Live and Let Love (24 page)

She had Jack’s full attention now.

“But I saw what was on that piece of paper and it wasn’t a note.”

“What was it?” Jack asked.

“A geometric pattern called the Flower of Life.”

SMASH!
Jack had to work hard not to give himself away. That note was a message from SMASH
to Kennett, a warning—screw up again and we’ll take you out. Jack had seen one of
their threatening notes before.

RIOT must have realized the Rooster had passed them bad intel. They generally weren’t
the forgiving sort. Which meant that either the Rooster was too important to take
out before the G8 auxiliary summit or they suspected someone else had tampered with
the drop and were hoping to smoke them out. Either way, they’d view the bad intel
as meaning the Rooster had been careless and would eventually have to be punished.
Jack just hoped RIOT didn’t suspect him as being the source of the Rooster’s screwup.
He was also disappointed that SMASH wouldn’t be killing the Rooster for him. They
were much crueler than he’d ever be.

And damn it all, too, Kennett would be even more on his guard now that he knew SMASH
was watching him as well.

“That’s odd,” Jack said, remembering to be Con. “What do you think it meant?”

“No idea,” Willow said. “But it is odd behavior.”

Just then a timer dinged.

Willow popped up and headed to the kitchen. “Let me check on dinner.”

Jack watched her walk away, salivating over the gentle sway of her hips, aching to
touch her. She looked so fine, sleek, and sexy when she walked in heels. All lovely,
long legs, and cute butt. He watched her curves as she grabbed a pair of oven mitts,
bent over the oven, and pulled out a dish of eggplant Parmesan. Every part of him
ached to touch her, just walk up behind her, grab that fantastic ass of hers, and
take her in the kitchen.

He swallowed hard and tried not to think about it. Making love with her had too many
dangerous consequences, most important giving himself away as still among the living.
Although it would probably get him out of having to eat eggplant.

It was just too damn bad Willow had decided to play the game this way. She was a terrific
cook and he’d been salivating all day over the thought of eating her home cooking
again. Her talents in the kitchen were just one of the many things he missed about
her, though by no means the thing he longed for most.

He’d have to make the best out of a tasteless situation. Savor the sauce, so to speak.

Willow set the dish on a ceramic trivet on the table.

“Can I help you with anything?” Jack asked, still admiring her form.

“Thanks, sweet of you to offer, but I have everything under control.”

Oh, shit, did she! His sweet little Willow had taken torture to a new level. He watched
as she went to the fridge and pulled out a cold pea salad in a clear cut-crystal bowl.
He almost gagged just looking at it.

He hated peas, especially cold peas. The only thing worse was canned peas, and unless
he missed his guess, she’d probably found a way to incorporate some into that grotesque
salad. Maybe there’d be bread?

He was quickly rethinking his plan. Giving himself away in the height of passion was
a lot more appealing than trying not to gag on peas. He sighed inwardly and called
up his training. He’d eaten bugs and raw entrails, just not in a lovely romantic setting
being served by his wife. Somehow, without the imminent threat of danger to his life
hanging over his head, just the temptation of giving in to hot sex, the thought of
eating peas seemed about as bad as eating grubs. Situational gastronomy.

“Dinner is served!” Willow said with a sly smile.

*   *   *

Willow watched Con closely as she put the food on the table. He was all smiles, charm,
sparkling eyes, and wit. Not a touch of dread on his face. He’d handled the mushrooms
well, too. But then, he’d only eaten two. A man of his size and appetite should have
scarfed down a dozen.

She set the eggplant Parmesan on the table next to the pea salad, directly in front
of him, and poured them each a glass of water and another glass of wine. Later, she’d
just pack up one of those lovely glasses, stuff it in the collection bag for protection,
wrap it up, and overnight it to Drew’s guy. She already had the box ready to go. In
less than twenty-four hours, Jack’s game would be over. Maybe sooner if she could
get him to bed. He’d never be able to hide that sexy chuff of his.

She smiled at him. He was so easy on the eyes. It was hard not to stare at him. She’d
noticed, too, that he was having a hard time looking away from her.

She raised her glass. “Bon appétit!”

He nodded, raised his to hers, and clinked. They both drank.

She handed him a set of serving utensils. “I’m casual. I like to eat family-style.
You don’t mind serving yourself?”

Yes, she was taking pity on him, in a way. And this was also a test—would he take
a big enough serving to throw her off?

“Casual is just the way I like things.” He took the utensils and served himself a
respectable portion of eggplant, took a nice spoonful of pea salad, and then loaded
up on bread.

She passed him a small bowl of grated cheese, trying not to look too gleeful as she
watched him closely. Jack loved a good Parmesan-Reggiano or a nice pecorino Romano.
He hated exactly two types of cheese—Gorgonzola and Mizithra. Guess what was in that
bowl?

Con was sharp enough to smell the Mizithra without being obvious. “No extra cheese,
thanks. This food looks rich enough and delicious as it is.”

Very good, Jack. Totally diplomatic.

She watched as he took a large bite of the main course. Now, while he was distracted
by trying to pretend to like the eggplant, that is, if he was really Jack, was the
time to grill him about the finer details she’d learned on his Facebook, Twitter,
and LinkedIn accounts. She opened her mouth, but Con cut her off.

“This eggplant is heavenly. Absolutely the best I’ve tasted.”

She closed her mouth. He sounded genuine. He wasn’t obviously gagging. This was a
disappointing test. She so wanted him to be Jack. Which meant—she wanted to see him
gag.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to thank you in person for the friend request on Facebook,”
Con said before she could speak again. “And the follow on Twitter.”

Oh, shoot and darn!
If Con was Jack, he’d taken the offensive and probably studied the heck out of those
accounts. With hope springing eternal, she’d ignored the obvious evidence that Con
would pay attention to the accounts and Jack wouldn’t. Which would mean that the man
across the table from her was Con. That had been her theory, anyway. Now she rejected
it as a foolish test of identity.

“My pleasure.” She felt her face go warm as she realized that Con/Jack must surely
know that she knew a lot more about him than she’d let on earlier.

But the man in front of her didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. At least he was
kind enough not to comment on it.

“Did you see those pictures of my cousin Vinnie? That guy is a crack-up, a real prankster!”
His eyes shone with admiration. “Has Aldo told you any of the family stories about
him?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh, you have to hear this.” Con/Jack grinned and launched into a story. “Vinnie and
I were in Las Vegas last year.…”

Jack had always been a fantastic storyteller. Con was equally talented. He soon had
her laughing along with him, entertained and asking questions, enjoying herself in
a way she hadn’t in over two years.

If Con was Jack, he was trying to be cagey, taking the offensive to spill all the
info on his social sites so she couldn’t grill him and get him to slip up. Yes, her
husband the spy was a tactical genius. Which had been one downside of being married
to him. He generally outwitted and outplayed her. She warned friends and relatives
never to play Risk with him, especially not Secret Mission Risk. He was killer at
that.

Little did Jack know, though, that he was giving himself away the more he talked and
tried to convince her he was Con, getting so caught up in the details that he forgot
to mask his classic storytelling style. And even though he spoke in a gravelly voice
that wasn’t Jack’s and he had that sexy European accent that he never accidentally
dropped out of, Jack’s wit shone through.

On the other hand, he answered the questions she peppered him with as easily as if
he’d actually lived the life he talked about. Which was an argument for Con. And everything
he said jibed with what she’d researched. She made a few mental notes of details to
check later. But she doubted she’d catch him in a slipup.

Willow was enjoying herself so greatly, and they were talking so much, that time just
slipped away and the dinner on their plates got cold without her realizing it until
too late. They’d been so animated in conversation, she’d forgotten to eat more than
a bite or two. Con’s plate was suspiciously untouched, too, that sneaky man.

Everyone knows that cold eggplant Parmesan is simply no good, no good at all. She
couldn’t force him to eat it. He’d outplayed her again. Finally, she looked down at
her plate with an exaggerated expression of regret. “Our dinner’s gotten cold.” She
smiled weakly at him. “We were so busy talking, we forget to eat. It’s no good now.”

“No good now?” He smiled back, took a big forkful of eggplant Parmesan, and popped
it in his mouth. “Delicious,” he said after he’d swallowed. He reached for his wineglass
to wash it down.

“You big liar. It is not! Not cold.” She passed him the basket of bread. “Here. We’ll
just have to fill up on this and dessert.”

Curses, foiled again! Drat that lying, spying man.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When having dinner with the enemy, or your supersneaky, up-to-no-good-trying-to-out-you-as-her-husband
wife, evasive action and diversionary strategies are absolutely essential tactics
of battle. Both of which Jack used to his advantage. Hell, he always could tell a
good story.

One small bite of pea salad and one large forkful of eggplant for the cover; one long,
funny story to save his stomach. And now he’d won—the offending eggplant Parmesan
would soon be going down the disposal.

However, dinner was waning. And he had yet to make the big drinking glass switch.
Lani had coached him to create a diversion. Diversion was the soul of magic.

With that in mind, he
accidentally
bumped his dinner plate. Which then
accidentally
landed in his lap, eggplant side down.

“Oh, shit!” he said, and looked at Willow apologetically as he pulled the plate and
his serving of eggplant from his lap and set them on the table.

Willow jumped up as he dabbed at the red sauce in his lap with his cloth napkin. “How
bad is it?”

“It’s red sauce.” He made a face he thought the dandy Con would make, a face that
regretted the damage to the pants. Jack, however, wouldn’t be mourning their loss.

“Let me get you something.” She ran to the kitchen, wet a clean dish towel, returned
with it, and proceeded to dab at the sauce in his lap. Which proceeded to arouse him.
He had the feeling she was “dabbing” that way on purpose.

Score one for Willow. He cursed silently to himself. He hadn’t thought far enough
ahead.

He cleared his throat and grabbed her hand before things got sticky. Her eyes glistened
with triumph. She knew very well what she was doing.

“Water isn’t going to be strong enough. Do you have a stain stick?”

He knew very well she did. And he’d also moved it slightly from its regular spot earlier,
when he’d sneaked in and replaced “his” strands of hair. It would take her a while
to find the stain remover and buy him time. As Jack, he would have died from embarrassment
being so worried about his pants. Con, though, was a different matter.

“Oh, of course! Stay there! I’ll go get it and be right back. Don’t move.”

Yeah, he could hardly wait for her to return and rub him with the stain stick. In
retrospect, he should have leaned over and dragged his sleeve through the sauce. She
dashed off toward the laundry room, which was out of sight of the living room.

Jack grabbed his water glass, rushed to his man bag by the door. Got the glass with
Aldo’s DNA out, poured the water from his glass into it, stashed the glass from dinner
in the bag, and returned to his chair. He returned the glass to its spot on the table,
pulled a packaged disinfecting wipe from his pocket, cleaned his wineglass of all
DNA, and smiled. Sometimes the spy’s life was just too much fun. Besides, Jack had
always loved a good prank. And, oh yes, he was pranking Willow, big-time. And planned
to take things a step further if he got the chance.

Willow had left the child gate open when she rushed through to the laundry room. Spookie
came bounding out, barking happily to see Jack.

Perfect timing! Jack jumped up, grabbed the dog treat from the counter, cuddled Spookie,
and fed it to her. “There, girl, I’m glad to see you, too.”

Willow returned to find them fast friends, Spookie sitting happily at his feet as
Jack continued to wipe his pants with the damp towel.

“Spook, what are you doing here?” Willow’s tone was total mom voice.

“She escaped your gate. Don’t scold her, Willow. She and I have made friends. I gave
her that treat I brought her and she warmed right up to me.”

Willow’s eyes narrowed. She looked just the slightest bit suspicious. “How’s the stain
coming out?”

“Stubbornly.”

Jack had turned his chair to face sideways to the table. He sat with his legs apart,
feet firmly planted on the floor.

“Let me see.” Willow boldly came up and kneeled between his thighs, wielding the stain
stick.

Oh, shit. He had an exceptional view down her shirt to her naked breasts. As she wielded
that stick like a pro and rubbed him all the right ways, he rose to the occasion and
her nipples budded up, adding to his agony.