My Spy

by Christina Skye

  “This storm could be a big one. The generator's all set, but we might lose power briefly. I put out flashlights in the kitchen, just in case.”

  “You didn't touch your wine at dinner.”

  “Not thirsty,” Sam lied. He wouldn't drink when he felt edgy like this.

  Annie was still studying his face. “You didn't eat much either.”

  Sam shrugged. “Not very hungry.” He stared out the window, watching water race off the broad porch. “We could be in for some mudslides if the storm continues. I'm going for a walk to check on things.”

  “Sam.”

  “Don't worry, I left some candles, too,” he said tightly. “Waterproof matches, if you need them. But it probably won't come to that.”

  “Sam,” she repeated patiently.

  “And if there's any real problem, Donegal will let me know. And Izzy.”

  “Sam.” This time Annie took his hand.

  “Something wrong?”

  “You.”

  “What about me?”

  “You can't stay wired up like this. Even a tough guy like you needs downtime.”

  He sat on the couch, edgy and not quite sure why. Not quite touching her and not sure why.

  He looked into the dancing flames. “Hard to relax with that storm howling over the mountain.”

  “Forget about the storm. Let somebody else worry for a change. Izzy's there, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Think about something else.”

  “Like what?”

  She leaned closer and pushed him slowly back onto the couch. “Like amazing, spontaneous sex.”

  His lips curved slightly. “You couldn't come up with anything better?”

  “How about stupendous, mind-destroying sex?”

  “Got anyone in particular in mind?”

  “Unfortunately, Sharon Stone was busy.” She moved gracefully, straddling his body. “I said I'd stand in. Although stand probably isn't the operative word for what I had in mind.” Sam looked down and felt his brain circuits scramble when her skirt hiked up and he realized she was naked under that red dress, completely naked.

  She moved to find a better fit. “See? That's better already.”

  He tried to talk and coughed out air. “Not exactly,” he said hoarsely. She was working at his belt, opening his zipper, and Sam felt all the blood in his body race down where her fingers were moving with excruciating care.

  “No?” She gave a dazzling smile. “Maybe this will be better.” She eased down his pants with graceful precision, then ran her hands down his chest, rising in a whisper of red silk. Her slim thighs flexed as she moved above him, taking him slowly inside her while a cloud of lust left him rock hard and brain dead.

  Every time she touched him it got better. This had to be some kind of biological impossibility, he thought dimly.

  Not that he was going to question the miracle.

  Lightning cracked overhead, filling the room with hot, white light and an afterimage that looked almost like smoke.

  Or maybe he only imagined it. Maybe it was just the sight of her body above him and the slow, erotic clench of her thighs as she came down to meet him with a sigh, while his brain shattered into a million little pieces.

  “How are we doing?” she asked sweetly.

  “I'm still trying to recover from what you're wearing under that dress.”

  “I guess you mean this.” She gave him an enigmatic smile and opened the top three buttons, revealing skin brushed golden by the firelight.

  He could see the outline of her nipples pressed against the fine silk and it left his throat dry. “If this is a new fashion trend, it gets my vote.”

  “Maybe I'll start one.”

  “Maybe I'll help you.” He opened the last two buttons on her dress so the silk slid over her shoulders and pooled onto the floor. “You are something to look at,” he whispered, forgetting everything but how she felt as he rolled his palms over her beautiful, flushed breasts and how her eyes darkened when he explored the heat at the center of her thighs.

  She smelled like cinnamon and strawberries, and Sam told her how he was going to taste her with his tongue just to be sure where one taste stopped and the other tastes started.

  She looked a little unfocused at that, which made Sam smile. She looked even more unfocused when he moved his hand lower, tracing circles that grew smaller and smaller until she shuddered and pushed against him, her whole body taut and quivering.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he whispered, making the circles even tighter, finding the small knot of nerves that made her shudder and close her eyes, made her pant his name and dig her nails into his chest and rock against his body, making her come and come and loving every incredible second of it.

  After a few centuries passed, she took a long breath. “My body feels like cotton candy.”

  “I bet you'll taste like cotton candy, too. Why don't I find out?”

  “When did you take control of this fantasy, McKade?”

  “I believe in a full participatory democracy. Since you mentioned fantasies,” he said, lifting her hips with his hands, “I think it's time for another one.”

  “Will I like it?” she asked huskily.

  Sam smiled, lifting her, then lowering her slowly, drawing out the lush pleasure of belonging to her, in her. “That's up to you,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Let's see how we fit, Annie.”

  She made a restless sound, her body wet and hot and open where they slid together deeply. “Pretty good, I'd say.”

  “Then you'll like this, too.”

  He pushed deeper, let her slide back, pushed deeper still, every stroke driving him closer toward some edge he couldn't see.

  “Do it more so I can be sure,” she said raggedly.

  Her hands tightened, braced on his chest, and he couldn't stop looking at her as he drove up, filling her openness completely, her body slick against his. Her eyes got that dark, unfocused look again and she said his name, rising up and gripping him tightly inside her.

  How did she do that? Sam wondered dimly, but his mind didn't answer because he was harder than he'd ever been, his vision a hot red haze as he looked at Annie, strong and wise and sexy and beautiful above him as she fell into the pleasure of having him completely.

  Sam stiffened with the sudden realization that he wasn't just having good sex or even great sex. No, this was stupendous, mind-destroying sex, exactly the way she'd promised, and he wanted it with her every day of his life.

  He also wanted her wearing that red lace and the silk dress. He wanted her wearing nothing but a flush and a smile. “God,” he whispered, lost at the thought, and she might have said his name as she clutched at his neck and rocked against him harder, her body tight and beautifully wet around him.

  Then the heat was there, clawing away all sanity while he pushed to be closer, deeper, buried completely inside her as she moaned out his name in a climax that tore through both of them like the lightning that ripped through the heavy, rainswollen darkness.

  This is real, he thought dimly, riding the edge of oblivion down into her shuddering body.

  This is amazing.

  This is mine.

  “SO, DID YOU MANAGE TO FORGET THE STORM?”

  Thunder grumbled as Sam traced the curve of her shoulder. “The storm, my name, and what we had for dinner.”

  “Me, too.” She took a slow breath. “Must be something about the color red.”

  Sam shook his head. “Must be something about the way we fit together.”

  “Maybe.” Annie's voice was husky and warm and a little tired. “I like how your mind works, McKade.”

  He pulled her slick, sated body down against his chest and smiled. “Ditto, Doc.”

  “Thank God for participatory democracy,” she murmured sleepily.

  Chapter Forty-two

  “WHY ARE YOU DRESSED?”

  Annie blinked as she sat up on the couch.

  “I'
m going out for a few minutes.” Sam pulled a blanket over her, his fingers lingering at her face. “Donegal's here, right by the window.”

  “Still raining?” she asked sleepily.

  “Afraid so. Go back to sleep.”

  “I'll wait up,” she insisted. Her eyes drifted closed. “Just hurry.” She curled into the pillows on the couch, slipping back to sleep.

  “Donegal, stay.” Sam turned, forcing his thoughts to the darkness outside and the small, stabbing awareness that wouldn't leave him.

  HE WAS LOOKING AT HIS MAP, CURSING LOUDLY, WHEN HE SAW the flashing red light. He shoved his Browning out of sight beneath the seat and slowed, then pulled to the side of the road.

  Had he been speeding?

  Impossible. He couldn't have been that careless.

  The cruiser sat for a long time. Probably checking the DMV computer, scanning for a possible theft. They wouldn't find any, since this particular van had never been reported lost. No, he was an exemplary employee of Sunset Pools. All his customers were happy with his work.

  Particularly Ms. O'Toole.

  His eyes narrowed as a big man stepped out of the cruiser. He recognized that chapped face and the stocky body.

  “Evening.” The sheriff bent down to the window. “May I see your driver's license?”

  “Sure, officer.” The man who called himself Dooley handed over the fake, secure in the knowledge that it would pass scrutiny. All of his driver's licenses were excellent. “Wasn't speeding, was I?”

  Cool eyes ran over the plastic ID, then checked out the interior of the van.

  “Not speeding.” The burly sheriff handed back his license. “I'm afraid we've got a problem with the road up ahead. You were up at the O'Toole place fixing the whirlpool, weren't you?”

  He nodded. “Problem with the intake filter. Happens a lot.”

  The sheriff leaned closer, pointing to the north. “The bridge is out. You'll need to take another route.”

  “Heck.” He rubbed his neck, glad that irritation would be expected under the circumstances.

  “Where are you headed?”

  It was a friendly question, and he made his lie equally friendly. “Lost Meadow. A warranty customer up there just blew out a master pump. The man swore he'll have my job if I'm not there before dark.”

  The sheriff nodded slowly. “In that case you'll need to head back south and take a left at the first light. That will take you to the freeway.”

  “South. First light, take a left. Got it. Thanks a lot. Better watch out for that storm.” He smiled innocently. “It looks like a killer.”

  “Sure will.” The sheriff stepped away from the car and waved calmly, unaware of how close he had come to dying.

  BUZZ WATCHED THE VAN BACK UP, THEN TURN AROUND. NICE fellow. He seemed to know his job, too.

  Only thing was, he said he was headed south, but the map on the seat beside him was open to the rugged terrain along the national forest, which was nowhere near Lost Meadow.

  Probably just a coincidence.

  He was getting too old for this work, Buzz thought. His knee ached and his back was stiff again. What he needed was a Thermos full of hot coffee and a few egg salad sandwiches.

  He watched the red lights of the van fade down the road into the streaming rain. Maybe he was too old and too paranoid, but the memory of the map was bothering him.

  Frowning, he picked up his radio.

  THE MAN IN THE GRAY UNIFORM WAS SWEATING. HE KEPT HIS eyes on the rearview mirror as he gripped his Browning just out of sight on his lap.

  Always prepared.

  But the sheriff didn't follow, and that was good.

  His breath came easier as he rolled south, obeying all the traffic signs, careful to creep just under the speed limit. With every mile his excitement grew.

  He'd always liked tests, always liked being better and faster and smarter than anyone around him.

  He rubbed his wrist, which was hurting again. Hell of a thing to get lit up by lightning. Years ago, but he remembered the storm like yesterday. Sometimes he thought the lightning had changed him, opening his eyes to how easy it was to get what you wanted if you were willing to hurt a few people. He'd been sick for three months afterward, half of them spent in the hospital. His father hadn't been around, but that was nothing new.

  He frowned, trying to remember how he'd been before the lightning, but all he could think about was getting the job done. As rain sluiced down, he remembered the sharp smell of ozone and the sudden explosive crack that had made his hair stand on end just before he'd been struck to the ground, more dead than alive.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel and sweat trickled under his shirt. No nerves, he thought. Nerves weren't allowed. This was business, old business.

  He'd missed McKade once, down in Mexico. He'd missed him again in D.C. when the SEAL had sprinted out of his crosshairs and jumped on that out-of-control bus. McKade wasn't going to get lucky a third time.

  Not tonight.

  Once McKade was lying in a pool of blood, the program could continue, moving to even bigger targets.

  Meanwhile, he would have a substantial account well hidden under the name of a dummy corporation in the Caymans.

  He was sweating more now. It made him angry so he took out his gun again because it felt solid and cool and calmed him down.

  Up ahead, a black Jeep came into view, idling beneath an oak tree. He cruised to the shoulder and cut off his lights.

  Game over, he thought as thunder growled like an old friend. There in the hammering rain he cradled his gun and waited for the rest of his team.

  Chapter Forty-three

  SAM SCANNED THE DARKNESS TENSELY. EVEN WITH HIS Nightvision goggles he saw nothing on the move.

  Lightning jumped coldly through the sky as he fingered his cell phone. “Izzy, are you there?”

  Static snapped, then Izzy's voice came through. “Some serious gusting up here. The good news is that nothing's moving. The bad news is, I almost got hit by lightning a few minutes ago.”

  “Keep your powder dry and your head down.”

  “I'm trying. Annie okay?”

  “Just fine. Donegal's with her.” Another bolt of lightning hammered the trees at the top of the hill, filling the line with hellish static.

  “Izzy, you there?”

  “—check them first to see—”

  “Izzy, do you read me?”

  “—could be only—”

  More static snarled over the line. “Hello?” When he heard no answer, Sam flipped off the phone in disgust. Light filtered through the windows, casting pale squares of silver over the porch as he scanned the rocky slope beyond the lawn.

  Inch by inch he scanned the slope again. There might have been something out beneath the branches of the third oak tree. Probably it was foliage tossing in the wind.

  Sam fingered his cell phone again. “Izzy, are you there?”

  There was nothing but wild crackling.

  Sam cursed softly. The last thing they needed was to be cut off from each other. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he felt a sharp pricking at his neck.

  A second later lightning hit a tree, snapping a branch not thirty feet from where he stood.

  The pools of silver on the porch blinked, then vanished, and Sam turned to see the house plunged into darkness.

  He forced himself to relax, knowing it would take a few seconds for the backup generator to kick in. Over the howl of the wind he saw a movement through the study windows as Annie emerged from the kitchen, carrying a flashlight.

  Abruptly the power returned, bathing the house in light.

  One problem solved.

  Sam tried to raise Izzy again, but with no success. Irritated, he glanced at the luminous dial of his watch.

  Three minutes. If he hadn't raised Izzy by then, he was going out to find him.

  He was raising his night goggles when he heard a sound behind him.

  ANNIE SAT HUDDLED IN A BLANKET WITH DONEG
AL PERCHED alertly beside her. Firelight warmed the Chinese carpet and fieldstone mantel, but any sense of peace was shattered by the next angry crack of lightning.

  When Sam didn't return, she went upstairs and tugged on jeans and a thick sweater, then returned to pace uneasily before the windows. Donegal prowled right beside her, looking up expectantly, as if waiting for some command.

  As rain battered at the big porch the chill grew, creeping through her heavy clothes. For distraction she went to the kitchen for a strong cup of tea. When she returned, Donegal was standing at the front door, ears pricked, body tense.

  Thunder boomed, rolling heavily over the house. In the flare of a distant bolt of lightning, Annie saw movement down the hillside.

  A tree bent beneath the wind?

  Suddenly Donegal's muzzle rose. Growling softly, he looked up at Annie, then scratched at the door.

  “Out?”

  He barked twice, then resumed his scratching.

  “You want to go out to Sam, don't you? Is that it, Donegal?”

  The big dog raced to her side, caught the bottom of her sweater in his teeth, and tugged her toward the door.

  “Message received.” Annie pushed open the heavy door, squinting into a sheet of rain. “Go on.”

  Donegal shot out onto the porch, and in seconds he was swallowed up by the darkness. As the wind hurled rain at An-nie's face, she tried not to shiver.

  SAM'S WEAPON WAS DRAWN BEFORE HE CROUCHED.

  “Commander, don't shoot. Izzy sent me to find you.”

  Sam straightened slowly, recognizing one of Izzy's handpicked support team. He had studied the pictures of the six men scattered over the mountain, but with communications out, there was no way to tell where they were now.

  “You're Weaver, aren't you?”

  “Yes, sir. lzzy sent me up to check the house. The storm's playing havoc with our communications.”

  “Same up here.”

  “Izzy said—” The big man waited for a roll of thunder to pass before continuing. “Izzy said I should plan to check in with you visually every half hour until the phones are operational.”