Mal kept smiling. “Then think of all those tall, leggy models you’ve dated and act like one of them. Confidence! That’s what sells a cover.
“You always said you love a good challenge. Sir Herbert’s thrown down the gauntlet. Rise to the challenge.” Mal looked around nervously. “We’re wasting time bickering. It is what it is. Both of you will have to deal with it.”
Tate gave up. “Okay, so I’m a woman—what’s my story?”
“You’re the middle sister.” Mal sounded way too gleeful about that.
“I’m the middle sister?” Tate looked between Mal and Sophia. “I look nothing like you two.”
“You look like Dad, darling.” Mal laughed.
“Hey, I’m older than you are and I have seniority in the field. I should be the older sister.”
Mal shook her head. “Poor baby, only child. Can’t stand the thought of being the overlooked, invisible one in the family?”
“I hardly think I’m going to be overlooked. I tower over you two.”
Mal ignored him. “Being in the middle will be good for you. Teach you empathy and how to get along.
“And don’t worry about looking like dear old dad. When I’m done with you, people will swear they see the family resemblance in all of us.”
She pointed to a dive of a pub. “That’s where we’ll change. Sir Herbert says it’s a safe house. We can use the back room.”
Sophia was giving Mal the evil eye. It was a gorgeous, sultry eye, but cracking with rage nonetheless. She opened her mouth to speak.
Mal held up a hand to silence any opposition. “Let’s get everything on the table. I’ve booked us regular fares. Sorry, Tate, no first class. Too much scrutiny and individual attention.”
Tate couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. Sophia smiled her sympathy at him. In truth, Tate was enjoying the sparring with Mal. It was almost sexy.
“It’s a three-and-a-half-hour ride from Reading to Liverpool. From there we catch the overnight ferry to Belfast where we board a flight to the States. Simple plan. The devil’s in the details.
“MI5 has assigned another agent to play bodyguard to us on the train. A man. He’ll make contact and give us a code so we know he’s legit. If anyone else is watching us, they aren’t a friend. Any questions?”
“Yeah.” Tate held up the shoes Mal had given him. “Do you have these in teal?”
* * *
Mal led Tate and Sophia into the little dive of a pub.
Tate’s taking things better than I expected, Mal thought as she did subtle recon, looking for threats. She thought he’d caught on that she was trying to pick a fight with him to keep Sophia from being horribly unhappy and realizing there was something going on between them.
Mal was also keeping an eye on Tate to see whether he succumbed to Sophia’s numerous charms and just how far he would go for the mission. She had to admit that if he was still willing to be unfaithful for the sake of the job, that was a deal breaker, no matter how much she loved him. If she was going to seriously consider getting back with Tate, she had to know he would remain true.
A hardened old bartender was wiping down the bar counter when they entered. He looked up. Mal mimed the signal Sir Herbert had given her. The crusty old guy hitched his thumb toward a room in the back and shoved a key across the counter to Mal. “Second door on the right. Be quick about it. The afternoon rush starts in less than an hour.”
Mal nodded and led her charges into the back. She unlocked the door, which opened into a storeroom that was surprisingly tidy and fairly clean. But the lighting was terrible. “It’ll have to do.” She made a face. “Not exactly what I was expecting.”
She slid the duffel off her shoulder and doled out their cover stories. “Read these and commit them to memory.” She dug into the bag for their wardrobes, which she’d stuffed back into the duffel before leaving the car. “After we’re in costume, you each can read your cover story while I make up the other one. Then we’ll destroy the dossiers before we leave here. Let’s get changed.”
“I don’t get a separate dressing room?” Tate set his cover story down and stared at her.
“Shy?” She grinned at him. “Why do you need a separate room? You’re just one of the girls now. Get used to it.”
Looking her in the eye, he stripped his shirt off and ran his eyes over Sophia’s form. “On second thought, dressing with the girls has its perks. When do you take your shirts off?”
Mal held back a curse. The man really was too sexy for his shirt. And flirting with Sophia, which she knew he had to do. But it didn’t mean she liked it.
Sophia lit up under Tate’s flattering appraisal.
Mal studied Tate’s chest. “The good news is that you’ve never had a particularly hairy chest.” She pursed her lips.
“Don’t get any ideas. I shaved it yesterday.”
“A touch-up is in order.” She reached for her bag and the razor she’d asked for.
Tate lunged forward, grabbed her by the wrist, and shook his head. “If you think I’m letting you near me with a razor, think again.”
She handed it to him along with a tube of shaving cream. “Do the honors yourself, then.”
“Here?”
“There’s a utility sink in the corner. Or I could pluck for you. Sadly, I forgot to ask for wax. Next stop, maybe.”
She and Sophia watched him shave. When he was finished, he ran his hands over his chest, looking for spots he’d missed, most probably. Why was it so erotic watching him?
He tossed the razor into the sink and flexed his pecs. “Have I missed anything?”
Mal let her gaze travel over him. “You’re good.”
“Good.” He unzipped his pants, slowly as if he was doing a tantalizing striptease and was about to reveal a very erect show of interest.
Beside Mal, Sophia was practically drooling.
Zip, one metal tooth at a time. How did he do it so slowly? Make every notch build the anticipation. Her eyes were riveted on his crotch. Beside her, Sophia was breathing heavily. Another metal tooth fell away. And another. This was way sexier than the rip-away pants male strippers used and the quick jerk that revealed all. At least her pulse thought so. And Tate knew it.
Just when Mal was hot and frustrated enough, in all ways, to tell him to get on with the show because they were wasting time, the fly fell open, revealing a manly bulge of the most tantalizing sort. Mal balled her fists and caught a glimpse of Sophia from the corner of her eye. Sophia’s eyes were wide and round with lust. Damn her.
Zipper unzipped, Tate shimmied out of his pants, revealing lean hips, taut, muscled thighs, and an enticing, firm ass just made for pinching and grabbing. He smiled, looking a little too triumphant, as if issuing a dare. “Not a shy bone in my body.”
Mal eyed his bulging crotch and arched one brow. “That was quite a show. If you’re expecting a tip, too bad. Much as I’d like to stuff something down your briefs, I don’t have any ones on me.” She shook her head and leveled her gaze at his crotch, hardening her voice as she pointed. “That has to go.”
His eyes went wide. Had he gone slightly, too? Now this was finally fun.
“At the very least disappear from sight.” Mal shoved his fake butt and hips into his arms. “This has crotch control. Female impersonators use them all the time. Just make sure you tuck your boy under.” She paused and smiled wider. “Let me know if you need any help. I’d be happy to tape it under for you.”
“I bet you would.”
Sophia was still gawking as if she’d never seen a well-hung man before. Maybe she hadn’t. Mal liked to think the RIOT bastards Sophia worked with were not hung like real men should be. Even still, Mal didn’t like her drooling over Tate like she wanted to get a piece of him. And Tate certainly didn’t need the boost to his already inflated ego.
Mal grabbed Sophia by the shoulders and spun her around so her back was to Tate. “Give the boy his privacy.” Mal stuffed Sophia’s change of clothes into her arms and picked
up her own clothes.
She changed into them quickly, not willing to give Sophia the satisfaction of sizing up the competition. Behind her, she heard the rustle of clothes and Tate’s quiet cursing.
“Need help back there?” Mal asked.
“I’m fine.”
Sure he was. Mal adjusted her T-shirt, slipped on her shoes and jacket, and turned around to see Tate, dressed in ladies’ jeans, struggling to hook his bra. He’d gotten the fake hips and butt combo on beneath his jeans and they looked good, giving him subtle hips. All evidence of his manhood was gone.
“Honestly, Tate! There goes your reputation as a ladies’ man. You’d think you’d know how to dress a woman.”
He paused and gave her a death glare that turned into a wickedly charming grin. “My skill is undressing women.” His eyes danced with flirtation. His voice oozed innuendo and promise. He’d always been able to turn the sex appeal on at will. His mercurial nature was part of his appeal. “In a pinch, I’m pretty damn good at dressing them. Dressing myself in women’s clothing? Not my particular talent. For obvious reasons.” He made a muscle.
“You mean there’s something Tate the great can’t do? Poor baby. Let me help you.” She walked to him, spun the bra around, resisting the urge to flick his nipples, waited while he stuck his arms through the straps, and fastened the bra behind his back. The straps hung loose and flopped over his shoulders. She shook her head. “Neophyte.” She cinched the straps tight and slapped him on his toned back, indicating the task was done.
“Let’s take a look.” She walked around to the front of him and studied his silicone cleavage with a critical eye.
“Hey! Stop gawking at the girls.” With two fingers he motioned between his eyes and hers. “Eyes up here. Women!” He shook his head. “When are you going to get your mind out of the gutter and respect us guys?”
Mal grinned. “Excellent! You’re getting into the role already.” She continued studying his breasts. “This is only professional interest.
“I told Sir Herbert you shouldn’t be more than a B cup, but would he listen? A C is just too much for your frame.” And a little too hot for the cover she’d envisioned for him. “I’m not going to push you too far out of character. We have to make this as believable as we can, given the circumstances.
“Be thankful for small mercies. No femme fatale in killer heels for you. There’s no time to train you to walk in them. Your cover is you’re a bit of a tomboy, a former girl jock, the lean athletic type. Skinny, no bust, like most supermodels. It takes a certain kind of woman to carry off a chest.” She shook her head. “You’re lopsided.”
She stuck her hand into his bra.
Tate had her by the wrist so quickly she didn’t see it coming. “Keep your hands off the goods.”
“Oh, shut up. You can’t feel this anyway.”
“Octopus. Anything to get your hands on me.” He grinned. “Being a woman is awful. I’m not even in public and already you’re feeling me up.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Just practicing defending myself against unwanted advances. Now that I’m a woman I have to be on my guard.”
“Let go of my wrist, stand still, and let me rearrange your falsies, will you? You can’t go around lopsided.”
He arched a brow and dropped her wrist so she could work.
“These are nice.” She gave his falsies a squeeze. “They feel surprisingly lifelike. Authentic in case you bump up against anyone or some guy tries to get a feel of you. And the fake nipples are a good touch.”
“And in a permanent state of nonarousal.”
“You don’t want to bud up if some guy looks at you, do you?” Mal was enjoying herself. “I can talk to R and D about making a working pair for next time.” She handed him the frilly T-shirt. “Put this on.”
Tate stared her down and pulled it over his head. “If some guy looks at me, or tries to get his hands on this piece of meat, he’s going to get a fist to the mouth.”
“Sounds like you have fending off unwanted advances under control. But what are you worried about? You won’t even feel it. Same thing if someone pinches your butt.” She twirled her finger, signaling him to spin around. “Let me take a look at it.”
He grinned. “Pervert.” He turned his profile to her and Sophia, who was remaining surprisingly mute. “Do these jeans make my fake butt look big?”
“They keep you from being top-heavy,” Mal said, eyeing him critically. “Why is it that female impersonators never have fat in all the wrong places like we real girls do? You have an irritatingly nice figure, Tate.”
He ran his hands over his hips. “I really do, don’t I?”
Mal shook her head. “What do you think, Sophia?”
“I like him better as a man.”
“I’m still a man, sweetheart. Believe me.”
Sophia practically melted under the grin he gave her.
“I’m never going to look like a woman,” he added.
“You will when I’m finished with you.” Mal pulled a blond wig from the bag of disguises Sir Herbert had sent. “See? You’re going to be blond like us. Take a seat over there so I can get to work.”
She turned her eye on Sophia. “After I’m done with Tate, I’m going to change your makeup subtly to give you a slightly different look. And give you a new hairstyle.”
She reached into Sir Herbert’s magic bag again and pulled out the gleaming pair of precision scissors she’d asked for. “Snip, snip.”
“No!” Sophia grabbed her long, blond locks and shook her head.
Tate put his hands on her shoulders to comfort her. “Trust Mal. She’s a pro.”
“Not my hair!” Sophia’s eyes flashed defiance. “Why doesn’t she change hers?”
Mal wasn’t impressed. The woman protested too much and was probably playing on Tate’s sympathies again to win him over.
Mal had had enough. “I’m not the one RIOT is looking for. All I have to do is change back into myself, revert back to my age-appropriate style, and I’m golden. Suddenly our similarity is less striking. No one will mistake me for a twentysomething kid.
“You, however, are the one they’ll be combing the country for. They know what you look like, and probably how vain you are about your hair. I could put you in a wig, but a cut will be more comfortable, more realistic looking, and won’t fall off at the worst possible moment.
“Not to mention safer. RIOT obviously hasn’t given you any self-defense training. Long hair, especially in a ponytail or braid, provides a perfect grip for a kidnapper or assassin. You’re going to have to disappear for good. You can’t go around looking like yourself. That’s part of the sacrifice you have to make to escape from RIOT. It’s now or later. And now is better for all of us.
“I promise I’m not going to ugly you up. Given your bone structure and thick hair, you’ll look stunning in a current, trendy bob. You’ll love it. I promise.”
Mal felt like a stylist on a makeover show trying to talk sense into a woman who’s never cut her hair.
Tate led Sophia to a chair. “Better take care of her first.”
Mal handed her a mirror. “You can watch me work, but we have to hurry. Time is running out and we have a train to catch.”
Fifteen minutes later, she’d given Sophia a fresh, youthful bob and redone her makeup to emphasize her cheekbones and lips rather than her beautiful eyes. The shift in emphasis was enough to make her look like another person.
Tate took Sophia’s hand, looking ridiculous as a man from the neck up and woman from the neck down. “You look beautiful.”
Sophia offered him a shaky smile.
“You’re next, mister.” Mal guided him into a chair, put his wig on, and got to work. “You.” She pointed to Sophia. “Memorize your story.”
Tate’s hair was no problem. The wig was high quality and prestyled. His makeup was another matter. She spun him around in the chair to face her and crouched as she worked.
It wasn’t until s
he was applying his makeup, touching his face, scrutinizing him, and trying to avoid looking him in the eye that she realized what intimate work applying makeup was.
Covering his beard shadow on both his face and chest was problematic without making him look like he was wearing stage makeup. It took her ten minutes of hard work until she was satisfied. Then it was on to his eyes, which were lovely and full of emotion she was working hard to avoid.
“Hold still while I apply your mascara,” she said to him. “Not that you need it. You’ve always had lashes most women would kill for. It’s so unfair.”
“They’re coming in handy now.”
“Yeah.” She finished wielding the mascara wand and got out her gloss. “And fine, full lips, too.”
“Can I help it if I was born beautiful?” he said.
“I thought you were ruggedly handsome. That’s what you used to brag to me, anyway.”
“True. And beautiful, two in one.”
Finally, she brushed his full, sensuous lips with gloss, trying not to think about kissing them. When she finished, she stood back and studied her work with an artist’s eye, looking for flaws and giveaways.
Sophia stared, too. From the way she was looking at Tate, Mal would lay odds she was thinking the same thing Mal was—Tate was a sexy woman. How in the world did he ooze sex appeal no matter what gender he was?
Mal handed Tate a mirror.
He took it and studied himself, turning side to side to admire his profile from each side and peacocking into the mirror. “Huh. I really am a ruggedly handsome woman.”
“Hate to quibble, but I’m a really talented artist. Whatever looks you have are thanks to me.”
Tate made an air kiss into the mirror. “And here I thought I had pedigree, great genes, and good old mom and dad to thank.”
Mal wasn’t about to play to his vanity. She took the mirror from him. “And an Adam’s apple that gives you away.” She grabbed a scarf and tied it around his neck. “You absolutely have to wear this. No matter how hot you get.”
“This scarf that could be used to strangle me?” He cocked a brow. “It’s more dangerous than a ponytail.”
“Okay, if someone tries to strangle you, I give you permission to remove it.” She looked at his arms. “Too hairy. They have to be shaved.”