License to Love (An Agent Ex Novel)
“I’ll tell the press you and I were always friends and I came to you for help because I feared Rock wouldn’t take me back.”
“Were we friends, baby?”
She laughed. “We could be.” She leaned forward again. “Think of all the lovely PR we’ll get, Sol. I’ll string Rock along. If he’s smart, and we know he is, he’ll play along with us and fuel this competition to new heights.
“The public loves love triangles and scandal. And magic. And professional competition played out in the public arena. Our shows will be packed. And of course I’ll want my cut.”
Sol didn’t object so she rushed on. “As an added bonus, I’ll do my best to get into Rock’s confidence again. Find out what he’s up to with his new illusions. With your permission, we’ll feed him a few of your new ideas for tricks. This could be the magical feud of the century, with you and me raking in a king’s ransom.”
CHAPTER SIX
Midnight or noon, the lighting was the same inside the best hotels—neon and fluorescent. Lots of it. A trick, a misdirection of time to keep the gambler guests up all hours and at the machines and tables. Opulent tile patterns ran through the floor. Arches and sculptures provided visual interest. Chihuly glass sculptures, urchins, and sea anemones in every heavenly color imaginable, hung from the ceiling. Gold and glitz sparkled as accents on walls and handles. The feeling of luxury everywhere pervaded, adding to the scent of money that hung in the air—the making and the losing of it. And in the background the din of the slot machines and gaming tables rattled on incessantly.
Tal had instructed Rock to “bump” into Tate in the lobby at precisely 2:03 p.m. Evidently NCS agents were sticklers for details and timing. Conveniently, Rock was well known for wandering through the hotel lobby and taking his magic to the streets, showing off for randomly selected guests and bystanders. He was prepared to do so now, fully decked out with playing cards and all manner of tricks up his sleeve. Including picking Tate as his random bystander.
Rock glanced at the clock on the wall of the baggage storage room where he sat waiting for his cue. A bored baggage handler held court over the sea of luggage surrounding them, totally unimpressed by Rock and not at all interested in him. Which made Rock wonder—NCS bodyguard perhaps?
Rock had a few minutes yet before he burst into the lobby, seemingly from nowhere, appearing out of a puff of smoke. He planned to disappear Tate and him together the same way. There was no taking the showman out of Rock.
Nor was there any taking the art of misdirection away from the magician and that’s what had Rock stymied, frustrated, and feeling foolish, lamebrained, conned, duped, bamboozled. Whatever word you like. Misdirection is the soul of magic. And apparently of clandestine missions and operatives. Somehow the CIA had out-misdirected him.
As Rock thought back over his brief time with Lani before she disappeared, he looked for the misdirection that had been applied by NCS to him. By Lani to him to make him believe she loved him. But damn if he still couldn’t see it.
Was he suffering from what magicians call inattentional blindness? Falling for the old crossing-the-gaze technique cleverly applied by the CIA as smoothly as if the Agency were a master magician? Rock used the technique all the time to appear a coin apparently out of nowhere.
It worked like this—the magician holds his empty left hand palm out to the audience, pointing to his palm with his right hand. The magician looks at his audience, directing their gaze to his eyes. He then gazes at his empty palm and the audience follows suit. During that quick instant of time, the magician holds out his right hand in a gesture that says hold on, wait for it with his right palm, and a coin, in full view of his audience. But no one sees it because they’re looking at his empty palm. Inattentional blindness. Classic misdirection.
What had Lani done to make him believe she loved him when she was just doing her duty for her country and advancing her career? Since she’d disappeared, he’d gone back over their romance too many times to count, relishing and reliving every detail, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. If he’d gone wrong. Wondering whether he’d been mistaken about her feelings for him. Wondering whether she’d simply run out on him or if there’d been another reason for her flight. And whether she’d been abducted in that alley because she’d literally stepped into the middle of a murder.
He still didn’t see the misdirection. Maybe he didn’t want to. Or maybe he’d inadvertently rewritten their history by replaying it too many times and replacing it with what he wanted to see. All he knew was that despite everything she’d said and done even since returning, against his better judgment, his logical self, and yes, even his conscience, he still loved her. Even now she was probably misdirecting him. But two could play that game.
There was more CIA misdirection than just Lani. How had Rock missed Lani’s mission? How had he not seen her associations? Clandestine meetings? Dead drops? Fear?
The woman was damn talented. If he could go back and determine the truth, see the tricks, he’d have power, over both Lani and NCS. Power he wouldn’t hesitate to use when it suited his purposes.
Even now he was looking for the misdirection they must be applying to him and the situation. He’d be a fool to believe everything, maybe anything, they told him. This time, he was going to be in the driver’s seat.
Hell, that attempt on Rock’s life? That could have been manufactured by NCS just to get him in their camp. Scare the shit out of him and keep him dancing on their string as he looked over his shoulder for shadows. That little shooting was so perfectly timed and orchestrated and effective in bringing him and Lani together, getting them to work with each other when Rock otherwise might have been tempted to tell Emmett Nelson and the Agency to go to hell, that Rock couldn’t help thinking it had been scripted and planned.
Rock focused on a spot on the wall as he thought about the mission. It was dangerous and tricky sending Lani back in. There would be all kinds of questions regarding her and tons of publicity that would shine a spotlight on the operation. It was a huge risk to take, planning a mission in the public eye with the paparazzi watching. NCS must want the publicity, was all he could think, though it seemed to go against the CIA’s code of secrecy and operating in the shadows.
As for Sol, it was hard to believe they’d once been close friends, buds, blood brothers. They met at the Magic Castle in Hollywood when they were both crazy college kids taking magic classes and dreaming of stardom and magical feats beyond the ordinary. Even the fact of their previous friendship flew in the face of a smooth mission. They were rivals now, but when it came down to it, Rock feared their former friendship still tainted him. He had a damnable soft spot for Sol even though Sol had screwed him over one too many times. If ordered, could Rock kill Sol?
Tal had posed the question bluntly to Rock at the shooting range earlier in the day. “Think you could kill the bastard?” Tal had said.
“Depends,” Rock had answered truthfully.
Tal had pinned him with a look of disgust. “Shouldn’t. The world may seem gray to you, magic boy, but Sol’s aligned with RIOT, which makes the situation completely black-and-white.
“We’re white. He’s our mortal enemy. If you get the chance, kill him. If you have a soft spot for him, kill him quickly and painlessly.” There’d been no humor in Tal’s voice or expression.
It all sounded like so much melodrama. Mortal enemy. Hadn’t that gone out with Snidely Whiplash? Rock might have sneered if he hadn’t been so deep in thought.
What the Agency didn’t know, couldn’t have known, what no one besides Rock and Sol knew was that Sol had saved Rock’s life when they were young, up-and-coming magicians. Straightjacket escape gone wrong. Rock had had the brilliant idea to try it while water-skiing. Outdoing Houdini and all that. The fearlessness of youth. He and Sol had gone out on Lake Tahoe at dawn to practice. Sol drove the boat. Rock put on the straightjacket, a pair of water skis, and they were off.
Rock took a tumble before he could g
et out of the jacket. He hit a ski as he went down and was knocked unconscious, still in the jacket. He couldn’t move and didn’t have a life jacket on, no flotation devices at all, just that damn heavy straightjacket and a pair of swim trunks. Rock sank like a 180-pound rock.
It’s foolhardy to water-ski without a spotter. It’s even crazier to ski with a straightjacket on without a spotter. Fortunately, Sol knew how to handle a boat and was damn observant. He saw Rock go down the instant it happened and circled back for him.
They’d been young and cocky enough to bring one safety device along in case things went wrong—a grappling hook to retrieve Rock’s body. Heavy metal thing. Sol tossed it out, miraculously hooked Rock on the first throw, hauled him in, and performed CPR. The hook took a big chunk out of Rock’s right thigh. It bled like hell. Sol had said it was a good thing Lake Tahoe wasn’t shark-infested. Rock had to have a dozen stitches to close it up. But he and Sol never told anyone about the straightjacket or the grappling hook.
They told the emergency room doc who sewed Rock up that Rock had slipped while hiking and gotten the gash. Didn’t even mention the near drowning. The doc didn’t question them. They tabled the trick until further notice, as in they got more experience.
Escaping from a straightjacket isn’t an illusion. It’s pure escapology. Rock could escape with ease now. And he’d gotten better at water-skiing, too. But he’d never performed that trick again. As he’d learned the hard way—too many things beyond his control could go wrong. Rock took risks, but they were calculated risks. As for the scar, he’d gotten his first tattoo to cover it—Expect the Unexpected. Words to live by. So why did he feel so stunned by the current situation?
An analog clock hand clicked off another minute of Rock’s life. He glanced at the clock: 2:03.
A man came to the counter. “Wickstrom. I have two bags.” He pulled a ten from his pocket as the baggage clerk jumped to find the man’s suitcases.
There’s my signal. Right on time.
Rock got to his feet, pulled his flash powder out, eyed the tile where it should land for perfect placement, and tossed it. Good thing he had a good arm and precise aim from playing baseball in high school. An instant later, he slid into place just as the smoke cleared and there stood Tate Cox, international playboy, dressed casually in obviously expensive slacks and a dress shirt, Italian leather shoes.
Tal’s right. Cox looks like a dandy.
Tate had the kind of rugged jawline, dark hair, and athletic build a majority of women found attractive. Rock gave him that. And of course he had a buxom brown-eyed blonde, a real stunner, on his arm. The blonde was wedged into a tight red dress so short and low cut only the tiniest scrap of material held it together in the middle.
Rock realized with a start that the blonde was Lani in disguise in a blond wig. She looked so patently all-American white bread it was startling. Where had all her ethnicity gone?
“Why if it isn’t Rock Powers.” Lani laughed with delight. “Did you arrange this just for me, Tate? You know how much I love magic.” She stroked Tate’s arm as she cooed the words. Then she smiled and winked at Rock. “I’m always telling Tate he has the magic touch.”
Rock balled his fist as a wave of jealousy crashed over him. Despite her earlier denial, Lani’s attraction to Tate seemed genuine. She was either a damn fine actress or an impressive liar, or both. Rock wondered again how much Lani had faked with him. And why the hell hadn’t anyone bothered to tell him to expect Lani to show up with Tate?
Rock had to force himself into action. Before Tate could answer her question, Rock reached behind Lani’s ear and pulled the diamond tennis bracelet the Agency had given him for the trick from behind her beautiful lobe with a flourish. “What’s this? Diamonds?”
She took the bauble from Rock’s fingers and fixed a sultry smile on Tate. If Lani had aimed that smile at Rock, it would have been enough to make his toes curl. Instead, he wanted to punch Tate out.
“It’s beautiful. Help me put it on, Tate.” She grabbed Tate’s chin, pulled his face around, and planted a deep-tongued affair on him as Tate simultaneously fastened the catch of the bracelet.
Was Lani trying to torture him? Show him she could pull his chain at will as she had in the past? Or was this some kind of test? It took all his stage training not to lose his professional cool.
“I produce the jewels and he gets all the credit.” Rock cocked a brow and held his hands out for her.
She laughed, giddy with the attention, took his hands, pulled him to her, and planted one directly on his lips. It wasn’t the tongued affair she gave Tate, but it was good enough to distract her. A flash went off from somewhere. The paparazzi had arrived. Just as quickly, hotel security stepped in to ward the guys with the cameras off.
Rock squeezed her hands, let go of one hand as he squeezed the other more firmly, and deposited a tiny playing card between one of her beautiful breasts and her dress.
So this was the only feel he was going to get of his wife. He would have tucked it into her bra if she’d been wearing one. Rock was so deft with his movements and his distraction she didn’t seem to notice he’d ever let go of one of her hands.
Or maybe Lani was just letting him do the trick and playing along.
“He’s a wonder, Tate. A treasure.” Her eyes sparkled. “Do some more magic! Please.” She made perfect pouty lips.
“I think she’s hoping for the necklace that matches that bracelet.” Tate winked.
“Sorry to disappoint. No more diamonds up my sleeve.” Rock produced a pack of cards out of thin air. “Just ordinary street magic.”
“Magic is never ordinary. Show it to me.” She clapped and laughed like a delighted teen. She was so convincing, it was hard to believe she was really Lani.
A crowd grew around them. It may have been Rock’s imagination, but he felt a gaze more intense than a common crowd’s watching him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he kept up the act and tried to determine where his sense of unease was coming from.
Rock shrugged easily. “Card tricks are the soul of street magic. Every card tells a story.” He held the deck out to Tate to inspect with the joker faceup. A warning, someone’s watching us. “Look it over. Verify for yourself that it’s just a regular deck.”
Tate took it, hefted it, and examined it for any sign of marking. “Looks all right to me.”
“If your reputation is accurate, you know cards. You’re sure?”
Tate nodded. “I’d stake my golden reputation on it.”
Rock fanned the deck out. “Excellent. Take a card, any card.”
Tate grabbed a card.
“Don’t show it to me! Memorize it.” Rock pulled a pen from his pocket and held it out to Tate. “Write your name on it on the face. Good. Now put it facedown back into the deck.” Rock did some more fancy shuffling, throwing the cards out and pulling them back. Then he had Lani cut the deck.
“Are you concentrating?” he asked Tate.
Tate nodded.
Rock closed his eyes and frowned in apparent thought. He was supposed to look as if he was concentrating, but he could perform this trick in his sleep. He was really listening to the crowd and trying to pick up on the vibe. Something still wasn’t right. After a few seconds had elapsed, Rock slid a card from the deck without looking. He opened his eyes and held the card up with a flourish for Tate to see. “Is this your card?”
The audience gasped.
Tate grabbed the card. “Well played.”
Rock bowed his head in a falsely humble gesture, holding his arms out, palms up like a showman. “Wait.” He smiled at Tate’s blonde. “Is that a card I see peeking out of your dress?”
The audience followed Rock’s line of sight right to Lani’s lush cleavage.
She gasped and reached to pull the card out of her dress, but not before Tate grabbed her hand. “Allow me.”
Damn him, Rock thought.
Tate pulled the miniature card from the fake blonde’s dress
with a flourish and a leer, every bit as much of a showman as Rock. “I’ll be damned.”
He held the card out for Lani and then the rest of the crowd to see. “My card, shrunken. The amazing shrunken card trick.”
“And that’s your signature, too, I presume?” Rock pointed to the card.
Tate grinned. “No shit. It is indeed. If I find any charges I didn’t sign for on my bill, I know who to come after.”
Lani shook her head so that her platinum highlights fell around her face, her bountiful breasts bounced, and the bracelet on her wrist glistened under the neon lights. “You are a smooth one,” she purred to Rock. “I generally feel it when a man slides something beneath my dress.”
Rock winked. “The ladies only feel me when I want them to.” And he wanted her to feel it.
“And I imagine you’re very good then, too,” she said with enough seduction in her voice to make Tate reach out and put his arm around her.
Rock resisted balling his fists, smiled, and nodded toward the card. “That’s your lucky card.”
Tate pulled her close. “She’s lucky with me tonight, magician. Very clever show. Now, keep your hands off my woman.” Tate’s eyes danced with challenge.
The man had nerve and a sense of humor and irony.
“Join us in the casino,” Tate said. “Drinks are on me.”
“Generous guy.” The very strong feeling they were in the crosshairs hadn’t left Rock. “Drinks are free in the casino and I’m banned from the tables.”
“I’m not and I have cash. Plenty of it. And a seat at a private high-stakes table. Come and watch us play. I could use someone watching to make sure the game stays clean. No dirty tricks.” Tate held his gaze. “Know anything about Texas hold ’em?”
“A thing or two,” Rock said. “That’s a game that requires a lot of luck. The odds favor the house.”
“Not if you have the right skills,” Tate said as the crowd dispersed.
Rock wondered whether Tate was all bluff. “And those would be?”