It Happens in Threes

by Denise Robbins

  “Alex refused to believe it. After that, things spiraled. Mickey found out that a dinner Katya had planned was a setup. The plan was to take Alex out. Instead, Mickey got there first.”

  She waited for Jake to finish a bite of chili and suck down water. When he didn’t say more, she asked, “What does that mean?”

  “Michael eliminated her.”

  “Oh, I see.” She slumped in the hard chair, the wood biting into her back.

  “Michael has Katya’s Makarov. I think it’s a reminder of what he did and what almost happened to him.” She remembered the Makarov. He refused to tell her anything about it or let her use it when he gave her pistol lessons. Was it a memento or his cross to bear?

  “Go on.” If they were going to survive and she was going to help Michael, she needed to know it all.

  Jake swiped a napkin across his forehead and continued. “When we returned from Eastern Europe, Mickey was rewarded a promotion for saving the mission and for killing the woman who had been about to betray his partner. Alex resented it. He believed Mickey was wrong and that he wrongly benefited from the death of the woman Alex cared for.”

  “Alex wanted revenge,” she said in a frightened whisper. Never having met the man, she pictured him. He would’ve been hard with steely eyes and dark hair, a man who controlled his emotions and what he wanted was more important than anything or anyone.

  A shiver ran up her spine and her shoulders quivered. An image of her ex-fiancé flashed in her mind. Jake must have seen the shudder. He laid a large comforting hand on her arm and she looked up. Concern showed in his green eyes.

  She put her hand to his cheek, offering him reassurance. “Continue.”

  He nodded and moved his hand away. “Before we left for Colombia a couple of months later, we thought Alex was over it. We were wrong.”

  “That’s where Mickey got shot?”

  “That’s where Alex tried to kill Mickey.” At the sharp and painful bluntness of Jake’s statement, her eyes squeezed shut. Ruby wished she had known. She should’ve been there.

  “He shot Mickey in an emerald mine and left him for dead. According to Mickey, his departing words were, ‘You took mine, now I take yours.’”

  She froze, her stomach went cold, and her skin chilled. The words sank in, a shockwave rippling the ocean, her ocean. It wasn’t just revenge, it was personal, a vendetta to take an eye for an eye or a woman for a woman, and she was the woman.

  Being a helpless pawn was an illusion and she refused to be the pawn in this game.

  SIXTEEN

  Two days later, Jake flew her on a chartered jet from Miami to Hawaii. After ten hours and two stops for fuel, they landed at the Honolulu International Airport where Jake deposited her at the Outrigger Waikiki.

  “This is where I take my leave. Stay put. Michael will check in as soon as it’s possible. Do you need anything else?”

  “No. But where are you going? Aren’t you staying?”

  “I’ve got other tasks. Michael will take good care of you.” He smirked. Ruby narrowed her eyes at him, but then she laughed. She couldn’t help it. Jake was a smooth talker, even if it was an innuendo.

  Her room, a king size bedroom suite, contained a kitchenette, sitting area with a sofa, recliner chair and small desk. The room decorated with floral prints in colors of coral, jades, and blues, typical for a tropical hotel.

  In the bedroom area, she stored her laptop and unpacked. When she opened the closet, she found a big red bow and a small card wrapped around a dive bag. The card read ‘I knew you would forget and I thought you would enjoy.’ No signature on the card. There didn’t need to be. It was from Michael.

  Like a kid at Christmas, she ripped the red satin and tore into her gift. She pulled out the shorty wetsuit and tried it on. It fit like a glove. Just what she would’ve chosen.

  Remembering Jake’s words, Ruby waited to hear from Michael. When she hadn’t heard from Mickey two hours later, she decided to go out. She was famished.

  She found a wonderful barbeque restaurant within a short walking distance from the hotel. It was literally a hole in a brick wall with three small tables, and writing all over the tables and chairs. The owner even supplied markers taped to the wall and tables so patrons could leave their own message behind. It had definite atmosphere. While Ruby sat and ate the pulled pork and coleslaw sandwich with her birch beer, it became apparent most people got their food to go as there was a steady stream of customers coming and going.

  After dinner, she was much more energetic. On her walk back to the hotel, she paid attention to her surroundings. She saw a dry cleaner, a shoe repair place, travel agency, breakfast restaurant, and a small market.

  When she returned to her hotel room from the market, she dragged her purchases in with her, letting the door shut behind. Switching on the lights, she turned and jumped, startled to see a man in her sitting area. Her hand clutched to her chest, she struggled to still her pounding heart.

  “Jeezy peters, Michael,” she hissed. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack or what? Why must you do that? How did you get in here?”

  “Where were you?” he asked, not bothering to answer her questions.

  She whirled from him, grabbed her groceries, and started toward the kitchenette. While it spun in her mind he looked even hotter than he did a few days ago, she answered his ridiculous question over her shoulder.

  “Where does it look like I’ve been? I couldn’t wait for you forever, my stomach was rumbling. I got a bite to eat and went shopping. I found a terrific barbeque restaurant. Literally a hole in the wall, but the food is fantastic.”

  “You didn’t take the cell phone with you. I gave it to you for a reason. What if it was important that I needed to get in touch with you?” She wished she had forgotten the annoying little thing. The cellular arrived in the package Michael sent just before she and Jake left Florida. She wanted to leave it there, but thought better of it. He’d ask her about it, she didn’t realize it would be so soon.

  “I did take it. It’s in my bag.” She picked up her purse, pulled out the cellular and looked at it. “Oh,” she mumbled, her hand covering her mouth. “I must have forgotten to turn it on.”

  “Fat lot of good it does if you forget the power. I’m ordering a longer-life battery for you. Leave the thing turned on.”

  She turned to face him. The playful grin she wore made him want to scream and kiss her.

  “Was it important?”

  “No.” He hated to admit it. “That’s not the point. You should have it with you at all times and on. I wanted to check in just as I said I would.”

  Finished putting her things away, she walked up to him, stood right in front of him, hands fisted on hips. He wanted to grab those hips. With a flourish, she spread her arms out wide and did a little twirl.

  “As you can see everything is fine. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. You helped teach me some new tricks to make certain of that, remember?” she queried, running a finger down his chest. She was seriously asking for trouble. Damn! He had to keep his mind on business and her safety. They weren’t here for hanky panky.

  “As for taking the cellular with me, I did, I just forgot to power it up. I’m not used to carrying one, it slipped my mind.” She shrugged. “I won’t forget the next time.”

  She turned to walk away from him then spun back. “Thanks very much for the dive gear. I found it in the closet when I arrived. The wetsuit fit like a glove. I’m looking forward to wearing it.”

  He smiled, her enthusiasm surprised him. “You’re welcome.”

  “Did you locate the other items in the bag I left for you?”

  “I found the rest of the dive gear.” He watched and listened as she recounted with her fingers, listing the items for him. “There were fins, mask, snorkel, wetsuit which I already told you, BC, regulator and gauges, goodie box, weights and weight belt.”

  “There’s more.” He took her counting fingers in his hand and tugged he
r to the closet. Opening it, he hauled the heavy black and fuchsia bag out and placed it on the bed. “Do me a favor and look again, this time more thoroughly like a real agent would.”

  “Excuse me,” she challenged, looking at him in disbelief.

  “Don’t,” he growled. Her mouth clamped shut. With that single word, he halted one of her tirades. Wow, he impressed himself. He placed one hand on her shoulder and stroked down her arm, soothing her. She was soft and hard, female and agent, ying and yang.

  “Listen. I know you can do this. You’re intelligent, confident, and quick-thinking.” Her smile bloomed with his words of encouragement. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he told her this, but he liked the effect.

  Dropping his hand from her arm, he continued. “But…”

  “But? There’s a but in there?”

  “Yes. But, you have no experience.” He watched her mouth the word ‘Oh’ and he took advantage of her recognition. “Exactly. I’m not trying to degrade you. I’m trying to help you. There are things we do that an average person wouldn’t think of. We don’t take anything for granted. We check it for ourselves. Looks can be deceiving. Assumptions can kill. If something new appeared in my room, I’d go over it thoroughly, with a fine-tooth comb if necessary, examining every pocket, hole, nook and cranny.”

  “Okay, so what should I have done?” Her focus and concentration on his words, she stared at the bag when she asked the question. Her intensity, desire to do it right rippled off her in waves, intoxicating.

  “First, I want you to recheck the dive bag and show me what you missed. Then we’ll discuss a few other tips for when you leave and enter a room.”

  Ruby was stunned, not because he hadn’t berated her, but because of his quiet instruction. Oh, Michael had dressed her down, simply and persuasively, pointing out she didn’t have his experience. But he got past that, and taught her something about him, about what he did, and what she should do.

  Intent on her goal, she would learn from him, show him. She was a real agent, and she would be a damn good one.

  Unzipping one section at a time, she pulled out the equipment located in each pocket, examined it with thoroughness, attention to detail and caution. When she reached the regulator and gauges, she flipped the depth gauge over and saw the mini knife tucked in it. She showed it to Mickey.

  “Is this one of the surprises?”

  “What do you think?” She didn’t think so. Her own dive gear had the same thing. She laid it aside and continued the search.

  She found the pistol and a holster inside the dry box. Holding it flat in her palm, she displayed it for his approval. “A Glock, right?”

  “Yes.” His wide grin revealed pride. “To be specific, it’s a Glock 27, sub-compact .40-cal with a nine round magazine. The backup you’ll carry is a fifteen round magazine belonging to a Glock 22.”

  She recalled what he’d told her about the Glocks during her first lesson. He’d instructed her ad nauseam about each of the weapons he introduced her to. She was surprised she could identify each gun by its look. Glocks were made of polymer. They were stronger and more durable than steel, didn’t rust which was ideal for being near salt water, and were lightweight. Perfect for her to carry around and use. She had liked the Colt Commander .45, but he thought it was too much gun for her.

  “Remember what you practiced. Keep your wrists locked so you don’t limp-wrist and the casing will eject.” Mmm, she remembered what they practiced. She could still feel his muscular arms wrapped around her, his gentle but strong hands gripping the top of hers. When he pressed against her back, enveloping her in his circle, there was heat, heat she reveled in, turning her to liquid.

  Fanning herself, she told him, “I remember.”

  How could she forget? His body heat wasn’t the only thing that had gotten to her. She hated it when the darn cartridge casing got stuck, made her feel like a twit. And because of that one little issue, Michael had made her keep shooting until she didn’t limp-wrist at all in five magazines.

  She started to place the Glock back in the dry box. She halted, stiffening at the sound of Michael clearing his throat. “What?” she asked, without making eye contact.

  “That’s your primary weapon, carry it with you at all times. When you go diving you can put it back in the dry box.”

  She looked back at him then. “Do I need it while I’m here with you?” What she saw in his deep blue eyes answered her question. It was unmistakable. Instead of holding his gaze, she got flustered, fumbled the pistol. When she finally got herself and it under control, she holstered it and attached the holster to the back of her shorts. When she dared glance at him again, he was chuckling. The bastard.

  “You haven’t done a complete search yet.” He inclined his head toward the bag. “Keep going.”

  It didn’t take her long. The last piece of equipment to get to was the buoyancy compensator. She held it up in front of her by the shoulders, turning it back and forth. There wasn’t anything visible on the outside. Laying it on the bed, she searched the pockets located in various places on the vest. In the rear weight pocket, she found it. Another gun.

  “It’s a customized two shot derringer .40 Smith & Wesson. It should stand up to the salt water pretty well. It’ll have stopping power compared to that little Walther p22 you liked so much.”

  She had stopped hearing him. She stroked it. It weighed next to nothing in her palm. About four inches in length, made of stainless steel with a cherry wood grip, it was beautiful, if a pistol could be beautiful. Her fingers caressed the wood, smooth and luscious. She felt a bleep in the texture. Looking at the change in the surface, she noticed the engraving. He’d had her initials engraved in the handle.

  Tears of happiness welled in her eyes. She pushed them back before she gazed at him. She was an agent. Agents didn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry. At least for no good reason.

  “Thank you.”

  Michael stared at her. First, he had a look of fear, then quiet understanding. He could read her.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “That’s your tuckaway.”

  She nodded. Then, smiling like a Cheshire cat, she asked, “Where would you like me to tuck it away?”

  “Since you’ll be wearing very little in the way of skimpy shorts and saucy dresses you should carry the Glock in your purse. It’d be too obvious in your waistband against your skinny derriere.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him.

  “You can tuck the derringer in your shorts or attach it to a garter when you wear a dress.”

  “How did you know…” She cut off her own question. She forgot. Maybe she’d wanted to forget. One night, several years ago, she’d taken him out to celebrate his birthday and things got a little out of hand.

  They met at Dalt’s right after work so she was still in work attire, a dress. They shared a plate of potato skins and drank too many lemon drop shooters. She never forgot how he’d goaded her into keeping up with him, and she did, shot for shot. After seven each, she stopped counting.

  She paid the bill and as they staggered out of the restaurant door, Mickey took her car keys telling her, “You can’t drive, you’re too drunk, Kitty Cat Cat.” She’d laughed at his slurred speech and his schoolboy use of her nickname. In retribution, she’d snatched his keys from his front pocket and dropped them down her dress and into her cleavage. “I guess you aren’t driving either, unless—you want to go get your keys.”

  Wrapping a heavy arm around her shoulders, he suggested, “Let’s get a room.”

  Ten minutes later, they checked into a very cozy room with a king size bed at the Marriott in Arlington. Five minutes after that—hot and heavy. She sprawled on top of him, her dress unzipped and hanging off at the waist, her bra missing and the keys on the floor some place. Michael had no shirt on, his pants around his ankles and he lounged on the bed, one hand on her hip, the other squeezing her breast. “I guess I got my keys, the hard way,” he teased, laving one n
ipple, reaching between her legs.

  It was then he had discovered her affinity for thigh-high stockings and garters.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “Stockings.”

  “And?”

  “A garter belt,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

  “I’ve never seen any.” He lifted her off of him. “Model them.” Then, with a universal hand gesture, told her to twirl.

  She did.

  “Lose the dress, then do it again.” He grinned so brightly, Ruby had no choice, she obliged.

  And after she did, he rewarded her with a breathtaking, heart stopping kiss. She got so lightheaded, she landed on the bed with him on top of her.

  “Sexy,” he growled.

  He finished undressing her, and then lay on the bed, arms stretched out to his sides. “Now me.”

  In the middle of dragging his heart bedecked boxers down his hips she heard snoring. Looking up, she was mortified. The big jerk had passed out. She tried reviving him by kissing his mouth and trailing little kisses and her tongue down his chest and beyond, but she got very little response and definitely not the one she’d hoped for.

  Giving up, she pulled the covers over them and fell asleep only to wake up the next morning with a headache and Michael gone. The note on the bed read “Thought you might need these.” Under the note was a bottle of aspirin and her keys.

  “Cat. Earth to Cat.”

  “Huh?” Startled back to the present, Ruby thought of a gun strapped to her thigh with a garter. “Oh.”

  “Let’s talk more about your do’s and don’ts. You put that cellular in your purse and carry it with you everywhere. When you leave the hotel room you always leave a light on. In the evening leave the television running. These are standard female safety actions and you should know them. Follow them.”

  His face burned red with irritation and anger. Ruby didn’t know whether to be afraid or to laugh. She leaned toward laughter.