My Spy (22 page)

“There's more where that came from.” Taylor slammed down the phone. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I might want to change, too? Maybe I'm tired of being the flighty one, the one who skips out at the first hint of responsibility.”

Annie opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I'm not stopping you.”

“Of course you are. One saint in the family is fine,
two
is overkill. It's all been arranged: you get to be Mother Teresa and I get to be Goldie Hawn in
Protocol.
” Taylor pulled her knees up, hugging her chest. “I'm the one who was caught smoking cigarettes behind the library in third grade. I'm the one who
dyed my hair green for senior prom, then made a miniskirt out of duct tape.”

Annie was stunned to see that Taylor was crying, gulping as she stammered out the words.

“But I thought you liked being outrageous,” Annie said, totally confused now.

“I had to do something for attention. You were always there, Miss Picture-Perfect Straight A. Let's face it, you were the bluechip standard as far as this town goes. While you were busy being the Rock, I was frantically playing the Rebel. Being outrageous was my only escape from total invisibility.”

Annie felt her irritation zing away like a punctured balloon. “Why didn't you say something?”

“It wasn't your fault that you were perfect.” Taylor gave a shaky laugh. “Besides, I soon discovered that having wild, abandoned sex in the backseat of a souped-up red Camaro had a way of taking the edge off the pain.”

“I'm sure it did.” Annie knew a moment of pure jealousy. Why hadn't
she
had wild, abandoned sex in the back of a red Camaro—or any other car? She sat without moving for a long time, then sank down beside her sister on the couch. “So what do we do now?”

“I don't know about you, but I'm going to finish this glass of scotch, get really drunk, and throw up painfully in the morning.”

“Sounds good to me. What about after that?”

“I'm open for suggestions.”

“What about this hostility we've been nursing for years?”

Taylor shrugged. “I'll let you scream at me if I can scream at you.”

Annie refilled her glass and raised it high. “You go first.”

Taylor cleared her throat and summoned a low growl that climbed into full gear as Annie joined in. The noise grew to a shrill crescendo, then broke into raucous laughter.

In the silence that followed, the two sat side-by-side, warmed by the golden dance of the fire. The scotch wasn't hurting their mood either.

Taylor shook her head. “Don't blame
me
if you have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow.”

“I won't.”

“That's what they all say.”

“Care to elaborate on the wild, abandoned sex?”

Taylor sniffed. “Only after I've had a few more drinks.”

“You know, all these years I've envied you. You had flair and imagination and you weren't afraid of anything.”

“I was a misfit,” Taylor said softly. “I was afraid of
everything.
”

Annie stared at the dancing embers. “Not to me. To me, you were the perfect big sister.” She blinked hard. “I think you still are. To me you were never a screwup.”

“Oh, hell, Annie. There you go again, being Mother Teresa.”

They were both crying, both a little unsteady, when they sank into an awkward hug.

D
AMP
AIR BRUSHED
ANNIE'S
FACE,
SLICING
IN
OFF
THE
SEA.
Gasping, she wobbled off Taylor's porch, then stopped. “I'm not supposed to do this.”

“Get drunk?” Taylor asked, equally wobbly.

“Go back to the resort alone.” Staring into the darkness, she replayed Izzy's warning.

Taylor clutched her arm. “This is too cool. Is he on some kind of covert operation?”

“Hardly.”

“So who is he?”

“I can't tell you that.”

“Why?”

“I can't tell you that either.”

“What
can
you tell me?” Taylor asked irritably.

Annie thought it over. “He has one cute butt.”

“Maybe I'd better check out this guy myself. Come on, I'll drive you back in the golf cart.” Decidedly unsteady, the two made their way along the porch to Taylor's small stucco garage.

“Are you sure?” Annie wondered if driving was a good idea. Speaking for herself, she was seeing double.

She frowned at the garage light.

Make that triple.

Of course Taylor had a lot more experience with this alcohol stuff.

Annie stared at the gleaming vehicle. “I don't know about this.”

“What?” Taylor slid behind the wheel. “This will be a cinch.” She waved one hand. “Head 'em up, move 'em out. Don't worry, the golfmobile only does seven mph.”

Annie had barely fastened the flimsy seat belt when Taylor shot across the driveway, front-ended the lawn mower, and jumped the curb, burying the front wheels in a jade plant.

So much for head 'em up, move 'em out.

Taylor grabbed her arm. “You okay?”

“Other than the whiplash?” Annie stood unsteadily, eyeing the fresh furrow in the lawn. “Martha Stewart wouldn't like this.”

“I never cared for the woman. C'mon, let's walk.”

Why not? Anyone within half a mile had already heard the crash of the golf cart. Secrecy and stealth weren't exactly an option.

Taylor took her arm as they lurched down the path, which seemed considerably darker and steeper than it had four hours ago. “Tell me more about your mystery man.”

“Can't.”

“C'mon. I'm drunk, but I'm not that drunk. He has to be the man in the yacht.” Taylor smiled darkly. “I also know he has a fabulous butt.”

“Who told you that?”

“You did, about five minutes ago.”

“Oh. Right.”

Annie was having a hard time getting that particular image out of her head, but she plodded on in silence. Taylor leaned closer, her voice falling. “Don't look now, but we're being watched.”

“Where?” Annie whispered.

“By the avocado tree.”

When Annie saw the outline of broad shoulders in a nylon windbreaker, her tension lifted. “It's okay. I know him.”

“Your mystery man?”

“Not exactly.”

“I
want
some answers.”

“Don't ask.” Annie wasn't feeling so good. The cold air was
making her dizzy, and her knees were showing an unaccountable tendency to lean to the right.

“Here he comes,” Taylor whispered as Izzy loomed out of the foliage. Annie wasn't sure, but he seemed to be fighting a smile.

“Evening, ladies. Nice night for a walk.”

“Grand.” Annie focused hard on walking in a straight line.

Beside her, Taylor was busy studying Izzy. “We met this afternoon. You're here to redo Annie's security.”

“That's right.”

“Have you ever written a book?”

“Can't say as I have.”

Taylor stared some more. “Didn't I see you at the Edgar Awards last year?”

“I'm afraid not.”

Annie sighed. “Give it up, Taylor. You don't know him, and he's not a writer. He does security.” Among
other
things, Annie thought.

Taylor frowned. “But what else is he?”

Annie stopped walking and looked at Izzy. “What else are you?”

Izzy gave a slow smile. “Tonight I'm whatever you want me to be, ladies.”

The answer was so outrageous that Annie began to laugh, and when she laughed, she lost focus on her knees and plowed into Taylor, who fell against an oleander brush. After hard concentration, the two managed to pull themselves upright.

“Feeling no pain, are you?” Izzy drifted closer. Annie was pretty sure it was to render aid if needed.

She was having none of it.

She drew herself up to her full height. “We can manish— manage perfectly on our own, thank you.”

“No problem. I'll just hang back here in case you need me.”

“Won't,” Annie said.

“Might,” Taylor muttered, hooking her arm through Annie's and squinting down the hill.

“Want to tell me about that crash I heard?” Izzy followed them down the gravel path.

“Golf cart.” Taylor sniffed. “Never did like the game. Hit a stupid little ball in a stupid little hole. Curse a lot while you do it.”

Izzy coughed. Annie thought he might be muffling a laugh.

“I know we've met before.” Taylor studied Izzy again. “Were you in San Diego last March?”

“No.”

“What about New Orleans at the library conference?”

“I'm afraid I missed that one.”

“I know your voice.” Taylor smacked her forehead. “Why can't I place it?”

“You don't know him,” Annie said wearily, tugging her sister down the path. “Give it up. He's from one of those three-letter agencies.” Annie frowned. “I think.”

“No kidding.”

Izzy said nothing, his face carefully expressionless.

“If you were, you couldn't talk about it. I know because I wrote a book about that once.”

“You wrote a book about
everything
once,” Annie muttered.

They were at the front of Annie's casita when Taylor stopped and snapped her fingers—after a little struggle.
“The Farewell Code.”

Izzy's brow rose. “I beg your pardon.”

“
That's
where I heard your voice, researching my last book.”

“You must be confusing me with someone else.” Izzy produced a key and slipped inside, then return to hold the door open.

“I never forget a research source.” Taylor was indignant. “You were the one who helped me with the encryption techniques. We did most of the communication via E-mail,
but we talked on the phone twice.
That's
where I heard your voice.”

Annie wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the light, but Izzy seemed to stiffen, looking uncomfortable.

“Must be someone else.”

“Are you a hit man?”

Izzy crossed his arms. “Not that I recall.”

Taylor squinted, checking him out thoroughly. “Are you the one with the cute butt?”

“Taylor!” Annie swayed. To her dismay, her knees were wobbling again.

Damned scotch anyway.

“I'm not feeling so good. I think it's time for the painful throwing up.”

“No, that's tomorrow,” her sister said wisely. Her voice fell away as she saw a movement behind Izzy. “Well, well,” she murmured as a man loomed out of the shadows.

Taylor took in the naked chest with ridged muscles and the worn jeans that hugged his thighs. “So this is what you've been hiding up here.” Her eyes widened as she got a closer look at Sam. “Wait a minute. He's the man from Washington. The one on the bus.”

“No, he's not. And you never saw him,” Annie said sharply. She straightened her shoulders. “I'm going to sleep. Things are getting very fuzzy.” Especially her brain.

She lumbered past Izzy, carefully avoiding Sam though he turned to watch her pass. By a miracle she managed to clear the top step without plunging onto her face.

Taylor smiled broadly at the two men. “Don't mind her. It's the scotch. Or maybe it's the port and the beer. Annie never could drink.” She sized up Sam, then sighed. “She's definitely right about one thing. You do have a fine butt.”

“D
ON'T
SAY
IT.
NOT
ONE
WORD.
” SAM
GLARED
AT IZZY
AS
HE paced the living room.

“Who, me?”

“And stop looking so damned innocent. Her sister recognized your voice. How did
that
little fact slip past you and all our crack operatives in D.C.?”

“She writes under a pseudonym, M. M. Taylor. No one connected that with Annie.” Izzy stared down the dark hallway, looking a little ill. “What do we do now?”

“Gut it out. Maintain complete denial.” Sam gave an irritated sigh. “They're both seriously looped so they probably won't remember anyway. What about that crash we heard?”

“Annie's sister front-ending a lawn mower in the golf cart. That's when they decided to walk.”

“Mixing booze and a concussion isn't a good idea. I know, because I tried it once in Puerto Rico.” Sam paced to the hall and listened intently. “Why are they so quiet? Maybe some-thing's wrong.”

“Stop worrying, McKade. They're drunk; it's not life threatening.”

Sam glared down the hall. “Who's worried? If they want to get blotto, that's their problem. The idiots.” He turned his head, listening. “It's too quiet. I'm going down to check on them.”

He moved down the hall, stopping just outside Annie's room.

When he looked inside, his lips twitched. “The wages of sin,” he murmured.

Annie was stretched out cold on the bed, both shoes off and one arm dangling. On the far side of the room, Taylor lay prone on the couch, a pillow over her head, snoring faintly.

“Complete and absolute idiots.”

Sam was fighting a grin as he covered them both with blankets. When he finished, he found Izzy waiting outside. “Dead to the world, both of them.”

“Taylor thinks I'm a hit man,” Izzy said calmly. “Or she did until she saw
your
face. Your cover's blown to hell, McKade.”