My Spy

by Christina Skye

  For long moments he didn't speak. His eyes shifted, focused over her shoulder. “I believe that's the assumption.”

  “You're not going to tell me any more than that?”

  “I can't. You need to trust me on this, Annie.”

  “I can't walk around in the dark, Sam, and I'm no help to you if I don't know what to watch for.”

  After a long time he nodded. “Security's involved, Annie. I've got to restore those missing days, and the clock is ticking.”

  “You can't make yourself remember,” she said sharply.

  “Tell that to the doctors. They say I might be fighting something.”

  “Then you need to relax. How about a nice massage in front of the fire?”

  Sam's eyes narrowed. “I can think of something that would relax me more.”

  “That could be arranged, too,” Annie murmured. She turned as the big white dog bounded up the hill, tail swinging. “Who's your gorgeous friend?”

  “His name's Donegal. Be careful, he's a real charmer.”

  The dog sniffed Annie's legs, then sat alertly at Sam's feet.

  “Is he waiting for something?”

  “For me to tell him if you're friend or foe.” Sam looked down into the dark, intelligent eyes and smiled. “It's okay, Donegal. She's a friend.”

  In a shot, the dog was at Annie's side, pressing against her hand and barking excitedly. “He's lovely, Sam. What breed is he?”

  “Irish wolfhound. But Donegal's more than another pretty face, trust me. I trained him myself.”

  Annie's brow rose. “You mean he's a show dog?”

  Sam laughed dryly. “Not that kind of training, honey.” He whistled once, and Donegal trotted to his side. “Down,” he said firmly.

  Instantly the dog went flat against the ground, head down, all motion ceased.

  “Scout,” Sam ordered.

  Keeping his body low, the wolfhound moved off through the grass, ears pricked forward and body tense.

  Annie stared. “You mean he's some kind of guard dog?”

  “Way beyond a guard dog. Donegal's saved my hide three times now. His nose is a hundred times better than any man's, he can guard a perimeter like Rambo, and he doesn't need C-rations.”

  “So you actually take him on missions?”

  “When conditions are right.” A muscle moved at his jaw. “Donegal, heel.”

  In a blur of pale fur, the dog shot over the grass and stopped smoothly at Sam's side, his eyes watchful.

  Sam scratched the dog's neck. “Good boy. You've charmed her already.”

  “You're worried, aren't you? Things have gotten worse.”

  Sam surveyed the hillside behind her. “I remembered something important yesterday, at least part of it. Because of what I remembered, we're looking for someone, and things could get nasty until we find him. I want you close where Izzy and I can protect you. That's all I can say for now.”

  Annie sensed he was revealing more to her than most civilians would have been told, though it made little sense. She tilted her head, resting her palm against his chest. “Izzy said a lot of rules were bent for me to come here. Is that true?”

  “Izzy talks too damned much.”

  “Funny, I think he's just about perfect.” Her lips pursed. “Except for a friend of his. The man's totally arrogant, of course. Stubborn and irritating—”

  Sam lifted her palm and laced his fingers through hers. “I just hope you can't live without him.”

  “Well, I like his dog. I'll tell you the rest in a few hours.” Annie shivered. “It's freezing out here.”

  “Must be a storm coming.” Sam's voice was low, and Donegal instinctively edged closer, waiting for an order.

  Looking at Sam's eyes, Annie had the feeling he was talking about more than the weather. “Where's lzzy?”

  A bank of clouds was moving in from the west as Sam glanced up the hill. “He'll be around.”

  “I don't see anything.”

  “That's the general idea, honey.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and turned toward the big stone porch. “Let's go inside. I've got a fire going and a bottle of merlot just waiting to pour.” He rubbed Donegal's head, then pointed down to the road. “Scout.”

  The big dog barked twice, then vanished into the trees.

  SAM GAVE ANNIE A TOUR OF THE HOUSE FROM THE HIGH-TECH kitchen to the open living room with its immense granite fireplace. Upstairs the sprawling master bedroom opened onto a balcony overlooking twenty miles of mountains. There was a fully equipped gym on the second floor and an indoor pool in the back, Sam explained.

  “I still can't believe this.” Annie's head was spinning as she ran a hand along a leather couch the size of Fisherman's Wharf. “It seems so strange. I haven't taken a vacation in five years.”

  “We're going to have to do something about that problem of yours.”

  “What problem?”

  “You're a certified workaholic, which means I'll have to find a way to make you relax.”

  Her head tilted. “What did you have in mind, hypnotism or biofeedback?”

  Sam pulled her into his arms. “I was thinking about something more physical. Something with lots of cross training. Maybe we should have a trial run after dinner.” His smile faded. “I wanted to tell you before I left, but I had my orders. We couldn't take any chance on a leak.”

  “I guessed it was something like that.” She closed her eyes as Sam kissed her slowly. “Is this part of your relaxation program?”

  “Just setting the mood. The good stuff takes place upstairs. There's a whirlpool big enough for ten, and I have definite plans on how to use it. I'm praying there's some red lace in those bags you brought.”

  “Taylor left a whole collection yesterday after an emergency run to Carmel. Izzy packed all the bags without telling me.” Annie bit gently at his lower lip. “We could forget about dinner and take a look.”

  Sam looked sorely tempted. “Most of it's red?”

  Annie smiled.

  “You are a very dangerous woman.” He brushed her mouth lightly, but somewhere in the middle her fingers ended up in his hair and his hands found their way under her sweater. By then they were both horizontal on the couch, and she felt so good beneath him that it took Sam a minute to realize he'd pushed up her skirt and eased his leg between hers.

  He bit back a curse. “Since I'm planning to have you in my bed for hours, you'd better call Taylor right now. I take it you're speaking to each other again.”

  “More or less.” Annie looked a little giddy. She was so dazed that something squeezed hard inside Sam's chest, and it took all his control not to forget about everything else and kiss her into oblivion again.

  Instead he took a breath and stood up. “The phone's right there. I'll go check on dinner while you make your call to Taylor.”

  “You can cook?”

  Sam had to laugh at the shock in her voice. “I know my way around a kitchen. It isn't the Four Seasons, but I think you'll like what I've got planned.”

  “Don't tell me.” Her brow rose. “Steak rare. Steak on the side. And steak, very rare, for dessert.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.” Sam crossed his arms. “Endive and walnut salad. Three-alarm Cajun chicken with pan-fried potatoes. Chocolate macadamia cheesecake for dessert.”

  “No steak?”

  “Very cheeky.” He handed Annie the phone. “Make your call before I scrap the idea of dinner entirely so we can check out that red lace.”

  Chapter Forty

  TAYLOR GRABBED THE PHONE THE SECOND IT RANG. “SUMMER-wind,” she said breathlessly.

  “Taylor, it's me.”

  “Thank God. Where are you?”

  “Can't go into details. Besides, I don't have long to talk. Give me the bad news first. How many have we lost?”

  Taylor looked out at the empty parking lot, trying to be diplomatic. “A few. The Olympic fencer left a few hours ago, but old Mr. Harkowitz is holding firm. He gave the TV people a nice thrill a
few minutes ago, jogging past in his flesh-colored swimsuit.”

  “Nice to know some things haven't changed.” Annie's voice tightened. “Now give me the truth, Taylor. How many guests are left?”

  “Three.” Taylor didn't add that another guest was leaving in ten minutes. “Forget about Summerwind for once, Annie. How are you doing?”

  “Fine. But no details, okay?”

  Taylor looked up as the door opened and Buzz walked in. “Hold on a minute.” She covered the phone. “Another problem, Buzz?”

  The sheriff pointed up the hill. “Something's wrong with that new whirlpool on the terrace.”

  “You're kidding. The whirlpool's overflowing again,” Taylor told Annie. “I'll call the company—”

  “No, try this number. His name is Dooley and he handles pool maintenance.” Annie read out a number. “He swore he'd come out anytime I had a problem.”

  “Will do.”

  “Is Buzz still there?”

  Taylor smiled at the sheriff, who was looking more tired than usual. “Sure is.”

  Annie hesitated. “No details, okay?”

  “Got it. Have fun. Remember, I'll want an extensive report later. I owe you for causing this mess,” she said softly.

  “I didn't mean what I said, Taylor.”

  “You should have. I'm to blame, however you look at it. Now, stop apologizing and go enjoy your vacation.” Taylor hung up and propped her chin on one hand. “Annie finally took a vacation, and as of today I'm in charge.” She looked at the number on her notepad. “I'd better call about that whirlpool right away.”

  As she was dialing the door opened. A man walked in, shaking rain off his jacket. His gray uniform said Sunset Pools, and he was smiling, a big aluminum toolbox balanced on one hip. “Saw the storm. Figured I'd make a final check before I headed north.”

  Taylor glanced at the notepad. “Are you Dooley?”

  “Dooley's the name, water's my game.”

  “You really must be good. My sister said to call you if there were any problems, and now we've got one.”

  “Overflow again?”

  “Bingo. The new whirlpool.”

  “I'll get right to it.” The repairman fingered his toolbox, glancing at the sky. “Not much time, judging by those clouds. I'd better go.”

  After he left, Taylor offered Buzz a cup of coffee and straightened a pile of phone messages. “I can do this,” she said. “Annie does it, and so can I. All it takes is a little focus and organization.” Taylor frowned. That sounded defensive, even to her.

  “No one said you couldn't do it,” Buzz said calmly.

  “But you were thinking it. Everybody here is thinking it. I'm the screwup O'Toole, remember?”

  “You're imagining things, Taylor.”

  “That's what I do for a living.” She closed her eyes and drew a raw breath. “I can't do this. I hate doing this. I hate being cheerful, calm, and conciliating to strangers and I abhor people in expensive exercise clothes.”

  Buzz was fighting a smile. “If you need to murder anyone, give me a call and I'll mediate. Beyond that, you're on your own. I'm sure you'll handle things perfectly.”

  “Says you. All you have to do is issue APBs and catch escaped convicts,” Taylor said grumpily. “But thanks for extending moral support.”

  “No problem.” Buzz turned his coffee cup slowly. “So Annie's gone on a vacation. Any idea where?”

  “She didn't give me the details. Spur-of-the-moment thing, I guess.”

  Buzz looked thoughtful. “Not like her to take off without careful planning.” He glanced at the remaining news vans parked up the road. “Probably this business with Tucker Marsh did her in.” He stood up and straightened his belt. “Be sure to let me know if you have any more problems, Taylor. And next time you're in town, the coffee's on me.”

  THE GROUNDS OF SUMMERWIND WERE DESERTED BECAUSE OF THE storm.

  It took only a few minutes for him to lay out his tools and filter hose beside the broken whirlpool.

  The rest of the time he spent setting up his equipment so no one could see the highly sensitive microphone leveled on the house at the far end of the gardens.

  He swept the slope three times just to be sure.

  Not a sound. Not a hiccup or a breath.

  They'd gone, all three of them.

  After sabotaging the new whirlpool and the smoke alarms, he had easy access to the grounds to set up his surveillance. Being so close was a risk, of course, but an acceptable one. He was just another anonymous worker here.

  He'd been all set to make his move when he was interrupted by that damned lawyer getting arrested. After that, the resort had been crawling with police.

  Now his target was gone.

  He packed up his microphone, slipped it beneath some PVC tubing, and rearranged the toolbox so a layer of drill bits hid his custom-made German sniper rifle with night scope.

  “All done?”

  He looked up and saw the big, red-faced sheriff ambling toward him. Had he seen the rifle?

  No, the eyes were too placid.

  Probably the man hadn't seen a real criminal in years.

  He closed the lid of his toolbox and flipped the catches until they locked. “Just about. The filter was jammed again. Lots of leaves and vegetation up here.” He stood up, dusting off his jacket. “They'll have to be more careful with their maintenance schedule or next time this pump will have to be replaced, and that's gonna cost a few g's.”

  The big sheriff looked down, studying the pile of wet debris on the grass.

  Good thing he'd thought to dump some wet leaves there, just in case. But of course he never left anything to chance.

  Except once down in Mexico, he reminded himself grimly. Thanks to that slipup, Sam McKade had ghosted past all of them.

  Which was why he was here now, tying up loose ends.

  “Glad to see it's fixed,” the sheriff said amiably. “They've had enough trouble up here.”

  “You mean that stuff with the lawyer?”

  The police officer nodded.

  “Tough break. I saw it on the news. Well, your people caught him, that's what counts.” The man called Dooley stood up and gave a pleasant smile. “This baby's fixed. No more problems, I guarantee it. But they gotta keep those filters clean.”

  “Annie will be glad to hear that,” the officer said, almost to himself.

  “Sure.” The repairman checked his watch and made a conscientious frown. “Man, I'm late. Gotta run.”

  He gave a little wave, hefted the toolbox, and ambled over Summerwind's perfectly manicured grass toward his van, stolen from a schoolyard in Nevada three days before. There was no anxiety, no urgency about him.

  This time there weren't going to be any more mistakes.

  Chapter Forty-one

  THE DOG WAS JUMPY.

  So was Sam.

  He stood on the big stone porch, trying to remember, trying to twist the mental threads until they made some kind of sense. But this time it wasn't working.

  Annie touched his arm lightly. “Your Cajun chicken is ready, and the salad is served.”

  “They are?” Sam rubbed his neck, frowning. “I was going to finish doing that.”

  “In that case, we would have eaten around midnight, ace.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Sam nodded, trying not to be distracted. “I'll be right there. Just one more call to make.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?”

  Something was worrying him now. Why couldn't he put his finger on it?

  He stared up at the tree-covered ridge where clouds swirled like smoke. Was it the storm that had him spooked? With a bad rain, the whole hillside could disappear in a wall of mud.

  Not the storm.

  Something else. Something he knew—but had forgotten.

  “Sam?”

  Hell, he'd forgotten about Annie, too busy worrying about shadows. “Sorry.” He frowned as the lights flickered briefly. “I'll be right
in. This time I promise.”

  “Take your time.” There was tension her eyes, but she hid it well. “Tell lzzy I said hi.”

  IZZY ANSWERED IMMEDIATELY. “JOE'S PIZZA. ”

  “Very funny.” Sam watched lightning claw at the tree line. “What do you have for me?”

  “Nothing but rain and wind, with more to come. Could be some major gusting up here.” Izzy sounded focused but not unduly worried.

  “That's what I figured. I'll check the backup generator.” Sam squinted as the rain resolved into solid sheets. “Anything else I need to know?”

  “A man died in jail today,” Izzy said tersely. “The same man who broke into your apartment in Virginia. The admiral thought you should know.”

  Sam stared into the darkness, considering the news. “How's your team?”

  “Dug in like Georgia ticks. All major vantage points covered while we ride out this storm. And your dog just trotted up.”

  “Give him a rub behind the ears, then send him out. Donegal can handle point better than any of us.” As he spoke, Sam continued to survey the dark slope behind the house through his night-vision goggles, though the lightning wasn't making the process an easy one. Satisfied, he pocketed the goggles and glanced at his watch. “All quiet up here. I'll check in at nineteen-hundred hours.”

  “Roger.”

  Sam pocketed his phone. But the pricking was still there, halfway between his shoulders, when he turned away from the darkness in search of Annie.

  AFTER A RESTLESS MEAL, SAM PROWLED THE HOUSE AGAIN. THE storm growled and rain made a solid drumming on the roof, punctuated by flares of angry lightning.

  He returned to find Annie sitting by the fire, wearing a red silk dress, a cup of tea beside her. Firelight touched her face as she slid in a bookmark, closed her book carefully, and made room for him on the big leather couch.

  Sam stopped in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her.

  Feeling that same amazing kick in his chest.

  “Reading something good?”

  “Taylor's latest mystery. She's been nagging me for weeks and now I've got the time. It's very good.” She gripped the book, studying his face. “Something's wrong, isn't it?”