My Spy (10 page)

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Getting dressed.”

Irritated, Annie moved in front of him. “Why didn't you call me?”

“After shaking you out in the middle of the night, I figured you were entitled to your sleep.”

“If there's a problem, call me. That's what I'm here for.” Annie studied his face. “How's the pain?”

He was pale but determined. “Better than it was. I want to start my therapy today.”

“Fine. We'll begin with some stretches, then see what comes next.”

“Don't pull your punches,” he said flatly. “I'm here to work.” He looked down, frowning. “What happened to your feet?”

“Just some blisters from running. Let's get started on knee extensions with your right leg.” Annie watched him carefully as she adjusted the position of his knee.

His face was strained, but he gave no sign of complaint.

“Good. Now let's run through some triceps work on your right arm.” She handed him a ten-pound dumbbell. He gripped the weight easily, moving it up and down in a smooth motion that showed he was no stranger to free weights. Of course the left arm would be the real challenge. “Now another set.”

His eyes narrowed as she gave him a heavier weight. He curled his fingers awkwardly, breathing in little puffs. After half a set, his muscles rebelled.

“Take it slow.” Annie resisted the temptation to help him complete the move, knowing he had to find his own limits, even if they were painfully less than he hoped. When she finally called a halt ten minutes later after another set of exercises with his good arm, Sam was sweating.

She followed up with a slow massage to cool him down and relax him.

“How about some breakfast after this?”

“Great,” he murmured, eyes closed. “I'll have steak rare, with an extra helping of steak rare. Oh, yeah, steak rare on the side.”

“Very funny.” She headed for the kitchen and returned with a tray. “You've got two poached eggs, one grapefruit, and oatmeal on the side.”

“Oatmeal? You must be kidding.”

“Complex carbohydrate with tons of fiber. Great food value for the calories.”

Sam examined the bowl as if it were pond scum. “Who cares about food value? There's a steak somewhere with my name on it.”

“It will still be there tomorrow. Try your eggs.”

As she held out Sam's plate, the phone rang.

“Annie,” her assistant said, “we've got a problem down here. Someone stole the new shipment.”

“Not the organic Hungarian facial gel?”

“Gone. All twelve boxes.”

“Try the linen room. There's a new woman in housekeeping and she may have moved them by mistake.”

“Will do.”

When she put down the phone, Sam's eggs were gone and he was grinning. “Hungarian facial gel?”

“Don't knock it. Those bottles cost two hundred dollars an ounce.”

“Good thing I don't need my pores cleaned.”

Annie gave him a measured stare. “I don't know about that.”

He glared. “No way. Don't even think about it. Things could get nasty fast.”

Annie took his plate. “Funny, Izzy said the same thing.”

The phone rang again, and this time it was Annie's chef. “I told you this would happen. Last night they got all my baby carrots. Damned rabbits—I swear I'm going to shoot them all.”

“I'll talk to Reynaldo, and we'll get the carrots fenced off this afternoon.”

“It's me or those rabbits, Annie. You can consider that an ultimatum.”

Sam's brow rose as Annie put down the phone. “More trouble?”

“Rabbits got the baby carrots.”

“That's serious?”

“Trust me, it's the worst. It's the rabbits or my head chef and I'll never find anyone half as creative as Zoe.” She sighed. “I'd better go find my groundskeeper and devise a plan of attack.”

Sam put out his hand, holding her still. “You're dead on your feet. Izzy's here to troubleshoot, so let him earn his pay. Come to think of it, he could probably set up some kind of electronic barrier to keep your four-legged intruders at bay.”

“I'd kiss his feet if he could.” Annie shifted uncomfortably, aware that his hand still covered hers. When she tried to pull free, his fingers tightened.

“Stay for a few minutes.” He studied her face. “You look exhausted, and I'm pretty sure that's my fault.”

“I'll catch a nap after my afternoon staff meeting.” She stiffened under his continued scrutiny. “What?”

“Are you sure we haven't met before? Something about your voice is damned familiar.”

Annie swallowed. Every instinct clamored for her tell him the truth. Now, not later.

But she bit back the words. The experts had spoken: for the moment, ignorance was best. “If we'd met, I'm certain I'd remember.”

“Yeah. I felt that way, too. With that hair of yours and that sexy voice, you'd be a hard woman to forget.”

“Another line?”

Sam's eyes glinted. “No way.” He looked down and saw his hand wrapped around hers. “Sorry. That was out of line.”

“No offense taken. Just don't try it again,” she said coolly, “or I'll have to break your good arm.”

Annie looked up as her doorbell rang. “That must be Izzy, right on time.”

He looked crisp and well rested, even bigger than she remembered in a black turtleneck, black nylon pants, and hightech running shoes. “How's our hero?”

“Come see for yourself.”

Izzy followed her down the hall and stood in the doorway, studying Sam's tray. “Oatmeal?”

“It's all her idea. I had my heart set on a steak so rare it was still mooing.”

“Glad to see you're keeping him in line. I'll take over now.” Izzy snagged Sam's unused mug and poured himself some coffee from the pot. “By the way, your assistant said you should call her right away. Your sister dropped by looking for you. I also gather there's a guest crisis.” Izzy seemed to be fighting a smile as he blew on his coffee. “Seems that one of your new arrivals called the front desk in hysterics.” Izzy crossed his arms. “She swears all her underwear was stolen last night.”

“Welcome to the glamour and excitement of resort living,” Annie muttered.

“W
HEN
DID
YOU
REALIZE
YOUR
UNDERWEAR
WAS MISSING
?” Annie steepled her fingers, smiling at her panicky guest, a wellknown self-help author on the talk-show circuit.

The writer tugged at the black hair that spiked around her face. “Last night. But who would steal my suitcase? All it had
was my
underwear.
” There was a note of hysteria in her voice. “I know I had it when I checked in.”

“We'll find it, don't worry.” Annie made a mental note to call her friend at the trendy boutique in nearby Carmel and arrange for the purchase of new lingerie to soothe her guest. “We'll make arrangements for you to pick out some replacement pieces in Carmel. And of course we'll extend a complimentary day to your visit to make up for any inconvenience you've been caused.”

The woman drummed her fingers on the cover of the book she carried, which happened to be her newest release, already a national best-seller.

Thirty Days to a Stress-Free Sex Life.

Now, there was a hot topic, Annie thought. “I hear your book is number four on
The New York Times
list this week. Congratulations.”

Her fingers tightened on the book. “I wish I could enjoy it but I've got Larry King at the end of the month, and my people are in touch with Oprah's people.” She held up crossed fingers. “My agent tells me it could be huge.” She stood, tucking the book carefully beneath her arm. “I'll accept your offer and try to stop worrying, even though the idea of a stranger having my intimate things gives me goose bumps.”

“I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation,” Annie said calmly. “Until we find out, why don't you just relax and enjoy your shopping spree in Carmel? Consider it research. After all, new lingerie could help destress anyone's sex life.”

“Exactly. In fact, that's chapter four. What woman feels sexy in threadbare flannel pajamas?”

Annie smiled as she steered her guest toward the door. “In that case, enjoy your research.”

With one crisis narrowly averted, Annie sank into the chair behind her desk. First predatory rabbits, now missing underwear.

Maybe the
rabbits
had the underwear. Maybe they were
planning an all-night orgy to celebrate the purloined frisée and baby carrots. The surreal image helped to dissipate the headache building at Annie's right temple.

She eyed the couch longingly, wondering if she had time for a nap. Izzy had phoned to say Sam was sleeping, so she was free there.
Go for it.

She was all set to stretch out on the couch when her intercom beeped.

“Annie, I think you'd better come down to guest registration.”

“Can't it wait?”

“I'm afraid not.” Her assistant sounded upset. “Remember Tucker Marsh?”

“I remember.” A cutthroat lawyer, Marsh headed one of Silicon Valley's most predatory bankruptcy firms—and he had the attitude to match the job. “He stayed here last month, didn't he?”

“One and the same. He's been arguing with anyone who will listen, swearing he has a reservation. I told him that was impossible, because we're accepting only a few visitors right now, but he refuses to leave until he's spoken with you.”

Annie gave a last, longing glance at the couch. “I'll be right down.”

A
N
HOUR
LATER,
PUNCHY
WITH
EXHAUSTION, ANNIE
OPENED
THE heavy oak door to her courtyard. Marsh had proved every bit as irritating as she remembered, and she had the headache to prove it.

The boxes Izzy had left in her courtyard were gone, replaced by partly assembled exercise equipment. With a dozen wheels and pulleys, the structure looked like nothing Annie had ever seen before.

“Nice,” she said. “What kind of mileage do you get on that thing?”

Izzy adjusted the padded seat, then set down his wrench. “It's a prototype I'm testing for a company in Seattle. I figure we'll let Sam beta test it since this puppy has infinite resistance settings and full range of motion at all stations.”

Annie ran a finger along the leather seat. “I'm impressed.”

Izzy frowned. “You look more tired than impressed. Did you find the missing underwear?”

Annie sighed. “Don't ask. How's Sam?”

“Rested and ready to work. Your chef sent up some truly amazing seafood tacos about an hour ago, and Sam only complained once that they weren't steak.” He crossed his arms. “How about you?”

“I don't eat much red meat these days. It's hell on the system.”

“I wasn't asking about your food choices, Annie. You look beat,” Izzy said patiently. “What can I do to help?”

Annie stared up the hill toward Zoe's organic garden. “How good are you at trapping rabbits?”

“Call me Davy Crockett.”

“My chef will be thrilled because they've decimated her organic vegetables. You won't shoot them, will you?”

“Negotiating generally doesn't work too well with rabbits,” he said dryly.

“But the thought of all those fluffy little bodies and big soft ears—”

“Don't worry, I'll trap them and put them in cages. Your man Reynaldo already suggested taking them up to the national forest and letting them loose.”

Annie and Izzy turned as Sam tottered into the courtyard, balanced on a pair of new aluminum crutches.

“Letting
what
loose?”

“Rabbits. You should have called me before you tried them,” Izzy said sharply.

Sam's mouth was set in a tight line. “It's time I started managing for myself.”

Annie wanted to argue but didn't. She had to let him go at
his own pace, within reason. Of course, knowing Sam, it wouldn't be within reason.

“You'll move better if you hold the left crutch higher.” She studied his posture critically. “Shift your leg forward, too.” She leaned closer, adjusting the position of his body. “See?”

Annie watched him slowly negotiate the length of the terrace. He frowned, concentrating on every step. She interrupted to adjust his posture again, then watched him make another circuit.