Love Another Day

  Tate sighed. “I’ll do it. But I won’t like it.”

  “No one said you had to.” Mal glanced at her watch and handed a lady’s sports watch to Tate. “Your accessory. It has the usual watch spy features.

  “Give me five to do my makeup and hair.”

  Mal changed her identity while Tate clogged the sink with his arm hair and Sophia flirted with him, laughing and speaking in hushed tones.

  When Mal was finished, she destroyed the cover story dossiers and stuffed all their original clothes into a dustbin she’d been instructed to use. Just before she tossed the duffel in, she pulled out a paperback copy of War and Peace.

  “Some light reading for you.” She handed it to Tate.

  “Thanks, but if I want to read, I’ll read on my phone or my tablet.”

  “But neither of those are both a bulletproof plate and a revolver.” She showed him the trigger. “Take the book, Tate. The last thing you want is to get into a situation where you wish you’d taken the book-gun. Use it wisely.” She took a deep breath, wondering, not for the first time, whether these new covers were going to be the death of her career and her biggest professional failure.

  She handed Tate his new purse. He winced and took it, holding it all wrong, more like a computer case than a handbag.

  “No, no, no!” Mal handed Sophia the new cover purse. “Show him how it’s done.”

  Sophia modeled hers. Tate shrugged and mimicked her.

  “Good enough,” Mal said. She was sure Tate was messing with her. He knew how women held purses. He was just pulling her chain.

  “Your purses are filled with everything you need for the new cover, including ID, passports, the right shade of lipstick and gloss for your coloring, a comb and enough items so you’ll have a feel for what your cover is. Everything a purse should have to be authentic.”

  “Mine weighs a ton,” Tate said, shaking his head. “Why do women carry so much crap around?”

  Mal ignored his complaint and took a breath. “It’s time to roll. Do you think you can walk like a woman, Tate?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Not like that.” Mal stopped with her hand on the doorknob and gave Tate a look meant to upbraid. “You’re sashaying and swaying your hips too much. Stop trying to walk like Marilyn Monroe. Remember the cover story—you’re an athletic woman. One who walks a lot like a guy. We’re keeping it simple and playing to our strengths.”

  “I’ll say it again—playing a girl is not my strength.” Tate was staring at her like he really did want to kill her. Or kiss her. Either way it was a little disconcerting having another woman, a crazily sexy woman, look at her like that and have her body react.

  “Your voice! I almost forgot. Feeling rushed is messing with my mojo.”

  Tate shrugged. “That’s fieldwork for you. Get used to it.”

  “Stop talking like that.”

  “I’m telling it like it is.”

  “No, I mean in that masculine tone of voice.” Mal took a deep breath and fished the duffel out of the dustbin. When she turned it upside down, she came up empty.

  “What are you looking for?” Tate asked.

  “Sir Herbert promised to send a voice modulator for you. Husky female voices are one thing. Bass voices another. It will give you, and by association, us, away.” She shook the bag out. Nothing. “It’s not here. You’re going to have to wing it.” With more frustration than she intended, she stuffed the duffel back into the bin. She’d originally been worried about Sophia carrying off the cover. Now Tate was the bigger problem.

  He pitched his voice into a grating falsetto. “This is the best I can do.”

  She frowned and pointed her finger at him like she did at Kayla when she was misbehaving. “Don’t mock me. Don’t you dare. I can make you a real soprano with no trouble at all.”

  “Good luck with that.” He gave her a smug grin. “My boys are tucked safely away in this crotch-control garment you gave me.”

  “Look, just make your voice slightly higher. And softer. With a touch of hoarseness thrown in.” She demonstrated as she was speaking. “Mix up your word choice to have a more feminine pattern.”

  “Like this?” Tate said.

  Damn, he affected a sensual, throaty voice, just the kind of low, slightly feminine tone men claimed drove them crazy. Mal was going to have to face facts—Tate was almost as hot as a woman as he was as a man.

  “Better. Keep working on it.” The last thing she wanted was to encourage him. He’d get cocky. And a cock was the last thing he needed right now.

  Mal glanced at Sophia. She’d done way too good a job on her. Sophia was more beautiful and sensual than ever. Maybe I should bob my hair, Mal thought.

  “Sophia, unless you want people to think you’re a lesbian—which would be fine by me if Tate weren’t supposed to be your sister—stop making eyes at him. Remember the cover story, people. And if in doubt, let me do the talking.” She tapped her head. “I have the whole thing committed to memory.

  “A quick quiz before we go. Sophia—what’s your name?” Mal asked.

  “Sonia Bell.” She made a pretty pout. “Because it sounds similar to Sophia and has the same cadence. Easy for me.”

  “Right. It’ll catch your ear automatically.” Mal took a deep breath. “I’m Lena, because it’s close to Malene.” She looked at Tate. “Tate?”

  “Just call me Kate.”

  “Great.” A movement from Sophia caught Mal’s attention. She was stuffing a cell phone into her new purse. Mal reached out and snatched it away. “No! What are you doing?”

  “I need my phone.”

  “Where did this come from? Have you had it on you all along?” She swung on Tate. “You didn’t get rid of the phone?”

  “I thought I had.”

  Sophia smiled prettily. “I may have smuggled it back.”

  Mal whipped back to Sophia, brandishing the phone. “Cell phones are like carrying around a tracking device.” Mal made thin eyes at her. “Is this how RIOT’s been tracking us?”

  “I’m no idiot.” Sophia made angry eyes back at her. “I know that. I’m a mathematical prodigy. I disabled its tracking capabilities.”

  Mal didn’t trust her. “So you say.” Mal took a deep breath and buried it in the dustbin. “Open the purse.”

  Sophia gave her a look of hate, but complied. Mal rummaged through it. Nothing was added that she could tell. She held out her hand. “If you have any other electronic devices—iPods, anything—or any other items that were not part of what I provided in this storage room, now is the time to hand them over.” She waited. “Don’t make me do a body cavity search.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Tate said in a sexy tone. “I get to do all body searches.”

  Sophia smiled at him and handed over an iPod shuffle. “That’s it. Really. Not that I wouldn’t love a pat-down from you.”

  “Do a sweep, Tate,” Mal said.

  “All clear,” Tate said when he finished.

  “For the duration, you’re not to carry any electronic devices. No borrowing, renting, stealing, or buying any. Got it?”

  Sophia shrugged, which Mal took as affirmation.

  With very little faith that Sophia and Tate could pull the cover off, Mal led them out of the pub.

  The walk to the train station took only minutes. The station itself was a mixture of old and new. Part old historic light-colored sandstone brick building with hanging baskets full of bright pink and white petunias dotting the building. Part new and wanting to be newer. There were plans in the works for something completely modern. Signs announced the expansion ideas.

  Mal led her “sisters” into the station, consulted the timetables, and led them to their gate. “Just play it cool. Our train will be here in less than half an hour.” They took their seats on a bench and waited for their boarding call.

  Mal also waited for their contact. She was jumpy, feeling the pressure of the stares Tate got. He really did attract attention—a lot of male a
ttention, which was a downright insult to both her and Sophia. Why had she made Tate into such a sexpot? She decided charisma and sex appeal had no gender. She hated being blindsided by the revelation too late to do anything about it, but there it was. If she’d anticipated this complication, she would have done things differently, like made Tate into an old hag, their grandmother or something. Darn, and she’d tried so hard not to overdo it. Now there was nothing for it, but to deal with it. That didn’t stop her from elbowing Tate. “Tone it down.”

  “What? I can’t help it if men find me attractive.” He grinned. “You know, I get hit on by guys all the time, even when I’m my normal self.”

  “Ever considered you’re putting out the wrong kind of signals?” She couldn’t help jibing him.

  He shrugged. “You’re just jealous that I’m upstaging you.”

  “Am not. They’re staring at you because you’re a six-foot-three-inch woman.”

  “Yeah, a big hunk of burning love.”

  “You know, those guys who hit on you when you’re you, they only want you for your money.”

  Tate laughed, deeply.

  “Stop that.” Mal shook her head. “You’re drawing attention. And please, learn to titter daintily, like a real girl.”

  “Now I have to learn a new laugh.” He shook his head. “Sorry, babe, but laughing is involuntary and automatic. This is the laugh you get.”

  Mal narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

  “That guy in the gray slacks over there is staring at me.”

  Mal glanced past the man in question. “Let’s hope he’s not RIOT.”

  As if the fellow had heard them, he got up and walked past them, dropping the front page of his newspaper as he did. “Pardon me. I lost my grip.”

  Aha! Mel felt vindicated. He was MI5 and that was the initiation of the signal she’d been expecting. Mal leaned over, picked up the paper and handed it back facedown as she’d been instructed. “Hold on tightly. There isn’t another one until tomorrow.”

  He smiled. “Thank you.” He winked at Tate. “Hope to see you on the train. Have a nice day.” He walked off.

  Tate raised a brow. “See what I mean? I’m irresistible.”

  “Right. That was our signal and you know it,” Mal said, relieved that Tate was not more attractive than she and Sophia. “That was our contact, not some guy trying to hit on you, Kate.” She rolled her eyes. “Memorize his face. He’ll be keeping tabs on us.”

  “No problem. He’ll be looking for us on the train, wanting to hook up with me.” Tate winked at Sophia. “Don’t you worry, either.”

  Tate was teasing again, which meant he’d eased into his role as a woman and was accepting it. Maybe things would work out after all. “Absolutely no hooking up,” she replied with a smile, knowing Tate was pulling her chain for fun.

  A few minutes later, a train arrived in the station. Mal experienced a moment of panic as a stream of passengers detrained and walked past them. She felt like she had a target etched on her forehead. Inflatable Annie’s untimely death had really spooked her.

  Any good assassin could have killed them with ease and no one would notice until the crowd cleared. Next to her Tate seemed unconcerned, but she knew him well enough to recognize it as an act.

  After the crowd thinned, they received their boarding call and stood to file along with another crowd toward the train. Tate was doing better with his walk and keeping quiet. Sophia looked nervous. Their contact was right behind them.

  And then, out of nowhere, some old man came up behind Tate and pinched his fake silicone butt. Tate kept walking, totally unaware he’d been harassed.

  Mal sprang into action. “Hey! Back off, old man. Hands off my sister.”

  The old guy and Tate both looked startled. The old guy slunk away through the crowd.

  Mal upbraided Tate. “Pay attention! I thought you said if anyone touched you you’d take a swing at him. That old man just gave your butt a bruising pinch and you didn’t even react. Not that I advocate a right hook, but a cold stare can be effective. Especially on an old man like him.”

  “Huh.” Tate shrugged. “I didn’t feel a thing.” Tate climbed aboard the train, shaking his enhanced booty.

  “Stop wiggling your butt. And next time, act like you did feel something,” Mal said.

  “Fine. Next time I’ll slap the offender’s face. Will that make you happy?”

  “Watch your vocal tone. You’re giving yourself away.” Mal was getting a headache.

  Tate found a pair of empty seats facing each other. He plopped into one. Sophia plopped in next to him, practically in his lap. Mal took the seat opposite.

  Their contact came up beside them and hesitated. “Is this seat occupied?”

  “It’s all yours,” Mal said. “Help yourself.”

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries, with Tate as Kate joining in and providing the proper parts of the code verification. Their contact passed the exam.

  And the set was complete—two American spies, a member of British intelligence, and the asset they were trying to spring from RIOT’s death grip.

  “Lash.” Their contact extended his hand.

  “Lena,” Mal said, carrying on the charade. “And these are my sisters—Kate and Sonia.” She indicated each.

  “Pleased to meet you lovely ladies,” Lash said. “Where are you headed?”

  “We’re taking the train all the way to Liverpool. We’re on vacation. We have to see the home of the Beatles.”

  “Fans of the boys from Liverpool. Excellent. I’m going to Liverpool, too.”

  All should have been well, but Mal was worried about Sophia. She looked on edge and nervous and kept grabbing Tate’s hand.

  Mal shook her head subtly at her. When that didn’t work, she cleared her throat. And again, loudly. Sophia ignored her, forcing Mal to lean forward and admonish her. “You’re supposed to be sisters, not lovers.”

  Good grief! Did Sophia have no shame and no fear for her cover?

  “Sisters can hold hands for support.” Sophia shot her a defiant look. “There’s nothing wrong with it.” She looked at Tate, appealing to him and appeared to tighten her grip on him. “Holding his hand gives me comfort. I’m risking everything to do this.”

  She’s risking something, Mal thought cynically. Right now, it was a thrashing from Mal.

  “Lay off her, Lena.” Tate gave her a warning look as he spoke in his husky woman’s voice. “She’s right. It’s fine. We’re a close family. My baby’s scared.” He tucked Sophia in against his shoulder. “Let me take care of little sis.” He kissed the top of Sophia’s head.

  Next to Mal, Lash, the British agent was trying not to laugh. “Ah, family. Can’t live with them. Can’t kill them.”

  This was going to be a long ride.

  * * *

  This mission is going to kill me, Tate thought. Or at the very least, kill my defunct marriage and stop its rise from the ashes of divorce.

  He didn’t like taking Sophia’s side, but he was up against orders. He had to bring her in.

  His cell phone buzzed. He pulled it from his jeans pocket, wishing women carried their phones in shirt pockets like men do. Much more convenient that way. He glanced at the screen. “I have to take this.”

  Mal pointed toward her neck. He got the message—talk like a girl.

  He put on the husky female voice. “I’ll just take this in the lav.” He pried Sophia’s hand from his and walked down the aisle to the restrooms. Fortunately, they were single-occupancy, unisex units. He wasn’t in the mood to give anyone a scare in the toilets, least of all himself.

  He swung in and locked the door behind him. “Cox here. What’s up, chief?”

  “We have a problem, Tate.”

  “All right.” As Tate settled in to deal with mission complications, his reflection in the mirror startled him. He was used to being uncomfortable in these women’s clothes, but still not used to looking like a woman. And not a half bad-looking woman, eith
er. A little on the tall side. He reminded himself a bit of his second cousin Amy. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman, too.

  “Hit me with it. And if I start talking in a woman’s voice, just ignore it, sir.”

  “I know all about your cover, Tate,” the chief said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “How is it being the fairer sex?”

  Tate primped in front of the mirror. Was his mascara smudging? “Harder than it looks. I’m having to fend the men off. And it takes forever to get ready to go anywhere.”

  “Every cover has its hardships.” Tate imagined the chief saying it with a straight face.

  Not my usual cover, Tate thought. Then he remembered his playboy cover had cost him the love of his life. “What’s the nature of the problem?”

  Tate hoped the assassin hadn’t gotten away and warned RIOT. Or that RIOT was already on to NCS’s deception and the fact that Sophia wasn’t dead, just poor old Inflatable Annie.

  The chief cleared his throat. It wasn’t like him to be nervous or pussyfoot around. “It’s a personal problem as much as an Agency problem. Which is why I’m approaching you before Malene.”

  Shit. A bunch of random, and frightening, scenarios bounced around Tate’s head, foremost, his gorgeous child. “Has something happened to Kayla?” His heart pounded.

  “Kayla’s fine.”

  He took a deep breath, letting relief in. Nothing was as bad as Kayla being in trouble. “My mother? Has she finally discovered Dad was a spy and so am I?”

  “Lenora’s as deceived as ever.”

  “Not something to do with Cox Software?”

  “It affects Cox. In fact, it appears it’s as much targeted at Cox as it is at the Agency and you. Once I give you the details, you’ll need to contact Brad and brief him on damage control.”

  “Not another hostile takeover attempt?”

  “Tate, can we stop playing twenty questions?”

  “RIOT isn’t trying to buy me out and humiliate me using a shell corporation again, are they?” Tate was tired enough of the usual corporate foes any company faced—corporate raiders and offers from bigger techie fish trying to absorb his company. Even though he didn’t devote as much time as he should have to the business, he had no intention of selling. Cox Software provided his spy cover and he’d never give that up.