for sure.

  On cue from the band leader, the drums started up, cutting off further conversation.

  Music moved Staci, always had. There was simply no resisting a dance beat. Almost subconsciously, her hips undulated. Her shoulders rolled. She closed her eyes and the beat coursed through her.

  The dance instructors began teaching the basic steps.

  The male instructor, Luis, called out the steps: “One, two, three, back! Five, six, seven. One, two, three, back, five, six, seven. One … five … one…”

  “Not so bad,” Drew said, holding her hands and staring into her eyes. “I’m keeping up.”

  “Barely. You’re moving like a scarecrow. Loosen up some.” She smiled to herself. “Wait until Luis shows us the turn and spin. I love spinning.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve seen your spin maneuver a time or two. Very effective at cutting me off.” Drew gave her hand a quick squeeze, which distracted her while he crushed her toes beneath his size twelves.

  “Hey! You did that on purpose.” She frowned at him as her toe throbbed, resisting the urge to break the beat and rub her foot.

  “Did I?” He grinned. “Sorry. Good thing I don’t have killer heels.”

  “No, just big feet and bludgeoning shoes.”

  He gave her a smoldering smile, which unfortunately took her by surprise—again—and made her melt for the second until he spoke. “Smile. Mandy’s looking this way.”

  She smiled at him, sickeningly adoringly, like a puppy in love.

  “Too lovesick schoolgirl,” he leaned in and whispered. “I was hoping for bitch in heat.”

  Her better nature fought really hard not to frown. “Just following orders. Next time be specific.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  She moved her foot out of his way just in time, right before his sole came down on the delicate, exposed arch of her foot.

  “And now, we will learn to turn and spin!” Luis yelled.

  The crowd screamed approval.

  “Do as I do and follow my lead,” Luis said, demonstrating the moves with his partner with perfect precision and fluidity.

  But Drew did not do what Luis did or follow his lead. Drew ignored the steps, caressed Staci’s shoulders, ran his hot hands down her body, and grabbed her butt. He mimicked the moves, spinning her in an awkward eggbeater. Grabbing her thigh and pulling her leg against his. Tossing her back over his arm into a ridiculous fake salsa pose and staring into her eyes as if he would ravish her there on the floor.

  Damn him!

  All around them, people were looking at them, laughing, and egging Drew on as she grew light-headed from dangling over his arm like his puppet.

  He always won the crowd over. Some called it charm or charisma. She called it frustrating. She gritted her teeth. “I told you to behave.”

  “You told me not to do the robot,” he shot back with a challenge in his eyes. “Just following orders.”

  In retrospect, she preferred the robot.

  “Up!” she hissed at him, knowing she was the one in the fragile position.

  “Keep smiling,” he whispered as he jerkily pulled her up and wrapped her in his arms too tightly for her to wiggle out.

  She didn’t like the way her body reacted to his—as if she wanted him desperately. Salsa dancing with Drew was an odd combination of exotic, heady, and painful in way too many ways.

  Next to them, Noe danced as if he’d been born in Havana, not Quebec, leading so well he made even Mandy look like a passable dancer.

  Finally, mercifully, the lesson ended. The floor began to clear. Staci raced off toward the table with the others trailing after her. She was not going to repeat that performance with Drew again. She felt too … too shaky.

  At the table, she grabbed the bottle of sherry. “I need a drink.” She poured herself a glass. “Noah, you’re quite the dancer. Unlike some people”—she shot Drew a heated look—“you can actually move.”

  Noe elbowed Drew. “See, the ladies notice.” He smiled at Staci. “Dance lessons in college. Easiest PE credit I ever earned. Ballroom dancing. Salsa. I took it all. Great way to meet girls. I never could convince that one, though.” He nodded toward Drew.

  Drew shrugged. “And yet, look who caught a girl.”

  Noe laughed. “Caught one, did you? Watch me steal her.” He held his hand out to Staci.

  She set down her wine and took his hand gladly. Anything to escape being too near Drew.

  “You should have learned to dance,” Noe said to Drew.

  Drew turned to Mandy.

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’d rather sit this one out. I don’t like to dance like Staci does.”

  * * *

  Drew sipped his Rioja and watched Noe dance with his wife. He shouldn’t have been jealous. A dance was just a dance, right? Then why did he feel like punching his old friend?

  Noe was a smooth mover. Graceful, seductive, and a show-off as he twirled Staci, wrapped his French Canadian arms around her, and spun her back out again before pulling her in and draping her over his arm.

  As for Staci—Drew couldn’t keep his eyes off her undulating hips, and the way she threw back her head and ran her hands over her breasts, looking like a girl in a porn flick. Why hadn??
?t she done that for him?

  He sat, silently sipping his wine, seething. Across from him, Mandy waved to get his attention. She said something. The music was blaring. He couldn’t hear her over it. He mimed as much to her.

  She nodded and dug into her purse. An instant later she had her phone out and was texting someone with fingers flying. Good. He didn’t feel like chatting or trying to make small talk by yelling over the noise.

  His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. When he pulled it out, Mandy grinned at him. She was texting him?

  He read her message.

  You look jealous. Does N know you have a license to kill?

  Drew grinned.

  She sent him another text. Who is N, really?

  He fired back. An old friend.

  Really? She arched a brow when he looked up at her. I know your motto—admit nothing. Deny everything.

  He laughed. You’ll just have to trust me.

  Mandy replied, Ha-ha.

  She sent him another text. Staci still loves you.

  Drew’s heart pounded. Still loved him? He stared back at Mandy, who gave him a knowing smile.

  She told you the truth, didn’t she? He texted back. You know we’re faking the reunion?

  Do you really think she could lie to me?

  Drew banged his fist on the table. No, he didn’t think so. Asking Staci to lie to Mandy had partly been a test. Damn, he wished she could lie like he could. Maybe then they’d have a chance.

  She pushed you away to protect you. Ask her about Iguazu Falls.

  Drew’s pulse leaped. Iguazu Falls? What the hell happened in Iguazu Falls that I don’t know about? he thought.

  He knew Staci felt guilty that the drug lords had found him because she hadn’t lied to them. They’d tortured her into telling them where he and Jack were. He’d told her it wasn’t her fault, that stronger men had cracked sooner, but she hadn’t listened.

  He remembered all too well what Staci looked like when Emmett finally allowed him to see her in the hospital. He scowled in response to the painful memory. His beautiful wife’s face was so battered, swollen, and bruised he’d hardly recognized her. Over the rage and desire to kill Beto, he’d felt like a worried new father, counting her fingers and toes, making sure she had all her limbs, that the cartel hadn’t amputated any. He felt guilty. Responsible. He hadn’t protected her. He’d left her vulnerable.