License to Love (An Agent Ex Novel) (2 page)

The crowd went wild.

During the months Rock had been honing her magic, he taught her the secret to the coin drop. He told her to practice by holding a coin in her hand and staring at it so that when she performed the trick and was in reality staring at her empty hand as if it held the coin, she’d be convincing. She took his advice now, and kissed him as if she were staying, coiled herself around him as if it would be impossible for her to disappear.

But, of course, that was the magic of this trick—making just her disappear, leaving him, the sexy, mournful, frustrated bridegroom dangling and holding empty air. The timing had to be perfect. She prayed her assassin didn’t see her disappearance coming. Just a second more …

Rock gave the signal.
Now.

“Bye, baby.” In one swift, confident move, she swung behind the black curtain behind her. She motioned for the stage crew to let her down and unhooked herself from the wires as the audience roared with approval. From their vantage point, it looked as if she had disappeared in a puff of white smoke. Vaporized.

She landed on the floor behind the curtain with a thud that the music drowned out.

The stagehand nearest her frowned at her. She was going off script and he was confused.

There was little time. In an instant, Rock would call her back.

She had just moments to escape, but she couldn’t leave him to fail. “I’m not feeling well. Clara!” She motioned for her double, who waited in the wings, to take her place. “Quickly.”

Clara was the same height, age, body type, and general appearance as Lani. They doubled for each other in acts that required teleportation or being sawed in half. With enough makeup, they could pass for each other on stage. Not on camera, but they were close enough to fool a theater audience. Fortunately, there were no cameras for this trick.

Clara realized something was wrong and came running.

Lani pulled her veil and tiara off as Clara rushed to grab them from her and pin them on. With luck, the audience wouldn’t notice the difference between the two women and would assume Lani had reappeared in a siren’s dress meant for after the ceremony.

She tried not to think about what Rock would think.

Before anyone on the crew could protest, Lani ran off the stage, through the backstage area, and down the hall toward freedom, her high-heeled bridal shoes clicking on the vinyl floor as she sprinted off to save the world.

On second thought, disappearing for good with their marriage certificate in her shoe, less than twenty-four hours after the nuptials? Simply popping out and not reappearing at his command during the middle of his successful act—yeah, that
was
heartless. Even for Lani, who was used to disappearing on people.

CHAPTER ONE

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
TWO YEARS LATER

Out of costume and dressed inconspicuously in a show T-shirt, jeans, and a silk-screened black hoodie to hide his distinctive tattoos, Rock Powers leaned against the crowded casino craps table and placed the bet he’d been cryptically instructed to play, Hi-Lo. The house edge on this placement was just over eleven percent. The payout fifteen to one. So far he hadn’t won. What else was new? He was beginning to wonder whether he was wasting not only his money, but his time. He wondered the same thing about his search for Lani nearly every day.

On his own, he’d never play these lousy odds. The house always held the advantage. Just like fate seemed to. He preferred to stack the deck in his favor, which was why he was banned by the Vegas casinos from playing any card game. Too good at sleight of hand, and palming and counting cards. Anyone as good at the ambitious card trick as he was was bound to be suspect. Hazard of the magician’s trade. The mysterious person who’d instructed him to play craps and wait to be contacted knew a thing or two about him. Which was reassuring, in a strange, creepy way. At least the guy had done his research.

Rock was a gambler, but only on stage, and in his bid to find his missing wife. Much more of this futile betting and he’d lose his favorite Rock Powers Faith Unseen show T-shirt right off his back. Hey, it was a limited edition.

Where the hell was the bastard who’d given him these ludicrous instructions to place this bet and wait for him to identify himself? The mysterious contact that either had a Jason Bourne complex or was some kind of an espionage nutcase.

I know where your wife is
.

The words on the missive slid beneath his dressing room door two nights ago, on the last night of his show’s run until it picked up again in November, haunted Rock. He might have ignored it; turned it in to security so they could catch the guy the next time he slunk by. Except for the enclosed QR code. Which when Rock had snapped a shot of it with his cell phone, took him to a video of a living, laughing Lani. A hypnotic video Rock had studied until he felt as if his eyes were going to fall out.

Lani, two years older? Different hairstyle. Wearing up-to-date trendy fashions and makeup. A newspaper in the background with a current date. But then anyone could print one of those up, right? Her fabulously rich laugh. He couldn’t get enough of hearing it over and over again. When was the last time he’d laughed like that, really laughed from the heart? The night he’d married Lani.

The way her shiny, straight, nearly black hair fell over her face as she moved. The distinctive gesture she used to sweep it back and tuck it behind her ears, out of her dancing, barely perceptibly almond-shaped eyes. The curve of her full lips as she smiled.

There was only one way to describe Lani—exotic. One quarter white, one quarter African-American, one quarter Japanese, one quarter Hispanic, Lani called herself the great all-American mutt. Everyone else found her looks arresting.

A picture could have been Photoshopped, altered in any number of ways. A video? That was a trickier deal. Then he spotted the unique silver ring on the pointer finger of her right hand and his heart stopped. He noticed every detail, as he was trained to do. She wasn’t wearing the huge diamond-and-platinum wedding ring he’d given her.

Whether that was really Lani, or a very convincing double in the video, whoever had made it knew something about Lani’s disappearance. Nutcase contact aside, desperation drove Rock to look into it. No rock unturned. Only himself, Rock Powers, completely upended.

Tell no one about this missive or the deal’s off.

The note gave the instructions he was now following. He’d spent two days in silent hell, thinking of nothing but this meeting.

Two days in hell were nothing in comparison to his years of torment. He’d been looking for Lani for two horrifically long years, enduring all the humiliation and frustration that came with her disappearance and the never-ending search. Offering a standing hundred-thousand-dollar reward to anyone who provided a tip that led to her. Or her body. Checking up on crackpot leads and greedy individuals who sought to trick him out of the reward. Being offered tips by supposed psychics. Didn’t these people pay attention? He was Rock Powers, debunker of psychic phenomenon.

There were two camps of magicians, both of which performed “psychic” tricks or mentalism. One camp practiced, claiming they had authentic supernatural abilities. The second camp performed just as convincingly, but let people know they were being tricked, duped by lies and modern magic. Rock was in the second camp. He could bend spoons with the best of them, but he never claimed it was anything other than sleight of hand.

For two years, the rumors had flown, mocking him, making fun, and hurling ridiculous accusations as he tried to contain his grief and worry and just find Lani.

“Great illusionist’s wife dumps him before the honeymoon even began. Magician Rock Powers can’t keep the magic in his marriage for even a day; claims he’s brokenhearted.”

“Drunk, Rock Powers marries on a whim without a prenup. Millions of little motives for murder? Where are you, Lani Powers?”

“Has illusionist Rock Powers performed the perfect crime and disappeared his beautiful bride for good without a clue? Stumped police demand he reappear her.”

“Rock Powers initiates a brilliant publicity stunt. Audiences pack his show, waiting for the ultimate prestige, the reappearance of beautiful Lani Torres Powers. Bring her back, Rock.”

For Rock it was no publicity stunt and he obviously hadn’t murdered her. That left only a few options. Either someone had abducted or murdered her. Or she’d decided she’d made a mistake by marrying him and disappeared as a way of rectifying it.

Running out on him neither made logical sense, nor jibed with what he knew of Lani. Logically, she would have stood to make a pile of money in a divorce, just as the gossipmongers proclaimed. He
had
married her on the spur of the moment and been incredibly reckless—no prenup. In addition to the money, the publicity from a split with him would only have helped her career.

And the Lani he knew? If she’d wanted a divorce she’d have come right out and asked for one. She was dedicated to the craft. None of this disappearing in the middle of an act crap. Finally, she loved him. He knew she had.

Which left the darker alternative the more likely, and frightening, scenario in Rock’s mind.

Ironically, the mystery, the sense that it could all be an act, the dark aura of suspicion that hung over him, and the desire to be in the crowd if he actually reappeared Lani combined to shoot his act to the heights of success. Professionally, he’d never done better. Personally, he was darkly driven. If he hadn’t been addicted to magic, he’d have long ago overdosed on something worse.

He pushed himself, worked until he dropped. Created dark tricks and acts spun from the turn his imagination and psyche had taken since she’d vanished. The reviews raved about the deep, disturbing nature of his tricks, saying he’d finally found his magical voice, his theme. Dark worked for Rock Powers. Dark was Rock Powers. His sense of naïveté gone, his act was true magic.

Women wanted him. They threw themselves at him. He had groupies, fan clubs full of them. Starlets and strippers. Porn stars. Nice girls with soft hearts. He could have had just about any woman he wanted. The ladies loved a tortured hero. He ignored them all. Which, ironically, only ratcheted up his appeal.

Work was the only thing that dulled the pain and kept him sane.

He’d known Lani just over six months, been married to her less than a day. But he wouldn’t rest until he found her. He wouldn’t let her down. If she needed rescuing, he was her guy. If it took him the rest of his life, he’d discover the truth of what had happened to her.

Then that note showed up beneath his door. Hope, as they say, sprang eternal.

Rock was just about to give up on craps and his mysterious contact and pick up his chips and go home. He gave a mental shrug.

One more bet,
w
hat the hell could that hurt?

He slapped the chips on the table. Once more and he was leaving with what was left in his wallet and of his pride before anyone recognized him. Before anyone realized he was a sucker for believing he’d finally find Lani.

The shooter, a cocky young guy, held the dice out for his tipsy girlfriend to blow on for luck. He shot. The dice bounced against the back of the table. The table erupted in applause.

The dealer surveyed the table. “Hi-Lo wins!”

Rock had just won something in the magnitude of fifteen thousand dollars. In a single toss, he’d recouped everything he’d lost, plus about five grand.

As the dealer handed him his chips, Rock felt a hand on his shoulder. “Excellent play, boy. You were about to give up, weren’t you?”

Rock turned and stared into the steely brown eyes of a distinguished man who could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty-five. Despite the steel in his gaze, his lips twitched as if he were fighting a smile. But his stance and attitude said he was a fighter and not to mess with him. There was something lethal about him.

“The impatience of youth,” the newcomer continued. “If you’d walked, you’d have lost the advantage of having already sat through the first few rolls where the house held the definite statistical advantage. In my business, we know how to play the odds to our favor.”

“Worried I’d lose the reward money?” Rock said. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I’m not easy to fool.”

The man laughed. “Hardly. I’m in no position to accept it. The ethics committee would have a field day. Come with me.” The man squeezed Rock’s shoulder. “It’s too crowded to talk here. Too many ears.”

The guy wasn’t making any sense. Probably another loony.

Rock tipped the dealer, took his payoff and, ignoring his better judgment, followed the stranger as he wound his way through the crowd and the neon art in the hotel.

His contact had the good grace to allow him to collect his cash before leading him out of the casino into the bright, flashing neon magic on the Strip. Rock pretended to stash his payoff in his wallet and put it in his jeans pocket. In reality, he used sleight of hand to stash it in a concealed money belt.

“Paranoid?” Rock asked the man as they walked out of the casino toward the street.

The man shrugged. “No more than you are, stashing your cash in a money belt.”

Rock stopped and stared at him. How the hell had he seen that? Rock’s diversionary sleight of hand tricks never failed.

The man laughed and kept walking. Rock rushed to keep up with him. Rock was a world-class magician. If this guy hadn’t been distracted by the motion Rock made of stuffing the wallet in his pocket, this guy was something else. A formidable foe. A danger. Rock’s heart raced.

“Don’t look so worried,” the guy said as he kept walking. “I know a bit of magic myself. When I was a small boy, John Mulholland taught me my first trick or two.”

“You knew the great Mulholland?” Mulholland had been a magician for the CIA. The hairs stood up on the back of Rock’s neck. This guy really was a spy buff.

Rock grabbed spywannabe’s arm. “What game are you playing? What do you know about Lani?”