License to Love (An Agent Ex Novel) (27 page)

The crew tugged on her so hard it felt as if they were wrenching her shoulders out of their sockets. She winced in pain and her legs began to cramp. Someone suggested getting a sledgehammer and smashing the box. Someone thought they could soap her up and squirt her out.

Rock rushed forward. “Leave her alone!” He shooed the crew away. “Oh, baby, this is all my fault,” he whispered to her. “Look, you got in. You can get out.”

He took her hand, which was flopping like a fish out of the box and turning blue from lack of blood flow. It was cold. She was cold.

She’d never forget his tone—confident, reassuring, calm. His hand holding hers was so warm and strong. She wanted to get out of the box, but she didn’t want to lose the connection to him.

“You can do this. Really.” He’d stared into her eyes and spoken in that confident, mesmerizing tone of his. “Just breathe calmly. Relax.”

She studied Rock closely. “Do you remember what you told me?”

He laughed. “That next time I’d try a new trick—sawing you in half vertically?”

“Terrible thing to say. Really bad joke. And yet it worked.”

“You laughed and relaxed and simply stepped out.” His gaze held hers.

“Right into your arms.”

“Perfectly safe. And we did that act time after time without a problem. Admit it. Challenge excites you.”

“I’m not admitting anything. But if that box had been half an inch smaller…” She set the tray of cold breakfast aside.

He took her hand again and held her gaze. “Imagine trusting me like that again, Lani. Remember the feeling of comfort and peace as I held your hand. Just like I am now. Take a deep breath, baby. Relax.”

She felt the tension leaving her body. A sense of peace washed over her. He was right. She should trust him and relax.

He squeezed her hand again and held it tightly. “There you are. Let the tension flow out of your body. Picture yourself in a pleasant spring meadow. Blue skies. Flowers. The peaceful sounds of birds chirping.

“Do you feel relaxed, Lani?”

She nodded. She did. She felt more relaxed and peaceful than she had in ages.

“Good. Good. You trust me?”

She nodded again.

“Yes? Good. Keep picturing that meadow and how freeing it is. How light you feel there. Telling the truth makes you feel light and free.”

She nodded again.

“There’s something you want to tell me, isn’t there?” Rock’s voice sounded far away and soothing. “A burden you’re carrying, a dark secret. Share it with me now, baby. Free yourself. What are you keeping from me?”

The doorbell rang, piercing irritatingly through her calm meadow.

“Son of a bitch!” She threw her arm back and slapped Rock with all her might.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Rock rubbed his cheek, which stung like hell. Almost as badly as his pride. Lani had really whacked him. Caught him off guard, damn it. He’d gotten too cocky and forgotten how astute she was. If it hadn’t been for that damn doorbell—

“Damn it, Rock, you’re good.” Lani’s face was red and her eyes hard and snapping. “Building rapport, establishing trust, switching off my critical mind with
imagines
and
what ifs
, and then making the irresistible command. You were using covert hypnosis on me, you bastard.”

“Turnabout is fair play,” he said. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you doing the same thing.”

She glared at him. “What is it you want to know? Why don’t you just ask me?”

He glared back. He had to proceed carefully here. He couldn’t tell her the most important thing he’d been trying to get out of her, which was whatever she’d been hiding from him from the beginning. He still hoped to seduce that out of her somehow or hope his PI found something out. Which left him only one believable option. He was going to have to look like an asshole and ask the other thing straight out. “Fine. You want blunt questions, here goes—did you sleep with Sol the night before the show?”

She held his gaze, but she looked amazingly unsurprised by the question. “No. Now was that so hard? Really, Rock, we’re going to have to learn how to communicate. Without subterfuge and trickery.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he said. “I don’t believe you, baby. You’re too damn good with a lie.”

She cocked her head. She didn’t look the least bit sorry for slapping him. If anything, she looked as if she wished she’d hit him harder and a bit like a cobra ready to strike again.

He involuntarily leaned back out of her arm’s reach.

She sighed. “See, trust issues. This is exactly one of the problems with the secret agent profession. No one believes you when you’re telling the truth.” She pursed her lips. “What even gave you that idea? Has Sol been bragging?”

Rock stared at her. Why would she ask the question if she wasn’t guilty?

“He has.” She sounded resigned. “Let me reiterate—I did not sleep with that piece of human debris. Nor would I ever. I, and you’re not going to believe me, you didn’t believe me the first time, but I hypnotized him and implanted the suggestion that we’d done the deed. Very pleasurably and to his slimy, perverted tastes.” She shuddered. “I guess he’s like a lot of men. Promise a woman anything to get her into bed and then discard her after. Or kill her. Well, what do you expect from maniacal villains, after all?”

Rock studied her. She sounded sincere. She looked genuine. Her involuntary reactions all spoke of truth. But hypnotizing Sol?

Lani leaned toward Rock. He lurched backward, nearly losing his perch on the bed.

She laughed and shook her head. “I have my revenge, though. Sol will be unable to perform next time he’s in the mood. And every time after. Until I remove the hypnotic suggestion of impotence. Fortunately, that suggestion seemed to stick. He must really have impotency issues.”

Lani reached out and this time very gently stroked Rock’s stinging cheek. “Don’t listen to rumors, Rock. Memories and gossip can be so unreliable.”

There was a knock on the door. Rock swung around to look. Tate stood in the doorway. “Everything okay up here?”

“Fine,” Lani said. “No thanks to you.”

Tate grinned and ignored her complaint. “Great. Time to get cracking on the big mission. Oh, and Lani, better freshen up a bit. Maybe put on clothes that don’t look like you slept in them. There’s a cop downstairs who wants to talk about what you saw that night two years ago.”

*   *   *

While Lani was being grilled by the cop, and playing the innocent, Rock got a text from Davo, his PI guy.

I found something. Meet me at my office.

Finally.
Rock texted back that he was on his way. He slid off his spy ring, replaced it with the original non-spy version, and stashed the one NCS had given him in his drawer before heading downstairs. He didn’t need Tate following him where he was going.

Tate caught Rock in the entryway just as Rock was about to leave. “Going somewhere?”

“Business calls.”

“And you weren’t going to tell us?”

“I wasn’t aware I was under house arrest.” Rock grinned at Tate, trying not to show how excited he was by Davo’s text and hoping to divert Tate’s suspicions. “Would you believe I have a show to plan for? Business managers to meet. Contracts to sign. Contractors to speak with?”

“No.” Tate sounded serious, but his eyes twinkled.

Rock cocked a brow and played along. Tate was teasing and using a bit of Maxwell Smart’s
would you believe
humor. “How about just a show to run, managers to meet, and contracts to sign?”

“Fine, Max. Get out of here.” Tate put a hand on Rock’s shoulder. “But be careful. Do you remember what Tal taught you about evasive action and losing a tail?”

“Yeah, I do. And if that doesn’t work, I’m pretty good with flash powder.”

Tate laughed. “Good man. Just remember, this isn’t a game. RIOT is watching you and wants you dead.”

“Got it.” Rock pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Tate handed him the long-handled bomb-checking mirror that had been resting against the console table in the entry. “Don’t forget to wand the car after your meeting.” Tate paused. “You know, the problem these days—assassins can remotely activate bombs. Gone are the days when they had to rely on the ignition triggering it.”

“Thanks for the reassurance.” Rock grabbed the mirror. “Later.”

As Rock pulled out of the driveway, he activated the GPS spoofing device he’d purchased on the black market from one of his shadier casino friends on a lark way before Lani had come back. Never know when a gadget like that will come in handy. Let NCS believe he was at the hotel. The last thing Rock needed was them finding him across town at a PI’s office.

Fifteen minutes later, after doing a little evasive action driving just for fun, Rock parked on the street in front of Davo’s office. The PI’s business was located in a flat, one-story building next to a popular and busy pawnshop. There was absolutely nothing remarkable looking about the building on the best of days. A few palms provided shade along the street. You were lucky if you found a shady spot. Rock wasn’t.

Davo’s car was in its customary spot next to the building beneath a
RESERVED FOR PRIVATE DICKS
sign. The usual blast of hot air hit Rock as he got out of his car. Temperatures were already climbing toward one hundred.

Being associated with spies had made Rock jumpy. He looked over his shoulder. As a magician, he was trained to watch for tricks and shadows, subtle movements, and diversionary tactics. Everything looked clear to him and there was nowhere for an enemy agent to hide between Rock’s car and the door. A sniper, of course, was another matter.

Davo’s administrative assistant only worked two days a week. She wasn’t in and the office was terrifyingly quiet as Rock entered.

“Davo, buddy? Where are you man—” Rock froze on the edge of a sticky puddle on the floor that oozed out from behind Davo’s desk. It took a second for it to register what the puddle was.

Blood? Shit!

He had to get the hell out of here. Someone was on to him.

As Rock turned on his heel to beat a retreat, a great big former linebacker slammed into him from behind, hitting Rock in the kidneys with his elbow. Rock gasped and doubled over with shock and pain.
Damn, that hurts. This asshole knows what he’s doing.

The big guy grabbed Rock and slid a bag like an executioner’s hood over Rock’s head before Rock could right himself.

As Rock struggled, another assailant subdued him, grabbed his arms, and bound Rock’s hands behind him with an industrial-strength zip tie. Making sure to cinch it tightly enough to nearly cut off the blood flow in Rock’s wrists. His wrists throbbed immediately and he felt his fingers going numb.

“Well, Houdini, let’s see you get out of this one.” The thug laughed as Rock cursed. “Not so powerful and impressive without your trick handcuffs.”

“I’m an illusionist, not an escape artist.” The bag over his head muffled Rock’s words.
Show no fear.
James Bond never showed fear and it seemed to work for him.

“Yeah, no shit. We can see that. You big-shot magicians are all the same without your stage crew—ordinary guys.” The guy grabbed Rock by the elbow and propelled him toward the door.

“Let me guess—this kidnapping is my engraved invitation to the kind of event I wouldn’t ordinarily agree to on such short notice. What’s the occasion and who are we going to see?”

“The boss would like to talk to you. That’s all I need to know. That’s all you need to know for now. I just do as he says. And so should you.” The guy had a deep, bad voice that was almost a cliché for a villain.

“Talking? Sounds pleasant. It would be easier without the hood, though. It’s muffling my stage voice.”

The thug shoved Rock. “Get moving, wiseass, before I turn your stage voice into a permanent falsetto.”

Damn.
Tate was right about the spy ring—Rock should never have left home without it. With its GPS tracking and poisoned surgical steel switchblade, it would have evened up the odds. Which right now Rock calculated were running about a hundred to one against him. Living in Vegas all these years, he was pretty good with odds.
Shit.

The two thugs took Rock by the arms and roughly propelled him into the back alley. Being taken to a different location made the odds of survival even worse. Maybe two hundred to one he’d get out of this alive. Rock wasn’t wearing his thumb gun, either. And the wand gun was in the glove compartment of his car. He was left with his wits. The two heavies had even disarmed his sleight-of-hand advantage.

“This boss of yours,” Rock said as one of the goons shoved his head down and pushed him into the car. “He’s a fan of magic?”

A host of suspects flashed through Rock’s mind. Vegas didn’t have a reputation as Sin City for nothing. Rock had made fools of a few crime bosses during his shows. And won some big pots in backroom poker games. Then there was that incident with Tate and the high-stakes game. Any of the non-RIOT losers could have decided they wanted their money back and were going to get it the old-fashioned way from him. But top of the list was RIOT. Playing with fire had never frightened Rock before. Maybe it should have.

One of the two goons laughed. “He likes disappearing acts. He’s not so big on reappearances. He’s good with making people and problems disappear, permanently. Buckle up, magician.”

The door slammed shut. One kidnapper got in beside him. The other slipped into the driver’s seat and started the car. The air conditioner mercifully came on full blast. The hood was hot and stuffy. And the radio belted out smooth jazz.

“Calming music,” Rock said. “How thoughtful.”

As they turned out of the alley, Rock registered they’d turned left. He had a nearly photographic memory and had trained himself to count cards. Now he concentrated on counting turns so he could reconstruct the path. Which would come in handy, should he actually be turned loose alive. Back to those bad odds. Maybe he should spend his last few moments alive engaged in more pleasant thoughts. But hope springs eternal, as they say.