I Spy a Naughty Game

by Jo Davis

  He halted in the center of the room and dropped his hand, shoulders slumped. “Head and chest. His vest saved him from the shot to his heart, so it’s his head we’re worried about. The bullet glanced off his temple, and he hasn’t awakened. Hasn’t so much as flicked an eyelid in the hours since it happened.”

  Fear slid bony fingers around her throat. Brain injury or even death could result from a head shot, whether the bullet penetrated the skull or not. If a man didn’t die outright, he could linger for weeks or months wasting away. She couldn’t wrap her mind around a vital man like Blaze being struck down like this.

  “What does the CAT scan show?” So calm now when she was shaking apart inside.

  “That’s what I’m waiting to find out, if you’d care to wait with me.”

  “I would, thank you.” An understatement. Michael probably knew he’d have to blast her out of there with dynamite if he wanted her to leave. They took seats next to each other, and she studied him carefully. “Rumors are already flying about Dietz turning traitor. Any truth to them?”

  “Shit, that didn’t take long.” He released a long sigh. “Yes, unfortunately, though I’m keeping the gory details need-to-know at this point between me, a couple of agents, and the president.”

  Emma’s mouth fell open. “Of the United States?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Jesus, I can’t even imagine what Dietz has done,” she muttered. Since SHADO was an independent ghost organization contracting out its services to the U.S. government for matters the president wanted handled under the radar, some contact between the higher-ups and Michael would be inevitable. But a direct line to the man himself ? Whatever was going on must be bad.

  “Believe me, you don’t want to imagine it. For the time being, he’s being held in one of the cells under heavy security. No unauthorized access.”

  “That’s quite a fall from being your trusted second-in-command,” she observed.

  “You have no idea. While I was grieving the loss of my wife, that bastard was busy selling out the people of the U.S. to—never mind. I’m exhausted and I’ve said too much.” Anger and bitterness shaded his voice. “After the president and I work out a plan of action, I’ll call a meeting for those involved and bring everyone up to speed. You’ll probably be in on it, so you know.”

  “All right.” Seemed the agents would require her magic. And something told her this would be the most dangerous assignment she’d ever taken. “Will we find out what Agent St. Laurent has to do with all of this? Dietz told everyone he was dead.”

  “Obviously Dietz lied, and I’ll fill everyone in at the meeting. Right now I can tell you that St. Laurent was poisoned, and his chances don’t look good. As it stands right now, we can only hope that he and Kelly survive.”

  Michael’s cold, flat tone left no doubt in her mind that if he could get away with killing Robert Dietz this very second, he wouldn’t hesitate to take the man apart. After what the traitor had done to two fine agents, he must be holding some damned important information close to the vest for her boss to allow him to continue to breathe.

  Blaze. Please wake up and be okay.

  The man was too much a force of nature to die. No matter the blow he’d dealt to her heart, he didn’t deserve that. Not an hour ago, she’d cursed him for being an SOB and now—

  Suddenly, she sat up and groaned. “Dammit, my afternoon surveillance class is waiting for me. I forgot all about it.”

  Her boss patted her knee in a brotherly fashion. “Which is completely understandable, given your history with Kelly. Call down to the classroom and cancel for today if you want. I doubt you’ll be able to concentrate, anyway, and they won’t exactly complain about having the afternoon off.”

  “You don’t mind?” She bit her lip, uncertain when she was normally decisive. She and Blaze were so over it wasn’t funny, and she didn’t have a good excuse for being here. Not one she was willing to acknowledge out loud.

  “If I did, I’d just tell you. Go ahead—call.” His soft voice, the warmth in his eyes, let her know without words that he understood her fear.

  She nodded, relieved. “I will, thanks.”

  Using a nearby in-house phone to dial the extension, she let an agent know about the cancellation and settled in for what might prove to be a lengthy wait.

  She didn’t care how long it took. She wasn’t leaving until she knew Blaze would recover.

  Damn the man for making her care. Again.

  His situation was clear.

  Someone had beat his skull with a fucking sledgehammer, cut off his head, and then impaled it on a rusty pike for good measure. In which case, he should be dead and not in so much goddamned pain.

  I’m not dead?

  What the fuck had happened? The question was met with a big fat blank, so he put all his effort into concentrating on the here and now. He flexed his fingers, taking stock.

  Sheets. Lying down. A bed. Weird smells. Beeping.

  A hospital? He’d been hurt, then. Most likely on assignment.

  “Blaze? Can you hear me?” The woman’s familiar voice was soft and pleasant. It wrapped like silk around the one appendage apparently still working just fine.

  He parted his lips to answer, but nothing emerged. Swallowing to moisten his dry throat, he tried again. “Yes,” he whispered.

  Fingers squeezed his hand gently. “Thank God!” A pause, and a sniffle. “It’s about time, tough guy. Did you know you have the hardest head on the planet?”

  He didn’t even try to puzzle out that one. Simply prying his eyelids open proved enough of a challenge, but he managed, squinting through eyeballs that must’ve been scoured with sandpaper. A blurry form leaned over him—a woman with short blond hair.

  “Emma?” he croaked.

  “Surprise.”

  Emma. Here, at his bedside. Which meant he’d been in some deep shit for her to put aside her anger long enough to give a crap about him. “Why?”

  “Why am I here? Because I’m an even bigger idiot than you are.” The catch in her voice told him the words didn’t hold quite the sting she’d intended.

  The idea cheered him immensely. “Miss me?”

  “You wish.”

  He peered at her, blinking as her features came slowly into focus. A blond halo framed her beautiful face, and big blue eyes, shadowed with concern, regarded him from under a fringe of wispy bangs. Shaking Emma’s steely calm wasn’t an easy thing for most people to do, but Blaze seemed capable of doing nothing except hurting her. Being reminded of that tempered his joy at having her by his side and put a swift end to any thoughts of teasing her.

  “What happened?”

  “You took two bullets trying to protect Jude St. Laurent from Robert Dietz,” she said, releasing his hand. “Your vest prevented serious damage to your chest, but the other shot glanced off that thick skull of yours. Never had a chance of penetrating, any more than the one to your heart.”

  He smiled at her sarcasm. The fact that she could sit there and joke with him in any way gave him hope. Before he could form a reply, however, the first part of what she said hit him. “Wait. You said ‘trying to protect.’ Is St. Laurent dead?”

  “He’s hanging in there, but still critical. He and Dietz fought, and Dietz injected him with a dose of poison that almost proved lethal.”

  “Oh, God. I ...” A series of images assaulted him, like an old, brittle reel of film jumping on the track. Scouting the perimeter of the safe house in Tennessee. Armed men, bursting through the trees. Raising his weapon, taking out two of them. Dietz, returning fire. Then nothing. “How long ago was this?”

  “One week. You’ve been pretty out of it, and we—I mean Michael and Dr. McKay—have been waiting for the swelling on your brain to subside.”

  “Christ.” A crushing weight settled on his chest, and he broke eye contact, staring at the wall opposite his bed. His head pounded with renewed viciousness.

  “What’s wrong?” She paused, waiting s
everal long moments while he struggled with his answer. “Blaze?”

  “I was given a job to do and I failed. Because I failed, St. Laurent almost died.”

  “No! You didn’t,” she insisted. “You did what you could, but Dietz got the drop on you. He’s a snake, a disease, and nobody blames you.”

  “Not even Jude or Michael?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone.

  “Especially not Michael,” said a deep voice. Ross strode inside and closed the door behind him, glancing between Blaze and Emma. “If anyone is to blame for this colossal fuck-up, it’s me. But it’s a fuck-up I intend to rectify, and I’ll need both of you on board to do it.”

  “Does it involve shoving my M16 up Dietz’s pale white ass?” He relished the thought of making the asshole cry for mercy.

  “You’ll have to stand in line, but maybe. In the meantime, I’m putting together a team to go undercover and find out where the hell Dietz has hidden a weapon of mass destruction capable of taking out a small country. The bastard and his fellow traitors stole it from the U.S. government and plan to sell it to an antigovernment extremist group of homegrown psychos. Get well fast, because you and Emma are my star players.”

  “I take it your brand of persuasion hasn’t forced Dietz to talk,” Blaze mused. “Bastard must be tougher than he seems.”

  “I did handpick him for that very quality, among others,” Michael said with no little regret. “You guys in?”

  Blaze nodded, ignoring the spike of pain in his head. “The minute McKay clears me, I’m ready.”

  “Me, too,” Emma put in. She sounded sure, but the look she slid Blaze was guarded.

  She had reservations about working with him, and while it hurt, neither did he blame her. He’d just have to work extra hard to regain her trust, even though he had no idea how. Though missing her had nearly driven him insane, he’d always embraced his sexuality with no limits and hadn’t been celibate during their months apart. He was a Dom, a good one in his opinion, and the D/s lifestyle was a part of his identity as a man—a fact she didn’t appreciate.

  On top of that, Emma was everything he wasn’t and never would be. She was cool and steady, all of her passion carefully guarded. Untouchable, except by the one man fortunate enough to know how to tap it. She was thoughtful, not one to waste words. As a result, other agents stopped what they were doing and listened intently to what she had to say because it was usually important.

  With her thoughtfulness came the kindness and easy camaraderie she shared with other agents. Blaze thought of Emma and Osborne laughing at lunch, heads bent together; their familiarity, the other man enjoying the friendship Blaze never could again, shot him through the heart every time.

  Emma was strong, too, both physically and mentally. He’d seen her in the workout room, flipping Ozzie over her shoulder and pinning him to the mat, sweat dripping down her face. Others could call her butch all they wanted—he called her beautiful, body and soul. Any woman who could hold her own with the baddest guys SHADO had to offer and then not flaunt it was gorgeous in his book.

  Emma was her own person, and she didn’t need him.

  He had only one thing in his favor that he could see—Emma still cared about him. And as an added bonus, they’d be working together, a situation he would ruthlessly use to his advantage. Seven months ago, perhaps he’d given up on himself and Emma too soon.

  It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

  Three

  “You want me to do what?”

  Emma gaped at Michael, cheeks flushing with heat. Three other agents, including Blaze and Ozzie, studied her reaction with expressions ranging from sympathy to amusement—and a glance told her which category her ex fell into. Jerk.

  Leaning on the front of his desk, Michael crossed his arms over his chest, neither sympathetic nor amused. Her stomach sank.

  “You’re an agent and this is a matter of national security. I have complete faith that you can put aside your differences with Kelly and pull off this assignment, especially with millions of lives depending on your success.”

  “Well, hell,” she muttered irritably, raking her fingers through her hair. “Nothin’ like a little guilt trip, huh?” She glared at the whole room in general, mentally scrambling for some way to regain control of her own destiny. Establish that she had some say in the matter. “You can’t force me to pose as Kelly’s sub, or slave, or whatever the fuck it’s called. Not for God, country, or apple pie. If I’m not on board, it won’t work.”

  There. Michael would just have to come up with an alternative plan. She imitated her boss’s posture, feeling pretty darned pleased with herself, especially when he sighed and nodded his defeat.

  “You’re right. I can’t force you or anyone to work undercover in a role that will likely require you to participate in an extreme sexual environment. The female agent who works with Blaze will have to throw herself into the role.” His eyes glittered as he shot her a calculating smile. “You win, Agent Foster. I’ll find another woman to be his partner, which I’m sure will produce a fair number of volunteers.”

  “What?” Emma sputtered. “Hold on—”

  “What about Agent Roark?” one of the men, Willis, suggested.

  “You mean Agent Rack,” said Ozzie, waggling his eyebrows and cupping his hands suggestively in front of his chest. “Damn, she’s hot. And willing, I’ll bet!”

  “Wait just a damned—”

  “Or there’s Agent Scott. Heard from a reliable source that she’s superkinky, has the stamina of a racehorse, and wouldn’t mind a repeat of a certain weekend with our boy here,” Willis said, jabbing a thumb at Blaze.

  Who grinned insolently from his seat and stretched out his long jean-clad legs. “Oh, yeah. If anybody can embrace an undercover role like this one, Sheila can.”

  Michael picked up his phone. “Good. I’ll give her a buzz—”

  “Fine! I’ll do it!” Emma’s shout echoed in the room, effectively bringing the stupid conversation to a halt. Bastards, every one of them. They’d known exactly what they were doing, and it worked. She was going to neuter Ozzie the traitor with a melon baller. “I’m in all the way.”

  “Be very certain,” Michael said. “I’m asking you to put aside your personal taboos for the job, and if you fail to be one hundred percent convincing, you and Kelly will die. These are dangerous men with something huge to hide, and they don’t mess around.”

  “I’m sure.” Confronted with the picture of Blaze doing with another agent what he’d done with that woman at the club that night, mastering her over and over, she couldn’t stand the idea of sending him off knowing he’d be playing with someone else for the duration of the assignment. “Who are these people we’re hoping to infiltrate? I can’t imagine a bunch of military-type extremists being into the D/s scene, or making time for any kind of fun for that matter.”

  “Which is why we’re aiming our sting higher up, where the money is,” Blaze said. “The group we’re after has plenty to burn, and they’re our prime suspects for being Dietz’s financers. We need you to confirm their identities and determine whether they know where the weapon is hidden and what group is buying it.”

  Emma studied Blaze, striving to keep her expression professional. God, the man looked good enough to eat. “I assume we’re talking millions of dollars on the sale?”

  “Hundreds of millions. Seems there’s a high price tag on total annihilation.”

  His answer wasn’t flip at all, was in fact as serious as she’d ever heard coming from him, and it gave her a chill. “And the U.S. is the ultimate target?”

  “Yep. Tens of millions of people, wiped out by our own innovation in biochemical warfare. Whoever is in the target area when the bomb hits and isn’t killed in the initial blast will fall ill from the chemical agent that’s released into the air, and then die within forty-eight hours. There’s no way to stop the spread, and no cure.”

  Emma’s eyes rounded at the horrifying prospect. She’d
known the weapon would kill millions, but this was the first she’d heard of how it operated. “If the target area is located between Washington, D.C., and New York, they could take out both, and everything in between.”

  “We don’t have any time to lose and only a few strong indicators at this point of who’s working with Dietz,” Michael said with an edge of frustration. “No proof yet. That’s why I need you two undercover at the club these men frequent. Study this file, then ferret them out and get cozy as quick as you can without raising suspicion.” Reaching behind him, he grabbed a file folder and handed it to Blaze, who nodded but didn’t open it. Michael indicated the other two agents in the room. “Osborne and Willis have their own copies.”

  Emma guessed she and Blaze would go over the contents later. “Dietz’s backers are going to be ready for SHADO to make a move. I’m with you—don’t get me wrong—but I don’t see how this is going to work.”

  Blaze disagreed. “Dietz’s accomplices will be prepared for surveillance and even an outright assault should we locate the weapon, but they don’t know we have a lead on their backers. These guys are rich fat cats, not warriors. They’re complacent, oversexed, and full of their own power. That’s what we’ll use to our advantage, combined with your skills in changing our appearance.”

  “My illusions are designed to blend agents into the background,” she pointed out. “When we’re actually in the club mingling with these people, fading into the walls won’t exactly be our goal.”

  “True, but that’s only part of the time. We’ll do some field surveillance as well, so your talents won’t be wasted.” Blaze gave her a thorough once-over, making it clear he wasn’t just referring to her skills in the area of makeup artistry.

  Damn the man—the double entendre tightened her nipples and made her grow uncomfortably warm between her thighs. That he could affect her this way in a room full of her colleagues was as disturbing as it was arousing, and it left her scrambling for a response.

  Michael saved her the trouble. “Let’s meet back here in twenty-four hours. Know the men in these files forward and backward, and we’ll plan the rest of our timeline from there.”