Spy Candy

by Gina Robinson

  “It’s always easier to Monday-morning quarterback.” I tried to sound consoling. He’d been playing head games with me? Had he? The doubt, and the fear he had been, was enough to make me mental.

  I left the CIA to be myself.

  Sure thing!

  And here I’d been willing to go all the way to “Oh, James” with him. Guess I should’ve been glad he’d called the game off when he did. Unfortunately, that little bit of data corroborated Emma’s story. My head pounded, but not from the hangover.

  “How do you feel about Fry?” I asked, using a fair amount of caution.

  Emma squared her shoulders. “I wasn’t looking for a lifetime commitment. One night of flirting and fun is as good as another.”

  She tried to cover it, but she still sounded stung to me. We had our pride. I dropped the Fry line of questioning.

  I rubbed my forehead, wishing I could rub away last night.

  Emma glanced at her watch.

  “Go on ahead,” I said. “I’ll meet you at the dojo.”

  I wanted a few minutes by myself to get my emotions under control before facing the others. “Trust no one. Believe nothing,” I muttered to myself, thinking it was, indeed, a sad way to live.

  As she turned to leave, I reached out and gave Emma’s arm a squeeze. “Thanks for telling me. Really.”

  I managed to get dressed and make my way to the dojo for our morning class in unarmed self-defense, arriving just before class began. Anger had begun to replace my humiliation. Ready to take on all comers and beat some serious crap out of bad guys, or anyone dumb enough to cross me, I wore an azure-blue tank top, black Lycra exercise capris, and tennis shoes. For good measure, I also wore my white-framed sunglasses. I wasn’t real trusting of light just yet and I had a bit of a puffy eye thing going on.

  I wasn’t the only one feeling the aftereffects of the night before. Ethan wore his sunglasses, too. And Pussy was conspicuously absent. Too much fun last night with Q? Not a situation I cared to dwell on.

  Outside, the thermometer in the breezeway indicated the temperature had already climbed to a brutal 92 degrees, but the dojo was air-conditioned and cool. Of course, we’d already worked up a sweat just walking to class. “Natural architecture” was a fancy way of saying you had to go outside to get from class to class.

  I leaned cross-armed against the wall next to Emma, feeling grumpy and upset enough to crave solitude. I looked around for Torq, feeling an unsettling mixture of relief and letdown that he was evidently in full spook mode, as Emma called it—i.e., nowhere to be seen.

  “Hey, Domino.” Ethan inched his way next to me. “Why don’t you let me buy you a Flirtini tonight, eh?” He did a grab-ass motion in the air with his hands. From off to my far left, I heard Bishop snicker.

  Using one finger, I lowered my sunglasses on my nose just enough to give him a view of my eyes and my freeze-his-cajones-off stare, the one I used at the bank to get my “loan denied” message across.

  True-blue Emma stepped between us, ready to defend me. “Leave her alone before I have to give you an Aussie lesson in manners.”

  Before anyone had a chance to say more, Agent Rockford strode to the front of the class.

  “Morning, gang. Domino, Ethan, no sunglasses in the dojo during my class. Remove them. Now.” He paused, watching us as I pushed my glasses up on my head and Ethan tucked his into a pocket.

  “Domino, I believe this is yours.” Rockford held my BlackBerry out to me.

  I gasped. So that’s where it had gone! No wonder I couldn’t find it in my purse. I’d lost my beloved BlackBerry and not even realized it! I stepped forward to take it. “How …”

  “One of Hal’s staff found it in the parking lot near the bus.” Rockford got right back to business. “I understand some of you had too much to drink last night at Hal’s.” Rockford used a disciplinary voice and looked directly at me. “Exercise cures a hangover. Anyone who slacks will give me ten push-ups.”

  “That’s the problem with spy school,” I muttered to Emma as I gently cradled my phone. “Everyone knows what you’ve been up to.”

  “Fry and Torq also reported back that many of you CTs ran off at the mouth last night, revealing secrets about your real identities. Yes,” he nodded, “the bar trip was a camp test. You’ve all heard the saying ‘loose lips sink ships.’ Last night some of you sank a fleet.”

  I stiffened. I hadn’t blabbed a thing. Not while I’d been sober, anyway. Hadn’t I made a point of staying closed-lipped? If Torq claimed I’d bantered secrets about, he was lying. He was lying to cover the fact he’d been hitting on me and not doing his duty. That’s what the hope-springs-eternal half of me wanted to believe, anyway.

  But my logical side was screaming that Rockford had pretty much just verified that Emma hadn’t misheard. The flirting was nothing more than a camp exercise. Either way, I felt about as happy and buoyant as dirt.

  “Lesson learned. A spy is always on guard.” Rockford launched into his pre-workout lecture, pacing back and forth in front of us as he spoke. “Welcome to Unarmed Self-defense 101. Because we only have three days to toughen you up and teach you the basics, this will be a compressed course tightly focused on the essentials—sharpening your combat mindset. That attacker means to hurt, maim, or kill you. Show him no mercy …”

  As he used a rubber knife to demonstrate how to disarm an attacker and slit his throat, I waged war with myself, arguing both sides of the “he faked the flirt, he faked it not” thing. By the time the Chief demonstrated how to snap a pistol out of a bad guy’s hand I’d come to no firm conclusion and was ready to shoot myself.

  “What if you manage to disarm the enemy but then have to engage in hand-to-hand combat?” Rockford said, and my ears perked up. Right now a little get-even foot-to-groin sounded pretty good. “Listen closely, ladies. I’m going to give you some special tips.” He looked at Emma and me.

  “Use your natural body weapons—heels, elbows, fists, knees.” He pointed to each as he spoke, giving a mini demonstration on their use. “Learn proper striking positions and vital-target selection—eyes, groin, top of the foot, pinkies, and thumbs. Learn how to take a punch or kick and defend and escape from holds, grabs, arm bars, and bear hugs.”

  He stopped pacing dead center in front of us. “First—how to take a punch or kick to the body. Tighten your stomach.” He lifted his shirt to demonstrate, showing us a firm, fit set of abs in full flex. “Turn slightly to the side, trying to absorb the impact with your obliques.” He demonstrated. “A blow to this area may crack a rib but likely won’t damage internal organs. Everyone line up and spread out and let’s give it a try together.” He paused while we obeyed orders. “Good.” He nodded. “When I throw a punch, you all tighten, flex, and turn. Here we go.”

  He threw a helluva punch into the air, but so did I. Funny what energy being scorned generates.

  A few more practices and Rockford gave us a lecture on punches to the head and how to defend against them—straight punch, roundhouse, uppercut. Then Rockford was off on how to escape if an attacker grabbed you from either the front or behind.

  “You can go for the groin.” He demonstrated a quick knee thrust. “But most attackers know the drill. They’re going to be expecting you to go for the jewels and will protect them. If you don’t disable him and get him to let go, you’re going to make him mad as hell. I’m going to show you some more effective strikes.”

  By the time we’d gone through how to use our heels to stomp an attacker’s foot, breaking at least some of the twenty-six tiny bones there, how to stick our fingers up an attacker’s nostrils and draw blood, how to bend back and break his pinky or thumb, and how to gouge his eyes out, I was not only tired, but pretty darn grossed-out, too, and ready for a break.

  “Okay, gang,” Rockford said. “I can see you’re tiring. Take five.”

  I slumped in relief, dreaming of a nice, big glass of ice water. “Thank good—”

  Before I could finish my sentence, a
fully padded, masked attacker emerged from the entrance of the dojo. I caught the barest glimpse of him from the corner of my eye in the instant before he rushed me.

  Chapter Ten

  The attacker grabbed me from behind and locked me against him, my back to his chest, wrenching my breath loose with his vicelike grip just below my ribs. I gasped for air, flailing wildly, tugging at his arms as I fought for freedom.

  “Rule number one—never let your guard down,” Rockford said as calmly as if he were discussing the latest gun show.

  I caught a flash of Rockford’s amused grin as Attack Man restrained me with as little apparent effort as it took to hold down a cashed check. I felt my anger rise. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out I was being manhandled by either Torq or Fry. And both of them deserved a swift kick between the legs.

  Emma must’ve been thinking the same thing. She lunged forward to help me, bloodlust in her eyes.

  Rockford caught her arm and held her back. “Stand back, CTs. This is self-defense class. Let’s see what CT Domino is made of.”

  Attack Man spun around with me in a freaky sort of dance until I was dizzy and disoriented and ruing never mastering that “spot, snap, spin, and don’t get dizzy” move in ballet class as a kid. My ponytail tumbled over my face and I had to keep spitting it out of my mouth as I struggled.

  Obediently staying out of the action, Emma jumped up and down on the sideline, shouting instructions. “Go for his pinkies. Bend the suckers back.” In her excitement, her voice had skipped several octaves higher into shrill territory.

  Heart stampeding out of control and pulse roaring toward dangerous dog-thinking mode again, I grabbed at his gloved, padded, interlocked fingers, trying to pry loose his pinkie without success. “They’re locked down tight. What do I do now?” I shot Rockford a look begging for help.

  He tapped his head. “Use your best asset.”

  Did he mean the one that was dizzy and disoriented?

  “Oh, come on,” Emma screamed and jumped some more. “Don’t be a wimp! Grab ‘em. Bend ‘em. Break ‘em!” She may as well have added, “Go, fight, win!” and waved some pom-poms.

  I pulled and tugged. No dice.

  “Eyes! Go for his eyes now! Gouge ‘em out!” Emma jumped and bounced some more, adding in a little one-two punching motion.

  “From behind?” I screamed back, trying to crane around. “You’re crazy. He’s masked.” I struggled, breathing hard, and addressed my attacker. “Yo, Padded Guy, don’t get cocky. Take that mask off and face me like a man. I’d like to give your nose a taste of these.” I waved my acrylic nails at him menacingly.

  Just to show me who was boss, he twirled me around again. I screamed. So maybe antagonizing my attacker wasn’t the smartest move.

  Ethan was giving his own words of encouragement … to my attacker. “Yeah, get her! Manhandle her. Play rough! Take her down!”

  “You!” I was breathless and barely able to speak, but I managed to point at Ethan. “Shut up!”

  “You’re wasting energy, CT Domino,” Agent Rockford warned and glanced at his watch. “In a real attack, he’d have you in the bushes and had his way with you by now.”

  “Hear that, Padded One,” I said, hoping he’d give himself away. “You and I could be having a little fun in the bushes. But you’d have to lose the suit.” I struggled, trying to channel my anger into wiggling, prying, or scratching my way free.

  “Stop antagonizing him,” Rockford shouted.

  “I’m just trying to level the playing field,” I yelled back. “Do you see me wearing a padded suit?”

  Rockford ignored my snide remark. “You’re fighting like a girl, CT.” He sounded stern. “Use your natural weapons.”

  “I am a girl!”

  I managed to get in a brutal backward kick to Attack Man’s shin. He dropped me.

  “Hah!” I said as my feet touched the ground and I lurched forward to run.

  Attack Man grabbed me by my hair and dragged me back against him. I let out a screech.

  “Not cool, caveman. This is no way to get cooperation in the bushes.” I struggled, but it only hurt more. “Let go! Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

  “Ponytails are a built-in handle, ladies,” Rockford drawled calmly.

  “Thanks for the tip,” I shouted as Attack Man released my hair and pinned my arms to my side.

  “Stomp his foot!” Emma made her own stomping motion. “Flex your ankle. Raise your knee. Like this.” She demonstrated.

  Before I could make a move, Attack Man lifted me off the ground, leaving my feet flailing wildly into open air.

  “Thanks for warning him!” I said.

  “Sorry. Just trying to help.” Emma shrugged.

  Rockford looked at his watch again. “If he’d gone for your neck with his bare hands, you’d be strangled by now. Get yourself loose, CT.”

  I flailed my feet. I wiggled. I screamed, hoping to break his eardrums. My attacker didn’t let out even a grunt.

  Emma yelled something from the sidelines. I could hear her screaming, but I’d stopped paying attention to her words. Padded Guy paused. Seizing my opportunity, I threw my head back into his jaw.

  “Ouch! Damn it!” he muttered, loosening his grip enough that my feet touched the floor and I got a toehold.

  Torq! I’d hurt Torq. Right now I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

  I pushed backward, catching him off balance. We toppled to the floor. He landed on his back with me on top of him. As I slid off, I managed a wicked groin shot with my elbow. He let out an “oomph,” followed by a groan, followed by a scary bellow. He pulled me back against him, grabbed me, and in a reversal of fortune, rolled over, pinning me beneath him, face to the floor, with his full weight. There’s a name for asphyxiation by body weight. I’d seen it on a TV crime-scene show. I just couldn’t remember it right now with my life passing before my eyes.

  Ethan’s lewd suggestions from the sideline grew faint and distant as I struggled for breath beneath all that man and padding and fought the narrowing of my vision that meant I was on the verge of passing out.

  “Uncle,” I managed to wheeze out. “Uncle.”

  Rockford strolled over. “Game over, CT. You lose. He could’ve killed you half a dozen times by now.” Rockford glanced at that damned watch of his a third time, probably so he could see if enough time had passed for Torq to have buried me alive in a shallow grave.

  “Class dismissed. See you at the firing range in fifteen.” Rockford strode off.

  “I said ‘uncle.’ You can get off me now, Torq,” I whispered.

  “Yeah,” he said and gingerly rolled off me.

  I took a deep breath and sat up.

  He rolled to a sit and peeled his mask and head covering off. His hair was plastered against his head, sweat dripped down his forehead, and blood trickled down his newly fatted lip. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and winced.

  My anger evaporated. “Ohmygosh! I’m so sorry.”

  I kneeled beside him and leaned over to inspect his lip. “So, so sorry!” I couldn’t stop myself from apologizing in rapid-fire repeat mode. I felt like a major heel for hurting him. “You need ice.” I stood and extended my hand. “Here. Let me help you up—”

  He shook his head no. “I’d rather sit. You got me in the lower stomach, too.” His voice came out sounding like Mickey Mouse on helium.

  Lower stomach must’ve been guy-speak for groin. I winced and blushed as he clutched his abdomen and took a deep breath.

  Several members of the class had crowded around us, dead silent, gazes bouncing between Torq and me. Ignoring them, I bent to kneel beside Torq again. “I’m sorry! I thought that suit was supposed to protect you. Otherwise, I never would have—”

  Ethan caught my elbow and pulled me away. “Jeez! Leave the guy alone, would you? Didn’t you hear him? You got him in the lower stomach!”

  We spent the following hour at the firing range. Wearing those big plastic earmuff
s that block out sound and the world gave me way too much access to my own tortured thoughts. From the heights of flirtatious joy to the sandpits of despair and self-recrimination and doubt.

  Just what was I thinking, elbowing Torq in “the lower stomach"? Even if he had fake-flirted with me, he didn’t deserve that. And if he hadn’t … probably I’d just doomed any hope for a second date, let alone a relationship. Maybe he was the kind of guy who could see straight through to my inner beauty, but could he see past me nearly making a eunuch out of him?

  At lunch, Max looked bruised and scraped but otherwise perfectly fine, more like he’d taken a spill off a bicycle than had a run-in with a motor vehicle traveling at high speed. He didn’t want to talk about the incident, except to say he hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver. He believed the driver had been a man but beyond that couldn’t describe him. The police had no suspect. With no license or description, they weren’t likely to ever have one, either. Unable to pry more out of Max, we turned to other topics.

  Speculation ran high among my group—John, Max, Emma, and me—about where Pussy had disappeared to.

  “I heard she went to town,” Emma said.

  None of us could fathom why.

  “With any luck, she won’t be back,” Emma added before changing the course of the conversation. “What did you think of our girl in self-defense class today? Wasn’t she brilliant?” She turned to me. “I guess you showed Torq! Got him where it counted.” Emma held up her hand, ready for a high five.

  I couldn’t make myself return it. Bloodying Torq’s lip and giving him a Mickey Mouse voice wasn’t nice and I wasn’t proud of it.

  Seemingly unembarrassed by my refusal to celebrate my “victory,” she used her raised hand to give me a squeeze on the shoulder.

  Max and John looked uncomfortable.

  “I wouldn’t call what I did brilliant,” I said to Emma.

  “Why not?” Emma said, sounding genuinely perplexed. “He was attacking you. You were fighting for your life. Use any means possible to down the bad guy. Right, guys?”