Diamonds Are Truly Forever: An Agent Ex Novel 2 (23 page)

For just a second, she considered confessing the truth. Drew must have read her thoughts. He gave her a warning look. She realized that if he had to, he’d make up an outrageous lie about why her stuff was in the guest room. And out of politeness, or professional courtesy, or the sheer convincingness of Drew’s lies, Noe would believe him. Resistance, as they say, was futile.

“I’ll just go make up the guest room then.” She glanced at Drew.

He seemed totally unconcerned. “Good idea, Stace.”

“Don’t go to any trouble for me,” Noe said. “I can sleep anywhere.”

“No trouble,” she said, smiling.

“Wait! Before you go, let’s make our plans for tonight,” Noe said. “I’d like to try one of the fine winery restaurants Drew is always bragging to me about. How about the Dance Floor Winery? We should call for reservations?”

Drew pulled out his phone, bringing up some kind of app.

“I’m sorry, Noe,” Staci said. “Dance Floor is
the
place to go in Woodinville. You have to call months ahead.”

Noe ignored Staci and spoke to Drew. “Make the reservations for four.” He turned and grinned at Staci. “I hope you have a hot, single woman friend you can invite along for me. I hate to be the third wheel.”

Drew laughed. “Done. Reservations made for four. Stace, call Mandy. I’m sure she’d love to meet Noe.”

“Wait!” Staci said. “How did you get reservations?”

“CIA app,” Drew said.

“Who’d you bump? That’s an abuse of power.” She shook her head. “And I’m sure Mandy’s busy.”

“I have a feeling she’s not,” Drew said.

She opened her mouth to tell him she supposed he had an app for clearing Mandy’s schedule and convincing her to come, too. She shut it just in time and tried another approach. “I thought you two had late-night business?” Staci arched a brow.

“And what better way to stay awake until the wee hours of the morning for our appointment than enjoying fine food and the company of hot, beautiful women?” Noe winked.

“Spies and their libidos.” Staci kept on smiling, though it was killing her. Her husband was a crafty one.

Drew knew Mandy too well. She’d never pass up an evening with a man as tempting as Noe, or a chance to go to the Dance Floor Winery.

“Just who is Noe supposed to be for this big night out? Is he undercover as himself, too? Shall I entice her with the promise of a hot French Canadian date?” Staci asked with more than a touch of irony in her voice. On purpose. This was getting totally ludicrous. “I need the whole cover story. Details. Heaven forbid I should get caught in a lie.”

Drew scowled.

Noe laughed. “Very wise to ask about the cover. Your wife would make a good spy.”

Drew shook his head. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Tell your friend that I am Hamerican,” Noe said.

Staci had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. How was he going to hide that accent of his? And why should he? It was incredibly sexy. This should be an even more interesting evening than she imagined.

“An old university buddy of Drew’s. Noah, a good Hamerican version of my name where the
h
behaves as it should and stays quiet.” Noe grinned. “Tell your friend that you don’t know much about me. I’ll fill you both in together.”

Lies of omission again,
Staci thought. Worked for her.

*   *   *

Drew watched Staci until she disappeared up the stairs. He grabbed a Hook House Ale out of the fridge and tossed it to Noe. “You’re here about Martel?”

Noe nodded.

“Were you close?” Drew asked, wondering whether Noe had heard about Martel’s burial by hops.

“Barely knew him, my friend.” Noe grinned and unscrewed the top of his bottle of ale. “I heard the killer concealed him in a pile of hops. None of that hops is in here, I take it?” He lifted his bottle.

Drew shrugged. “Beer takes longer than a day to brew,” he said noncommittally. “We disposed of the offending hops.”

“Very good.” Noe raised his bottle toward Drew’s. “To catching the killer.”

Drew clinked his bottle against Noe’s. “Catching a killer.” Though he wondered. Catching the killer just might lose him Staci forever. Somehow that was beginning to matter more and more to him.

“Is this Mandy hot?” Noe asked.

“Smoking. And she’s wise to spies so be careful. Her late husband was a friend of mine from The Farm.” Drew’s cell buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket. Langley was texting. He turned to Noe. “I have to take this. Make yourself at home.”

Drew retreated to the most private room in the condo—the tiny main-floor bathroom—and shut the door. The bathroom was completely shielded and soundproofed. As a side benefit, the lighting was good, too. Drew was certain Noe, who was a top-notch spy, was already trying to intercept Drew’s text.

A message came up on Drew’s phone from headquarters.

Excellent intel you collected. The Gardener is in Victoria. The Fisherman plans to visit the gardens next weekend. This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for to bring them both in.

The brass wanted to apprehend Sam outside the country. Better for everyone that way. Less chance of someone raising a fuss. NCS could take him to a top-secret interrogation facility and find out what he knew.

Say hello to Noe. Canada will cooperate fully.

Still tracking the Fisherman’s financials. Make sure we get the Fisherman in hand before the Canadians grab him. Canada doesn’t even have a damn death penalty.

Drew read the message again to make sure he had all the details right. In the good old days of spying, a tape would self-destruct or a spy would have to eat and swallow a handwritten message. Drew simply hit
DELETE
and every trace of the message vanished. No computer genius could reconstruct it no matter how many software tricks and Porn Sticks were used.

Drew sat for a moment, thinking. Being with Staci again was giving him ideas he’d probably be better off not entertaining.

Is there a way to complete the mission
and
get the girl?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Dance Floor Winery was exactly what its name suggested—a winery with a restaurant and dance floor. Every night the spot featured wine from a different region of the world, paired with Pacific Northwest cuisine seasoned to match, plus a dance lesson and session with matching theme. Saturday night featured the most popular combo: Spanish wines—particularly Rioja and sherry, because Cuban wine was reputedly not up to the restaurant’s standards—Pacific Northwest salsa and chips, a menu seasoned with Hispanic flavor, and salsa dancing.

Staci loved dancing, always had. However, given her situation with Drew, and the fact that she was once again out in public trying to convince the world that she was passionately in love with him, she would have chosen a night with a different theme. Actually, she would have chosen another restaurant, one without dancing at all.

For all he’d acquiesced to Noe’s suggestion, Drew must not be any happier. He did
not
like to dance. The only dance he did passably well was the robot. All grace and athleticism in every other area of his life, on the dance floor the man moved like a piece of wood. Which was out of character—he sure knew how to move in the bedroom. It was good to know he was human and bad at
something.

He certainly played the part of happily-reunited, passionately-in-love, feels-like-the-first-time husband convincingly. He kept his arm around her naked back, hot, hot hand resting on her bare waist. Much as Staci hated to admit it, that possessive hand sent tingles through her whole body.

He whispered sweet, commanding nothings in her ear, seizing the opportunity and nibbling, too. “Smile more. We’re in love. Let’s give them something to talk about.”

Talk about? With his hot breath in her ear, she could barely think. She
was
smiling. Idiot smiling, lusty smiling. Her face felt frozen with it and she feared she showed too much emotion. Too much of how she loved him still.

He stroked her hair in a way that made her want to lean her head into his hand like a cat purring its way into a scratch. And then he stared at her in that soul-mate, penetrating way, as if she were the only woman in the room. He was so effective, he took her breath away. And
almost
convinced her.

Mandy grabbed Staci’s arm and whispered in her ear as they took their seats at their reserved table. “Are you sure you aren’t really back together? Drew looks like he wants to gobble you up.” She sighed. “And you should see the way you’re looking at him.”

“I am not looking at him.”

Mandy arched a brow and shook her head. She nudged Staci. “You didn’t tell me how hot Noah is.” Her eyes were wide and round, looking like a woman feasting on the sight of him and hoping to be sated later.

Staci shrugged. “I told you he’s good looking.”

“
Good looking
does not begin to cover it,” Mandy whispered back. “Who is he really?”

Being a spy’s widow, Mandy was naturally suspicious, particularly of any friend of Drew’s.

“I told you, he said he was a college friend of Drew’s.” Which was exactly the truth. That is what he’d said. Lies of omission. Staci loved them.

Mandy frowned for just a second. “Oh, well. Who cares who he really is? He’s delicious.”

And he had somehow picked up a perfect American accent. A Pacific Northwest accent, no less. Which sounded like broadcast English with a touch of Canadian thrown in, or so Staci had been told by people she met in other parts of the country. It would have been easy for a Vancouver-type Canadian to master. They’d have to do practically nothing. How Noe was managing was another matter. He no longer dropped his
h
’s or added them in odd places and the rest of his charming French Canadian accent was gone, too.

The hostess handed them menus and walked off. The waiter appeared, poured them a round of water, and took their drink orders. Staci opened her menu, determined to get back at Drew and Noe for putting her in this horrible situation.

She scanned the offerings. “The lighting’s very dim in here. I’m having a hard time seeing this.” Drew leaned over to help her, but she shoved her menu across to Noe. “Can you make this out?” She pointed to an entrée of halibut and smiled sweetly at him.

Noe squinted at it, looked up at her, and grinned as if he had her number. “Halibut with mango salsa. Very appropriate this evening. A Latin American favorite.” He spoke in perfect English, no slipping
h
’s. “How about hors d’oeuvres?”

“The oysters look tasty,” Drew said as he stroked her arm. He apparently understood what she was up to, too.

Now he was just playing mean. Oysters? Aphrodisiac food? No way. She was having enough trouble trying to keep her heart from racing while Drew pawed her as if he couldn’t keep his hands off her. And Noe cheated.
Hors d’oeuvres
was a French word!

Beneath the table, Drew gently stepped on her foot, warning her to ixnay on trying to trap Noe. She stabbed him back with her stiletto heel and had the pleasure of watching him maintain his adoring look while trying not to wince.

Noe called the waiter over. “This is a celebration. Bring us a bottle of your best Rioja.”

They went through two bottles of Rioja at dinner. Then Noe ordered a bottle of sherry to go with dessert. Even consuming so much wine, Noe did not mess up his
h
sounds, no matter how hard Staci ignored Drew’s warning and tried to trip him up.

Drew sat too close to Staci, playing his own game with her. Trying to get her to mess up? Or trying to get her back in bed later? He brushed her breast “accidentally.” Held her hand, squeezing it tightly, holding on as if there were no letting go. He nibbled her neck until Staci was this short of wanting to take him right to bed. She wondered if that was his plan. If he planned to make a liar out her.

And actually, if he succeeded in making a liar out of her, she should probably thank him. No one had succeeded before.

Staci had just fed Drew the last bite of
brazo gitano,
a jelly roll filled with guava, when a three-piece band took the stage. The lights dimmed and two dance instructors went to the mike. “Ladies and gentlemen, grab your partners. It’s time to salsa!”

The crowd clapped and cheered.

Staci turned and smiled sweetly at Drew, taking his head in both hands and running her thumb along his jaw. “We can skip the lesson, baby. I know how much you hate dancing.”

Her sweet consideration of him was all an act, of course. She did
not
want to salsa with him. Salsa dancing, done properly, was like foreplay. And she was already hot enough as it was. Done the way Drew danced, it was like taking a cold shower. In public. Something to be avoided in either case.

Keeping up the act, she kissed him lightly on the lips. Which was not a good idea. That tiny meeting of the lips sent tingles all the way to her toes.