by Beth Ciotta
Carol broke the silence. “You’re making spectacles of yourselves. I’m sure these liberal-minded sunbathers don’t appreciate three fully clothed snowbirds gawking at their privates. Vic, honey, I know you’re not shy. Charles, you may be a prig, but Sugar’s a kindred free spirit.” She nailed me with a challenging gaze. “Right?”
“Right,” I heard myself saying. Because Sugar was a free spirit. Her habit of dressing provocatively proved she wasn’t inhibited. She wouldn’t think twice about sunbathing topless on a clothing-optional beach. Also, I’d told Arch I could keep up the ruse, no matter what. Here was a chance to prove my determination. Talk about a test. I didn’t even walk around my own house naked.
Just then, something clicked. The way Charles-Arch’s attention kept floating back to Carol. Yeah, boy, this was a perfect setup for Sugar’s-my tantrum later on when-if I caught him in a “compromising embrace” with the pretentious slut. Unbelievable.
No doubt he expected me to buckle now. To follow through with his planned “bloody row” and to fly home. You’re too soft. Meaning too sensitive. Too nice.
Had he forgotten? That was the old me.
I kicked off my shoes and shorts and unbuttoned my blouse. It’s not as if I hadn’t bared my boobies before. First the audition, then the airport parking lot. Maybe the third time would be the charm. If Jayne was right and breasts were a good omen then all the more reason to go for it, what with underworld plots and maniacal villains in my future.
At the very least, I’d prove that, although ten to fifteen years older, my boobs were just as perky as Carol’s. I wanted to impress Arch in more ways than one. I didn’t want to think about the man standing next to him. I blocked Tex from my mind as I casually slipped off my bikini top and flopped facedown on my beach towel. “Charlie, baby, could you rub some sunscreen on my back?”
At least it was one way to get Arch’s hands on me. Although his portrayal of Charles continued to be flawless, I knew he was ticked at me for blackmailing him. I knew he wanted me gone. Partly because he was worried about my safety. Partly because he thought I was going to screw up. And partly, the part that intrigued me most, because he had a thing for me. I was sure of it. Those thoughts caused me to dig in my heels. I liked being here. In the soup with a spy, that is. Yesterday I’d rediscovered passion. Today I’d found purpose.
For the greater good.
Charlie’s Angels had nothing on me. Well, except for great hair and martial arts training.
I was feeling pretty cocky until I felt the pressure of a large, strong hand on my bare skin. Then the warm lotion. Then two hands, moving in a steady circular motion over my shoulders, middle and lower back. I closed my eyes, shivering as my body endured sensual aftershocks from our previous encounters. I reveled in the gentle massage, the sound of the water lapping at the shore, the lulling heat of the afternoon sun. The smell of coconut oil and Old Spice.
Arch.
I envisioned wild monkey sex and sighed.
Carol called someone a bastard.
“It’s hot as the devil’s kitchen,” Vic said, snapping me out of my daze. “I ain’t risking a sunburned ass. I’m headin’ back to that beach bar we passed and grabbin’ a beer.”
The Coconut Shack. The meeting. It had to be close to time. I would have jerked straight up, if Arch hadn’t pinned me down. “Stay, love,” he said. “Enjoy the sun and surf. I believe I’ll join Vic for a cool drink. Why don’t you ladies join us in an hour?”
“Don’t worry about us,” Carol drawled with a sickeningly sweet smile. “We’ll get along just fine. Right, Sugar?”
“You bet.” I pushed my vintage black sunglasses up my sweaty nose, grateful that no one could see the daggers shooting out of my eyes and aimed at the topless she-devil. Follow my lead, Arch had said. Obviously, he didn’t want me in on the meeting with Gavin. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect him of conspiring with Carol back at the governor’s mansion while Vic and I toured the gardens. Which led me back to my original thought that they had a previous relationship—Arch and Carol. Which made me think of Mata Hari and double-crossing spies, which made my imagination soar.
So, I wondered as I heard the men walk off, how did Tex Aloha figure into this?
“BLOODY HELL.”
“Yeah.” They were far enough away from the women to speak freely. Still, Milo kept his voice low and an eye trained for anyone within earshot. “Did you know Little Magens was for nudists?”
“Hell, no. You?”
“No.” Milo tipped back his Stetson, dragged his forearm across his moist brow. “I’m thinking Gina knew.”
Arch glared at him over the rim of his glasses.
“She’s royally pissed at you, Arch.”
“And using Evie to exact revenge.”
“Is it working? Are you sorry you screwed a teammate—literally and figuratively? Because I am. Gina’s a vital member of Chameleon. If she resigns or forces me to fire her ass because she can’t get past this woman scorned shit, then I will be the one who’s royally pissed.”
“You’ve been pissed since I’ve known you,” Arch said.
“How about that?”
“I never thought she’d go that far. Baring her breasts. Bugger.”
“Gina or Evie?”
“Evie.” Arch dabbed at the sweat trickling over his prosthetics with a folded handkerchief. “So did you look?”
“What do you think?” He wished to hell he hadn’t. Bad enough he’d gotten a full frontal of Gina. Made it harder to think of her as “one of the boys.” Now he’d worry about her more in the field. That sucked. But it was Evie who promised to haunt his dreams. That compact body in those green bikini bottoms and nothing else. She was curvier than Gina, softer. Feminine over buff, his personal preference. He’d only gotten a glimpse of her breasts before she’d belly-flopped on her towel, but he’d seen enough to know that they were firm, high and perfectly shaped. Oh, yeah, he’d be dreaming about those breasts. To pile misery upon misery, he couldn’t get her husky singing voice out of his head.
“Every time I think I have her pegged, she surprises me,” Arch complained.
“Gina or Evie?”
“Evie. For fucksake, mate, pay attention. I had no idea she was that comfortable with her body.”
“Evie? The blond bunny who skips around in tight, skimpy outfits?”
“That’s Sugar, not Evie.”
“Hell.”
Arch stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket, expression grim as they continued along the rocky shoreline. “She stripped off her top to prove she’s got balls. To prove she’s qualified.”
“For what? To compete in the Ms. Tropic Babe contest?”
Arch shot him a look. “To join the team.”
Milo waited for two young sunbathers to pass them, and then nudged his partner off the trail and into a thicket of trees. “You told her about Chameleon?”
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?’
Arch thumbed up the brim of his hat. “I mentioned I work for a company, TCC. She assumed the initials stood for a covert intelligence agency.”
He crossed his arms to keep from punching the man. “Like the CIA. FBI. Something like that?”
“More like SIS. MI6.”
“British Intelligence?”
Arch grinned. “She has a bit of a James Bond fixation, yeah?”
“You’re telling me Twinkie—”
“Evie.”
“—thinks you’re a frickin’ secret agent? An international spy? Well, that’s just…” He laughed, shook his head. “Let her have her fantasy. It’s not like she can look you up after this.”
Arch rubbed the back of his neck.
Milo’s gut kicked. “Tell me you didn’t give her your real name and number?”
“Gave her a fake last name and real cell number to an alternate phone, yeah?”
“Lose the phone.”
“Done.”
“What about Stone? Can she
get to you through him?”
“That would mean him having to explain our connection.”
“Something I’d like to know about myself.”
“Wouldn’t endear him to you, mate.”
“Not looking for a friend.” Milo swatted away a bug, checked his watch. “All right. Ten minutes until you’re supposed to meet our man. Only natural that we enter the Coconut Shack together. The Parkers and the Duponts have established themselves as cruise buddies. When you see Gavin, make your excuses and I’ll hang back. We’ll better know what we’re dealing with after the come-on. Once back in Charlotte Amalie, we’ll put Evie on a charter jet, brainstorm the sting and—”
“She’s not going.”
“What?”
Arch shrugged. “I told her the plan. She told me to shove it.”
“Shove it?” Milo looked over his shoulder, then back at Arch. “Over the years you’ve snowed thousands of people, from salesmen to sheiks, corporate presidents to seasoned cops. You’re telling me you couldn’t persuade one unstable lounge entertainer to get on a plane?”
“Piss off.”
“Fuck you.”
Arch checked the time. “Ready to dance?”
Summoning Vic’s laid-back persona, he swept a hand toward the trail. “You lead.”
Arch, the arrogant bastard, smiled. “Always do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I WAS DYING OF CURIOSITY. Dying, I tell you. By the time Carol and I reunited with Vic and Charles the meeting was over. No sign of Gavin. No update from Arch. No telling hints from his expression or body language. I couldn’t grill him because I couldn’t get him alone.
We rejoined our tour group and returned to Charlotte Amalie via the crammed shuttle bus. Everyone was in a grand mood. Everyone but me. Well, and Carol, who bitched the whole way back about the limited beach time. If you ask me the hour had been fifty-nine minutes too long. An hour alone with Ms. Tall, Dark and Obnoxious was eternity. Not that we’d exchanged three words. Luckily, sunbathing was the ultimate silent sport.
Still, retaining Sugar’s clueless, perpetually cheery attitude proved a major feat as the bus zipped back into the bustling port town. I had to know if the meeting went all right. Did Gavin pitch the ultimate deal or did Tex butt in and muck things up? Gavin had specified Dragonfly was hush-hush. Did he clam up when Arch didn’t show up alone?
Arrrrgh!
It’s not as though I could glean a clue from Arch’s mood, because he was Charles. Not that it was easy to get a bead on Arch anyway. The man flatlined on emotions.
Imagine my frustration when he performed a song and dance, ditching me in downtown Charlotte Amalie in favor of shopping with Vic. To make matters worse, he told me to stick with Carol. My only solace was in knowing he wasn’t going to send me packing, not today, anyway, because he’d told me to meet him back on the ship. But that didn’t guarantee he wouldn’t try to trick me into leaving tomorrow. Understanding his motivations was harder than working the New York Times crossword puzzle.
Amid the verbal shuffle, he’d told me he wanted to buy me something special. A surprise. I didn’t argue. I couldn’t argue. I was Sugar and Sugar would be over-the-moon ecstatic that her beloved Charlie-baby wanted to buy something special.
Man. I was really beginning to despise the free-spirited twit.
I needed an immediate distraction before I blew my top or horrors, cracked out of turn. Maybe shopping was the ticket. Main Street boasted designer shops like Ralph Lauren, Benetton and Gucci. Century-old warehouses converted into restored retail stores lined the waterfront. Leather, jewelry, perfume, cameras and exotic trinkets. You name it, Charlotte Amalie had it, and most of it was duty-free.
Just my luck. Stuck in the flipping “Shopping Mecca of the Caribbean” with Carol Parker.
Sugar, I decided, had limits. I turned to the leggy brunette and smiled. “I know our husbands told us to stick together, but, and please don’t take this the wrong way, I could use some time alone.”
She surveyed the crowded street and narrow alleyways while clutching her tote and Gucci handbag close. “Safety in numbers.”
“I can take care of myself.” If only I had a glove, I’d challenge her with a haughty slap. Alas, I simply quirked one brow. “You?”
Her glossy lips curled into an amused smirk. “See you back on the ship…Sugar.”
I scooted off with a halfhearted wave. As much as I disliked her I found it impossible to be totally rude. My parents had drilled common courtesy and respect into my head. Along with suppressing dramatic emotions—bad and good—and the concept that violence is wrong and good girls don’t complain. If I was too soft, then my parents were to blame. Except I know they had my best interests at heart and I truly did believe in most of their teachings. Maybe I just needed to find a healthy medium.
Maybe that was part of this perplexing change. Maybe the “snap” was me growing up into my own balance of beliefs. I didn’t know whether to celebrate or to cry. I decided to spend some money. Who knows what tomorrow would bring and I really wanted to buy gifts for Nicole and Jayne. Maybe something for Mom and Dad. Something romantic. Something to remind them that they belong together. At least, I think they belong together. I’m not exactly an authority on happy marriages.
On a whim, I ducked into the foyer of an Italian bistro, out of the crush and cacophony of the main drag, and dug through my Lucy tote. I hadn’t received an e-mail update from Christopher, so I decided to try Dad. Why did you buy the Corner Tavern? Why can’t you move back home? And, oh, by the way, remember when I was young and wanted to be a kick-butt crime fighter?
No signal. Darn. I hadn’t been able to get a signal while at port in San Juan, either. If I did end up working for TCC—The Counterintelligence Corps?—I’d have to upgrade my long-distance plan. Maybe they had some kind of company phone, one with video, a tracking system and secret-gadget functions. Wouldn’t that be cool?
“Sugar?”
Ack! Startled out of my daydream, I spun to find Martha and her cronies exiting the dining area and heading toward me, their arms loaded with bags of duty-free booty. I mentally reviewed their names and relationships. Joyce and Earl—married fifty-two years. Ethel and Sid—second marriage, twenty-five years. All longtime friends of Martha and her husband, Bert, who’d long since passed. I thought about the inside man, the shark who gobbled up sweet, trusting seniors, and saw red.
“We thought it was you, honey,” Martha said. She gestured to one of her friends, the white-haired fellow with the big nose, the one who reminded me of Grandpa Munster sans the vampire cape. “Actually, Earl spied you. He keeps swearing he knows you from somewhere.”
“I just have one of those faces,” I said nonchalantly, slipping my phone back into my tote. Surely Earl hadn’t seen my work in Atlantic City. Weren’t they from the Carolinas? Of course, he could’ve been part of a junket.
Martha shoved her cat-eye glasses up her sunburned nose and peeked around my shoulder. “Where’s Charles?”
“He’s off shopping with Mr. Parker.” I smiled and conjured a blush. “He wanted to buy me something special.”
“Jewelry, I’ll bet,” Joyce said. “Diamond International is around here somewhere. What was that other place we passed?”
“Diamond Palace,” Earl said. “If I was him I’d go for a bottle of one of those exotic fragrances we smelled in the Perfume Shoppe.”
“That’s because you’re cheap,” Joyce said.
“Well, you can’t walk around on your own, dear,” Martha said. “Frankly, I’m surprised Charles allowed you to do so, especially after that dreadful incident last night.”
“I knew Fred was a lecher,” Joyce said with a righteous sniff. “Good for you for breaking his leg.”
“Oh, I didn’t break his leg. It was just his—”
“I would have kneed him in the privates,” Ethel said.
Earl and Sid winced.
I suppressed a smile. “At any rate, it was sort o
f my fault for being so trusting.”
Martha patted my arm. “Another reason why you shouldn’t stroll these streets without a chaperone. Safety in numbers.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Martha looped her arm through mine and steered me back out onto Main Street. “We can shop as we head toward the docks. We need to board the ship by four-thirty.”
“But—”
“Where did Charles say he’d meet up with you?”
“Back on the ship, but—”
“It’s settled then,” Joyce said. “You’re coming with us. Anything special you want to buy?”
They huddled around me, all smiley and protective. I craned my head around for sight of Arch. Despite his leaving me behind to do God-knows-what with Vic—I was convinced more than ever something was going on there—I was hesitant to leave the area. As if he might need me. Or I might miss something I was needed to do.
Oh, well. If nothing else maybe I could find out how these couples managed to stay happily married for so long and glean some insight on my parents’ issues. Also, they were doing a pretty good job of keeping my mind off Arch and his mission. Resigned to a shopping spree with the golden girls and boys, I smiled. “I’d like to purchase a designer purse for one friend and a watch for another.”
“I know the perfect spot,” Ethel said.
“Maybe a camera for myself. Nothing too expensive or complicated. I left mine at home and, well, pictures would be nice.” Who knew if I’d ever get to the Caribbean again? Maybe I could even snap a picture of Arch to show Nicole and Jayne.
Martha squeezed my arm and smiled. “Let’s go get your camera, dear.”
AFTER DISAPPEARING into a maze of shops, Milo phoned Woody, asking him to e-mail specific information to his secured account. Meanwhile Arch purchased a few items for show, and soon after they made their way back to the ship.
They maintained casual banter, two friendly acquaintances retiring to Dupont’s suite for drinks and smokes while awaiting the return of their spendthrift wives. Once inside, they dropped the ruse and got down to business.
