Dead Double

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “What’s to be sorry about?” She shrugged. “I didn’t advertise it and your life was such a handful you didn’t have time to worry about other people as well.”

  “Did Micky know you…?”

  “Loved her? I think so. I never told her.” Jacqui put the cup down. “Your question, Logan. I’m not as easily distracted as you.”

  He took a breath, his mind reaching out for the woman he had left sleeping in the bed beside him. “Something happened yesterday. Something changed her. And she won’t tell me.”

  “Sahara was very quiet when you arrived back yesterday. Tell me what happened. All of it.”

  Logan related the afternoon to her and finished up with, “I don’t think even she knows.”

  “No, I doubt she has put it fully together,” Jacqui said. “Poor Sahara. No wonder she looked so pale.”

  “Dammit, Jacqui…”

  She held up her hand. “Think about it. Sahara met Angel, who lost her mother two years ago, on an operation that you orchestrated. Angel was upset yesterday because she thinks the same thing is going to happen to her as what happened to Sahara—that her father will die on the job.”

  “Sahara had already figured that out,” Logan admitted.

  “Of course she would.”

  “Why?” Logan demanded, feeling a touch of impatience. “Come on, spill it for me.”

  “You’ve forgotten Sahara’s personal history, Logan. You read the file. So did I. Sahara’s mother died on the job. Then her father died doing his job a few years later. Then the foster parents she had lived with for four years also die within weeks of each other. I believe the father died while harvesting.” Jacqui made an impatient motion of her own. “Don’t you see it, Logan? Every person Sahara has ever loved has died. On the job or because of it. She’s not going to allow herself to love anyone ever again if there’s a chance of that happening. Yesterday, Angel reminded her that your job is especially dangerous and she realized you’re the last person on this earth she can afford to fall in love with.”

  Logan felt his innards leap but hid it. “Who said anything about love?” he growled.

  Jacqui smiled complacently and picked up her cup again. “It doesn’t have to be spoken for it to be a fact. I can testify to that myself.” Her gaze was relentless. “So can you.”

  * * * * *

  Sahara woke to find Logan sitting on the bed next to her.

  She scrambled to sit up, pulling up the sheet with her. “Logan. What’s the time? Have I slept long?”

  “It’s nearly half past nine.”

  “It’s late.” She rubbed her temple. “Have you been watching me sleep?” she asked, her pulse thready with both the alarm upon waking and the idea of Logan watching her.

  “I just sat here,” he assured her. “I was going to wake you but it seems you’re hyper-alert anyway.”

  He was wearing jeans again and she decided that she liked him that way. It helped her think of him as just an ordinary man. “Isn’t that the same shirt you were wearing when we met?” she asked, eyeing the ancient, soft cotton garment.

  “It might be.”

  “Are you not working today?”

  “Today, yes. We have to go out and mingle, be tourists and be seen. Remember?”

  “Then you’re going to wear a jacket over that shirt?”

  “God no. They say it’s going to be ninety degrees out there this afternoon.”

  “Then…” She swallowed. “Where do you hide your gun?”

  He lifted his boot and rested the heel on the mattress and pulled up the leg of his jeans. A snub-nosed gun was strapped to his leg. “It’s not nearly as fast a draw but it saves me looking conspicuous in a crowd of tee shirts.”

  Sahara felt her mouth turn down on its own. “I had to ask,” she said, with a sigh.

  “It was worth asking. You’re in my world, remember.”

  There was an odd note to his voice and she narrowed her eyes, studying him. “What’s happened?” she asked. “What’s changed?”

  He smoothed a wrinkle in the sheet with his thumb. “Adar has been sighted, coming into Seville.”

  Sahara felt her stomach drop, just like on a big dipper. “Zaram is here?” Her voice was weak.

  “It’s a good assumption.”

  “But how did he know to come here so quickly?” Her fright was building as more horrifying implications became clear. “He must have a way to know what is happening in the Seurat, to get here so fast. We, I mean the Seurat, were the only ones to know.”

  “Very good.” His voice was soft. “There’s a leak inside the Seurat. It could be electronic.”

  “But it could be a person too, couldn’t it?” She hugged her knees. “Zaram bought Seoc, he was running Micky. He goes for the people, not the gadgets.”

  Logan nodded. “It hasn’t been a fun morning, so far. Everyone is looking at everyone else. Treachery does that to an organization. On top of that, we have to go medieval. No more electronics of any sort. Nelson is crying into his Wheaties.” He stopped concentrating on what his hand was doing and looked at her. “I have to ask you something.”

  “Do I still want to go on?”

  He took a deep breath. “Yes. We’re on to the razor’s edge now.”

  “Is there any hope? Any chance this will still work? Tell me your professional opinion and don’t butter it for me.”

  “That’s a fair question.” He considered. “There are two things in our favour. One is the speed Malik is pushing this through—it keeps us ahead of the hounds braying behind us, including Zaram. He may have inside information but he can’t react any faster than we already are.”

  “And the other advantage?”

  “You.”

  Sahara jumped. “You mean, that I can be Micky for Malik and get the notebook?”

  “No one else can, including Zaram.”

  “So doesn’t that mean…. Wouldn’t he watch and wait, to see when I get the notebook? Wouldn’t he make his move then?”

  “That’s when I’d do it,” Logan agreed. “It means for now that you’re relatively safe.”

  “I’m safe but what about you?”

  “I’ll be right by your side. Every step of the way.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “It’s the best I can give, S’ara.” His eyes seemed very blue in the light filtering through all the ferns in the big windows.

  “I don’t want to put you in danger.”

  He shook his head. “We’re already in it. We can either go through and out the other side, or try to back out.”

  “Then let’s go through. I don’t like going backward.”

  He picked up her hand and kissed the knuckles. “Get dressed and I’ll take you out for a late breakfast. We’ll get our tourist bit done early and avoid the heat. Wear flat walking shoes,” he warned her. “I’ll wait in the main room.”

  As soon as he shut the door behind him, Sahara threw the sheet off and hurried through a fast shower. Logan’s clothing was warning enough. She chose the briefest and lightest garments she could get away with. She was about to hurry through her makeup, when she remembered the whole point of this excursion—she was to convince their hidden audience that she was Micky Wilde.

  So she took a deep breath and worked her way through the routine she had been taught, taking care with each step. The procedure was complicated by the fact that many of the products she had been given had been destroyed or damaged by her temper tantrum, so she substituted or skipped steps as needed.

  She re-examined her clothing choice too, picking elegance over comfort. She finally settled on a short pleated skirt in a light silk and a sleeveless cotton sweater that just barely made it to the top of the skirt and gave glimpses of her abdomen whenever she lifted her arms. Both of them were in pale apple green. There was a matching jacket but she cast it aside. She picked up a big pair of sunglasses and strappy white platform sandals in soft leather. She tossed all Micky’s ID and paraphernalia into
the matching handbag and walked out into the main room.

  Jacqui nodded her approval when she saw her. “Very nice,” she murmured. “Very Micky.”

  Logan had been sitting on the arm of a lounge chair but he rose as she emerged. His gaze traveled the length of her legs, then up to her face. She saw silent appreciation there and smiled.

  “I’m starving,” she told him.

  * * * * *

  The ancient Santa Cruz Quarter was within walking distance of the hotel and Logan led her through its narrow, winding streets with such assurance she knew he had been here many times and was familiar with the layout of the streets.

  She kept her sunglasses on for the sun was merciless even this early in the day. She looked around with interest at the hint of hidden patios, the balconies overhead with their twisted iron railings and plants trailing over the edges. Everywhere there was a mix of ancient with new—or newish, at any rate.

  “Those pillars behind the railing there were from the Roman era,” Logan murmured. “When this city was called Hispalis, before the Moors took it.”

  “Did Micky like this area?” Sahara asked, also keeping her voice down.

  “This section? Not particularly. She came to Seville for the fairs, in April. She would dress up in flamenco dresses and hang out in the tents with her friends for a week and drink and dance.”

  “They sound like fun but I like this better,” Sahara confessed. “Walking around and soaking up the history.”

  “You would,” Logan returned, his voice dry.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  He pointed ahead. “Here we are,” he declared and turned into a dark doorway with a sign in Spanish over it.

  The dark continued inside. It was cool and shady in there, with tile floors and stone walls. There was very little furniture to tell Sahara what this place was but a man in an apron hurried to meet them and that told her it was a catering establishment of some sort.

  “Luis, saludos, mi viejo amigo,” Logan said, holding out his hand.

  “Master Wilde! It has been long, long!” Luis shook his hand up and down, holding it with both of his own. He glanced at Sahara, frowned for a moment, then beamed at her. “And Mizzy Wilde too! Hello!”

  “Hello, Luis,” Sahara said carefully, coolly.

  “We’d like one of your best breakfasts, Luis. We’re both starving.”

  “Ciertamente. Ciertamente. This way, por favour.”

  Luis led them through the cool room to another set of doors on the other side. They opened out onto a shady, cool courtyard, overhung with awnings and surrounded by big tubs of ferns and greenery. There was a splashing stone fountain in the middle and chairs and tables all around. Many of them had people already eating.

  “I thought we were supposed to be out and about so we could be seen?” she murmured to Logan.

  “We will be. Look to your right when we sit down.”

  She sat in the chair Luis held out for her and casually looked over to her right. The courtyard wall there was made of ironwork fencing and at the end of the short alley beyond the fence she could see another, much larger, busy square and people passing the alley entrance way.

  “He didn’t seem very surprised when you asked for breakfast,” Sahara pointed out when Luis hurried away and as Logan settled in his chair.

  “It’s about time for tapas,” Logan said. “Many people call this their second breakfast. I hope you like garlic.”

  “Love it.”

  Luis appeared again, with a bread basket holding a giant crusty loaf of bread and a bottle of wine in a straw basket and two glasses. He poured the white wine without asking and put the bread between them. “Soon, soon,” he promised and hurried away again.

  Logan picked up his glass and sipped. “Very cold,” he said appreciatively and Sahara could see the sides of the glasses already frosting.

  “Isn’t it a bit early for wine?” she asked.

  “It’s like drinking water, here. Try it.”

  She took a sip and enjoyed the mild taste. It was very cold and, in the heat of the day, very enjoyable.

  Logan broke open the loaf and tore off a piece to eat as he drank and she followed his example. The crust of the loaf was crunchy but the inside was soft and fluffy.

  “The Spanish like their tapas and the Andalucians like their wine,” Logan told her. “It’s very much embedded in daily life here. A tiny breakfast early in the day, then second breakfast, usually tapas. Lunch around two or later and dinner much later still. About ten. In between, you catch up with friends and family at your favourite tapas bar.”

  “You’ve spent a lot of time here?”

  “No more than the rest of Europe but here, I’m rarely working.”

  She glanced again at his jeans and white shirt. “I see.”

  Luis arrived with a tray covered in small bowls of assorted tapas and covered the table with them. Sahara could see two different sorts of olives, small pieces of fish, large shrimp that smelled strongly of garlic, sliced spicy sausage, marinated mushrooms, bruschettas, a tomato pate, a dish that Logan identified as cheese pinchos, falafel and more.

  “How do you eat it?” she asked, when she found no utensils close by.

  “Your fingers, mostly.”

  She thought of dipping her fingers into the oil and wrinkled her nose.

  “That’s what the bread is for,” Logan pointed out. “When in Spain…”

  She nodded. “True.”

  They ate and drank and time passed. Logan was a charming companion, making her laugh and prompting her to talk with easy questions. She watched his blue eyes twinkle with laughter and his full lips touch the glass as he drank, the long fingers resting along the length of the glass. If she had not already known it, she could not now mistake her love for him. It was almost a tangible thing, swelling in her chest and warming her.

  She also realized she was tipsy from the wine and frowned at Logan. His glass still remained nearly untouched.

  “Did you do this deliberately?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Get me just a little bit drunk? Off my guard? You’ve been absolutely charming. You’ve managed to avoid any of the arguments we seem to have whenever we’re together.”

  He selected an olive, picking it with care. “You needed to relax.”

  “I was calm before,” she pointed out.

  “You weren’t relaxed. Not around me,” he said. Finally, his gaze lifted to look at her.

  “Why?” she said at last, not bothering to deny he was right.

  “You’re supposed to be Micky. The last time Micky and I had an argument was a year before she left. All that was left was a polite relationship. A passionless shell held together mostly for Angelina’s sake. God, we rarely even had a conversation. So if they see you being jumpy and argumentative, with me of all people, they’re going to wonder what the hell is going on.”

  “So this is for the sake of the operation, then?”

  “You could say that.”

  She had had just enough wine to loosen her tongue. “Logan, if they won’t take you off active duty, why don’t you just quit your job and take Angel back home?”

  Then she frowned and looked down at her glass. It was empty again.

  Logan frowned. “Go home and do what? The only job I’m fit for, the only one I can do, is this one.”

  “What about your family’s—”

  “No,” he said instantly. “Never.”

  “Does it matter, then?” she asked reasonably. “You said that financially, you don’t need to work.”

  “Need to, no. But I would curl up and die if there wasn’t a reason to get up in the morning.”

  She nodded, because she could see what he meant. To have nothing to work for would take all meaning out of life.

  “I’m this close,” he said, holding up his finger and thumb a bare fraction of an inch apart. “I wasn’t lying when I told Angel the last job was the last one. And this one is an aberra
tion. It came out of pure happenstance. Once this one is over, Angel and I get to go home.”

  “But what about the next job, Logan?” she asked softly.

  “There isn’t a next one,” he said shortly.

  “That’s what you said about the last one.”

  “I just said this job is an oddball. No one could have predicted this.”

  “And what if the next job is just as unpredictable as this one?” she asked softly.

  “It won’t be,” he said. His tone was flat and held a hidden anger.

  “The job before this one. Did you know about it in advance? Or did they rope you in at the last minute because they really needed your skills?”

  “God, you’re even starting to sound like Micky,” he said, in a soft, dangerous voice.

  “Answer the question, Logan. Was it planned? Or last minute?”

  He sat back and crossed his arms, his brows drawn together in a deep scowl. “Last minute,” he said finally.

  “And the one before that?”

  Another mutinous silence, before he said with a growl, “That one wasn’t planned either.” He picked up his glass of wine. “You don’t understand the nature of this business. Very little is planned in advance. You tend to roll with the punches and take advantage of opportunities.”

  “Oh, I understand perfectly,” she told him. “I finally understand what Angel already knows. I understand that it’s not having any job that bothers you. It’s not having this job. You can’t let go, Logan. You’d rather die than find a compromise.”

  His face turned pale under its tan and he stood up abruptly. “We have to go,” he said. He pulled a handful of the big currency out of his pocket and dropped it on the table, grabbed her elbow and hurried her back out onto the street.

  She knew he wished he was anywhere else than with her right then but he was forced to keep her company. So she kept her mouth shut and pretended to look around with interest. But she was shaking over her own foolishness. To challenge Logan on the one thing that defined his life was sheer stupidity. Did she think he would thank her for it?

  She walked alongside his silent, erect form, as they passed through squares and winding narrow alleys, until they were standing in one of the bigger squares, looking up at a cathedral with a very high, square bell tower next to it that was rich in detail and design.