The Spy Who Left Me (20 page)

Next to her, Ty put his hand in his pocket while he sipped his own cup of black coffee. The pocket into which she’d seen him drop whatever he’d received earlier.

Curious
. True, whatever Ty was investigating involved the Chinese. But she’d never known him to be unnecessarily wary or cautious. Which meant—this particular set of people was somehow tied to his mission.

She stared at them, momentarily stunned and horrified by the realization. Her coward instinct kicked in. She pictured the dead Chinese waiter and inhaled deeply; remembered the feeling of suffocation as someone garroted her with a lei.

Running blindly through a Halloween house of horrors was nothing compared to the knee-buckling fear and panic coursing through her now. She leaned against the van to steady herself and took another deep breath.

“You’re oozing,” Ty said. He pointed to her pastry.

She’d pinched it so tightly that coconut cream was seeping out the bottom.

She barely acknowledged him and didn’t even taste the coconut cream as she automatically licked it off.

She had to get out of here. Get home. As soon as possible. Whatever was in Ty’s pocket suddenly seemed like the key to her freedom.

With it, she’d have leverage over him. Unfortunately, she was a terrible pickpocket. But not such a terrible flirt. Not if she put her mind to it. If she could make him believe she was no longer hurt or angry, if she could get her hand in that pocket …

She’d have to be careful or Ty would figure out what she was up to.

She’d been so busy plotting her escape, she hadn’t realized she was still staring at the Chinese wedding party until she felt a tug on her sleeve.

“You no like our breakfast?”

She turned to find a pretty, young Chinese woman standing beside her.

“Congee and yu za kuei, deep-fried devils, very good.”

“Oh! Sorry for staring.”
And thank you for the cover story
. Thank goodness the Chinese woman didn’t know what Treflee had really been thinking. “You speak English! Yesterday at the plantation, I didn’t think anyone could.”

The woman shrugged and smiled shyly. “I shy. Not confident with English. Do better one to one than in crowd.”

Treflee nodded. “I didn’t mean to insult your breakfast.” She held up her cup of coffee and pastry and forced herself to smile. “I’m sure ours looks equally unappealing to you.”

The woman made a comical face. “You right.”

Treflee laughed, juggled the coffee and pastry into one hand, and extended her other. “I’m Treflee.”

“Abi.” She took Treflee’s hand and smiled. Handshake complete, Abi pointed toward the lone single man in her crowd. He was watching them. Treflee couldn’t decide if he looked happy that Abi was talking to her or not.

“My husband soon,” Abi said in her thickly accented English. “Feng. Feng mean wind. Abi mean bird. He wind under my wing.” She made a flapping motion with her arm and laughed at her own humor.

“You’re the bride! I was wondering,” Treflee said. She hadn’t guessed Abi.

Abi waved her hand over her group. “All brides. And men marry us. Twelve couples.”

I frowned. “Bridal couples? All of you?”

Abi’s smile deepened as she nodded vigorously. “Yes. All. We get married Saturday. Twenty-sixth. Double happiness day. Good day for wedding.”

“All on the same day?” Treflee shook her head. “What a scheduling nightmare!”

Abi shook her head, no. “No nightmare. Get married all at once. Same … how say?”

“Ceremony?”

Abi nodded.

“What! All at once, really?” Treflee had never considered a group wedding. In her opinion, every girl deserved her unique, special day. That was the American way. She couldn’t stop herself from saying so.

“No. It good thing. Group wedding in China done all time. Sometime even employer do for promotion.

“This wedding dream made true. No pay for big American wedding at home. This way, free. We enter contest with
Chinese Bride Magazine,
Chinese Adventure Travel Agency, and Sugar Love Plantation.” She said the name so clearly it was almost comical.

“Get whole thing no cost. American white dress. Trip. Flowers. Cake. Food. Three-day honeymoon stay. Wedding video by Mrs. Ho. All free.

“Mrs. Ho do very best videos and wedding pictures, very impressive.
Everyone
want.”

“You’re very lucky then,” Treflee said, sensing she should act impressed.

Abi nodded.
“Chinese Bride Magazine
do feature story on Mrs. Ho. Say she tell romantic story that make her videos special. Tech guy analyze her video files. Say very large. Hi def. Big bit technology. Use only .gif and .wav files. No lossy technology for Mrs. Ho. Excellent quality.”

Treflee had to smile at the cute way Abi parroted things like “lossy technology,” whatever that was, from a magazine article. She was certainly a smitten bride. “But you’re away from family and friends. Too bad they couldn’t see you get married in person.”

Abi smiled deeply. “No problem. Mrs. Ho have video room in basement of Sugar Love. Stream our wedding with live feed to family and friends and
Chinese Bride Magazine
readers in China. For family, just like they here! Big deal for everyone.”

“How nice,” Treflee said.

“Yes. Nice. We get have wedding picture in travel brochure, too.
Chinese Bride Magazine.
Ad for travel agency. Five minutes of fame.” Abi winked.

“Can’t afford in China. Feng want impress me. Convince me he the one. Love me much. Girls scarce in China.” She smiled her lovely smile again and giggled. “Must win me or I choose someone else. He be alone. Not get girl as good as me. Not get any girl maybe.”

Though from her tone it sounded like there was fat chance of Feng not getting her. The light in Abi’s eyes as she talked about Feng made Treflee sentimental. She remembered her own wedding day and how things used to be with Ty, who was still standing very quietly next to her.

“Feng enter contest. So many forms to fill out. So much, how you say, tape? He almost get discouraged and give up. But he do it. For me. Write big letter why he want wedding. He very good writer. Win. I marry him.”

“On double happiness day,” Treflee added, feeling her eyes mist.

Abi was so thin and petite, her voice so melodic, she made Treflee feel like a big, pale horse by comparison. Abi would be a beautiful bride.

Abi looked at Treflee’s group and pointed. “You stay at wedding house. Your friends with you? Who marry?” She leaned in and whispered as she slyly pointed at Ty. “You marry him?”

Treflee’s heart skipped a beat. For a second, she thought she’d been found out.

“No!” Treflee shook her head and explained about Carrie’s canceled wedding. “So no happiness at all for my cousin on double happiness day.” The thought made Treflee terribly sad.

She wasn’t sure Abi understood the whole story, but apparently she got enough.

“You come my wedding!” Abi’s eyes lit up. She nodded hopefully.

“Well…” Treflee wasn’t keen on spending any more quality time with potential bad guys or enemy agents. And judging by Ty’s reaction to them, one of Abi’s party must have been just that.

“Must come! Blond American at wedding good luck! Be honored guest. Take picture to show family in China. Very good thing.”

Treflee couldn’t see any way to refuse. “Sure. I’d be delighted.”

Abi nodded toward Ty. “Bring guest if you like.”

Feng waved at Abi. “Have to go now. Nice to meet you. See you later!”

Next to Treflee, Ty grinned widely. “You make friends fast. Don’t wait too long to invite me along as your date. My calendar fills up fast and I need time to press my slacks.”

“Who says I’m inviting you, eavesdropper?” She gave him a flirty little smile and took a big bite of pastry, actually tasting it for the first time.

“A little bird indicated I should be your first choice.”

Since he seemed so interested in Abi and her party, Treflee had the feeling the real reason Ty wanted to go to the wedding had more to do with business than pleasure. If that was the case, and someone in their party was the enemy, she’d be safer with him beside her than not. In the unlikely event she actually went to the wedding. She shrugged. “It’s a date, then.”

*   *   *

Message received,
Ty thought as Abi walked away. “Wind under my wing” was the code phrase that meant a friendly message. Very clever the way she’d delivered it, talking apparently innocently to Tref while delivering the message to him.

Abi was MSS. Ty hadn’t recognized her at first or at Big Auau. She was good with a disguise, playing the shy, young bride-to-be. But now he remembered her clearly. She was one of George’s former MSS contacts. George had been hot for her, had had a real thing for her. Damn, he missed George. Too bad George and Abi had never worked out.

NCS had been trying for the last six months to discover how Mrs. Ho was smuggling the data Hal sold her out of the country and into their Chinese contingent. They suspected she used steganography, stego as it was called in the business, to hide messages in innocent-looking pictures or music files. Unfortunately, stego messages were hard to detect and often encrypted when found.

The CIA had analysts using stego-detecting software on every picture and piece of music Mrs. Ho posted anywhere on the Web. Nothing.

Abi had just handed them the golden ticket. Stego images on live feed video. Ingenious. Family and friends of twelve couples viewing it simultaneously along with multitudes of magazine subscribers. Just try to find the RIOT agent who was reading the file for the algorithm and data Hal was selling.

A video lab in a basement at Sugar Love. That was new, too. Very few basements in Hawaii, especially so close to the beach. There wasn’t one in the plans the CIA had for Sugar Love.

Ty wondered if Mrs. Ho might have found a useful series of uncharted underground caves or lava tunnels. That was about the only kind of basement that made sense there. Either that or she had one hell of a sump pump.

Ty hurried off to contact Emmett with the good news and get the guys at Langley hustling.

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later, breakfast completed and cleared, Keoni herded them into the van for the ride down to the sixty-five-hundred-foot level just outside the park. That was where the downhill bicycling ride would begin. Despite Keoni’s reassurances—twenty-one switchbacks but only two hundred yards of pedaling—Treflee felt like a bag of nerves. Her idea of an ideal bike ride was a pleasant cruise along a nice flat, dedicated bicycling trail. No cars allowed.

She didn’t like downhills, particularly steep downhills. Too easy to get going too fast. Carrie called her a menace with a brake.

The last time she’d been on a ride with Carrie they’d been seventeen. Carrie sped along, leaving Treflee in the figurative dust to get lost in Carrie’s sprawling suburban neighborhood. Nearly an hour later, Uncle Al showed up in the truck, finding Treflee resting in the shade with her bike propped against a tree. Without comment, he loaded the bike in the truck bed and took her home. At least Carrie had sent help.

When Treflee voiced her fears about being left behind, Keoni reassured her. “Not to worry. I’ll be following with the van.”

Yeah, and probably honking for her to get a move on.

“Can’t I just ride in the van?” Treflee asked.

“No, you cannot!” Carrie scowled at her. “You big chicken. You’re over five feet tall, older than twelve, not pregnant, weigh less than two hundred and fifty pounds, and have no health problems. You’re completely qualified and fit for this. And you signed the form!” Carrie used her brook-no-opposition cop voice, sounding completely calm.

“You’re not missing out on the view and adventure by cowering in the stuffy van. You’re going to ride down the mountain with the rest of us if it kills you.” Then she turned back and resumed her conversation with Laci and Faye.

The part about not being pregnant stung.

For the moment, Laci seemed to have decided to ignore Treflee and the close-quarters way she curled next to Ty on the van seat.

Well, all’s fair in love and spy play. Two could dabble in seduction and deceit. A wife scorned had every reason, no, make that right, to use everything in her arsenal to gain the tactical advantage in a divorce war. Treflee was only planning to seize hers in the form of that top secret drop. She smiled at Ty.
Which means getting close to you,
she thought, hoping her heart could handle it.

Ty put his hand on her knee, his very strong, hot hand. He squeezed and slyly slid his fingers around the side of her leg to stroke the inside of her thigh with his thumb.

Good thing she was wearing loose bike shorts. Too bad they were so thin that they barely dulled his touch.

Damn that man and his knowledge of her erogenous zones! Stroke the inside of her thigh and she’d follow him anywhere. She went weak and tingly in all the wrongly right places.