Tag, You're It!

by Penny McCall

  “I thought you were the kind of man who jumped into things head first.”

  “Only life-threatening situations,” he said. This was danger of another kind entirely. He’d told Alex he loved her, but until that moment he hadn’t really thought about what that meant. The case was almost over and he was going to have to make a decision that would affect the rest of his life. He looked into Alex’s eyes and couldn’t imagine spending that life without her—any more than he could imagine giving up the career that defined who he was.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes,” he said, slipping into the water, and into her arms, adding because he knew she was waiting for an explanation, “what else is new for us?”

  She laughed softly, but her eyes were serious. “How about I take your mind off it?”

  “You already did that.”

  “It doesn’t look that way.” She smoothed a finger over the frown line between his eyes, flicked off the water that dripped from her hand to the end of his nose, then laid her mouth on his. Her lips were cold from the water, her tongue hot, and at some point during the kiss her bra and panties disappeared.

  She did a little shimmy and pressed her body against his, bare, water-slicked skin from head to toe. Her hands slipped down his sides, tickling over his ribs before her fingers hooked in the waistband of his boxers, easing them down. Or trying to.

  She started to say something, but Tag cupped her bottom, lifted her half out of the water, and dropped his mouth to her breasts. Her words trailed off into a moan, her legs wrapping around him. He barely had time to get his boxers off the rest of the way before she took him in and began to move.

  The water was cool, but sweat popped out on his upper lip. What Alex was doing felt so good his eyes rolled back in his head, his knees went weak, and his mind went blank. Involuntary activities like breathing were suspended, and all he could do was stand there and take it. Her body wrapped around his, every breath she took and every movement pushing him closer to the edge. But he’d be damned if he went over alone.

  He took her mouth with his, let the water buoy her up, and put his hands to good use. In the space of a few frantic heartbeats he felt her tighten around him and swallowed her cry as she came. He exploded a split second later, his breath trickling out on a satisfied groan.

  Alex let her legs slide down, slumping against him. “A perfect ending to a mediocre day.”

  Tag laughed. “As long as it wasn’t a mediocre ending to a perfect day.”

  “It could be an embarrassing end if I can’t find my underwear,” Alex said, casting around in the water.

  Tag hooked her bra, which was floating not far away.

  Alex found her panties, but decided not to put either of them on in favor of toweling off and wearing her outer clothes commando—so she didn’t end up with embarrassing wet spots in case they ran into anyone in the hallway. Not to mention it came in handy when they got back to the room.

  The bed was turned down and waiting, they were both too keyed up to sleep, and fortunately for their neighbors, the rooms had great soundproofing.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  TAG WAS UP BEFORE ALEX THE NEXT MORNING, freshly showered and feeling antsy, judging by the path he was wearing in the carpet. Alex watched him from the bedroom doorway and knew exactly how he felt.

  The assignment was about to be over; they could both feel it, and along with the anticipation dancing along Alex’s nerve endings was a little uncertainty and a little sadness. There’d be regret, too, when she and Tag parted ways, regret for what might have been if they hadn’t wanted different futures. But she’d resigned herself to that.

  At least Harper would be out of her life, too. She’d made up her mind to see it done. If he didn’t come after her, she was going after him. That was what she needed to concentrate on. Tag didn’t make it easy.

  She stepped into the suite’s sitting room; he stopped pacing and took up staring. Alex let herself enjoy it. After all, she’d gone to a lot of trouble. She wore blue this morning, a bold bright blue that made her gray eyes softer, and she’d buffed and moisturized until her skin glowed like pearl. Her blouse was sheer with a lace-edged camisole beneath, both tucked into a raw silk skirt that hugged her body and ended just above the knees.

  Thanks to her mother, she was Miss USA from the crown of her perfectly styled head to the tips her dainty little spike-heeled sandals, the kind that only covered the toes. And when she went to the bar to pour a cup of coffee, she made sure to pass close enough so Tag could catch the smoky, subtle scent she’d dabbed on—not overpowering, just enough to enhance.

  “You’re making it hard,” he said.

  She looked over her shoulder at him, her gaze dropping around belt level.

  “To concentrate,” he elaborated with a grin, not bothering to hide the fact that her interpretation wasn’t wrong, either. “This is what pushed me off track the last time. I was thinking about you instead of concentrating on Harper, and it got us both in trouble.”

  “So stop thinking about me,” she said, not quite managing to suppress a pleased little smile. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Not in those shoes. Not that I’m complaining. I like what they do for your… legs.”

  “I have another pair. You can try them out if you like.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of getting you out of them.”

  “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” She turned her foot this way and that, studying the shoes. “They’re completely useless if I have to run. But I have to admit it’s nice to wear something besides jeans.”

  “I’m all for that,” Tag said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of the hotel robe he’d put on after his shower. “Jack Mitchell is supposed to be bringing me some clothes—”

  Right on cue there was a knock on the door. Tag checked the peep, already grinning as he opened the door.

  A hulk of a man walked in, looking like the stereotypical secret agent. Or a mafia hit man. He was dressed in muscles and black—black jeans, black shirt, black bomber jacket with a shoulder holster underneath. The muscles were everywhere. He tossed Tag a duffel, but he made a beeline for Alex, enveloping her hand with his and shaking it carefully. “Jack Mitchell,” he said, then turned to Tag, completely dismissing her.

  “Don’t mind him.”

  Alex had no idea who was talking until Mitchell shifted aside and she spotted a waif of a woman behind him. She was as slender as a supermodel and as cheerfully dressed as Jack was somber. She wore a floaty Missoni-print dress with heels Alex would have sworn were Jimmy Choos, and she was flawlessly made up. Otherwise she was a pleasant-looking, completely forgettable woman—probably not a bad quality for an undercover agent—but her twinkling eyes and bright smile made her plain features come alive.

  “Aubrey Sullivan,” she said, sending Jack a teasing sidelong glance, “the brains of this outfit.”

  “By brains she means mouth,” Jack said.

  “I mean brain, singular, since the jury’s still out on what’s inside that thick skull of yours.”

  Jack grinned. “It’s not my brain that keeps you hanging around.”

  “You’re right, and it only took you six months to figure that out.”

  The sarcasm was thick enough to keep a fleet of psychiatrists busy for years, but the way the two looked at each other was so intimate it was almost too uncomfortable to watch.

  “So where’s this map I’ve heard so much about?” Aubrey asked, changing subjects like a light switch.

  “The map really isn’t an issue anymore,” Tag told her. “It was just a decoy Bennet Harper used to con people into investing money, and then to lure Alex out in the field so he could hang the theft of the treasure on her and get his mystery investor off his back.”

  “I think I can help with the mystery investor part.” Jack took a piece of paper out of his inside jacket pocket and tossed it on the table.

  Tag unfolded it and smoothed it with his hands,
bending over to read it.

  Alex was getting an eyeful. So was Aubrey. The robe was barely knee-length when he was standing straight. “Ummm… maybe you want to go get dressed, Tag.”

  He bolted upright, the expression on his face so comical Alex had to hold back her laughter. He grabbed the duffel and nipped into the bedroom. Alex thought it was an excellent opportunity to find out who Harper’s investors were. If Sappresi was one of them.

  Jack, however, wasn’t in a sharing mood. He picked up the list and held it behind his back, one eyebrow inching up.

  Alex took it as a challenge. She was considering her options when Aubrey strolled over and stepped between them.

  “Don’t mind him,” she said to Alex. “Jack’s a black and white kind of guy. If you’re not on his side of the line you must be the enemy.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes at the top of Aubrey’s head. She rolled hers up at him. “While we’re waiting for Tag, why don’t you show me the map?” she said to Alex.

  Alex sent Jack a look, but she really didn’t have a choice, so she retrieved the map from Tag’s pack and handed it over. “We checked two of the sites and didn’t find anything.”

  “Is this Mike’s idea of a joke?” Tag asked.

  They all turned around and saw him standing in the open bedroom doorway. “This” was a pair of khakis over scuffed brown boots, a khaki shirt, a worn brown leather bomber, and a gray fedora. All he was missing was the whip.

  Alex and Aubrey burst out laughing. Jack crossed his massive arms over his massive chest and grinned from ear to ear. Alex was glad he was on their side.

  “Mike said you were on a treasure hunt,” Jack said. “I thought you oughtta look the part.”

  Tag looked over at Alex. “You wanted Indiana Jones, I guess you got him.”

  “It takes more than clothing. Indiana Jones always found what he was looking for.”

  “I wasn’t really looking for treasure,” Tag reminded her. He crossed the room and bent over the list.

  Jack joined them, the two men head to head and shoulder to shoulder, no room for civilians. So Alex went to join Aubrey where she was sitting at the bar with Juan Am map.

  “There’s not much here, is there?” Aubrey said, her pixie face puzzled.

  “No. We searched these two sites.” Alex indicated the areas she meant.

  “La Cruz de Piedra,” Aubrey read.

  “It means Cross of Stone.”

  “I know. I read a Spanish-English dictionary the other day.” She looked up, caught Alex staring at her. “Photomemory. Trust me, it’s not as great as it sounds. Anyway, I wonder why Juan used that word. Cruz. He had to be a devout Catholic. I’d expect him to use the word for crucifix.”

  Alex took a second to process the lightning-fast shifts in the other woman’s thought patterns. “Isn’t a cross a crucifix only when the figure is there?”

  “See? The memory didn’t tell me that. This second site, Smith’s Creek, sounds like a man named Smith lived there.”

  Alex nodded. “We found the remains of a corral but nothing else. The third site is just like the second, grassland with no discernible features unless you count hills. And now that I know it was all a hoax, I’m glad we didn’t waste any more time.”

  Aubrey fingered the paper, bent closer to study the little burlap bag. “Pretty convincing for a hoax.”

  “Harper wouldn’t chance using a fake. His investors are wealthy people, they’d have the means to authenticate it if they wanted to.”

  Aubrey sat back. “I did some research.”

  “I told you not to waste your time with that,” Jack said from across the room. “Mike said it wasn’t important anymore.”

  “I was intrigued,” Aubrey shot back, rolling her eyes for Alex’s benefit. But there was a fond smile there, too. “Jack wouldn’t let me help him with the list, so I had some time on my hands. If the Lost Spaniard had been found it would have been in some newspaper somewhere, which means it would be on the Internet, and it’s not.”

  “Unless Juan dug it up himself.”

  “That’s possible, but the story is that he was killed in Casteel, for the map.” Aubrey held up a hand. “I know it’s just a story, but a lot of times those word-of-mouth tales turn out to be pretty accurate. And I did find something interesting. His name, Alejandro Domingo Augustin Amparo de Tallavera.”

  “That’s a mouthful. How do you get Juan out of that?”

  “Who knows? But it means he was somebody important in Spain, and this notation at the top of the map, la salvation de Amparo, Amparo’s salvation, supports that. I’m betting Juan lost his lands or went broke or something, and he came to America to find enough gold to put himself back on top.”

  “Which means he wouldn’t have dug up the treasure until he was ready to go home. And since he was killed here—”

  “The treasure is still out there,” Aubrey concluded, “maybe at one of the other sites.”

  “The only other sites marked are Mount Rosalie, Casteel, and Denver, and we figured those are just reference points,” Alex said. “There’s no way Juan climbed a mountain to hide his gold, not without something more definite to remind him where it is. And I don’t believe he’d have hidden anything close to a populated area. Too much chance he’d be followed, or someone would stumble across it.”

  “And that’s everything?”

  “Except for the directional notation to the right—este, east. Probably just an orientation point.”

  “Even in the 1800s north was generally used as an orientation point,” Aubrey said, “and the map is drawn so that north is at the top.”

  “Juan wasn’t a cartographer.”

  “Then he should have drawn a big X or written something like ‘dig here.’”

  Aubrey kept talking. Alex wasn’t really listening because a thought was dancing at the edge of her mind, like a word on the tip of the tongue. She nearly had it when Aubrey shoved the map away and flounced out of her chair in a distracting swirl of color and energy.

  “Oh well,” she said with a flip of her hand, “Jack might be able to make sense of it, if we could convince him it’s worth his time. Of the two of us, he’s the problem solver— and if you tell him I said that I’ll deny it.”

  Alex smiled. She couldn’t help it. “Can I ask you something? You and Jack met on a case, right?”

  “You could put it that way,” Aubrey said. “Jack kidnapped me out of the Library of Congress and dragged me from DC to Miami where he thought it was a good idea to confront Pablo Corona in his own home.”

  “Ouch.” Corona was the biggest drug lord in the western hemisphere, and he was reputed to be crazy. “But it all worked out, and you two got together.”

  “And you want to know how, right?” Aubrey smiled. Her eyes cut to Jack, softened. He’d looked at her the same way. They might be verbally at odds, but the emotions ran deep. “He’s irritating, macho, pig-headed, stubborn, and a major pain in the neck. But if there’s enough good stuff under all that, you just have to train them.”

  Alex sighed, her gaze going to Tag. “That would probably take years and I’m pretty sure our future can be measured in hours.”

  “Yeah, I felt that way about Jack, too, but he grew on me.”

  “Let’s see, fungus, warts, boils… None of the stuff that grows on you is pleasant.”

  “True, but you’re stuck with it,” Aubrey said.

  “Not if you have a good doctor.”

  “Would that be medical or psychological?” Alex laughed. “It wouldn’t hurt if he was both.”

  ———

  “YOU JUST HAVE TO TRAIN THEM,” JACK SAID TO TAG, both of them watching the women sitting at the bar, their heads bent together over Juan Amparo’s map. “It’s like a puppy. When you first bring it home, it’s yappy and excitable and out of control. You just have to be patient and firm and in no time it comes right to heel when you call it.”

  “You don’t say things like that to Aubrey, do you?” Tag aske
d, still looking at Alex. She’d probably shoot him if he compared her to a dog. She liked animals better than people, but she’d shoot him anyway, just on principle. “Alex is pretty steady—for a woman—but she doesn’t trust me.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  “It’s not like I didn’t have a good reason for everything.”

  “Jeez, you tried logic on her?” Jack shook his head, severely disappointed. “I’m telling you, there’s no use trying to reason with women. They’re too emotional. It’s best if you just give in to stop the chatter or tears or whatever noise is coming out of them, do things your way, and then deal with the fallout later.”

  He sounded like it was a hardship to be stuck with Aubrey, but Tag had seen the way Jack looked at her. She might not have him wrapped around her finger, but there was definitely a partnership there, and Jack wasn’t the one in charge, even if Aubrey let him think that.

  “You want to talk about women or criminals?” Jack grumbled.

  Tag focused on the list again, shaking his head at the names of several well-known businessmen, all of whom should have known the first rule of investing: if it sounds too good to be true, it usually is. “Thomas Warren, Congressman; James Hadley, Secretary of the Interior,” he read off the list. “They’d be the ones with the clout to get a complaint to the bureau.”

  “Yeah, but I think this is the guy you’re going to want to talk to.” Jack flipped the page over and pointed at a name— which was unnecessary since it jumped out at Tag.

  “Anthony Sappresi,” he said, clamping down, hard, on the mix of excitement and hatred coursing through him. “Tony the Sap.”

  “You don’t sound surprised.”

  Tag bumped up a shoulder. Jack was probably aware of his history with Sappresi, but even if he took it to Mike, it wouldn’t go any further. Tag knew he wouldn’t be pulled off the case, not after he’d been put on it for just this eventuality. Sappresi was his, a gift from Mike, end of story. End of Sappresi.

  But the takedown wasn’t all he had to worry about. He’d spent six months on his own trying to pin Zukey’s murder on Tony the Sap, and that was on top of the year spent by other agents and sanctioned by the bureau. “Nothing sticks to Tony Sappresi.”