“So what’s this bar we’re going to?” Bishop asked Torq.
“Hal’s,” Torq said. “He’s a friend of Rockford’s. He’s big into Bond, too.”
“Excellent,” Max said.
Pussy boarded at the last minute and cozied up in a seat next to the nerdy Q, who reminded me of a computer geek. To each her own. I couldn’t see how she could go from Torq to Q, but whatever. Neither Pussy nor Torq acknowledged the other. Interesting. Whatever they had going, they wanted it under wraps.
With Pussy finally on board, Fry closed the doors and fired up the bus. “All aboard who’s coming aboard.”
Chapter Eight
A young, trendy crowd spilled into Hal’s lot. The place was hopping. A sign over the door said, HAL’S. EVERYONE WELCOME. WE DON’T CARE WHO THE HAL YOU REALLY ARE. Ironically, a bouncer stood directly beneath the sign … boldly turning people away.
Fry pulled to a stop and opened the bus doors. “Here we are, folks. Enjoy. The bus rolls out at the stroke of midnight. Be here or plan on finding your own ride back.”
I grabbed my purse and stepped into the aisle behind Wade and Q, who had his hands possessively on Pussy’s shoulder.
“Popular place.” I guess I’d been expecting a quiet dive. Some old geezers and beer. Not teeming nightlife.
“Hal brags he makes every martini on the planet, including several dozen he invented himself,” Torq said from close behind me.
“And how many have you tried?” I asked in a teasing voice.
“How many haven’t I tried? I’m a member of his frequent drinkers club.” He grinned and glanced out the window at the crowd. “Must have been a game tonight. There’s a ballpark here in Surprise.”
Then he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Stick with me, Domino. I’ll get us in. Hal likes spies.”
Torq led the group to the front of the crowd and spoke to the bouncer, a square-jawed giant with a mouthful of metal. “Hey ya, Jaws. Looks like business is booming tonight.”
“Torq.” Jaws nodded. “This your gang?” He indicated us. “All of them spies?”
“But of course.” Torq made a brief round of introductions, skimming past Pussy as if she were no more than another camper, and finally finishing up with me. “And this is Domino.”
Jaw’s grin widened. “Welcome, Domino. Any friend of 007's is a friend of Hal’s. No cover and half-priced drinks for the ladies.” He had the deep Jaws voice down so well it was scary.
Almost involuntarily, I stepped closer to Torq, who put his hand at the small of my back and led me inside. “Don’t worry. Jaws won’t bite.” He put a taste of tease in his tone. “Nibble maybe, but never bite.”
“Really?” I let Torq guide me, enjoying the heat of his hand on my back. “And here I thought biting was his forte.”
“Only in the movies. Hal’s tamed him.”
Just inside the door, the gang dispersed. Pussy walked past Torq on Q’s arm toward the bar without even bothering to put a wiggle in her walk. So what was up with that? No sly look. No jealousy. No sign of familiarity—on either’s part. I made a mental note to grill Q tomorrow and resolved to enjoy the evening and Torq’s company while I had him to myself.
Music thumped and reverberated, shaking the walls. A disco ball cast multicolored light from the domed ceiling over the pulsating crowd on the dance floor. I recognized the dome as a replica of Elektra’s Maiden’s Tower. Bond paraphernalia decorated the walls. Movie posters. Aston Martin ads. Guns behind glass frames.
I was overwhelmed. I loved this Hal guy’s taste. Maybe Hal was the man I’d been waiting for all my life.
“Like it?” Torq asked.
“Like it?” I let out a long sigh. “I could live here. Think Hal’d hire me as a cocktail waitress?”
Torq smiled and I added, “Hal isn’t single, is he? I think he and I could make beautiful spy music together.”
“Married over thirty years,” Torq said.
“Why are the good ones always taken?”
Torq arched a brow. “Always?”
I grinned back at him. “Most always.”
Hal’s was a fantasyland, like Disneyland for grown-ups. The atmosphere put me in the mood to strut my stuff, thrust out my chest, wiggle my walk, seduce a few secrets out of someone, and maybe even put on a Russian accent before tumbling into bed with a sexy spy guy. The atmosphere was that powerful and right out of my fantasies.
“Hal indulges his Bond fantasies—”
“And what fantasies,” I couldn’t resist adding.
“And caters to his clientele,” Torq continued, smiling at my enthusiasm and unperturbed by my interruption. “Everyone who comes to camp imagines they’re Bond.”
“Or a Bond girl,” I added, still gawking at the wonders around me.
“Yeah, that too.” His smile said he preferred Bond girls over Bond wannabes. “Let me show you something.” He guided me toward the back of the room with his hand still hot at the small of my back, coming to a stop before a breathtaking nineteenth-century Ottoman mahogany inlaid wood chair complete with arm and neck cuffs. “Recognize this?”
“Oh. My. Gosh! It’s Elektra’s torture chair.” I stared at it in awe and wonderment, hoping that if I blinked it wouldn’t disappear, because I sure felt like I was dreaming. “From the movie?”
“An exact replica.” He gestured toward the chair. “Have a seat.”
“Shut up. I can’t sit there.”
He gave me a nudge. “Hal won’t mind.”
“Sure?” I ran my fingers over the smooth lacquered surface, feeling a trill of excitement just at the thought of sitting in Elektra’s chair. It didn’t even matter that it wasn’t the actual chair where Pierce Brosnan had sat.
“Positive.” Torq took my arm and steadied me as I sat. Though, in truth, his touch had a decidedly pleasant, unsteadying effect on my equilibrium.
The wood was cool and slick beneath my legs. I sighed—this was heaven—and put my neck in the open collar, leaning my head against the detailed, inlaid diamond-shaped headrest. “Bond is all about fantasy. That’s what I love about his world.
“Take this chair. An instrument of torture and death, yet beautiful, artistic.” I paused, searching for words. “In Bond’s world, everything is gorgeous, even the women who want to kill him. And they’re not just going to kill him. They’re going to do it poetically, sensually, almost autoerotically, all the while wearing an eye-catching, formfitting evening gown made of see-through lace so Bond’s last view of the world is beauty. What could be more fantastic than that?” I closed my eyes and savored the moment.
“Dying another day,” Torq said, deadpan.
I opened my eyes and gazed up at him staring down at me with eyes full of humor and appreciation for my form. He leaned on the point of the headrest, gazing down the arch of my neck at my cleavage, his hands resting on the star-shaped wheel that propelled a bolt into the maiden chair’s victim, all the better for strangling them.
“He’s not going to let them succeed! That’s the other part of the fantasy—being able to escape death no matter how dire the circumstances.” I nodded to the wheel. “You’re not planning on strangling me, I hope. I don’t have Bond’s escape skills.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Torq’s gaze lingered on my enhanced, thrust-out bosoms. “But it gives a whole new meaning to a good screw, doesn’t it?” He did a perfect Bond imitation.
My mouth went dry. Before I could reply, Fry called to us from a nearby corner booth, where Emma had all but surgically attached herself to his side. “Hey. Come join us.”
A quick look of irritation flashed across Torq’s face before he managed an affable smile. “Shall we?”
I slid in across from Fry and Emma as a cocktail waitress dressed in a tight black leather dress appeared and handed us cocktail menus. I caught the flirty look of appreciation she gave Torq and felt myself growing irrationally territorial.
“I’ll have an Aston Martini,” Torq said without l
ooking at the menu.
Fry sighed. “An O’Doul’s for me. I’m driving.” He shook his head like he was making a major sacrifice for campers and country.
“An O’Doul’s? You sure?” Torq goaded him, grinning. “They have club soda and Shirley Temples, too.”
“Shut up,” Fry said, “you’re driving next time.”
Torq laughed.
Across from me, Emma curled into Fry, stroking his cheek in a “poor baby” motion, obviously thinking pillow talk would be the most fun way to get the info she wanted. Good luck to her. She was working on a stone-cold-sober mark.
As for me, I really needed a drink to up my courage quotient. Not that I believed one drink would turn me into a stunning conversationalist and consummate femme fatale, but it couldn’t hurt.
Astute mind reader that he was, Torq saw my quandary as I stared at the overwhelming number of martinis listed, feeling pressured to make a quick decision because the waitress was hovering and making definite eyes at my mark. Or maybe it was the lip biting and my poor, balled napkin that gave me away.
He gave me a sympathetic look. “Like chocolate?”
I nodded.
“Try the Flirtini. You’ll love it.” He gave me the flirt look again, just like in class. Damn, he was good at it. It sent my poor little heart pitter-pattering out of control, while the rest of me prayed it was the real deal.
Determined not to let him get the upper hand or see my stupid girlish hope that the look was real, I turned to the waitress. “I’ll have a Flirtini. Sh—”
“Emma, what about you?” Torq rested his hand on my thigh and gave it a squeeze, which I think he meant as a warning signal to shut up. It rendered me speechless, all right. Not to mention left me feeling shaken and stirred myself, and achy-breaking for more intimate hand-to-thigh, mouth-to-mouth, hip-to-hip contact.
As the waitress turned her attention to Emma, Torq leaned into me and whispered, “All Hal’s drinks are shaken. You don’t want to insult him by asking.” He removed his hand from my leg, leaving a scorching-hot handprint and a wave of major disappointment in its wake.
I pushed aside the feeling of being a bona fide social klutz. The atmosphere in Hal’s didn’t tolerate insecurity.
We made small talk until our drinks arrived.
I finally screwed up my courage to ask Torq about his inspection of the blown-up car. Curiosity must be stilled. “What were you looking for in that car you guys blew up at the welcome?”
“Spying on me?”
He knew exactly what I was talking, and curious, about.
I blushed. But in the dark, who cared? No one could tell. The cover of a dimly lit room gave me courage. “That’s the name of the game here. That thing was obviously totaled. You were looking for something. What and why?”
Torq and Fry exchanged a quick look and shrugged in unison.
“We’ve had some trespassers,” Torq said. “People who ignore our posted no trespassing; no shooting signs. We’re out in the open. People like to sneak in and get some target practice in. Take out a few rabbits or snakes. I was concerned they’d been taking aim at our car.”
“Before or after our arrival?” I asked.
Both he and Fry laughed. Neither answered the question.
Emma ignored our conversation, eyeing the dance floor the entire time, feet tapping away, shoulders swaying, head bopping, all but doing the tango on the tabletop, obviously itching to dance. Finally, Fry couldn’t ignore her hints any longer.
“Let’s dance,” he said, taking her arm to help her up. Fry flashed us a Texas-sized grin and they were off, leaving me to entertain Torq.
“Do you dance?” Torq nodded toward the dance floor.
The dreaded question. I realized I’d been twirling the pick in my drink and folding and unfolding the corner of my cocktail napkin as if I’d suddenly developed an origami fascination. I forced myself to drop the pick and look Torq in the eye. “Not well. I prefer … watching.”
I wanted to dance. I wanted to dance with him. Badly. I was just afraid I’d be a total moron on the dance floor and turn him off completely with my stiff, self-conscious, jerky dance style.
We sat in silence, staring at the dancers and then each other. Not for the first time, I rued my lack of scintillating conversation skills. The view was good, but we couldn’t go all evening without talking. Besides, I had information to gather. We spoke over the music at once.
“How do you like—”
“So,” I said, “the kidnapping is—”
We laughed together.
“Go ahead,” he said, leaning close, his mouth to my ear, so that I could hear him. “You were saying?”
I blushed. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering about the big camp finale. I’m looking forward to it … I think.” I laughed nervously, hoping it wasn’t obvious that I was fishing for information. The nerves were real enough, anyway. Maybe that was enough to foil an expert mind reader like him.
“Nothing to be afraid of. Just some good, clean fun.” He gave a friendly, reassuring smile.
I gave him a shaky smile in return and leaned in to speak in his ear. “I read an article in the paper once, about what to do if you’re kidnapped….”
“Yeah?” he said. “Are you hinting that you’ll be a hard target?”
“Maybe.” I paused, trying to lead naturally into questioning him about the intended victim and the plan. “I suppose you’re all busy planning for it, selecting a victim, discussing the kidnapping….”
Torq laughed. “Hardly. Rockford selects the victim and makes the plan. He fills us in at the last minute.”
“Oh.” I hoped I didn’t sound as disappointed as
I felt.
“I’ll put a bug in his ear that you won’t go down easily,” he spoke lightly.
“Thanks.” I felt the tension ease out of my shoulders and leaned back against the bench. I really didn’t want to be the victim.
“Don’t thank me yet. Not unless you have your heart set on being the victim. We like a challenge.” He winked.
“In that case, ‘gee, thanks.'” I took a deep taste of my drink, hoping it kicked in fast. “Delicious.” I swirled the glass and took another drink, licking my lips, a bad nervous habit of mine. “Kind of like a chocolate martini without the Kiss.”
Torq raised an eyebrow, his gaze focused on my lips. I’m not sure whether it was the Lip Venom still working its puffing action or Torq’s stare, but my lips tingled.
“Hershey’s Kiss,” I clarified.
Torq put a hand on my arm. “Go easy on that. Hal’s drinks have a tendency to help the floor hit you in the face when you stand up.”
Was it just my imagination, or was he finding any excuse to touch me? A girl could hope! I wasn’t much of a drinker, but I waved off his concern. I could handle a few martinis.
He dropped his hand and took a sip of his drink. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Noted,” I said, finishing the drink in an attempt to fend off the fluttery feelings Torq stirred up.
Torq flagged our cocktail waitress. I ordered a Dirty Martini, and Torq ordered another of the same.
“So tell me about yourself,” Torq said as the waitress disappeared, watching me like I was Miss Fascinating herself. I don’t know how he managed to look like he was all ears and total interest. But it was so flattering, a totally hot look on a man.
I felt myself flush. “And blow my cover?” I teased. “Nothing doing. I’d rather hear about you.” I asked him about his CIA experience and his work.
“You want to hear about me?” Man, he looked cute when he played self-deprecating and humble.
“Please. You know I love spy stuff.”
He shrugged. We locked gazes and he started talking. I listened with rapt attention to that silky voice of his as he told funny stories of the spook life. Really, I would have listened to him read an assembly manual just to hear him speak. The spy tales were an added bonus. When our drinks arrived, we barely noticed
. We sipped them as we talked as comfortably as old friends, close old friends, with heads bowed intimately toward each other. We were connecting and it was exhilarating. I was heady with the new-crush feeling of wanting to know everything about him. Well, almost everything.
I was still wondering about him and his spy past. Life has taught me that sometimes the best way to find out is simply to ask.
“Staging mock kidnappings must be something of a letdown after being a real spy.” My curiosity was genuine. I really couldn’t understand how someone who was a born thrill-seeker could leave the life voluntarily. Can you imagine Bond retiring? No one can. That’s why they keep recasting him when the Bond actor of the moment gets too old. “Why did you leave the CIA?”
Torq set his drink down and studied me. He’d just opened his mouth to answer when Emma, with her total sense of bad timing, bounced up to the table. “Come with me to the ladies', Dom.”
As Fry slid into the booth, Torq nodded for me to go.
Reluctantly, I downed the rest of my Dirty Martini, grabbed my purse and got up to follow her. I needed to call Logan anyway and here was my opportunity. Still. Just when I was on the cusp of discovery. As we walked away, I threw Torq a smile over my shoulder.
Emma took me by the arm. “You’ve been talking a long time. What have you learned?” she asked as we muscled our way through the crowd.
I fought hard to keep my irritation with the interruption from showing. “Rockford’s the only one who knows the plan. The other instructors aren’t told anything—not the victim, not the plan—until right before the kidnapping.”
“Excellent. You’re good!” Emma exclaimed.
“You?” I asked her.
“Fry’s a fantastic dancer. And his body is as hard as it looks.” She gave a happy sigh.
“Great. You’re some help.”
“Give me time,” she said.
We swung through the door into the ladies’ room and joined the line. The ladies’ room was long and narrow, with sinks and mirrors on either side, followed by a row of stalls against each wall. Fortunately, there were only a few women in front of us. A stall opened up and Emma took it.
Spy Candy Page 9
