The Spy Who Left Me (8 page)

“Uuu … uuu … uuuu!” With no voice, she could only sputter her disapproval using soft vowel sounds.

Somehow he got the point anyway.

“You, you! Cad? Beast? Maniac?” He laughed softly, looking totally nonplussed and unapologetic. “No? Not the word you had in mind? Come on. I’m not good at guessing games. You have to help me out here.”

She glared at him.

Smiling wickedly, he took her hand and pulled her toward the bathroom. “Nasty sputter. You need water.”

In the bathroom, he ran her a glass of water and handed it to her. “Drink it. Slowly.”

As she drank, he turned her toward the mirror and pointed out the deep purple-blue specks forming in a line across her neck. “Tardieu spots. We’ll need a cover story.”

“Wha…!” Those spots would not look good with a bikini! And since turtlenecks were pretty much out of fashion all year long in Hawaii …

Her eyes stung. This was all just too much.

“Ah, come on. Buck up, Tref.” He put his arm around her. “Those tiny bruises don’t look nearly as bad or as incriminating as that time we were naked in the hot tub in Palm Springs. You remember?”

Unfortunately, she did. With high-definition, oh-I-can-feel-it-do-it-again clarity.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear in a low, sultry voice, “I sucked on your lips.” He stared at them in the mirror.

Caught in the memory, she licked them without thinking.

The hot water in the hot tub had made their skin ripe and flush; everywhere they kissed and sucked each other had left a hickey. She’d never had so many hickeys in so many delightful, and obvious, places.

“I sucked on your toes.”

Her toes tingled at the thought as she tried not to wiggle them and definitely
not
to remember any more. Heaven knows he knew how to work her toes.

He stroked her cheek. “Your cheek.” He nibbled her ear. She caught herself leaning into that nibble, almost hoping he’d thrust his tongue right in, too. As she arched her neck, it ached again, bringing her to her senses.

Damn that man! How did he have such sensual power over her?

She pulled away and pointed a finger at him in a stern movement that meant “Stop it!”

He looked totally nonplussed.

Back to business. She sniffed, waving her hands around wildly, hoping he caught her meaning—enough monkey business! And what do we do now?

She strode out of the room with him following and pointed to the phone.

“We can’t call the cops, Tref. You know that.”

Yeah, I do.

She gestured to the rooms next door, playing charades and trying to convey her concern for the others.

“They’re safe enough. I’ll get someone on it and make sure. But I got a good enough glimpse of your attacker to be ninety-nine percent certain he belongs to the guys I’m after. I doubt he’ll hurt the others.”

Her next question was tricky. She looked around for pen and paper. Not seeing any, she went to the bed and pulled the covers up, pointing at them.

He was quick on the uptake. “You’re worried about my cover?”

She nodded.

“You think it’s blown?” He shook his head. “Could be, but I doubt it. I’ve been hanging around some shady dudes, the kind who like to know who they’re dealing with. They probably sent someone over to see if I was who I pretend to be. Suspicious bastards.” He laughed. “It won’t take me much to find out for sure what they were up to. In the meantime, my cover’s been staged pretty thoroughly. There’s nothing here to give me away.” He paused. “Except you.”

She flinched, mouthed the words “What about me?” and pointed to herself. Fortunately, he knew her well and got her meaning.

“What about you?” He shrugged. “Oh, that. They operate under the same principle as the Agency—leave no witnesses. I doubt he meant to kill you. Probably just wanted to choke you unconscious before you got a look at him.”

Was that supposed to be reassuring? Somehow that “just” rankled her. That and the apparent fact that attempts on someone’s life were an everyday occurrence for him.

He pointed to her neck again. “We either have to cover that up or explain it.” He tilted his head and watched her with obvious caution in his eyes. “I vote for explaining. It’s easier. But first I’m taking you to the emergency room to get checked out. We’ll think of a story on the way.”

No! She shook her head. She wasn’t spending her one vacation this year in the emergency room. No way! She was fine. Unfortunately, she had no voice to tell him with.

“Yes, Tref. No arguing.”

As if she could.

“Laryngeal fracture, hypoxia, edema to the neck, all potential complications from strangling. We can’t take a chance.”

Nice to know he’s so well informed on strangling,
she thought.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her off his bed. “Now to get you out of here without anyone noticing. How do you feel about jumping off a balcony?”

CHAPTER FIVE

One balcony drop, two hours, and three X-rays later, they arrived back at the plantation. The emergency room doctor had given Treflee her diagnosis—she’d live—and prescribed rest.

Rest? No problem. Treflee was so exhausted Ty had to carry her from the car to the house like a groom on his honeymoon. Up the plantation steps, through the door, and to her room, where he gently deposited her on her bed and refused to leave. In true spylike fashion, he’d spirited them about as if they’d disappeared with the wave of a wand or maybe never even existed in the first place. Not a single soul had seen them either leave or enter. The man was good at his job.
Too good
.

Seeing the way he operated, Treflee realized he could have sneaked a dozen women in under her nose in her own home and she’d never have known. Not that she was the jealous type, but thoughts like these did cross her mind. James Bond had not given the spying profession a reputation for loving fidelity. And since Bond was a male fantasy, why shouldn’t real spies, like her sexy husband, seize on the stereotype and grab that perk of the job?

Ty fluffed her pillow for her and plunked down next to her.

“Tref, no protests,” he said when she signaled for him to get out.

She should have sensed something was up and staked out her territory before it was too late. He’d set her down squarely on the left side of the bed.
Her side
. When she had slept with him.

For the last six months, she’d taken up residence in the middle. And why not? There was no need to be stingy with the space of their queen-sized bed back home. Or this one here. It was her vacation. Her cousin was paying for this. She wanted all the space Carrie had bought her.

She glared at Ty, sorry she didn’t know sign language. She didn’t suppose mock sign language would do. Unfortunately, the only clear finger gesture she knew she was afraid he’d take as an invitation to avail himself of his marital rights.

As she opened her mouth to squawk, he shook his head. “Save your voice. You know I can’t leave you alone until I know for sure what’s going on. Maybe not even then. You got a glimpse of the guy. He may not be happy with that.” He pulled off his shirt, revealing his very tanned, very buff abs and arms.

She told herself she wasn’t attracted to very tanned men. No, not at all. They were skin cancer risks. Widow-makers.

He pulled off his shoes and slid off his slacks, revealing the pair of skintight boxers she’d bought him for their last anniversary. They’d always enjoyed a good romp on their anniversary, a celebration of the wedding night.

She did not look at the package those boxers wrapped. She refused to look, refused to check whether any interest had arisen in him.

He smiled and slid between the sheets.

She was still dressed in her cami and shorts. She’d been forced to wear them to the emergency room where Ty had made up some ridiculous story about her running into a clothesline. Out for a moonlit exercise walk along the lawn next to the beach, and busy admiring the view, she’d walked straight into the temporary clothesline Mrs. Ho at Sugar Love Plantation next door hung up at night to air the spare linen.

Mrs. Ho was always forgetting to take it down when she brought the linens in. And since it was practically invisible in the dark, it posed a definite strangling hazard. Tita had complained more than once that sooner or later a guest was bound to stroll into it.

Just why did Treflee have to be that guest?

Of course Ty would make her look like the clumsy one. And she couldn’t even refute him.

If there was any justice in the world, you’d have thought the emergency doc would have been the tiniest bit suspicious of that piece of malarkey. Maybe accused Ty of spousal abuse and given her a good laugh and a ha-ha moment.

No, of course not. Because Ty was a world-class liar. Everyone believed him! Even in the face of the contradictory, blatant truth.

No, he kept his cool and stayed in character, pretending to be the concerned tour guide who found her, collapsed and nearly unconscious from the force of hitting the line at power-walk speed, nearly hanging herself.

He’d convinced the doc of the story, adding all kinds of delicious details. Even saying he’d speak to the neighbor about the dangers of low-hanging, unmarked clotheslines.

“Morning?” Treflee managed to whisper, meaning how were they going to explain his presence in her room in the morning?

He caught her drift without her having to elaborate. “No worries. I’ll be out of here before anyone notices. I
am
a master at sneaking around.”

She rolled her eyes. But he was right. No one would catch him unless he wanted them to. She slid under the sheet, pounded her pillow, and turned her back to him.

Apparently unfazed by her cold shoulder, he leaned over, brushed the hair away from her face, and kissed her cheek. “’Night, sweetheart.”

Oh, brother!

“And, Tref?”

She cocked her head to indicate
“What now?”

“Don’t go rifling through my room again. It’s futile. You’ll only find what I want you to. And you never know who you’ll run into.”

“Point taken,” she mouthed. Who knew, maybe he could read lips. Just in case he could, she added, “Stay on your side!”

He grinned and settled in beside her. She drifted off to sleep almost before her eyes closed. Later, she’d blame it on the sedatives the emergency room doc had given her.

*   *   *

Sometimes when you first wake up in the morning everything is dream-hazy perfect. Life is as it should be—soft sunlight filtering in, the rustle of palm trees against the window, a hint of orchid and plumeria perfuming the air, your husband’s arm nestled gently around you—

Ty’s home,
Treflee thought as she smiled, feeling that wonderful sense of comfort and security his warm body next to hers gave her.

Then she remembered—

This wasn’t then. And it certainly wasn’t home.

Her eyes popped open. He woke up as she threw his arm off her.

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Seven! You’ve got to go!” Hallelujah! She had a voice again.

Ty yawned and stretched, looking very much like the cuddly, sexy, she-could-just-run-her-hands-all-over-him-again-and-again husband she had once loved.

“Wow, love the new vocal tone. Sexy! Very Lauren Bacall. You ought to keep it.” He pushed up on one elbow and ran a hand across her throat before she could react and stop him. “How do you feel this morning, my pet?”

Yeah, until he spoke.

“Out! And don’t let anyone see you.”

He gave her a look and rolled to a sit. “Judging by your warm, fuzzy attitude, you’re feeling better, I can tell.” He gave her a totally patronizing chuck under her chin. “Remember the clothesline tale.”

“Sure,” she whispered. “But I’m only spewing that bunch of baloney if someone asks.”

“They will. Be prepared with details.” He grabbed his pants, shirt, and shoes and headed for the door without putting them on.

She scowled at him.

“Just saying.” He reached for the doorknob. “Today we hit the surf. Put on some board shorts, the shorter the better, and do you still have that black string bikini top?”

“Out!” She spoke in the tone she’d use on a bad dog. And he was, after all, wasn’t he?

He laughed and turned the knob.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to put those on?” She pointed to his clothes like a mother scolding a child.

“Hell, no! The ladies want a look.”

He ducked out the door before the pillow she tossed reached him.

She clenched her hands into fists.
Curses, foiled again!
Nothing got to that man.

She sighed. Afraid you’re going to be killed is no way to live. She had to find out what Ty was up to, get her divorce, and get out of here. He could tell her not to have the divorce papers sent, but that didn’t mean
she had to listen and obey
. Hadn’t they nixed that obey bit from their wedding vows? And for good reason.