All About Evie

by Beth Ciotta

  “Also known as Simon LaCrosse. Simon the Fish. David Krebs. David Kinere…”

  “David Krebs. I know that name.” Milo took a heady drag off of the Cuban, racked his brain. Ah, shit. “Fell under investigation last year. Suspected of being involved in heavy rackets on the West Coast.”

  “Bit of a violent streak, yeah.”

  “Skipped the country to avoid arrest.”

  “You should’ve dug deeper, Beckett.”

  “You shouldn’t have involved an unsanctioned player.” He tempered the rising volume of his voice. “Jesus Christ, Arch. Krebs, Lamont, whatever the hell name he’s going by, is dangerous.”

  Arch dragged a hand over his face. “Like you said, my emotions are showing. I fucked up but it’s too late now.”

  The ragged edge to the man’s tone sawed through Milo’s anger. He didn’t trust Arch, but he liked him. Even when they’d been on opposite sides of the law, when the grifter had slipped through his fingers time and again, making him look like a dumb-ass with the boys at A.I.A., he’d liked him. And because Arch was willing to stick his neck out for this associate, someone he actually cared about, he liked him even more.

  Shit.

  “It’s not too late,” he said. “We’ll fly Evie out of St. Thomas tomorrow, concoct a story, salvage our covers. Chameleon will take down Lamont.”

  “Even though it’s oot of the Agency’s jurisdiction?”

  “Even though.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it just became personal.”

  Presently, Gina stepped in and upped the stakes. “We’ve got trouble.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE I broke his foot, Gavin. I am so sorry.”

  “Please stop apologizing, Sugar. The man accosted you. Are you sure you don’t want to press charges?”

  “I’m sure. I mean, I feel sort of at fault. I did walk out on deck with him in the middle of the night and…” I groaned, pressed the ice pack Doctor Drake had given me against the knot on my forehead as Gavin escorted me to my cabin. How stupid could I be? Fred was slick. A smooth-talking, sultry-eyed flirt. He’d made a play for me the night before. I should have known his proposition would be of a lewd nature.

  Problem was, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. When he maneuvered me into a dark corner and pawed me, I’d panicked. Not being able to push out of his arms, I stomped on his foot with my spiky heels. Hard. “How will he teach your dance classes with a cast up to his knee?”

  “After my boss and the head of security get through with him, he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t spend the night in the brig. Believe me, fulfilling his obligations as dance instructor is the last thing on our minds. Are you sure you don’t want to press charges?”

  “I’m sure.” Filing a complaint, involving authorities…What if I somehow compromised Arch’s mission? What if they looked up Sugar Dupont in the computer only to discover she didn’t exist?

  “Here we are.” Gavin tugged me to a stop at my cabin door.

  I felt a bit fuzzy. The struggle. Fred shoving me aside, causing me to bonk my head on the railing after I mashed his foot. The shock of knowing I’d sent yet another man to the infirmary. Staying in character throughout the entire episode had been exhausting. The rolling of my stomach rivaled the throbbing of my head.

  “Do you have your Fiesta Card?”

  “No, I…No. It’s in my purse and I think I left that in the lounge.” At least I’d had the forethought to tuck my wallet, holding my real ID, into Big Red.

  “Maybe a waitress picked it up or someone turned it in. I’ll check.” He cleared his throat. “Is your husband inside?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I had no idea where Arch had gone. Maybe he’d returned to the lounge by now. Maybe he had my purse.

  “No problem,” Gavin said. “I have a passkey.”

  He opened the door and I ventured inside, stalling just over the threshold. “He’s not here,” I said, a big, fat knot forming in my throat. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  “I can have him paged.”

  “No. Thanks, but no.” I just stood there, feeling disoriented and wishing he’d go away. What would Sugar do?

  “Again. I can’t apologize enough for this unfortunate incident,” Gavin said. “I wish there was something I could do. Make this up to you somehow.” He sighed. “Wait. I know. Although…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  Whoa. I was fuzzy headed, not unconscious. A few brain cells still sparked. I turned, careful not to sound too eager. “What?”

  “I’m not really supposed to talk about it.” He glanced over both shoulders, up and down the hall.

  I glanced at the crystal vase, thinking I could bean him if he got frisky like Fred. I was getting pretty good at hurting people. Because of me Tex needed stitches. Fred, a cast. I wondered if Arch had a bruise where I’d punched him. “How rude of me to leave you standing in the hall. I’m sorry. Please, come in.”

  “The ship frowns upon staff visiting passengers’ cabins.”

  “Nonsense. You saw me safely to my room. I can at least offer you a drink.” Come on, come in.

  “I’ll pass on the drink, but I will come inside for a moment. Let’s leave the door ajar.”

  Okay. So maybe he was a straight-up guy as I’d first thought. The surge of energy I’d experienced fizzled. I sank down on the love seat, kicked off my sparkly bone-crushers. “You were saying?”

  He hovered near the doorway, lowered his voice. “I’m not really supposed to talk about this. Dragonfly hasn’t gone public yet. It’s all very hush-hush. Only a select few will receive an invitation to get in on the ground floor. But it’s perfect for you and I owe you. You really made me look good in front of my boss tonight. Don Juan’s was jumping. The only downer was Fred.” He frowned. “I definitely owe you for that buffoon’s behavior. I am, after all, one of his superiors. However, this would have to remain between you and me. This thing.”

  “I’m not following you, Gavin.” Really. I wasn’t.

  Again he looked over his shoulder then back at me. “How would you like to live on a cruise ship full-time? Own your own cabin. Travel the world.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  He smiled. “Actually, it’s quite affordable. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a limited few.”

  This was it! The offer Arch had tipped me off to. I felt a bit dizzy and I was pretty sure it wasn’t solely due to the bonk on my head. Gavin was the mark! The bad guy. Only he didn’t seem threatening and I wasn’t nervous so much as excited. “I want in.”

  He blinked at me and I realized I’d practically squealed the words. Simmer down, Parish. Stay in character. “What I mean is, Charlie and I, we were just talking about purchasing a second home. And, like, well, a cabin could be a second home, right? Kind of a floatin’ condominium?”

  His shoulders relaxed and the smile returned. “Right.”

  “Only, well, I don’t handle our money. That’s Charlie’s department.”

  “I understand.” He shifted his weight, considered.

  I pressed the ice pack more firmly to my head to keep it from exploding. Play it cool. “Here’s the thing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve had a blast these past couple of days.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Between you and me, Connecticut is a little boring. Livin’ like this more often? That would make me very happy.” I smiled. “Charlie wants me to be happy.”

  He nodded. “All right then. I’ll have a talk with your husband. But not here. I really can’t stay any longer. I’m expected.”

  “We’re going into St. Thomas tomorrow,” I blurted.

  “So am I. Tell him to meet me at the Coconut Shack, say, one in the afternoon? It’s near Magens Bay. And, Sugar,” he said as he backed toward the door, “make sure Mr. Dupont realizes this is an inside tip. Very hush-hush.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up. “Mum’s the word.”

  He shut the door
and I pumped my fist in the air. “Yes!” Then promptly fell back on the love seat and pressed the ice pack to my aching head.

  “I TOLD YOU TO KEEP an eye on her.”

  “I’m a player, not a babysitter.” Gina threw her handbag on her bed.

  Milo tossed his Stetson on the vanity. “She could have been seriously hurt.”

  “She did all right. She broke the slimeball’s foot.”

  “The nurse said she had a contusion.”

  “Self-inflicted. She bobbled and bashed her head. You said it yourself, she’s a klutz.” Gina sat on the bed, pried off her heels. “Calm down, Jazzman. Jesus, they can probably hear you in the next cabin.”

  Milo breathed deep, rolled his neck to ease a kink. “What the hell happened back there?” He still sounded surly, but at least he wasn’t yelling.

  She shifted, sat cross-legged and massaged the balls of her feet. “I was watching her. She was smack in the middle of a crowd of old farts, dancing and having a high old time. Then this pretty-boy approached me, introduced himself as Horatio and started laying it on thick. Turns out he works for the ship. A dance escort. Strictly kosher, so he said. But I’m thinking, okay, so he could be a candidate.”

  She glanced up and nailed Milo with a calm, sincere gaze. “I was doing business. The moment I noticed she was missing, I blew off Horatio and tracked her down. Fred’s anguished cry worked like a beacon.”

  Milo ran his tongue over his teeth, scraped both hands over his buzz cut. “I need a drink.”

  “Beer in the minibar. Grab me one, too, will you?”

  He snagged two longnecks, tossed her one, then sank down on his bed. “Sorry about—”

  “Forget it.” She took a long pull of her beer then angled her head. “Why don’t you fill me in on your discussion with Ace. Given your shitty mood, I’m guessing things are going to get rocky.”

  I’M NOT SURE HOW LONG Gavin had been gone before the door swung open and Arch blew in. A minute? Five? I’d been lying on the sofa, nursing my noggin and committing my discussion with Gavin to memory. Time sort of blurred.

  I heard the door shut, heard my name. I pushed myself up, adjusted the hem of my dress and leaned back against the sofa. “You’re not going to believe what happened.”

  “Fred attacked you. I heard.” He flashed my clutch purse then tossed it on the table.

  “Oh, good. Thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You sound funny.”

  “I dinnae feel funny.”

  I realized then that he was slipping out of costume, slowly, meticulously. Jeez. Didn’t he see the goose-egg on my forehead? Wasn’t he concerned? “What are you feeling?”

  “Angry.”

  “Really? Your angry is like most people’s bored.” He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at me. Stripped down to his trousers and a T-shirt, he moved into the bathroom. The elation that I felt regarding Gavin’s proposition wilted. Dread blossomed in its place. Was Arch going to go postal? Pull a Beretta or Glock—or whatever spies used these days—and go gunning for Fred? “If it’s any consolation, he didn’t attack me exactly. He just sort of groped.”

  Silence.

  “I broke his foot. I didn’t mean to. I’m not a violent person…usually. Must have been the adrenaline…or something.”

  Silence.

  Crap. I pushed off of the love seat and approached the bathroom. He’d left the door open, so I dawdled on the threshold. Tonight, he removed the prosthetics with greater speed and far less care. Uh-oh.

  “I think they’re going to throw him in the brig,” I said. “Which is a fancy nautical term for jail. I saw this movie once and—”

  “This is real life, Evie. Not a movie.”

  It was then that I realized he wasn’t angry with Fred so much as me. My pulse accelerated, my breathing quickened. I stood there frozen, catapulted back in time to when I’d disappointed my mom. Too many times to count. But it didn’t matter. Each time I felt like a loser. A failure.

  “Why did you put yourself in a compromising position?”

  “You told me if anyone propositioned me…” I swallowed hard, summoned a backbone. “You said your guy, your mark, was in entertainment or hospitality. That’s Fred. You said if anyone offered me a chance of a lifetime…well, he said he had a proposition. What was I supposed to do? You said play along. So I did. But his proposition involved sex. I’m pretty sure that’s not what you meant. And even if it was, I declined. He refused my refusal. I broke his foot. And that was that.”

  Arch scrubbed his face with soap and water. I stood there, vibrating as he completed the transformation from Charles to Arch. I stood there thinking, I don’t know you at all. Not an iota. I didn’t know his background or values. Why did I care what he thought of me?

  But I did. I cared.

  Big-time.

  “I hate that you’re not honest with me. I hate that you’re not direct. Hello? I can’t fix what I don’t know is broken.” I tapped my temples. “Not a mind reader.”

  My anguished words echoed in my head. I shivered and rubbed my goose pimply arms. Who was I blasting? Arch or Michael? Again, I was reminded of how alike they were when it came to manipulating emotions. Sleeping with Arch, even for the pure thrill, had been one big-ass mistake.

  My stomach cramped as I waited for him to explain his bonehead behavior. Still he said nothing, just peeled his T-shirt over his head. I watched his back muscles roll with the effort and again bemoaned the attraction.

  He turned and faced me, his eyes riveted on the floor tiles.

  Why won’t you look at me? My breath caught in my throat, along with my words. He looked so guarded, so unapproachable. I grappled for a coherent thought, spewed my good news. “Gavin is your mark. He walked me to our cabin, pitched a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He said he’ll meet you at the Coconut Shack tomorrow, one o’clock.”

  Yeah, boy, that got his attention. His gaze locked with mine and my desert-dry tongue knotted. The intensity of that gray-green stare was staggering. He braced his hands on his hips. “What else did he say?”

  Thinking I’d finally broken through, I blew out a breath, shook off my anger and focused on the job. I repeated our conversation verbatim, or close to it, because I have a kick-ass memory. I expected him to comment. To question. To acknowledge that I’d supplied him with valuable information. Something. Anything. I would’ve settled for “well done.”

  Silence. Stony-faced silence.

  He stripped off his pants and shorts. He bypassed me and the whirlpool tub, stepped into the shower stall and severed our conversation by shutting the door and blasting the water.

  I stared at the frosted shower pane, blood burning, skin sizzling. Great. Now in addition to being fired up I was turned-on. Mr. Manly Man in all his naked splendor was branded on my corneas for life. All those glorious muscles, that tribal tattoo, his rebel good looks, not to mention JT.

  Fascinated with a one-eyed beast. Obsessed with sex. So unlike me. Thing was, I hadn’t been “me” in days. It was as if a mad scientist had attached a mind-bending contraption to my head in an effort to alter my behavior patterns. The old me avoided confrontation. Good girls don’t cause scenes. Since that humiliating spokesmodel audition, I’d been anything but good. I’d been acting out, speaking my mind, for several days running. Yup. Just as I’d first thought, after forty-one years of internalizing, I’d finally snapped.

  “I know I’m not trained in this spy stuff, but I’m a good actress, and I have good instincts. I’m a natural. You said so yourself. If I did something wrong, didn’t get enough information from Gavin, then that’s your fault, not mine. That need-to-know policy of yours is a little restricting. Insulting, too. It’s like you don’t trust me.”

  I jabbed a finger at the fogged-over pane. “Let me tell you, buster, I am completely, utterly trustworthy! It’s one of my better qualities, along with being a trouper. If you’d had the courtesy to look at me, you might have notice
d the knot on my forehead. Groped and wounded in the line of duty, yet I haven’t whined. You could have at least asked if I’m okay!”

  Winded from my rant, I jerked open the door, reestablishing face-to face confrontation. “What is your problem?”

  “You.”

  His arm snaked out, wrapped around my waist. He hauled me into the shower fully clothed. Pressed against the tiled wall, my heart thudded as he plastered his soaked naked body against me, and kissed me blind.

  Did I mention he was naked?

  This was better than a sexy scene out of a romance novel, because this was real. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held tight as my bones melted. Steamy, hot, wet. Me. Arch. The shower. I intensified the kiss, opening my mouth wider, hungrily seeking his tongue, his affection. I wanted more, needed more.

  Fill the emptiness.

  I moaned in frustration when he framed my face in his hands and eased away. But then he studied my forehead and gently kissed my bump. “You scared the shite oot of me, Sunshine.”

  In that instant, I understood his bonehead behavior. He cared about me, even if only a little. Cared that I’d been hurt, and that it had, on some level, been his fault. If not for him, I wouldn’t be here at all. He felt responsible, guilty. But for whatever reason, personal or professional, he fought hard to suppress his feelings.

  I knew all about suppression.

  Water sprayed out of the shower nozzle, steam swirled, and I felt myself slipping in more ways than one. Arch annihilated any vestiges of self-restraint with a sincere and caring gaze. Snap. “I know you don’t do relationships. I know we’re not a good idea, but—”

  He silenced me with a ravenous kiss. His hands moved swiftly, peeling my soaked dress off my trembling form, exploring every inch of me. Every curve, every crevice.

  My eyes rolled back as he stroked me much as he had the night before, only slower this time. I squirmed against his hand, moaned into his mouth, as he coaxed me toward a mind-bending climax. Fireworks burst behind my eyelids when he rounded the bases, suckling my breasts and then sliding his tongue home. Three flicks and…BAM!