by Julie Kenner
Hell, he wanted to rescue his girl in an action scene worthy of one of Millie’s movies.
Monroe could manage something like that, no doubt about that. But this wasn’t fiction and David wasn’t taking any chances with Jacey’s life.
David’s entire body went cold and he willed himself not to even think about that. He was going to get Jacey back and that’s all there was to it. She didn’t deserve this. No, she deserved safety. A lush green lawn. A little fence. Maybe a rose bush. And a nice garage for Lucy.
She deserved all that and she deserved a man there with her. A man who loved her. And he was that man.
Reggie was moving her, inching around. Any second now, he’d come full circle and see David and Jacey was still in the way. Damn.
And that’s when she did it. Brilliant and stupid all at the same time, Jacey pretended to trip. And in the split second when Reggie moved the gun away to keep her steady, Jacey jammed a finger into his eye, just the way David had told her.
Reggie howled and David rushed forward, Finn moving just as fast from the opposite direction. Reggie tried to get off a round, but David thrust his leg out, kicking Reggie in the wrist and sending the gun clattering across the tile to the far side of the kitchen.
After that it was easy. With no Jacey in the line of fire, and no gun in Reggie’s hand, David just aimed his own gun at Reggie’s chest. “Don’t worry, Reggie,” he said, as sirens whined in the distance. “We already arranged a ride home for you.”
David had rescued her, just like she knew he would, and now all she could do was cling to him. And if she had her way, she wasn’t ever letting go again.
“Nice moves,” Finn said.
“Just like Rene and Mel,” Millie added, coming into the room.
Jacey exhaled. She’d known Millie was safe, but seeing her now, she felt a lot better. Especially since Millie had been in the back of the house with Al and she didn’t trust him at all.
She cocked her head, looking from David to Finn. “So where’s Al?”
“Handcuffed to a chair in Finn’s room,” David said.
Millie shook her head. “No he’s not. I followed David after Jacey screamed—”
“Millie,” David said with exasperation. “I told you to stay put with Al.”
“Well, I went back,” she said. “But Al wasn’t there.”
David and Finn exchanged lightning-quick glances, then raced out of the room. Jacey followed. Sure enough. No Al. Just a smashed wooden chair.
“Lucy,” Jacey said, everything clicking into place. “He’s going to slash her seats.”
They hurried to the garage, but Al had already been there, too. Sure enough, the passenger seat was slit open, Millie’s letter opener sitting neatly on top.
“How the hell did you know that?” David asked.
“Reggie didn’t have the diamonds,” she said. “So I started thinking. I know every inch of Lucy,” she said. “But I’d replaced the seats.” She shrugged. “Until Reggie trashed Lucy, the diamonds were sitting in my neighbor’s garage.”
“And we put them back in before we went to San Diego.”
Jacey nodded.
“Well, Cartwright will put an APB out for him,” Finn said. “But my guess is that by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a beach sipping a mai tai.”
“Fine by me,” Jacey said, moving into David’s arms. “I owe him big-time anyway.”
“You owe him?” David asked.
“Sure,” she said, twisting around to see him better. “If it weren’t for Al, I’d never have met you.”
She was safe. Thank God, she was safe.
The mantra ran over and over in his head, like an old LP with a scratch.
He’d rescued the woman he loved and now he’d do anything to keep her safe and happy.
He was starting simply—a double chocolate torte with a strawberry glaze—but he intended to move up the ladder from there. All the way to marriage, on her terms. Pretty damn scary, but there you had it. He wanted Jacey and he wanted her all the way. And if that meant doing the suburban thing again, well, he could handle that. For Jacey, he was willing to handle just about anything.
He turned the fire down under the saucepan where he was working on the glaze and turned to her. She smiled at him, looking perfectly content sipping tea at Millie’s kitchen table and wearing his sweatshirt and pants.
“You doing okay?” he asked for about the eighteen millionth time as Millie patted her hand. They’d described the action in the kitchen that Millie had missed and since then, the older woman had been doing one heck of a lot of hand-patting.
Jacey’s grin shot straight to his heart. “I told you. I’m fine. And you really don’t have to feed me.” She licked her lips. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Good. You better not be.” He moved to the far side of the room, grabbing the newspaper he’d marked up after the police had left. He dropped the real estate section on the table in front of her. “And this is for you, too.”
At first, confusion lit her face. Then she looked up at him, her bright smile letting him know he’d done the right thing. “Model homes?” she asked. “You’ve circled model homes.”
He nodded. “We can start shopping whenever you want.”
“Shopping,” she repeated. “For what?”
He took a deep breath. “For a house. For us. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Suburbs. Fence. Swing set. The whole nine yards.”
“Well, it’s about time,” Millie said.
David ignored his aunt, all his attention focused on Jacey. She didn’t answer right away and his stomach jumped from nerves as she looked back down at the paper, her finger tracing the house he’d circled on the very first page. When she looked back up her eyes were bright, but brimming over with tears. “We can’t do this,” she said.
“What?” His voice was only a whisper.
“I don’t want to make you move to the suburbs. I don’t want you to give up traveling.”
She brushed a tear away as he held his breath, still not sure where she was going with this.
“I thought I wanted the fairy tale. The castle and all that. But, really, all I wanted was the happily ever after.” She smiled and he knew from the love he saw shining there what her answer would be. “You’re my happily ever after, David. Here or in Paris or in your tiny little garage apartment.” She smiled. “You’re the constant. Not some stupid house, but you.” She shrugged. “Cliché, but home is where the heart is.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “I’ve been pretending to be something I’m not and making plans for a life that I wouldn’t really be happy in. It’s scary, but I need to just be myself and trust that it’ll work out. And I want a man who loves me for me. Even if I have some crappy job painting murals on the walls of a studio resale shop, or if I never manage to sell one single painting from the banks of the Seine.”
David laughed. “Then I’m your man.”
“I know you are.”
He held her gaze for a moment, then realized his glaze was burning and spun around to the stove.
“When you’re not traveling, you should live here,” Millie said. “I hate to think of the house having renters.”
David turned back from the stove. “Renters?” he repeated.
Millie nodded. “Yes, dear. I’m moving to a charming little apartment community in Altadena. The staff helps with meals, and there are organized activities, and every apartment comes equipped with a cable modem.”
David blinked, sure he couldn’t possibly have heard right. “You’re moving?”
“I think it will be a lovely change of pace. And you two can live here. In fact, I should just deed the house over to you now.” She patted Jacey’s hand. “After all, David’s been paying the property taxes and the insurance and all the other bills. I think that’s only fair.”
David swallowed. “You knew about that?”
She nodded, looking particularly pleased with herself. “Like Finn said,
I’m hell on wheels with a mouse.”
“But—” David cut himself off, not sure what to say. All his work to keep it a secret and she knew. He ran his fingers through his hair, cursing computers and online banking and Uncle Edgar, too, just for good measure.
“David loves this house,” Millie was saying to Jacey. “And if he hadn’t helped me cover the bills, I would have lost it.”
“You should have just told me you knew,” David said.
“Oh, no.” Millie shook her head. “That wouldn’t have been proper at all.” She folded her hands in her lap. “And this way everything worked out just fine.”
David squinted. “What worked out?”
“The whole shebang,” Millie said, while Jacey put a hand over her mouth to hide a grin. “I know how much you love this house, but if I’d asked you to buy it from me so I could move, you would have felt obligated. You would have stopped planning for your trip to Paris and the house would have seemed like a burden. But this way, you felt good because you were helping me, and I felt good knowing that since the house would soon be yours anyway, it wasn’t as if you were throwing your money away on me.” She turned to Jacey. “Not bad thinking for an old lady, huh?”
“Not bad at all.”
David silently agreed. He took Millie’s hands and pulled her out of her chair and into a hug. “I love you, you know,” he said.
“Well, of course I know, dear. Why else would you put up with me?” She stepped back, still clasping one of his hands. “I’m right, aren’t I? You do want the house?”
He looked at Jacey, who was positively beaming. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I want it.” He frowned. “But I don’t like the idea of you moving out.”
“It’s a big place,” Jacey said. “Why don’t you stay?”
“Absolutely,” David said.
“Nonsense,” Millie said, sitting back down at the table. “I’ve been looking at this community for a long time. They have polka classes and classes in html. And the young man who teaches badminton looks remarkably like Mel Gibson.”
Jacey laughed. “In that case, I’m sure there’s no changing your mind.”
“Then it’s settled,” Millie said, effectively cutting off any further protests. She reached into the bag of knitting beside her chair and pulled out a magazine. She passed it to Jacey—Modern Bride.
“Now, dear. About your wedding dress…”
Epilogue
The Colonel put his arm around Sarah and led her back into the house. Turner looked at me. He knew something was up, but he also knew he wouldn’t hear about it from me.
Smart fellow.
“Someday you’ll have to tell me what I’m missing,” he said.
I put my cigarette up to my lips and inhaled. “Someday I might,” I said. “But I wouldn’t bet the ranch.”
He turned away, heading down the driveway toward his heap. I went in the opposite direction, drawn like a moth to Mallory’s flame.
She was there on the front porch, her eyes bright, and when I came up the steps she held out a hand for me. “Thank you,” she said.
“Any time, sweetheart.”
Her eyes met mine. “I hope you mean that, Mr. Monroe.”
I only hesitated a second. “Every word, Ms. Stamp.”
She licked her lips, then walked down the steps and headed for my car. “I didn’t used to believe in happily ever after,” Mallory said, opening the door and slipping inside. “I do now.”
I closed the door and walked around to my side of the car, dropping my Chesterfield to the pavement and grinding it out with the toe of my shoe.
As they say, all’s well that ends well. In my case, I have to say it ended just fine. I found Sarah, solved the mystery, and forged some sort of truce with the Colonel.
Most important, I got the girl.
Not bad for a gumshoe from the San Fernando Valley. Not bad at all.
Jacey put down the galley pages for Dead Before Dawn and looked up at him.
David swallowed, even more nervous than he’d been when he’d said “I do.” “Well?”
“Not bad,” she said, with a grin. “Not bad at all.”
“So you like it?”
She laughed, coming over to kiss him on the cheek. “I love it. I think it’s great they’re releasing it and Hot Ice at the same time.”
David nodded; it was a great idea. The publisher was releasing his novel and his exposé on the diamond theft together and sending him on a twenty-city book tour that coincided with a bunch of media interviews Reggie had lined up from inside the minimum-security penitentiary. Reggie had plea-bargained his way to a reduced sentence and Joey was the one who’d really gotten nailed. In addition to theft, Reggie’d been the state’s star witness for a whole laundry list of charges, starting with racketeering and basically covering the rest of the California penal code.
“We’ll be living out of a suitcase for at least a month,” David said, hooking his arm around her waist and pulling her down onto his lap. “Think you can handle that?”
“I already handled three months in Paris in the world’s tiniest apartment while you were writing the books,” she said. “So long as I’m with you, I can handle anything. And so long as we come home in the end.”
“Good,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Because you’re stuck with me.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Didn’t you hear? Me and Monroe—we always get the girl.”
She snuggled close. “That’s good,” she said. “Because the girl wanted to be gotten.”
He held her that way for a few minutes, then she tilted her head back, a question in her eyes. “What?”
“I was just wondering,” she said. “Do you think they’ll ever find the diamonds? Or Al, for that matter?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said, pulling her close again. “I really don’t know.”
• • •
Al pushed his sunglasses up his nose, then took a long sip of his frozen daiquiri. This was the life. This was what he’d deserved. Those four months in squalor were just a bad memory.
Now he had sparkling white sand, the crystal clear blue ocean, fine food and drink, and an endless parade of bathing beauties.
He might have taken a slight detour, but eventually, he’d made it to heaven.
“Is this seat taken?”
Al looked up, drawn to the melodious feminine voice. A tall brunette in a sarong skirt and a barely-there bikini top smiled down at him, gesturing to the lounge chair beside his.
He shook his head. “It is now, I hope. By you, that is.”
She smiled, then sat on the edge, crossing her legs to reveal a bit of perfectly shaped calf. The chairs were close together and when she leaned forward, he got a fabulous view straight down her cleavage. Oh yeah. Al had found his evening’s entertainment.
“I’m Al,” he said, holding out his hand for her to shake.
“I’m Amber,” she said. “So pleased to meet you.”
And then she leaned over, close enough to kiss him. Her lips brushed his ear, her breath tickling him. “And Al,” she whispered, as he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press into his chest, “I think we’ve got about a million little things to talk about…”
POCKET BOOKS
Proudly Presents
THE SPY WHO
LOVES ME
JULIE KENNER
Available January 2004 from Pocket Books
Turn the page for a preview of
The Spy Who Loves Me….
With a practiced hand, agent Phineus Teague—code-named Python—adjusted the bow-tie of his midnight blue Briani tuxedo, aiming the miniature camera toward the statuesque blonde seated at the baccarat table on the far side of the casino. Static hissed in his ear, then, “We got picture. You’re good to go.”
Finn tipped his head, letting his partner know he’d copied the message. But he didn’t move. Not yet. The timing needed to be perfect. This mission was just too damn
important.
“Le Grande,” said the croupier. “Madam wins.”
The woman nodded, her face impassive. She slid a hundred-franc chip across the table, a tip for the dealer. Then she stood, her shimmering evening gown clinging to her extravagant curves. At least he knew she was unarmed; there was no place to hide a gun under that dress.
As she gathered her chips, her gaze met his. Her lips curved into a seductive smile, but it was her eyes that caught Finn’s attention—ice-blue and treacherous. Tatiana Nicasse. A double-agent, only she’d gone bad. Very bad.
There was no hint of recognition in her eyes, just a pure, sexual heat. Good. He needed information, and he was happy to extract it by whatever means necessary.
He stepped away from the wall, moving toward her, ignoring the appreciative glances from the other women in the room. A waiter passed, and Finn took two flutes of champagne, holding one out to Tatiana. She took it, then held the glass up in a silent toast before taking a sip, her lipstick leaving an imprint on the glass.
“You know the way to a woman’s heart,” she said, her accent alluring.
Her gaze drifted down, then back up again, and his body fired in response. She might be the enemy, but he wasn’t dead. Far from it.
“What else do you know about women?” she asked, the invitation in her voice unmistakable.
“I think it’s fair to say I’m an expert,” he said. He drifted closer, brushing his fingers over her bare shoulder and down her arm. The woman was pure danger, all wrapped up in a silky black dress.
“And modest, too.” She raised one delicately shaped eyebrow. “I like that in a man. Perhaps we can determine the extent of your expertise, no?”
She reached between her breasts, extracting a thin, gold-plated case. She clicked it open and pulled out a cigarette, clearly expecting him to light it. He didn’t disappoint, and her hand curved around his as he held the burning match. The tobacco glowed red, and she leaned back, exhaling toward the ceiling. “Merci, Mr.…?”
“Teague,” he said. “Phineus Teague.”
