Love Another Day

  “Make love to me, Tate,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t make me beg. Just love me.” She kissed him furiously as she reached for his zipper and moaned, rubbing against him.

  * * *

  “What in the world is she doing?” Mal shut off the car engine and glared at Sophia on top of Tate.

  “If you don’t know that, you need a lesson in the birds and the bees. I’d be happy to oblige.” Mason flashed her a charming, roguish look.

  “I know what she’s doing—but in the parking garage of all places? With RIOT after her?” Mal bit her lip. “It feels like a setup. I don’t like it. Not at all.” For a variety of reasons.

  Mal grabbed her cell phone.

  “Who are you going to call?”

  “Tate. I’m not going to sit here and watch this.”

  Mason cocked a brow. “You can close your eyes. I’ll do the watching.”

  “Men! Shut up. This is a public carpark. What if a little kid gets an eyeful of that?” She shook her head. “Plus, in the throes of passion, Tate will be a sitting duck. And the last thing we need is an arrest for public indecency.”

  “I don’t see any police.”

  A motion in the corner of her eye caught Mal’s attention.

  Mason saw it, too. They both swiveled toward it at the same time.

  “A camera, bloody hell,” Mason said.

  Mal hit Tate’s cell number as she started the ignition. “Pick up, pick up, pick up!” From Mal’s vantage point all she could see was the whale hump of Sophia’s perfect butt in the air. Someone with a telephoto lens and a better camera angle would have a picture-perfect shot.

  She watched as Tate apparently pushed Sophia to the side, at least judging from the way her butt slid out of view.

  “Yes,” Tate said, too dazedly for Mal’s tastes.

  “Smile. You’re on Candid Camera. And not the friendly version.” Mal tried to keep her voice neutral. “There’s a photographer filming your escapade on your left toward the exit. Get out of here. Now!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tate struggled to release himself from beneath Sophia’s hot body, grabbing her wrist and holding it firmly as he stared into her eyes, trying to keep his anger at bay. What had she done? “We have company. And they’re shooting us—with a lens. Time to roll.”

  He scooted her into her seat flat on that pretty little ass of hers, put his seat back in the full and upright position, and peeled out of the parking spot toward the exit, keeping his eye on the rearview mirror to see who came after him. “Put your blouse on.” He was ready to make a U-turn if he had to. Or ram an unfriendly vehicle out of his way.

  Fortunately it was early still and the garage was nearly empty.

  Mal and Mason pulled out leisurely in pursuit. There was no point in them blowing their cover. They knew where he was headed and knew he’d wait for them to catch up. He also knew they were trying to intercept any RIOT agents.

  Tate was cursing silently, hoping this was just paparazzi who’d gotten a tip that he was here at the festival. Then again, that meant his cover was blown. No, there really wasn’t a good scenario.

  The problem with carparks are the exit gates. He could have blown through it, but he didn’t need the cops on his tail, too. Fortunately, there wasn’t a line. He scanned his credit card as Mal and Mason pulled up behind him. Damn delays. In an instant, he was out of the garage and heading toward the A40 and Oxford and London.

  He felt jumpy and hyped up like he’d had too much coffee. Adrenaline rushes did that to him. Usually he reveled in the rush. Today he was too worried about Mal. Both of Kayla’s parents should never be out on a mission at the same time.

  They drove to the A40, going as much above the speed limit as Tate could get away with without drawing attention or running over any tourists. Beside him Sophia looked pale and frightened. And she didn’t look like she was faking it.

  “Who was that back at the garage? One of your RIOT buddies?” His jaw ticked, a dead giveaway he was angry. Damn involuntary microexpressions.

  Sophia was pale and her eyes were wide when she looked at him. “I don’t know. Really. You have to believe me.” She gently touched his arm.

  He wanted to, but he’d seen enough double agents in his life not to take anything at face value. There was nothing in her demeanor or muscle movements to indicate she was lying. That didn’t mean she wasn’t. Sociopaths lied with more ease than they told the truth and he hadn’t ruled out that she was one.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror, looking for a tail besides Mal and Mason. “I’d like to believe you’ve been straight with me.”

  * * *

  “It’s a straight shot from here to Oxford on the A40.” Mason had his gun ready, but he looked and sounded calm. “We appear to have lost our photographer friend.”

  Mal was happy to be driving, even on the wrong side of the road. It kept her mind off other matters, like the way Sophia kept touching Tate in the car ahead of them. “What do you think her game is?”

  “You don’t think she’s genuine?” Mason laughed, clearly egging her on.

  “You know the answer to that one.” Mal frowned. “I’m worried about that photographer. Either RIOT’s up to something, something we can’t figure out, or the paparazzo’s caught on that Dr. Stevens is Tate. Neither one is good. And why isn’t anyone following us? What does RIOT have up their sleeve? Either way, by now they must have noticed Bagge and Sophia are missing.

  “The way Sophia pounced on Tate in the carpark, it’s as if she was giving them time to catch up to us.”

  “Pessimist. Maybe we got away clean.”

  “No.” Mal didn’t believe that for a second and she didn’t think Mason did, either. “The thing with the photographer is evidence to the contrary.”

  Just outside Oxford, Mason’s cell buzzed. He picked it up. “Mason. Yes. Right. I see.”

  His side of the conversation was cryptic, but not encouraging. She couldn’t hear the other side. When he hung up, he looked grim. “Change of plans. Heathrow’s out. Someone killed a security officer there this morning and stole his credentials. MI5 was just notified after a janitor found the body in a broom closet. Bad business. We fear RIOT has infiltrated the security screening. Until we know more, it’s not safe to take Sophia out through Heathrow.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yes, bloody hell. It is bad news,” Mason agreed. “Do you have a plan B?”

  “I always have a plan B. I just need a few minutes to think one up. That’s why I was sent on this mission. I’m good on the fly. I’ll need a place to pull over and rearrange our travel plans.”

  “Oxford has motorway services.”

  “Excellent. Text Tate and tell him to pull over there.” Mal glanced in her rearview mirror. “We just picked up a tail.”

  Mason casually glanced in his passenger side mirror. “It would appear so.”

  “Better warn Tate about that, too.” Mal eased off the accelerator, closing the gap between the tail and them, giving Tate time to escape. “This is your territory,” Mal said to Mason as he texted. “Got any ideas on how to lose them?”

  “The motorway services at Oxford are large and busy. With a little creativity, we should be able to lose them there.” Mason’s cell phone buzzed. “Tate says let’s meet up in the food court. Give him time to get a coffee at Starbucks before we rendezvous.”

  “Coffee? In the middle of a chase, Tate thinks he needs a coffee?”

  “Even spies need coffee breaks. Nothing like a shot of espresso to get the juices flowing. Better that than a double burger with cheese like he could get at Burger King. Tasty, but those can weigh you down on the run.”

  Mal lifted a brow. “So much for British atmosphere. It’s like I never left home. Don’t you Brits have your own coffee and fast-food franchises?”

  “We have Dixie Chicken.”

  “You mean an imitation that combines McDonald’s and KFC? Right. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” She
laughed.

  “We Brits are very accommodating. We cater to our New World guests. I forgot to mention that motorway services has a KFC, Krispy Kreme, and Papa John’s Pizza, too.”

  “All the comforts of home.” Mal rolled her eyes and glanced in the rearview mirror again. Their tail was still on their tail. “I could go for tea and a scone.”

  “Starbucks has those.”

  “Great. And I left my Starbucks gold card at home. No free tea refills for me.”

  Ahead of them, Tate whipped into the motorway services’ petrol line without signaling. Mal whipped into the parking lot and found a spot where she and Mason could keep an eye on them as they filled up. If there had been any doubt about the tail, there was none now. He pulled in and found a spot between Mal and Mason and Tate and Sophia.

  “He doesn’t seem in any big hurry to kill us.” Mal shut off the car and tucked the keys into her purse. “A shot to the gas tank, a nice explosion, and he’d be done. Why does RIOT need him and a plot to apprehend Sophia at Heathrow?”

  Mason shrugged. “Plan B.”

  “Or he’s just following to make sure Tate and Sophia get to Heathrow where RIOT can snatch and torture them to see how much damage has been done before they kill them. He’s a herder.”

  “He could try to grab them now,” Mason said.

  “If that’s his intent, I say we don’t let him.” Mal reached behind her and grabbed her large woven tote that contained her cover goodies and iPad. “Watch my back.”

  “Gladly.” Mason grabbed Mal’s arm as she reached for the door handle. “I have an idea. You dress as Mallie. I imitate Tate. I say we draw our tail off here while Tate and Sophia escape disguised in new covers.”

  Mal did not want to leave Tate alone with Sophia. She could not, would not do so. “I’m under orders not to leave them alone. My boss is highly suspicious of Sophia’s motives and has thought all along this may be a trap. But I like your plan. I have a variation that should work.”

  “Of course.” Mason dropped her arm.

  Sophia studied him with her professional eye. Mason was about the same height, weight, and build as Tate. Hair about the same color. That was where the similarity ended. It was more than she often had to work with.

  “I love it when a woman stares at me with intensity and an appraising eye.”

  “Get over yourself, Mason. I’m trying to figure out how to turn you into Tate.” She paused. “I think we’ll need a hat and a pair of sunglasses.”

  He laughed. “There’s a WHSmith inside. They might have something.”

  Mal paused. “Since Heathrow’s out, I assume so are the other airports in England. We’ll have to fool RIOT somehow. They’ll expect us to try Wales, maybe even Scotland. I’m thinking we take evasive action and book half a dozen options with the goal of sending RIOT on a wild-goose chase. We’ll split up. But I have to stay with Tate and Sophia.

  “RIOT won’t be looking for a threesome. Do you have any female agents who can impersonate Sophia?”

  Mason shrugged. “I’m sure we can scare up somebody. We have an excellent female impersonator who should be able to do the job.”

  Mal arched a brow. “Seriously?”

  Mason laughed. “Come on, don’t be like that. If men can impersonate Marilyn Monroe with authenticity, they can impersonate you and your evil twin. Besides, he’s an excellent shot and has a black belt. He’s also lethal with his hands. RIOT won’t be expecting a man to take them on. Imagine their surprise when they jump Sophia and learn she’s grown a pair.” He paused. “They know Sophia’s shortcomings. My guy will have none of those.”

  “By shortcomings, I hope you don’t mean estrogen and two X chromosomes?”

  “Not at all. I mean what scares her won’t scare my man. Her private fears aren’t his. And need I repeat—he can kill with his bare hands. That will take them by surprise.”

  Mal took a deep breath. There was something vaguely upsetting about being played by a guy that hit at the heart of her feminine insecurities. But she was no bigot. “Good point. Get him on the horn and get ready to head for Scotland with him on the Caledonia Sleeper. I’ll book you two a romantic private sleeping compartment.”

  “That’s taking things a little far,” Mason said, but his tone was teasing.

  “It was your suggestion.” Mal paused. “Too bad we don’t have time to wait for him to join us here. This is my plan—we confuse our tail here and get him to head out after you toward London. At first, he won’t have a clue we’re on to RIOT’s plan to capture Sophia and Tate at Heathrow.

  “In London, you’ll duck out to the train station, meet Mallie/Sophia’s double, and head for Scotland. I’ll contact Sir Herbert and make sure he has the proper costumes and covers ready for you. And us.

  “In the meantime, I’m going to get back into my Mallie costume here. I’ll make it look like I take off with you. As you suggested, we’ll change Tate and Sophia into you and me. They’ll head to Reading to catch a train to Liverpool and from there a ferry to Belfast and fly out from there. I’d prefer to go to Dublin. It’s closer, but that would mean involving a country outside of Great Britain and we want to keep things as uncomplicated as possible. The fewer countries involved, the better.”

  “I’m going to be losing your company? I’m crushed,” Mason said, with his eye on the tail who was still sitting in his car watching Sophia and Tate as Tate hung up the petrol pump.

  She smiled sweetly at Mason. “I’m sure you’ll get over it. After all, you’ll have my double to keep you company.”

  “Touché.” Mason laughed with her. “If you ever tire of waiting for Tate, promise you’ll ring me?”

  “Cross my heart.” She reached for the door again.

  Mason stopped her once more. “MI5 will insist on sending an agent to cover you on the train and ferry. Work him into your plan.”

  Mal nodded. “Let’s go shopping.”

  Mason rolled his eyes. “What is it with women? Terrorists on their tails and they have time for retail therapy.”

  Mal left Mason in the food court to keep on eye on things while she went to WHSmith and bought a touristy cap with a British flag on it and a cheap pair of aviator sunglasses. She “ran” into Tate and Sophia at the coffee shop where Tate was, indeed, getting the largest iced mocha available.

  Mal ordered her tea and scones, the small vanilla ones she loved. As she waited, pretending not to know him, she unobtrusively slipped him the hat and glasses and whispered instructions. “Make a show of buying a matching set of these and put them on. Then give these to Mason. We’re going to play a shell game. Be prepared to meet me at Mason’s car. From there we’re heading to Reading to catch a train. Give me a few to make the reservations. Tell Sophia to meet me in the loo. We’re going to switch identities.”

  The barista called Tate’s order. He picked up his coffee and a Frappuccino for Sophia. Laughing and acting as if his life was in no particular danger, he leaned in and said something to Sophia. A quick pout formed on her full lips. A second later she headed toward the public loos.

  Mal stashed her scones in her tote and headed for the loo, too. She caught up with Sophia as Sophia was reapplying her lipstick and primping before the mirror. Mal hated that girl as she pulled her makeup compact from her bag and, rather than powder her nose, swept Sophia for bugs and tracking devices.

  When Sophia came up clean, Mal couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or upset. “You and I need to swap identities. I’ll need your clothes.”

  Sophia ran her gaze over Mal in an insulting way. “No.”

  “No?” Mal gave her nose a quick powder and slid her compact back into her bag, resisting the urge to get her pink gun out. She hoped she didn’t have to use force. But her killer pink poisonous lipstick was still awfully tempting. “Do you want to escape from RIOT or not?”

  “Yes, but only with Tate. He’s the only one I trust.”

  Though Sophia looked genuinely scared, Mal had no sympathy for her. “We
’re on the same team.”

  Sophia stared directly at Mal. “Are we? I think you’re still in love with him and will do anything to sabotage me because I love him and he wants me.”

  The arrogant little bitch. Mal took a deep breath. “We’re being followed. We have to lose whoever’s chasing us.” She briefly outlined her plan. “Both couples are switching identities. You’ll still be with Tate, but as me.”

  Sophia blotted her lipstick and tossed the tissue in the trash. Reluctantly, Sophia walked to a stall. The two exchanged clothes over the stall wall. When they were changed, Mal transferred her wig to Sophia and remade each of them in the other’s image. When she was finished, Mal held out her hand. “I need your jewelry, too.”

  Sophia gave Mal her watch, earrings, and bracelets.

  “The necklace.”

  Sophia hesitated.

  “Do you have a death wish?” Mal barely kept her exasperation out of her voice. “Every detail, no matter how minute, must be convincing.”

  Sophia shrugged and tucked the necklace beneath Mal’s bustier. She turned and walked out the door before Mal could stop her.

  Cursing, Mal did another bug and tracker sweep of herself. There had to be some way RIOT was tracking Sophia. Mal came up clean. There was nothing to do but go on with the show. She reached into her bag of tricks and pulled out a cheap, long silver-colored necklace and tossed it on, hoping Mr. Tail didn’t have an eye for fashion as she cursed Sophia.

  When Mal strutted out of the loo and into the food court, Mason and Tate had already exchanged clothes and were each wearing their caps and sunglasses. At least some things were going according to plan.

  Mal as Mallie walked up behind Mason as Tate where he sat at a table and ran her fingers through his hair. When he looked up and back at her, she leaned down and kissed him upside down. Kissed him as if he was Tate, to be exact, full tongue, full-throttle passion. Mason deserved a little something for his trouble.