If that were to happen, she too would get a note from me, telling her why:
Because I kill bad guys.
Specifically, the ones responsible for taking her father, Carl, away from me.
From us.
Jack knows how to change the subject. He hands me the ring box.
It is the moment of reckoning…
Wrong.
Yes, it is a very important piece of jewelry, but not, as I presumed, an engagement ring.
It is the antique locket necklace I had inherited from my mother.
“You always wear it at home, but you didn’t take it on this ops,” Jack says.
“Should something ever happen to me… well, let me put it this way, I would never want anything to happen to this locket, too. It was my mother’s. I know it will be important to the children one day.”
How can I explain to him that inside is the only picture of Carl left in existence?
The rest of them disappeared when he did: the night Trisha was born.
Should I fail at my lifelong mission—to defeat the Quorum—I’d want my children to know the truth about their real father. Between this locket and the handbook I’ve left for them in my curio cabinet, they will finally know the truth.
I pray to God that day never comes.
Not that I can say any of this to Jack. Instead, I lift my hair off my neck. “But hey, it’s brought us look thus far. Will you do me the honor?”
After clasping it, he kisses me there.
The warm memory of his lips still lingers on the nape of my neck as he hands me the Magic 8-Ball. “Okay now it’s time for my gift. You get to shake it three times. Whatever pops up is something that will take place when all of this is behind us.”
Wishful thinking.
But seriously, will the Quorum ever go away?
I have to believe it will, someday. Maybe even tomorrow.
In any event, it’s a wonderful dream to share.
I give him the smile we both need right now. “Sounds like fun.” I shake it hard, six times. “Okay, here’s the first answer: ‘Without a doubt.’”
He laughs. “That fits a lot of questions.”
“You’re right. I’ve got one, but first promise not to laugh, okay?” I take a deep breath. “Jack, seriously, should we be worried that the Cavalry hasn’t shown up? Granted, we’ve got another seven hours of battery time in the iPad—”
“I know you’re still spooked by the shark, Donna, but admit it. We’ve both been through worse.”
He’s right. To let him know that I’ve shaken off my fears, I take the ball and twist it right, then left, before taking a peek. “Okay, now it says, ‘Don’t count on it.’”
His smile disappears. “Care to take another guess?”
I’m almost afraid to voice my fear. “I’m hoping the question is, ‘Will you ever leave me?’”
I don’t need to add, … Like Carl did?
I have my answer in the way his eyes look deep into my own.
As if there is nothing in life more important to him.
Did Carl ever love me like this? Maybe once, a long time ago…
But Carl is gone.
And Jack is here to stay.
I know this because the Magic 8-Ball deems it so.
Smiling, I shake the ball one last time: “It says ‘Signs point to yes.’”
“Good. Because the question is, ‘will you marry me?’”
His mouth hovers over mine, longingly. Finally our lips meet in a gentle kiss.
If floating on a raft in the Pacific after seeing a man eaten by a shark teaches you anything, it’s that life is too short and too uncertain to waste on coy flirtations. Jack’s tongue knows the inside of my mouth as well as his own. It also knows the curve of my shoulder, where it lingers oh so longingly.
Very slowly, he unzips my wetsuit, releasing my breasts. His lips tickle me as they roam over them. As much as he enjoys their plump softness, his prime objective is my nipples, which the cool air (or is it his tongue?) has enlarged, making them so, so stiff—
Just like Jack.
His wetsuit can’t hide the fact that his cock is now long and hard.
I am aching to have him inside me.
My fingers can’t unzip his wetsuit fast enough. He must feel the same way about mine because he strips it off me, too—first the left arm, then the right one—until it hangs low around my hips. With one yank he pulls it down around my ankles, but holds me steady so that I don’t stumble back onto the floor of the raft.
After that little project, my string bikini is a piece of cake. He unties one side, then the other. As it begins its fall, a breeze catches it and lifts it up and over the waves.
Jack isn’t watching because he’s too busy admiring the view between my legs. A long index finger and thick thumb are working in tandem at making me throb for him.
“Jack, I don’t think . . .” is all I can gasp.
I want to explain to him why I can’t say yes to his proposal.
Not yet, anyway.
As if my plea can stop him.
Jack enters me with a deep thrust. In no time at all we find our rhythm, along with that sweet spot deep within me. The combination of joy and ecstasy has me throwing back my head so that I am looking skyward—
Just in time to see a shooting star race across the galaxy.
By the time it disappears somewhere far beyond Orion, the moans from our passion-fueled orgasms have scared the fish away.
The helicopter hovering overhead is a different story.
The voice shouting down at us through the bullhorn is that of our boss, Ryan Clancy. “So tell me. Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
7:08 pm
“Genius! The guy was sheer genius!” Arnie’s shrieks are just as annoying as the helicopter’s thumping blades. “Did you know Hector owns a bank, too? In a country like this, I guess it’s the safest place to hide anything.”
“You mean the location and the floor plan for the Quorum’s villa is in some bank’s safety deposit box?” I yell back.
“Yep. Clever, right? In fact, Hector has a whole vault reserved for his company, Ay Chihuahua Construction, at Banco Regional de California Sur.” Ryan keeps a steady gaze on the casas dotting the hills surrounding Cabo San Lucas. I guess he’s too embarrassed to look me in the eye.
Hell, he’s already seen too much of me.
“I presume the plan is to break in.” Jack shrugs. “Does that mean waiting until tomorrow?”
“Why? Were you hoping for an extended holiday?” Ryan’s smirk in my direction is the last thing I need. “Nope. It’s got to be tonight. We’ve intercepted some intel about some major event at the Quorum’s estate. It would be easier for both of you to get lost in a crowd. From what we can tell, this shindig is the Who’s Who we’ve been waiting for: not the foot soldiers, but the group’s key leaders. And best yet, the money men. Everyone there is a suspect, so you’ll both be wearing digital camera lenses in order to take lots of pictures.”
“These guys like to hang together on the biggest date night of the year?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Kinky.”
“Don’t fool yourself. You know as well as I do that these guys are all about the mission.” Finally, Ryan looks me in the eye. “But they’re not above mixing business with pleasure. Every socialite and celebrity in town for the holiday has been sent an invitation.” He shrugs. “You’ll have an excuse to get out of that wetsuit—again.”
I feel my face turning red, but I give Ryan a mock salute anyway.
“First things first. We’re on our way to make a little bank withdrawal.” He continues, “Donna, you’ll divert the two guards and then hit them with Roofie pricks, so they’ll doze off for an hour or so. As a safeguard, Arnie will set up a loop on the bank’s security cameras. Jack, when Donna gives you the high sign, you’ll break into the vault and pull the drawer with the villa’s floor plans.”
Jack nods. “So you think this op should take a
half-hour, tops.”
“That’s the plan. Let’s hustle. We’ve got a party to crash.”
8:21 pm
The chain-smoking security guard on his break thinks it’s his lucky night when he comes to the rescue of a chica bonita with a tight, short skirt and no matches to light her own cigarette.
As he cups his hand around his lighter’s flame, my thank-you is a jab to his neck with a tiny needle injected with Rohypnol.
His eyes cross as he stumbles into my arms. Cradling him, I tap loudly the glass door to get the attention of the second guard and shout at the top of my lungs, “Oye, tú! El señor guardia! Tu amigo necesita ayuda! Él pudo haber tenido un ataque al corazón!”
He’s out of his chair in a flash. My assessment—that his partner had a heart attack—has him in a panic. When he leans beside me to help me unbutton the fallen guard’s shirt, he also gets pricked with a Roofie injection.
“We’re in,” I murmur just loud enough to be picked up by the ops team’s audio receivers.
A moment later, Jack, dressed as a security guard, turns the corner. He grabs one of the sleeping beauties and I lug the other over to the security desk.
Jack nods at me. “When they wake up, you’ll be just a fond memory.”
“Go down that corridor on the right,” Arnie’s voice mutters in our ear. “The vault is the third one on the left. You’re looking for Box Number 1761, by the way.”
When we get to the designated vault, we scan its lock with a digital sensor reader, and in a jiffy the entry code reveals itself. Before opening the vault, we pull on our infrared goggles. The security sensors look like a red spider’s web that stretches from one side of the room to another.
After assessing the situation, Jack gives a long, low whistle. “Arnie, I’ll scan the room top to bottom, starting on the left. Donna will do the same, from the right. Holler if you see the box.”
Starting at the right side of the room, I follow Jack’s lead, glancing from top to bottom of each row. Finally, Arnie says, “Jack, stop! Fourth row on the left, about three boxes from the top. Which one of you is best at Limbo? It’s going to take a contortionist to get over there, let alone to pull it out of the wall without setting off the alarm.”
Jack shrugs. “Is there any way you can turn off the sensors?”
“Ha! I wish . . . No, wait! I can raise the heat on the vault’s thermostat, to 99 degrees. That will offset any readings it takes from your body heat. But you’ll have exactly a minute before it trips an alarm to the bank’s central security division.”
Jack murmurs, “I’m ready when you are.”
There is a moment of silence before we hear Arnie again. “Okay, it’s now up around 72 degrees…78…81…85…89…92…”
Yes, we can feel it. In no time, sweat is rolling down our faces.
“It just hit 99 degrees. So make your move,” Arnie says.
In a flash, Jack is at the far wall. He pulls Box Number 1761, sets it on the large table in the middle of the room, and goes at it with a carbide pick.
“Hurry, dude! I’ve got to start lowering the thermostat…like…now.” Whenever he’s anxious, Arnie’s voice goes up an octave. Let’s just say he could join any touring company of Jersey Boys right about now.
Near the ceiling, faint trails of the infrared sensors are beginning to reappear.
“Yes!” Jack holds up a memory stick for a second, before pocketing it. “Let’s go!”
The rays are now crisscrossing the top half of the vault. Jack crouches low as he bounds out of the room, but then he freezes when a red line pierces the floor in front of him.
Another cuts horizontally, waist high.
A third zips right past his head, missing his left ear by a mere inch.
The only thing he can do now is drop onto his belly, and crawl toward the door.
“Move a little to your right,” I direct him. “Good! Okay slowly… slowly… Now roll left, about four feet… Stop! Okay you’re a straight shot to the door—”
He’s got just another five feet to go when three rays angle themselves into a star, directly in his path.
“Jack, freeze! Let me think this through.” I crouch down for a better view. “Can you tuck and roll into a power jump? That would get you through it.”
“What? Are you nuts? Need I remind you that not all of us were cheerleaders in high school?”
“Don’t knock it! It’s the most athletic pursuit, female or male, that schools can offer it students. Not to mention it encourages school spirit—Agh! Don’t get me started. Okay, here’s how we’re going to do it: you’re going to get into a crouch with your arms straight out. I’ll grab your forearms and pull you through slowly, about halfway. Once your torso is through the doorway, you’ll have to leap straight out at me or you’ll trip that last ray. Got it?”
He nods with a frown.
I’m sure he’ll look at cheerleaders differently, from now on.
If I let him look at them at all.
As he positions himself, I squat down too, directly across from him. “Remember, stay low—”
“Donna, just do it. Before I pull a hamstring or something else,” he mutters.
I take his forearms. Slowly I pull him through: arms, head, and torso—
He perches like a heron, balancing himself on one leg as he waits for my final signal—that I’ve got his back, or in this case his arms above his elbows.
That he’s in the clear.
That I won’t let go.
Not on your life.
Certainly not on his.
“Now!” I shout.
He springs toward me.
At the same time, I yank him so hard that he falls on top of me.
No bells or whistles.
Just the sound of our heavy breathing.
His heart is beating as fast as mine, and I’m guessing that the jubilant look on his face mirrors my own.
We could high-five, but we kiss instead.
“Yee-hah!” Arnie shouts in our ears. “Guys, you did it! ... Guys? ... Anyone there? Either your eyes or closed, or you’ve gone dark on me... But I can hear you breathing, so... Hey! The Quorum! Remember?”
Jack sighs as he rolls off me.
It’s party time.
9:33 pm
The Quorum hides in plain sight.
From the cabin of our Stingray 225-SX speedboat, we have a clear shot of its ten-acre hilltop estate, which crowns Sunset Point, high over the sandy beaches cradling Bahia San Lucas.
The forty-two room, three-story villa has a dead-on view of Land’s End, where the gentle azure waves flowing south from the Sea of Cortez are slammed into a high flying spray by the roiling jade Pacific. There, you’ll find El Arco, or “the Arch,” a natural stone keyhole carved out of the seaside cliff by wind and surf and God’s good graces, for the rest of us to gasp in awe at nature’s beauty.
In honor of Cupid’s day of love, the Quorum’s event is a red-and-white ball. The invitation in my hand, secured earlier by Ryan, belongs to a dowager heiress too ill to attend, thanks to a few eye drops of Binaca slipped into her chocolate mousse during lunch with her golf partners at the Dunes Course at Diamante. Jack’s golden ticket was stolen from the hotel inbox of a producer. (Broadway, not film, so no one should miss him, anyway.)
Not that anyone could be recognized at this shindig in the first place, everyone will be wearing masks.
“Ah, hell,” roars Ryan, when he reads that in the invitation. “There goes the whole purpose of taking pictures.”
“Not necessarily,” Arnie pipes up. “Depends on the mask. If any parts of their ugly mugs are exposed, our facial recognition software may still pick up enough distinctive features to ID some of the fat cats.”
All heads turn to the computer monitor in front of us, where the Quorum’s floor plan is displayed.
“Donna, there is a secure elevator hidden in the library, here.” Ryan taps a windowless room, accessed through a hallway next to the grand ballroom.
“You’ll find it behind a bookcase.”
“The books look real, but they are all just one big façade—except for Ulysses, smack dab in the middle of the third shelf.” Arnie explains. “Just tilt it down. I guess they figured no one would ever open that one—and voilà, you’re in.”
“The elevator goes straight up through the villa, to the top floor,” Ryan says. He taps the screen. “It drops you in the only room up there. Once you’re inside, go to the console holding the computer.”
“You’ll insert this memory stick,” Arnie interjects. He’s holding up a tiny black USB flash drive. “It’s been programmed to duplicate the computer’s data and email files. That should take exactly six minutes. A minute later it will drop a worm into the computer’s hard drive, which will then transmit any new data files created or viewed, whether they’re loaded onto the Quorum’s secure server, or sent to a cloud.”
“The sooner, the better,” Ryan mutters. “Our cousins have picked up some unsettling chatter on their side of the pond. There’s to be a surprise attack, at eleven o’clock tonight Pacific Time.”
“I guess their little shindig gives every Quorum suspect an alibi, since that’s exactly when the party’s over-the-bay fireworks show begins.”
I’m almost afraid to ask, but I have to do it. “Where will the bombing take place?”
“That’s the problem. It’s not just one city on the hitlist, but fourteen,” Ryan answers. “London, New York, Paris, Tokyo, Leningrad, Moscow, Jerusalem, Berlin, Rome, Geneva, Toronto, Argentina, Beijing, and—I’m sorry to say, folks: our hometown, too.”
Los Angeles.
My children are in danger.
And I’m not home to protect them.
I want to cry.
No. I want to stop the Quorum.
Jack gives a low, slow whistle. “Just great. Another Valentine’s Day massacre.”
10:16 p.m.
My floor-length, candy apple red, sequined jersey gown is strapless, has a big bow in back, and fits me like a second skin. It looks great with my sleek, chin-grazing platinum-blond wig.
Guns and Roses Page 39
