License to Love (An Agent Ex Novel) (14 page)

Rock had his spy ring, but he was too far away for its lethal razor blade to be of much use and he sure as hell wasn’t going to hit the panic button.

Rock could signal Tate and alert him to the danger he was in, but it was pretty much a given Tate already knew he was in a precarious position. No, now was the time for magic, in the form of a little diversion. Rock was certain all Tate needed to take care of the situation was an instant to recover the upper hand.

Six,
the guy mouthed.

Rock had no time to think so he reverted to boyhood pranks. Tore off a corner of a napkin, rolled it into a ball between his fingers, and stuck it in his mouth.

Five.

Damn, his mouth was dry as cotton. Why did he have so little saliva when he needed it? He took a gulp of his Scotch to soak the spit wad with.

Four.

He raised his straw to his mouth and took aim. He would have preferred a pen barrel as his method of delivery. Pen barrels were more rigid, making for a more accurate shot. But time was of the essence and he didn’t have a pen on him.

Three.

He took aim at Bancroft’s guy’s neck and blew.

Two.

Bancroft’s stylus-wielding thug slapped at his neck, momentarily diverted.

Yes! Direct hit.

Tate seized the advantage and shoved his chair back, knocking the stylus out of the man’s hand as Tate toppled over backward, taking the chair with him. Lani moved into position. A gunshot went wild. Tate kicked the stylus toward Rock with power and accuracy worthy of a soccer player.

“Tate!” Lani rushed to Tate’s side along with the others who’d been at the table, probably to provide backup.

“Baby, are you okay?” Lani crooned to Tate, creating a diversion for Rock.

No one seemed to notice the stylus. While Lani and the others hovered over Tate, who’d fallen back in his chair with the panache and showiness of a stuntman, Rock scooped up the stylus and slid it into his pocket. Stylus concealed, Rock twirled the spitball straw and slid it back into his drink. The spitball worked fine, but think of the damage he could have done with a marshmallow shooter.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Tate was saying as he looked appropriately embarrassed and Lani squatted next to him in her teeny tiny dress. Evidently he wasn’t going to call the goon out, either. “Yes, I’m fine. Leaned back a little too far in the chair. Had a bit too much to drink, I guess,” he looked apologetically at Lani, “and lost my balance.”

The Cuban gave Tate a hand up and righted the chair. Lani ran her hands over Tate and through his hair as if checking to make sure everything, most importantly his head, was intact.

“No, I think we’re fine to continue,” Tate was saying as the rest of the group peppered him with questions and Lani clutched his arm. “Yes. Carry on.” He straightened the lapel of his jacket, readjusted his chair, and kissed Lani lightly.

Rock led Lani back to the bar, glad to get Tate’s hands off his wife as Tate looked at his cards and placed all of his chips into the pot.

“You’re sure, sir,” the dealer asked.

“Perfectly.” Tate grinned.

Bancroft paled until he looked as paper white as a vampire facing daybreak. “All in.”

Each man flipped over his cards for the showdown. The crowd gasped. Tate had somehow managed to compile an unbeatable hand.

“Winner takes all,” the dealer said. “Congratulations, Mr. Cox.”

Tate scooped up his chips. Shook hands all around the table, playing amiable winner. Bancroft refused to shake. The atmosphere was decidedly tense. It was time to blow this joint in a hurry. Tate left a large tip for the dealer, came to the bar, and slid his arm around Lani. “I think it’s time we leave.”

Which was one of the great understatements of the century. As if it was wise to hang around with a hundred million in chips and a terrorist bent on killing you.

Tate calmly turned to Rock as if he hadn’t a care. “Powers, coming with us?”

Hell, did he have any choice? Rock had a bull’s-eye on his back now, too. He walked with them toward the door. The feeling of Bancroft’s henchman itching to kill them prevailed, along with the eerie feeling of another unseen evil watching them that had haunted Rock all night.

Rock leaned into Tate. “It’s not safe for us to take the usual route out of here. There’s a service entrance just to your right. It’s time we simply vanished into thin air. Fortunately, I’m good at disappearing.

“See that table, the one with the couple laughing and having drinks? I’m going to give them a little show and perform the old pull-the-tablecloth-off trick. When I flourish the tablecloth like a cape, grab Gillian and run like hell for the service door. You’ll only have seconds to disappear.”

“You mean that table loaded with drinks and flowers and the lady’s purse? That tablecloth?” Tate said. “How about an easier target?”

“Worried? This is my area of expertise. If I can’t do the old pull-the-tablecloth-off trick, I should lose my membership in the Academy of Magic.”

“Then go to it,” Tate said.

Rock reached for the tablecloth. “On my count. One.” He grabbed the edge. “Two.” He gave it a huge tug. “Three!” He flourished the tablecloth like a cape and ran for the service exit.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The three of them tumbled into the service hallway, laughing as if they’d pulled off the caper of the century, or at least the evening, in high spirits because they’d lived to die another day and pulled one over on RIOT.

Rock locked the service door behind them.

“Great job, simply fabulous!” Lani said. “I was worried about Tate carrying all that hard, cold cash—”

“Million-dollar chips,” Tate interrupted. “Worried, hell. There was a time you would have helped Mal murder me.”

Lani laughed. “Bygones.” Lani turned to Rock. “Saved by magic and disappearing tricks again. We’re making a habit of this.”

Rock leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear, “The key to successfully disappearing is knowing where the nearest secret exit is.”

“And a diversion helps. Like pulling a tablecloth off without spilling things everywhere,” Tate said, drily.

“I rather imagine spilling cocktails everywhere would create more of a diversion and takes a lot less skill,” Lani said, reverting for a second back to playing Gillian. “But pulling the cloth off was brilliant and showy.”

She turned to Rock. “Speaking of tricks and magic, what about our bet? I don’t suppose you grabbed the napkin, did you?”

Rock pulled it from his pocket as Tate shot them both a quizzical look.

Lani explained. “Rock bet me he could predict the order the players would fall out and who would win.”

“I hope he was betting on me,” Tate said.

“Who else?” Rock showed them his empty hands, made a fist, and pulled the napkin out from between his curled fingers.

Lani clapped delicately, almost mockingly, and pulled the napkin from Rock’s hand, holding it so she and Tate could read it together. When she finished, she turned her gaze on Rock. “You’ll have to teach me this trick.”

“I’ve taught you too many of my secrets already.” Rock meant it as an indictment.

Tate watched, apparently amused by their banter. He nodded toward Rock. “What did you wager?”

“She said she’d appear in my act,” Rock said. “As a blonde.”

Lani shrugged. “When I can work it into my schedule.”

“I’m guessing you need a little help negotiating these corridors,” Rock said to the two spies. “Where can I take you?”

“To my suite to celebrate,” Tate said with a grin. “I’ll call the casino manager from there and make arrangements to cash in and deposit my winnings. And then we’ll order one of everything from room service and celebrate my good luck.”

Rock wound them through the catacombs of the service hallways, which seemed like another universe from the glamour of the hotel and casino the guests saw to the service elevator. They got in along with a blue laundry basket full of dirty towels and rode to the penthouse floor.

“You tempted to keep some of that cash?” Rock asked Tate.

“I have enough money of my own.” Tate laughed. “But it was fun to play with. Kind of gives a new meaning to play dough.”

“That was a bad pun,” Rock said.

Tate laughed and changed the subject. “Thanks for the help down there,” Tate said. “Good thinking. You saved the day without giving us away.”

“That’s high praise coming from a man of your reputation.” They were in an elevator that probably had a camera to keep tabs on the staff. None of them were going to speak directly about the mission.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened. Rock led the way to Tate’s suite. Tate let them in with his key card. The room was dark, but the curtains were open, letting in the glow from the neon of the city and the sparkling lights of downtown.

*   *   *

Lani pulled off the blond wig and shook her hair out the moment the door closed behind them, glad to be free of the hot thing.

“That was some performance,” Rock said in a hard tone that made it clear he was jealous and angry with her.

She plopped into a chair and kicked her heels off. “Don’t go all possessive on me, Rock. You wanted to see the real Lani, and that’s what you got. That’s what I do. Play roles. Play up to men. Use my sex appeal to distract them. If the mission calls for falling all over my good friend’s ex-husband and sticking my tongue down his throat in front of my husband, that’s what I do.”

As much as she would have enjoyed seeing Tate squirm, he was a seasoned pro. He simply laughed. “Don’t drag my ex into this. Thank goodness Mal isn’t here.”

Rock frowned. “Wait a minute! Aren’t marriages and exes strictly against NCS policy?” He flashed Lani a hard, angry look as if she’d betrayed and lied to him again.

“Tate’s one of the exceptions. He was married to one of our own, the Agency’s cover life artist, Malene, Mal as we call her, so all the secrets remain in the family.”

“Cover life artist?” Rock looked confused.

Tate gave Rock a brief explanation of Malene’s job, how she set up cover lives for spies—picked their clothes, set up their homes, decided which kind of car they’d drive, that kind of thing. “Why do you think I never go undercover? If Mal ever got a chance to get her hands on my cover, she’d make my life miserable.

“Besides, I believe in the great spy Dusko Popov’s philosophy. He said, ‘Your life as a spy is your cover life. If your cover is a dishwasher, you’re a dishwasher. If your cover is a playboy, you’re lucky.’ I’m one lucky bastard.”

“Yeah, Tate was born under a lucky star.” Lani couldn’t resist poking at Tate for Malene’s sake. “I, for one, though, would love to see Mal get her hands on you.”

“I bet you would,” Tate said, drily.

“If you weren’t such a favorite of Emmett you’d be in deep trouble.” She shrugged. “Though Mal might spare you from complete slaughter for your daughter’s sake. Too bad it would take something extraordinary to get you undercover.”

“You have a kid, too?” Rock looked really angry now. About to burst.

Tate rolled his eyes. “That was definitely against policy. But accidents will happen.”

“She’s five and a beauty.” Lani smiled.

“She certainly is. No doubt she’ll cause me a pile of trouble once she hits her teens.” Tate dumped his stash of chips on a nearby table. “She’s enough trouble already.”

Lani’s and Tate’s cell phones buzzed at the same time. They grabbed them in unison, like gunfighters going for the draw. “The FBI picked up Bancroft as he left the casino,” they said in stereo.

“Good job, boys.” Lani pulled off the diamond tennis bracelet and held it out to Tate. “Better deposit this, too. It’s gorgeous.” She watched it sparkle in the light. “Is it real or paste?”

“Real. On loan from a jeweler friend. I’ll make sure it gets returned.” Tate took the bracelet from her and called the house banker to arrange to deposit his winnings.

As they waited for the banker to come to the suite, Rock pulled the stylus from his pocket and showed it to Lani. “A souvenir from the mission.”

As she took it from him, she spotted the trigger. “A gun. Very clever.” She frowned. “And observant of you to notice Tate was in trouble and improvise. Tate’s never going to live down being saved by a hundred-proof spit wad.” She paused. “You didn’t use your thumb gun?”

“And blow the mission?” Rock stared directly into her eyes with that hypnotic stare of his.

She looked away. If he thought she was going to let him look into her soul, he was mistaken. He couldn’t hypnotize her, except by his touch, and his laughter, and his sense of cunning. “And you didn’t have a clear shot. Nor did I.”

It was just like Rock to think of using a diversion rather than risk lethal force, even in a desperate situation. She was still peeved and embarrassed that Rock had noticed Tate’s situation first. Rock could read people and situations with uncanny accuracy. She was good, but not as good as he was.

Rock hadn’t known it, he would never know it, but he’d helped her crack the Hoover Dam case. She’d listened to his observations of people, followed the leads he’d inadvertently shown her, and stopped the worst from happening.

She’d never met a man outside the Agency with powers of observation as strong as Rock’s. It was part of his attraction. She’d never considered having a relationship with one of her fellow agents. Office romances carried too much risk. But Rock was another matter. Being on the outside and part of a mission with a fixed end date, he’d seemed safe. Until she completely lost her heart to him.

Rock was merely competent with a gun. His self-defense skills left something to be desired. But his mind was the most agile and imaginative she’d encountered. He couldn’t actually read minds. He’d be the first to tell you that. He debunked psychics for sport. And yet, he was so observant and intuitive he may as well have been able to.

Lani felt Rock watching her, but refused to meet his gaze. “You take too many risks, Rock.” She stared out the window at the winking lights.

“I never wager on success when it counts unless the odds are heavily in my favor.”