Live and Let Love (23 page)

Being the gracious, sympathetic guy the chief was, not, he assigned Lani the onerous
and, some would say, boring duty of building Jack’s spy skills back up, including
teaching him a little magic. A few parlor tricks.

Emmett rightly believed working magic tricks would help Jack rebuild his muscle dexterity
so he could regain his shooting skills. It had done more than help him regain muscle
movement. It had helped build his confidence. And it was fun as hell.

Lani was a great teacher. Very patient and the one person who sympathized with Jack’s
desire to allow Willow to think he was dead. At times, Lani said she wished she could
accomplish the same, because rumor had it that Rock wouldn’t rest until he’d reappeared
her. That’s what she got for skipping out in the middle of the act. Rock wasn’t going
to rest until he got his rightful prestige—Lani reappearing in the box he’d put her
in—and wiped the egg off his face. If she could fake her death …

Jack had reassured her, death had its own set of problems.

Jack took a deep breath. Spookie could be a problem this evening, but he’d worked
out a plan. He was bringing her a special dog treat to woo her. He’d play nice to
her and wave it in front of his little dog when he first got there. Then he’d claim
the treat had won her over. Problem solved.

Jack grabbed the wine he’d bought from Aldo, his wallet, the man bag, the Halloween
wrapped doggie delectable, and his keys. Jack would have brought Willow flowers. It
was too soon and too dangerous for Con to show that kind of romantic interest. Con
had to be aloof, a slightly flirtatious but generally
let’s just be friends
type of guy.

*   *   *

Willow glanced at the clock. Con would be arriving any minute. The house was clean,
of electronic bugs and hidden cameras as well as of dust and dirt. She’d set the table
with her best glasses, dishes, and flatware and the silver candlesticks she and Jack
had received as a wedding present from his friend Kyle. She’d made a centerpiece of
gourds, Indian corn, and leaves around the candles, creating a homey, romantic fall
look.

She’d turned down the lights and judiciously lit candles around the room to create
an intimate atmosphere. Candles that smelled of vanilla and pumpkin spice to offset
the smells of eggplant Parmesan wafting out of the kitchen. She wanted to spring the
meal on Con so she could gauge his initial, surprised reaction.

Dinner simmered in the oven. Apple dumplings ready to be covered with hard sauce sat
on the counter. A fire of seasoned fir crackled in the living room fireplace, perfuming
the room. And Spookie was corralled back in the bedroom by a child safety gate.

Willow had debated and debated what to wear to this DNA-snatching evening. She wanted
to look hot, delectable, and totally casual. As if the evening were no big deal. Even
though she meant to seduce Con.

She knew a thing or two about what men found sexy, Jack in particular. She put on
the outfit of universal appeal—tight jeans that showed off her butt, tall black pumps,
and a formfitting, scoop-neck white T-shirt. So easy, but so effective.

The doorbell rang.
Let the games begin.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Willow met Jack at the door wearing the sexiest outfit he could imagine—a white T-shirt
with no bra. It took every ounce of determination he had to look her in the eyes,
not her beautiful, bouncing cleavage. Not to stare at the dark buds of her nipples
poking through sheer white fabric, not to imagine that T-shirt wet and clinging to
her skin—

Stop it, Jack. Control, man. Control.

“Con, you’re right on time.” She took the bottle of Zinfandel he held from him and
hugged him. He got a deep breath of the perfume she wore—there it was again, his favorite.
The one she wore to let him know she was in the mood.

Damn, why did he have to be wearing a leather jacket? He couldn’t feel the brush of
her breasts through it. He just wanted a tiny feel. Just one.

Willow stepped aside to let him in.

He looked around the room and tried to clear his head from thoughts of her. “Where’s
the little dog? I brought her something.” Jack pulled a dog treat from his pocket.
A preemptive strike was best. And he was looking forward to seeing the little mutt.

“Oh, I gated her in the back. No sense scaring her.” Willow winked.

He raised a brow. “I’m that frightening?”

“You’re not frightening at all,” Willow practically purred, and gave him a salacious
smile.

He swallowed hard.

She set the wine down on the entry table. “Let me take your coat.” She paused and
looked at the leather man bag slung over his shoulder. “And bag.”

Damn that Malene for making him carry a man bag. At least it was a place to carry
a weapon and was totally unlike anything he’d wear on his own. But it was not alpha-male
behavior. He set the dog treat on the entry table and handed her the bag.

“I’ll just set the bag here in the entry if you don’t mind.”

Fine with him. He wanted it within easy access. He shrugged out of his jacket and
handed it to her.

At first whiff, the house smelled heavenly of burning wood and spice. On second breath,
he detected the stink of eggplant Parmesan.

So that’s the way she was going to play things, was it? She was going to try to smoke
him out by going for the gag response. Feed him foods he hated and watch to see if
he slipped up.

He hadn’t thought Willow could be so cruel. He had a sudden vision of the dinner ahead
and food after food he despised. Crafty little minx.

She could try, but he’d eaten worse. Far worse. He’d survived on grubs and bugs in
the wilderness for an entire week, consumed parts of a cow, bull, pig, horse, chicken,
kangaroo, octopus, squirrel, and rat no person should ever eat. Hell, no one should
ever eat rat, period.

If he could manage all that, he could chow down eggplant without blanching. He wouldn’t
enjoy it, but he’d eat it.

“Something smells delicious,” he said, partly to goad her and partly to throw her
off track.

“Eggplant Parmesan. I thought since you’re Italian, and I don’t eat meat…” She hung
up his coat in a closet nearby and picked up the wine and dog biscuit.

“Good thought.” He followed her into the living room, walking past the dining room,
where the table was set for two. The living room glowed with candlelight. And was
suddenly filled with mementos from their life together that hadn’t been there on his
previous nefarious visits. “You have a beautiful place.”

“Thank you. I like it.” She carried the Zinfandel toward the kitchen. “What can I
get you?”

“Wine’s fine.”

“Good.” She set the dog treat on the counter, grabbed a corkscrew, opened the wine,
and poured two glasses. She grabbed the glasses, handed one to him, and raised hers.
“To new friends.”

“To new friends, may they become old friends.” He clinked.

She watched him drink over her glass as she took a sip. He could almost see the triumphant
gleam. Yeah, she thought she was getting his DNA for sure this time. But the joke
was on her.

“Aldo recommended this Zinfandel. He knows his stuff.”

“Yes, doesn’t he? This is heavenly.”

He noticed a pink lipstick ring on her glass. Willow didn’t wear lipstick often. A
normal guy would assume she’d fixed up for him. Jack assumed she wore lipstick to
mark her glass, so she knew which one to test for his DNA.

“Let me just get the appetizers.” She disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a
minute later with a silver tray he recognized as one from their wedding. She held
the tray out for him.

Ah, shit, mushrooms stuffed with Gorgonzola.
In general, you could call him a cheese man. He loved just about any kind of cheese.
Except Gorgonzola. And he despised mushrooms with a passion. They tainted anything
they touched. His distaste might have had something to do with a near-miss experience
with a Destroying Angel in France. Never trust nefarious French cooks.

But he smiled, took one, and popped it in his mouth, making sure to wash it down with
a big gulp of wine. If he kept this method of drowning out the bad flavors up, he’d
pass out by the end of the evening or end up in Willow’s bed. He couldn’t afford to
do either.

“Delicious,” he said for her benefit, and took another. Yeah, he was a glutton for
punishment. Anything to keep up a convincing cover.

“Dinner’s in the oven. It will be ready shortly.” She nodded toward the living room.
“Come on in and have a seat.”

He followed her into the living room. She sat on the sofa, leaving plenty of room
for him to sit next to her, and gave him a flirtatious smile. He took the chair opposite
her, preferring the view and distance from her and her tantalizing body. His hormones
were raging, threatening to overcome his good sense and control.

Sitting too close to her, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions, like reaching
out and touching her in all the right places. A spark of disappointment crossed her
face, tinged with a determined look that said,
Play hard to get if you like; I’ll play harder and win you over.

Yeah, he’d seen that look before. And damn it all if she wasn’t right. She could win
him over, way too easily. Hell, one accidental breast brush would do him in, in the
sex-starved condition he was in. Beautiful women had an unfair advantage when it came
to prying intel out of male spies, especially former lovers.

“That falling rooster interrupted us the other day before I had a chance to find out
anything about you,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Like what you do for a
living, your favorite color, highest level of education, sports you played in high
school, hobbies, you know, coffee-date essential intel.”

Had she just used
intel
on purpose? She wouldn’t get a rise out of him so easily.

He laughed. “Yeah, that rooster was a conversation stopper.” Let the game of twenty
questions and trip-Jack-up begin. As if he were going to come right out and tell her
he was an assassin for the CIA. He hadn’t told her the truth about that yet. Why would
he now?

“Let me see, to answer your questions—I’m a public relations exec for a small firm.
I travel a lot for the job. Favorite color—red. Bachelor’s degree. Baseball. Hiking
and playing guitar. Did I get everything?” He’d hit the cover life dossier essentials.

“I think you covered the icebreakers.” She took a sip of wine. “How long will you
be staying?”

He shrugged. “I have another week and a half of vacation.” He’d be here long enough
to kill Kennett and find out what kind of mischief he was planning for the G8 summit.

“Speaking of Aldo, he and I tried to pay the deer-hitting invalid a visit. You know
Aldo, we went armed with a lasagna and two dozen breadsticks. Turns out we shouldn’t
have bothered. We could barely get near the place. Every woman in town was streaming
in with some kind of food for him.

“Kennett better hope he recovers quickly, before the women of this town feed him to
death.” Which wasn’t a bad idea. What if Kennett suddenly developed a fatal case of
food poisoning? It was something to consider. Shouldn’t be too hard to find a Destroying
Angel or Death Cap mushroom to bump him off with. The woods around Orchard Bluff were
great mushrooming territory. So Jack had heard Aldo mention.

She laughed. “Food is the way we show our love around here. Speaking of Shane, I have
something to tell you. This will give you a laugh—when I brought him home from the
hospital, he nearly gave me a heart attack. The moment we walked into the living room,
he was convinced someone had been in there.

“I couldn’t see how he could tell, unless he had hidden cameras installed. Everything
looked the same to me.”

Jack had to work hard to keep his concern from showing and laughed politely. “Did
you fess up to feeding his dogs?”

She waved her hand. “Are you kidding? No way. It’s much more fun to be clandestine.”
She watched Jack closely for a reaction.

She’d have to work harder than that to get Jack to admit to being the hardened spy
that he was.

“No, I had to fall back on my excellent lying and acting skills.”

“He believed your innocent act? You fooled him?” Jack liked the shared intimacy of
their secret, but he was wondering what had set Kennett off and worrying that he suspected
Willow of seeing something she shouldn’t have.

“Oh yeah.”

“We were so careful not to disturb anything,” Jack said, acting confused, as Con would.
He had been careful. Damn careful.

“I know! We even cleaned up the beer the dogs spilled.”

Jack’s turn not to give himself away. “What about the dogs? How were they? Had they
sobered up by the time you got Kennett home?” The drugs should have worn off by then.

“They were fine, but Shane thought they looked sluggish. That man is too observant.
Of course, I couldn’t tell him they’d gotten drunk, thanks to him. Poor babies, they
were only fending for themselves.”

“Good. I’m glad the dogs are fine.” Jack frowned. “But why did he think someone had
been in the house? That’s weird.”

“That’s what I thought.” She became suddenly serious. “And his paranoia continued.
He was dizzy. I had to help him upstairs to bed.”

Jack didn’t like the sound of that.

“Again in the bedroom, he looked as if he thought someone had been in there. He was
scared, almost as if he’d seen a ghost.”

“Really?”
What would have scared the Rooster?

She nodded. “You know what was even more odd about Shane? I’ve been thinking and thinking
about this and still can’t make any sense of it.

“He picked up a wad of paper, a smashed wad of paper, that was on the floor beneath
the window. I was opening the bed. He didn’t think I saw. But when he unfolded it,
he paled and looked angry.

“When I asked him about it, he claimed it was a note to himself, a reminder about
something he’d forgotten to do.”