My Spy (6 page)

“Can't.” Annie fought off another yawn. “I'm a basket case without my morning run. After that I have two honeymooning couples arriving, and I want to be on hand to greet them.”

“Your call.” Izzy took the stack of towels and tossed the comforter on the couch. “Just remember, as far as your staff knows, I'm here to handle the upgrades on your computer
system and check out resort security, but I'm fully prepared to handle whatever else you want to throw at me.” He took a sleek laptop computer from his flight bag and set it carefully on the dresser. “Sam's going to need
you
a heck of a lot more than he needs me, so consider me at your disposal. I can handle followups, guest bookings, and inventory checks. I can even calculate your payroll.”

“Something tells me doing payroll's not in your usual job description,” Annie mused.

“I put in some time on a cruise ship last year. It was an interesting experience.”

“Why am I thinking murder, mayhem, and national security threats?”

His lips curved. “Beats me. Let's just say, I know the drill.”

“I'm sure it would make an interesting story. Then again, you're probably not allowed to discuss any of it.”

Izzy smiled and said nothing, pointing to Annie's cell phone. “Remember to keep that with you. It's programmed so all you have to do is punch the star key if you need me.”

“I seriously doubt that I'll have any emergencies involving inventory or staff payroll.” She examined the high-tech phone as if it might bite her. “On the other hand, if my test pilot doesn't agree to ditch his stash of gin, I may need you to escort him from the premises.”

“Not a problem.” Izzy finished checking the room, then headed back to the door. “After you.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I'll see you to your house.”

“That's not necessary. It's just across the courtyard and we haven't had a robbery here in ten years.”

“I'm glad to hear it, but from now on it's SOP.”

“Silly old plan?”

Izzy's eyes glinted. “Standard operating procedure.”

Annie went very still. “Is Sam in some kind of danger?”

“There's no reason to think so.”

“In that case, am I?”

Izzy continued to stand in the doorway. “None that we're aware of.”

“Then why all these precautions?”

Izzy motioned her outside, all the time scanning the darkness. Annie realized he had memorized the layout of the resort and its outlying buildings. Beneath his engaging facade, the man had a razor-sharp intelligence and years of solid experience. Annie was also sure that most of his work was classified.

Why had the Navy sent a smart, experienced operative to protect a wounded man from possible media exploitation?

It didn't add up.

Surf rumbled in the distance as they cut through the dark courtyard. “Well?”

“Twenty million viewers saw Sam save that bus. The Navy can use that kind of good publicity.”

“It's better than sexual harassment suits,” Annie murmured. “So they're going to get as much mileage as possible out of their newest hero.”

Izzy moved a branch out of Annie's way. “Every journalist in America wants a piece of this story. If his location is leaked, Summerwind is going to be knee-deep in Mike Wallace wannabes.”

Annie frowned. If Izzy was right, Sam could lose the peace and quiet he needed for recovery, and she would lose all her high-profile clients, who guarded their privacy obsessively. “What's the problem? The Navy has taken precautions so that no one will know Sam is here.” She stopped in the darkness, struck by a sudden, uneasy thought. “Unless there's a slip at your end.”

Izzy said nothing.

“That's the real reason you're here, isn't it? Somehow the news has gotten out.”

They were outside the garden around her house now. Moonlight had turned the hollyhocks into a row of dancing silver
petals. After scanning the darkness, Izzy climbed the steps, tried Annie's door, and frowned.

“I told you to keep this locked.” Before she could protest, he stepped inside, switched on the inner light, and vanished.

Another security check, Annie realized.

Some powerful people were taking Sam's safety very seriously. But she wanted the whole story, not a carefully edited civilian version. When Izzy reappeared, she was waiting, arms crossed. “I agreed to help Sam, but I didn't agree to take on a bodyguard, no matter how helpful. I also don't like having the Navy's mess dumped in my lap.”

“I've told you everything I know.”

Oddly, Annie believed him. “What about the leak?”

“Let the experts handle that.”

She fingered the sleek cell phone. “All this cloak-and-dagger stuff feels ridiculous.”

“When you accepted Sam's care, you accepted the whole package,” Izzy said gently. “As far as the Navy's concerned, that's nonnegotiable.”

“In other words, tough.” Annie's voice was tight. “If I had any sense, I'd back out now.”

“I don't think so. You care too much.”

She took a slow breath, trying to gauge his expression in the half-light. “Why is he so important?”

“He's the Navy's biggest hero,” Izzy said softly. “He's also the man you're going to put back together.”

“What
else
is Sam Mitchell?”

“His real name is McKade.” Izzy walked her to the door.

“Sleep well, Annie. Be sure to lock up after me.”

S
ECOND
BY
SECOND.

He drifts, slipping down into dreams.

Instead of a hospital bed, Sam McKade finds a place where torn ligaments, battered knee, and burning shoulder are
forgotten, a place with golden sun and waves slapping on a fiberglass hull. Here are calm seas and wind out of the west as he drifts with sails slack.

It is good to be in that place, wherever it is, with the smell of the sea in his face.

His mind clicks, a new image rising. He recognizes her scent even before he sees her face, challenge in her eyes and laughter floating on the steady wind. The teak deck rocks gently as she walks toward him, barefoot, wearing his old 49ers jersey, a copy of the one Montana wore on his run to glory.

He is on the verge of gruff questions and reckless promises in that moment. He hovers on the brink of emotions too dangerous to explore.

But she gives him no time, tossing a wet fish at his chest. “There's dinner. Better get going, ace.”

He catches the fish in one hand, flings it high over his head, back into the blue water, never taking his eyes from her face. “I have a better idea.”

Stripping off his T-shirt, shucking his sneakers, he comes for her, scooping her up and leaning dangerously over the rail.

Her eyes are huge. “You wouldn't!”

“Afraid I would.”

His mind clicks again, fast forwarding to Annie's body locked against him as he drops over the rail, savoring the cool slap of the sea when they hit.

Like a precious cargo he carries her back to the surface, already peeling away the red jersey and tonguing the cool skin beneath until she shivers against him, presses hard, wanting what he wants.

Click-click.

Images race. Her legs long and bare as she licks warm marshmallows from his fingers, laughing at their mess.

Click-click.

Her body bent above him, first tentative, then strong with need that leaves her panting, searching, straining.

Click-click.

Their fingers locked in the bright flare of blood and muscle and his sudden knowledge that she is crying. But she never explains and he is too careful to ask questions as they lie spent beneath a world of stars.

Click-click.

Again the memories, this time in broken conversation.

“I have to go back too many guests four meetings tomorrow a new receptionist—

—stay—

—interviewing a chef meeting my sister for lunch ordering a dozen chairs for the—

—stay, Annie—

I can't no I can't I really can't—”

Collapsing on the deck, their clothes in a tangle, the sky black silk shot through with hot white stars as he pulls her down, down to meet his body, hard with desire.

Click-click.

Click-click.

The images race by as Sam McKade tosses in his hospital bed far away from Summerwind's quiet cove. The memories burn hot and sharp as stars—Canopus, Vega, and Orion with his belt of fire.

But like stars at dawn, the images fade and break and he wakes, knowing somehow that in waking he will forget not only her name but everything else that truly matters.

H
E
OPENS
HIS
EYES
IN
A
COLD
HOSPITAL
ROOM.
HE
LIES
BATHED in sweat, feeling something move close.

When he reaches up, the thing with no name flows through his fingers, elusive as sea wind, the what or who or why of it lost beyond reclaiming. He is left with a sadness beyond words.

F
IVE.

Six.

Seven.

Annie's brain slowly began to clear as she finished her first set of predawn stretches. Mist curled around her, ghosting through the twisted cypress trees above the beach.

She had to forget the cloak-and-dagger stuff. Her sleep had been fitful, broken by unsettling dreams. Being around Izzy was making her paranoid.

As she jogged in place, two otters played a game of touch football in the kelp beds, and she felt her tension lift. Everywhere she looked was sand and sea. She'd loved this beach since she was old enough to paddle through the surf and watch a pod of dolphins click out indecipherable questions. Summerwind commanded a view of twenty miles of coast and Annie savored that beauty, turning slowly, letting the wind play over her. There was no place more beautiful.

She turned to find Izzy rounding the path from the resort, his nylon jacket snapping in the wind.

Who else? Annie thought. Her staff knew that her morning runs were sacrosanct, disturbed for nothing less than fire, bankruptcy, or earthquakes.

She waited with her hands on her hips. “I run alone, Mr. Teague.”

“Not anymore you don't, Ms. O'Toole.”

Polite but relentless, Annie thought. “That's ridiculous.”

Izzy raised his hands, palms up. “Rules.”

Fuming, Annie set off at a hard clip. When she glanced
back, Izzy was maintaining a three-yard distance. Curious, she speeded up.

He did the same.

So he'd done this sort of thing before. Probably he'd been assigned to accompany diplomats, military officers, or government officials.

The least she could do was give him a workout.

She followed the narrow path over the dune to the beach. Wind tugged at her clothes as she lengthened her stride along the damp, packed sand at the water's edge. There Annie lost herself in the cry of seabirds and the beauty of the dawn streaking red in the east.

Jogging in place, she stared back at Izzy. “Forget about maintaining a polite distance. If you're going to run, come up here and give me some competition.” She jumped agilely across a narrow arm of the creek that ran down to meet the sea just beyond the resort's boundary.

Annie knew every curve and rise of the coast. She'd run this way a thousand times, first as a girl, then as a woman. Thanks to the magic of the changing light and windswept water, no two runs were ever the same.

“I love this place.” Somehow the words spilled out, part of an emotion she couldn't contain.

“I can see why.” Izzy trotted beside her, matching her stride.

Annie was irritated to see that he hadn't even broken a sweat. “Do you do this often?”

“Run?”

“Run as part of security backup,” Annie clarified.

“Now and then.” He scanned the slope as he spoke. “Seldom in such beautiful terrain—or such pleasant company. The last man I ran with barked orders into a tape recorder for forty minutes straight.” He shook his head. “Kind of spoils the point of getting away and recharging, if you ask me. Of course, he wasn't asking me.”

Annie watched him survey the beach, then study the upper orchard. He was very good at his job, she realized. Sam would be in excellent hands.