Live and Let Love (9 page)

The Rooster launched a full attack, stomping across the floor in his steel-toed boots
in time to the music, aiming directly for the vulnerable bare toes of Jack’s gimpy
leg. When was Jack’s home-cooked XTC going to kick in? He knew he should have made
it stronger. As in lethal.

As Kennett danced toward Jack, Jack looked around for help, like the judge. But she’d
left the dance floor. This was now clearly a free-for-all.

So Jack broke out his secret weapon—a one-legged backflip. He caught the Rooster off
guard and sent him stumbling backward out of the way, off the dance floor, and into
a table against the wall.

Take that. Next time, I’ll show you what I know about hand-to-hand combat and lethal
pressure points.

“Footloose” ended. Jack was still on his feet and the Rooster was finally starting
to sway. Barely. Jack had to do something to speed up the process.

“Give my worthy opponent a drink so he can keep up with me in the next round,” Jack
said. “He looks thirsty.”

Willow stepped forward and handed Kennett his drink, but the bastard only took a sip
and handed it back to her. Jack cursed to himself. There was part of the problem—Kennett
had drunk barely half the cup.

“I paid for a tush push,” Sheryl said from the sidelines. “I want to see it.”

Nora gave Jack and Kennett a harsh look. “Do you two think you can follow directions
and actually do the dance I’m teaching?”

Jack grabbed his leg. “I’m trying, teach.”

People laughed.

“These two men are pretty evenly matched,” Lettie said.

That’s a lie,
Jack thought.
I can dance this asshole under the table. And I would if I weren’t dodging deathblows
and hobbling on one leg.

“Let’s make this interesting,” Lettie said. “Sheryl wants the tush push. But what
song are they going to dance to? Willow? You got Con into this; you pick!”

Jack’s gaze, and everyone else’s, turned to Willow as she was taking a sip from Shane’s
cup.

Nooooo!

As she pulled it away from her lips to answer, Jack thanked small mercies and made
a mental note to have Con knock that damn cup out of her hands if he had to dance
into the middle of the mob to do it.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker Face.’ Let’s see them tush push
to ‘Poker Face.’”

Jack swallowed hard. Despite its lyrics that celebrated violence, Willow loved that
song. He used to dance to it for her and with her. By requesting it, she’d just eliminated
some of his favorite moves.

“That’s just silly,” someone said.

Lettie held up a hand to silence the protests. “The lady has chosen.”

“People line dance to it all the time,” Nora added. “We’ll show you how it’s done.
Spin it, Roger.”

Jack joined in with the music, doing his grooving as the crowd laughed. The tush push
was meant to be done to certain songs and this definitely wasn’t one of them. But
he pushed his tush all the same.

“Stick it out there, boys!” a woman yelled, probably Sheryl.

Someone was getting her money’s worth out of this show at least. The Rooster was tiring
and backing off. Jack’s leg was regaining motion and feeling. Finally able to really
dance, he got caught up in the music and began pushing the Rooster to keep up with
his moves. Forgetting himself for the moment, he hammed it up and swirled his hand
around his face when Nora did, imitating Lady Gaga in the music video. Too late, he
caught a glimpse of Willow’s pale face and realized he’d gone too far. He’d sparked
a memory in her of himself.

The crowd began to twitter.

Jack wasn’t being all that funny. He glanced at his opponent and realized they weren’t
just laughing at his silly tush push moves or his theatrics.
Finally.
Shane was swaying on his feet as he tried to rotate his hips and keep up with Jack.

“Looks like your favorite’s had a little too much, Lettie.” Bob White sounded gleeful
as he shouted over the music.

*   *   *

Willow stood on the edge of the dance floor next to the action. Con followed Nora’s
lead and circled his face with his hand in a movement mimicking Gaga in her music
video. Willow gasped. Jack used to do that very move to make her laugh when they danced
to the song. He was just doing what Nora did. Just as Shane was. A lot of people imitated
that popular move. But that was Jack’s
exact
flourish.

Willow felt suddenly short of breath and a little dizzy. And so tired. She needed
something to drink. But as she lifted the glass to her mouth Con danced to the edge
of the crowd a little too close to her. She started and stepped back just in time
to miss being hit, spilling Shane’s drink all over herself and the floor before she
could touch it to her lips again.

Con mouthed,
Sorry,
and danced his way back to the center of the dance space. Shane started swaying.
Willow blinked, trying to ward off the feeling she was about to pass out. Was Shane
swaying or was she?

Shane stumbled, fell onto his knees, and collapsed onto the floor. Her gasp blended
with the crowd’s laughter. More than just Shane had had too much too drink.

Con shook his head. “Looks like my opponent has decided to sit this one out. He’s
just dead.”

Willow’s ears rang.
Ohmygosh. That’s a variation of Jack’s favorite line from
Thunderball.

She felt so dizzy. Her ears rang and the room closed in around her as she stared directly
at Con.

“Jack?”

*   *   *

Jack heard Willow call his name, shoved past the crowd, and caught her before she
crashed to the floor. Damn, he’d gotten too cocky. He never should have used that
line, common as it was. Any Bond fan knew it, but Jack’s using it was still reckless.

His heart raced. What had he done to Willow? One small sip shouldn’t have sent her
out like this.

“Water!” he called. “Someone get us a glass of water.”

A crowd had gathered around Shane, too, mercifully keeping the full focus off of Jack
holding Willow.

He wanted to cradle her and coo her back to consciousness. Beg her forgiveness for
accidentally drugging her. If only Willow had been a germ-a-phobe, she’d never have
drunk from Shane’s cup.

And damn his weakness, even limp in his arms she felt good. He was worried about her,
but with the small dose she’d gotten the drug should wear off quickly.

Becky appeared at his elbow with a pillow in each hand and began issuing orders. “Give
them space. Make room for both Shane and Willow. Give them air!” She touched Jack’s
elbow. “Lay her down and get this under her head and this one under her feet.”

As Jack did as he was told, he realized he’d made a serious mistake.
Willow suspects I’m me.
As schizophrenic as that sounded. It was damage control time. He reluctantly did
as Becky commanded.

“Jack?” Jack frowned and, doing his best to appear confused, looked at Becky. “Who’s
Jack?”

It was a critical stage for the mission just now. Willow may have just blown his cover.
He had to keep his head and use this situation to his advantage.

“Jack’s her late husband. Died two years ago.” Becky shook her head. “Poor thing.
You’ll have to excuse her. Today’s the anniversary of his death.”

“I’m sorry.” He paused. He really was. It was his fault, after all. “And I look like
him?”

Becky shook her head again. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen a picture. She doesn’t
talk about him much. She says she’s still too emotional and can’t without breaking
up.”

Damn, he had hurt Willow badly. It was for her own good, but hearing Becky say it
aloud cut him to his hardened core.

*   *   *

Willow came to with Jack standing over her. Or, well, a man with Jack’s eyes.
Con?
The two were blended together in her mind as she regained consciousness. She was
confused. And still heavy lidded and sleepy. Con didn’t look like Jack. But he acted
like him and his eyes were the same as Jack’s.

“Happens all the time,” whoever he was said to Becky. “Ironically, I must look like
a Jack. People call me that a lot.” His grin was perfect and charming. “Must be my
evil twin.”

“Jack was not evil!” Willow couldn’t believe she’d blurted that out. Too many years
of defending Jack’s sometimes violent job to her inner conscience.

“She’s back!” Con smiled at her.

Her head buzzed. She wasn’t thinking clearly and her social inhibitor had somehow
been turned off.

The room buzzed with the hum of people trying to speak in hushed tones.

“No, no, of course he wasn’t, hon,” Becky crooned to her as she patted Willow’s hand
and looked relieved. “You gave us a scare. How are you feeling?”

Willow pushed up to a sit and stared at Con.

“Take it easy,” Becky said. “Give yourself time to recover.” She looked over her shoulder
at the people around them and those who were attending to Shane. “She’s fine. She’ll
be fine. She just got a little overexcited.”

There was a collective sigh of relief and the buzz of conversation shifted to Shane,
who was passed out cold.

Willow didn’t want to recover. She wanted to stare at Con. Was he? Could he? Could
he actually
be
Jack?

Willow shook her head to clear it. Someone appeared with a glass of water and handed
it to Becky.

Becky put her hand on Willow’s shoulder and held the glass out to her. “Drink. It
will help.”

Willow pressed the glass to her lips and took a sip. Drinking gave her a chance to
study Con more closely.

NCS claimed they’d done a DNA analysis on the remains she’d buried and they were Jack’s.
Definitely Jack’s. And the Sense, she couldn’t discount that, either. She’d felt Jack
being ripped from her at the very moment of the explosion that took his life. He’d
been thousands of miles away at the time.

But Jack was Jack. She wouldn’t put
anything
past him and the Agency. If Jack had done anything else for a living, anything but
living the covert life of a spy, she would have chalked those eyes, dance moves, smiles,
and line from James Bond up to her own vivid imagination, especially given the day.
She could have dismissed the Sense acting up now, claiming it was merely responding
to her own emotions. She would have forced herself to admit the horrible irony of
meeting Jack’s twin by a different mother on the very anniversary of his death. How
could fate be so cruel?

But Jack
had
been a secret agent. And secret agents were capable of any deceit. Even faking their
own deaths.

She stared at Con, or Jack, or whoever he was, over the lip of her glass. If that
was Jack standing there, pretending not to be her husband, acting like a casual stranger
while her heart nearly failed, she was going to, going to …

Well, an ordinary person would say she was going to kill him. But Willow didn’t believe
in that.

She was going to teach him a lesson. Something civil and nonviolent so he’d learn
the error of his ways. And she was going to get him back.

But what if he really was just Con, a man who reminded her of Jack? What would she
do then? Something crazy like fall in love with him? And would it really be with him
or would she only be falling in love with her memory of Jack?

Con squatted beside her and smiled kindly, looking her directly in the eye. “How are
you feeling? It’s very warm in here.” He cleared his throat. “Becky told me this is
an especially difficult day for you. I’m very sorry for your loss.” He squeezed her
shoulder sympathetically.

“I’m also sorry to tell you that your date has had too much to drink. He’s passed
out. A couple of the men are going to take him home and stay with him for a while
to make sure he’s okay. He’ll be fine.”

Feeling Con’s hot hand on her and the warmth of his touch, she nearly sputtered her
water in his face.

“Good.” She paused, still trying to focus and clear her mind. Why did she feel so
groggy? Almost as if she’d been drugged? “Did you win?”

He smiled at her, looking pleased. “Yeah, I did. I’m donating the TV. Lettie’s going
to auction it off and give the money to the animal shelter.”

“That’s so sweet.” That’s exactly what Jack would have done. Willow blinked back tears
at the thought.

“I’m sorry. I’m upsetting you,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”

There was no way she was letting this man who
might
be Jack disappear, walk right back into the twilight without her. Not until she knew
for sure that he was Jack. Not even if he really was Con. Not if he was the man who
could bring her back to life again after Jack. Until then, she’d have to keep him
close at hand. If he really was Jack, he could disappear like a wisp of frosty breath,
simply evaporate.

“Take me home.” She forced a wobbly smile. “Please?”

She needed a plan. And she needed one
now.

CHAPTER SIX

Jack recognized that gleam in his wife’s sleepy eyes. She was suspicious, wondering
whether Con was really him, Jack. He didn’t read microexpressions for nothing. He
shouldn’t have used his Bond line.
No more spy humor.

Jack’s mind was racing. He’d originally planned to knock Kennett out so he could break
into his place later, after the party, and get what intel he could. So much for that
plan now. He couldn’t chance it if the men taking Kennett home were going to stay
with him until he slept it off.

As Jack led Willow to his car, with his arm around her to steady her, he felt her
studying him. “I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head and looked up at him. “About what?”

“Everything—my zealous dancing. Spilling your drink. Somehow being an unpleasant reminder
of your late husband. You looked at me and called his name just before you passed
out. I feel somehow responsible.” He didn’t have to try too hard to look sheepish.
He was completely responsible. He should have been more careful with his drink doping.