Once Burned, Twice Spy Page 7

  Hellhound brightened. “Sounds like they’re set up in the bullpen, an’ I got a perfect sightline from there to the weapons lockup. Come on, let’s stow this shit an’ join the party.” He gave me a suggestive grin and hefted his guitar. “Gotta make sure my fingers’re still workin’ right. Might need ’em later.”

  “Too much information,” Reggie griped.

  Hellhound pitched his parka into the corner of the coatroom and strode out carrying the weapons duffels and his guitar, while Reggie and I dawdled over removing our outerwear and carefully hanging it up.

  When that complicated task was complete and we couldn’t stall any longer, we exchange a glance and a simultaneous sigh and trailed reluctantly toward the bullpen.

  Just before we abandoned the shelter of the corridor, Reggie’s limp vanished and the right side of his face smoothed into an expression as impassive as the mask on his left. Imagining the pain of his abraded skin grinding against his prosthesis for the whole godawful length of this interminable day, I straightened my posture despite the ache in my back and shoulders. If he could do it, I could, too.

  A few people glanced over and offered Reggie guarded nods when we entered, but one short cute blonde beelined over to grip his arm with a megawatt smile. In a perky Aussie accent she chirped, “Reggie! So stoked to see you again, love! Ready for a bit of the amber fluid?” She tilted her beer glass in his direction.

  No answering smile lit Reggie’s face, but I had no time to observe the rest of their interaction. My attention locked onto the broad-shouldered, devastatingly handsome man who was advancing on me with a smile of his own.

  “Storm Cloud Dancer,” he murmured for my ears only. He captured my hand between his own, his green eyes sparkling with flirtatious mischief. “Smashing to see you.”

  A smile lifted the corners of my mouth despite my exhaustion, and I turned my head enough to prevent the security cameras from reading my lips. “Hi, Ian.” I kept my voice as quiet as his. “Or do you prefer Orion Moonjava these days?”

  He gave a theatrical wince and raised his glass to conceal his mouth as he spoke again. “It’s Ian. Please. Orion Moonjava was not the most unpleasant role I’ve ever played, but it was definitely the most embarrassing.”

  “Oh, I don’t know; I thought you made a pretty good hippy,” I countered. “Especially after you dropped that fake Canadian accent. I like your real one better.”

  “Ah.” His smile widened. “I’ve been told that Canadian women find a British accent quite the aphrodisiac. Perhaps I’ll have a better chance with you this time, especially now that we can enjoy the trappings of civilization.”

  “Like room service… and hot showers… and king-sized beds?” I prompted with a slow smile, watching the sparks flare in his gorgeous eyes. Then I laughed and added, “Give it up. You just want to get me into bed so you can get your fifty bucks back from Skidmark.”

  His jaw dropped. “He told you about our bet? That old reprobate; I knew I shouldn’t trust him.”

  “Yeah, speaking of that…” A couple of people detached themselves from the crowd to head our way, and I dropped my voice to a rapid whisper. “Did you mention me to Five Eyes?”

  “No, of course not. As far as they know you were never there, and you and I have just met.”

  “But…” I began, but he raised his voice to party-conversation levels and talked over me.

  “…and with such lovely red hair, I knew you must have some Irish in the mix somewhere.” He turned to greet the tanned thirtyish man and elderly woman who had approached. “This is Aydan Kelly,” he informed them. He threw one of his dazzling smiles my way, still holding my hand. “Irish-Canadian, as I correctly guessed.” He turned back to me. “Aydan, may I present Nora Taylor, the U.K.’s Director of Weapons Research, and Brad Wilson, her counterpart from the United States.”

  Despite Reggie’s dire warnings and my own suspicions, my defences shattered at the sight of Nora Taylor’s smiling eyes and softly wrinkled features. My heart gave a painful tug. Only a few days ago I had marked my mother’s birthday with bittersweet remembrance. If she hadn’t died thirty years ago, she might look like Nora now…

  I swallowed hard and squashed the emotion back into its usual compartment. Too tired. Keep your head in the game.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, extracting my hand from Ian’s to offer a handshake first to Nora, then Brad. The two people who had specifically requested my presence.

  Well, let’s just stir the pot and see what surfaces.

  I gave them a smile and added, “You have me at a bit of a disadvantage. Since you both requested me, you must know more about me than I know about you.”

  Nora and Brad exchanged a startled glance.

  “I didn’t realize you knew Agent Kelly,” Brad said to Nora, faint accusation colouring his words.

  “I don’t,” Nora replied with a smile that looked forced. “But after Ian’s descriptions of her exploits, I certainly wanted to meet her.”

  What the hell? Ian had just finished saying he hadn’t reported me. I skewered him with my gaze. We had barely exchanged a dozen words and he’d lied to me already, the bastard.

  And why hadn’t Nora admitted the true reason she wanted to talk to me?

  Maybe they were both lying…

  Ian hastened to explain, “I read the report your Director provided during the terrorist crisis last month. He was quite stingy with the details but it certainly sounded like an interesting story. I requested this assignment hoping I’d get to meet you and hear about it in person.”

  What the hell? Surely Stemp wouldn’t have identified me in his reports. And why would Ian go to so much trouble to see me? Either he was truly desperate to win his bet with Skidmark, or he had some other agenda.

  And I was pretty sure he didn’t need fifty bucks that badly.

  I gave him a thin smile. “I’d love to talk shop, but… classified. Sorry.”

  “What was your interest in Agent Kelly?” Nora asked Brad.

  “Oh, the same report, of course,” he said smoothly. “It’s always so much more informative to hear a first-hand account.”

  There was so much bullshit floating around us, the air was turning brown. I added my own shovelful.

  “Well, it was very nice to meet you,” I lied. “But it’s been an exhausting day and I’m going to go and grab a drink. Excuse me.”

  I left them standing there eyeing each other with thinly-veiled suspicion.

  Chapter 9

  Weaving through the crowd, I reflexively catalogued the scene. About thirty people stood chatting in small groups, drinks in hands. Nora was the oldest, and the little blonde who had greeted Reggie was probably the youngest; although with Botox and fillers and God-knew-what other cosmetic procedures, it was hard to tell.

  About two-thirds of the partygoers wouldn’t pose a threat to anything but a lab rat. No pocket protectors or lab coats were in evidence, but the soft physiques and slightly rounded shoulders of the scientists were easy to identify. Reggie was the exception, his powerful shoulders filling his suit jacket and his posture military-straight.

  The little blonde scientist was still chattering away at him with an animated smile. Despite the drink in his hand, Reggie didn’t seem to be relaxing. He stood with his reconstructed left side turned away from his companion, but even the right side of his face was immobile enough to be a mask. He nodded occasionally while she talked, but he wasn’t speaking.

  The remainder of the crowd looked dangerously athletic. Hellhound was by far the biggest and scariest; but they all carried themselves as though ready for instant action. Their gazes scanned the crowd constantly despite their casual poses.

  As I collected a glass of ginger ale from the bar, Ian strolled up. “Well, that was interesting,” he said with his engaging smile. “I didn’t expect her to throw me to the wolves like that.”

  I kept a polite expression on my face. “Well, if you hadn’t lied to me in the first place, there wouldn’
t have been any wolves. Orion.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t breathe a word.” His accent sharpened to a knife-edge and his flirtatious sparkle vanished, revealing the hard-eyed agent behind the playboy façade. “I promised Moonbeam and Karma and Skidmark that their secret was safe with me, and that promise extends to you, too. I will literally protect your secret with my life. I did not blow your cover. Nora’s the one who-”

  “Kelly!” Reggie’s irritable voice interrupted. When I turned to him, his expression was as impassive as ever despite the belligerence in his tone. “Get lost, Rand,” he gritted, barely moving his lips. “I need to talk to my agent. In private.” The solid jolt of alcohol on his breath surprised me. We’d been here less than half an hour. Had he been hammering back shots when I wasn’t looking?

  “Lovely to see you again, too, Reggie,” Ian replied with a gracious smile. “Charming as ever, I see.”

  “Fuck off.” Reggie hooked his hand into my elbow and drew me away.

  “See you later, Aydan,” Ian called after us.

  I threw a vague smile over my shoulder at him before focusing on Reggie. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Rand gets up my ass, that’s all.”

  “He wasn’t anywhere near your ass,” I protested. “You’re the one that barged into our conversation.”

  “Yeah, you can thank me later.” When I frowned, he added, “The guy’s a horndog. He’s screwed nearly everybody in this room; most of them twice. You’re just fresh meat to him.”

  I faked enlightenment. “Oh, so that’s what you meant when you said he got up your ass. You were being literal.”

  Reggie snorted. “I wouldn’t let him anywhere near my ass. I like women, thanks; but he’s not fussy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s done half the guys here, too.”

  “Maybe,” I equivocated. “He does seem like the kind of guy who’d screw anything that moved.”

  “Or bleated.” Reggie’s lips twisted in his wicked one-sided smirk.

  I snickered, then sobered. “Okay; so besides charging over here to defend my virtue, what’s up?”

  “Nothing. Just needed to get away from Little Mary Sunshine.”

  He shot a sour look at the blonde, who unfortunately chose that moment to surface from a conversation with her companions and glance our way. She gave him another sparkling smile and a little finger-wave.

  Without acknowledging the gesture, he gripped my arm again and turned us away from her.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked. “She’s cute, she seems to like you…” I nudged him companionably. “God knows why; you’re such a cranky sonuvabitch. But you just finished saying you like women, so… where’s the problem?”

  “She’s so fucking perky it makes my teeth ache. And she never fucking shuts up.”

  “Maybe because you never say anything,” I teased.

  “Drop it, Kelly,” he growled.

  “Okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll save you from the cute little girl.” I surveyed the crowd again. “Actually, maybe you can help me out. How many of these people do you know? Can you give me a briefing?”

  Relief flickered in his face before his deadpan expression closed down again. “Yeah. Let’s sit. My fucking stump is killing me,” he muttered, barely moving his lips.

  We retreated to a couple of chairs in the corner and Reggie sank into one with a hiss of exhaled breath.

  “Did you push too hard with your training again?” I asked, eyeing his stony expression with concern. “I know you want to be ready for the Paralympics, but if you injure yourself you won’t be able to go at all.”

  He shrugged. “When you’re pushing for top performance, shit happens sometimes. I’ve still got nearly eight months. It’ll be fine.”

  “But shouldn’t you let it heal? You’ve probably been making it worse by being on it all day. I can go and get your chair-”

  “No!”

  I twitched at the vehemence of his response, and he lowered his voice and ground out, “Thanks, though.” The words strained out grudgingly between his teeth.

  I kept my tone light. “No problem.” I changed the subject. “So who are the players here?”

  He relaxed. “Well, you met Horndog Rand, and I saw you talking to Brad Weasel earlier…”

  “That would be Brad Wilson?” I inquired.

  “Isn’t that what I said?” He gave me an innocent look, spoiled by the evil twinkle in his eye. “And I’m assuming the woman with him was Nora Taylor, my opposite number from the UK. I haven’t met her yet. Little Mary Sunshine over there is Katie Gardner, Australia’s top weapons researcher. Brilliant mind. Absolutely fucking brilliant.”

  His gaze wandered to where Katie stood in animated conversation with a small knot of people. When she glanced our way again his gaze flicked back to me. “Too bad she’s so damn annoying. That long drink of water next to her is the Aussie weapons director. Knows his stuff, but he plays the Crocodile Dundee shtick to the hilt. Irritating as all hell…”

  Names blurred together in my tired mind as he went on identifying people and positions, adding mostly-disparaging comments about their personalities.

  As I had surmised, the soft-bodied people were scientists, and the scary-fit ones were the agents assigned to protect them. Hellhound’s weapons-specialist counterparts looked less frightening than he did; but despite his battle-scarred features and the angry redness of the frostbite on his face he was gathering a rapt audience. Someone had turned off the canned music, and Arnie’s nimble fingers danced over the guitar strings while his rough sexy voice alternately teased and entreated in a seductive blues number.

  God, I could listen to him all day long. And all night, too. Good blues was almost as sensuous as good sex, and he was brilliant at both…

  “Hey.” Reggie’s voice and elbow-nudge roused me from my reverie. “Stay with me here. Those are the agents from the States.” He nodded toward two suit-clad men at the fringe of the party who were eyeing the crowd and each other with equal suspicion. “They’re new this year,” Reggie said. “The dark guy on the left is Dirk from the FBI. The fish-belly-white guy is Grandin. CIA. Those are the only names they gave, so I don’t know whether they’re first names, last names, or aliases. Katie says they haven’t said two words to anybody all night.” The right side of his lips curled in a sardonic smile. “All the other countries send an agent to watch out for their scientists, but I’m pretty sure the U.S. sends the FBI and CIA to watch each other.”

  Across the room, Katie glanced our way again. The smile vanished from Reggie’s face as if it had never existed. “Need to piss,” he muttered, and stood. His jaw muscles rippled, and I winced in sympathy for the raw pain I was certain he was concealing. His face remained expressionless, and he strode away without limping.

  I tracked his progress to the men’s room and saw no sign of alcoholic impairment. Maybe he smelled boozy because somebody had spilled a drink on him? But I hadn’t noticed any wet spots on his clothes…

  “Hi,” a cheery voice greeted me from the approximate vicinity of my chest.

  I looked down into Little Mary Sunshine’s bright smile.

  “Hi, Mary,” I said without thinking, then bit my tongue too late. “Sorry, you’re not Mary,” I added. “I was, um… thinking of somebody else.”

  “No worries!” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Katie Gardner. Oz.” She eyed my blank expression and translated, “Australia.” Her accent rendered it ‘Straya’, and I smiled.

  “Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand. “I’m Aydan Kelly. Canada.”

  “You must be an agent.” Her gaze travelled over my jeans and Hellhound’s giant sweatshirt.

  Suddenly conscious of my dishevelled appearance among the well-dressed group, I eased a step backward in case the reek of stale panic and sweat was wafting her way. “Um, sorry. We went off the road on the way here and I had to shovel…” I made a vague gesture at my clothes, realizing as I did that I’d torn a nail sometime during the
evening’s misadventures and the end of my finger was smeared with dried blood.

  Why hadn’t I thought to freshen up before joining the party? And Ian had hugged me, poor man. It was a miracle he hadn’t keeled over from the smell. I passed a hand over my hair, trying not to wince at the feel of the sweat-induced frizz.

  “Sorry,” I repeated.

  She laughed. “You Canadians really do apologize for everything, don’t you?”

  “Um, yeah. I guess so.” I gave her a grin. “Sorry.”

  Her laughter pealed out again. “No wonder Reggie likes you.”

  “Reggie doesn’t like anybody,” I said reflexively.

  “Nah, he deffo likes you,” she insisted. “I’ve never seen him smile before, but he smiled at you. Well, half, anyway.” She huffed a little sigh and studied the beer in her glass. “More than he ever gave me. Is he… or… are you…” She raised a cautious blue-eyed gaze to mine.

  “We aren’t,” I said. “And he’s not gay, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Bonzer!” Based on Katie’s satisfied expression, I deduced that meant ‘good’. She went on to inquire matter-of-factly, “He’s blind in his left eye isn’t he?”

  I hesitated. The fixed stare of his prosthetic eye wasn’t hard to miss if anyone observed him closely. But should I confirm or deny?

  “And I think he’s deaf on his left, too,” she went on thoughtfully. “He always turns his right side to me when I’m talking.”

  Dammit, why couldn’t she just be a cute dumb little bimbo?

  “Hm,” I said, knowing Reggie would be furious if he found out we had discussed him.

  “And he doesn’t have much mobility in his left hand. I’ve been wondering if he’s had a stroke, but that doesn’t add up. He moves too powerfully and his muscular development is symmetrical.” She grinned, visibly switching from the analytical scientist to the gregarious party girl. “And believe me, I noticed his muscular development. What a spunk! Wouldn’t I love to have a naughty with him!”

  “Hm,” I repeated, hoping she’d just keep talking and save me from answering.