Spy Games (17 page)

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Get ready.” War raised his arm in the air.

“Looks like you’re going to get your chance,” Van said.

“Go!” War shouted, dropping his arm like a starter.

Van and I rested on the balls of our feet, bent like wrestlers ready to grapple, staring each other down.

“I’m hearing the
Rocky
theme in my head,” I said, slapping at Van’s face.

“Yeah?” He fended off my blows.

“You know what that means, I’m psyched for battle.” I slapped at him again and missed.

He whipped his head around like I’d clobbered him a good one. “Pow!”

I threw another missed blow. “Socko!” Pretty soon we were in the midst of a mock battle pretty much of the variety you learn in high school drama class with
Batman
sound effects thrown in for fun.

In the square next to us, Cliff and Jim sized each other up. Dancing around each other like they were playing ring-around-the-rosy.

“Come on, men!” War shouted. “You’re all aggressive dogs. What did I teach you? You don’t stare an aggressive dog in the eye. And you don’t turn and run. Keep your eyes on the enemy and attack!”

That was all the encouragement Ace needed to quit donking around with Steve and take him down in a single move. There’s only so much dancing with a pansy a man can take, I suppose.

War turned his gaze on Van and me. “You two, stop kidding around before I make you drop and give me five. Put your heart into the fight.”

I nodded, thinking, not likely. One of the things that turned me on about Van—he made me feel dainty and feminine—was not a good thing when I was looking to overpower him with sheer physical force.

“Dirty tricks, people,” War yelled. “Distractions! Haven’t I taught you anything? Never apply a hold or a takedown without one.”

Distraction is the better part of valor, or something like that. I could distract. And I was quick. I threw another mock blow at Van. When he reacted, I raced behind him and kicked the back of his knee. His leg buckled and he went down on the knee hard as I grabbed for his arm. Unfortunately, he was quick, too, and got his arms around front where I couldn’t get them.

I cursed under my breath and reached around his leg, trying to get leverage to pull it out from under him and send him sprawling. I accidentally copped a good feel of his crotch in the process.

“I’ll give you an hour to stop that,” he whispered. “It hurts so good.”

“Ah, the art of distraction. If this were a real situation, I’d have made a eunuch out of you by now,” I whispered back.

“Tease.” Without warning, he pulled free of my grip, grabbed my arm, stood, and swung me around, finally grabbing me around my breasts from behind. “Oops! Meant to grab lower. Heat of battle and all that,” he said, copping his own feel of my double Ds.

“Liar!” My traitorous breasts liked his touch too much and budded right up. Mind of their own, those girls. Didn’t they know he was the enemy?

Steve stared at us from the sideline. I caught a glimpse of his glare. “Why does V get all the fun?” he called out.

“Watch it. We’re in public and we have spectators,” I hissed to Van, struggling to free myself.

“Struggle all you want,” Van said. “I’m loving the bounce.”

“Creep.”

“Creep? That’s the best you can do?”

“Smart-ass. I tell you, I’m taking you down.”

“I like a competitive woman.”

I dropped, limp, floppy dead weight like a two-year-old who doesn’t want to be carried. Smart creatures, two-year-olds. Van was so surprised, he dropped me and I wrenched free.

I’d wrestled with my brothers. I knew a few moves. I had to get his feet out from under him. While he was recovering from my surprise escape, I lunged and looped my leg around his knee, preparing to knock him off balance by pulling his leg out from under him with my leg.

Despite my determined effort, Van remained solidly planted and shaking his head. He grabbed my braid and gave it a tug, pulling my head back. “Doing a pole dance for me?”

“I hope you’re not planning on using my top secret move on me.” I was thinking of the punch to the neck that War had taught me.

“You have a top secret move?”

“Every good spy has a top secret move.”

Van smiled and bent over me, moving his face close to mine like he was going to kiss me. “Wanna see mine?”

“Stop.”

He kept giving me that slow, seductive smile of his. “Keeping your heart rate low? The higher the heart rate, the lower the skill level and less the reaction time.”

“I’m doing just fine, thank you.” I released his leg and twisted my braid free from his grasp, going in for a good boot-stomp of his arch, all in one fluid move.

My boot hit his boot and…nothing. Just more smiling.

“Talking reduces your focus,” Van said, again quoting War. Then he grabbed my arm, twisted it, roughly and painfully, I might add, behind my waist while I struggled and clawed like a wildcat. He kicked the back of my knee, buckling my leg. I went down on the knee. Van had complete control of me. I felt like he could rip my arm off at any second. Despite this, I had the feeling he was holding back. Trying to be gentle and maintain his machismo at the same time.

Using my arm like a joystick, he maneuvered me into the doggy position, with him behind me, pressing his package into my butt.

“I win,” he whispered in my ear, giving it a little lick.

My breasts were heaving like a heroine in a bodice ripper and my heart rate was through the roof. If only we’d been in the bedroom, I’d have shown him exactly what he’d won. “What are people going to think? Back off.”

“Not until War declares me the winner.”

Brave words, but from what I felt, Van was going to be in a world of hurt himself if he kept this position up long.

I heard footsteps and started to laugh. “You’re hurting my arm.”

“All’s fair in love and combat, darling.”

A shadow spread over me and I looked up to see War standing over us. “Let the lady up, soldier.”

Van released me and gave me a hand up.

“R, rehydrate,” War said to me. “V, match up with Ace. He beat Steve and Cliff in the time it took for you to beat a girl. Let’s see if you’re so cocky around a real competitor.”

I ignored War’s slight and headed to a table off to the side that the staff kept stocked with bottled water.

Steve met me there. He was dripping sweat from his two-second defeat by Ace. “You two did it.” His tone was venomous as he handed me a bottle. I ignored his offer and grabbed my own from the table.

I stared at him. “Did what?”

“Boink, boink, boink!”

“You’re a jerk,” I said, and turned away from him.

“Just saying, it’s obvious. A word to the wise, if your ex is watching, he’d have to be blind not to see it.” He walked off to watch the fight, throwing me a smug look over his shoulder.

I took a swig of water and headed back to the action center court. Van and Ace were deadlocked in heated combat. An athletic competition raises my adrenaline level, regardless. Seeing two buff, handsome guys grapple with each other was just icing with chocolate sprinkles.

As Dutch would say, they charged each other like two rutting bucks fighting for territory during mating season. Parry. Spin. Turn. Release.

“Go V! Get him!” I jumped up and down on the sidelines, watching the sweat fly. Surprisingly, especially given Ace’s superior training and experience, the two appeared equally matched.

Cliff shared my surprise. “My money was on Ace. I thought he would have taken V by now.”

I nodded, gaze glued to the action. “V’s a man of many talents.”

Beside me, Jim shook his head. “You’re enjoying this. What kind of a woman are you?”

“Not the shrinking violet kind, if that’s what you’re getting at.” I was making my own jabbing, rock ’em, sock ’em robot motions from the sideline.

Jim was still shaking his head. I shot him a quick glance. “Hey, wipe that censure off your face, mister. You guys have your
Girls Gone Wild
videos, I have this.”

Jim laughed.

I stared in awe at the look of concentration on Van and Ace’s faces. They were both breathing hard. Sweat dripped down their foreheads and highlighted the muscles on their arms. Every once in a while one or the other had to wipe the drips out of their eyes. Yet, despite their intensity, both men looked like they were having the time of their lives. I was just the slightest bit jealous, wishing I could give Van the same level of competition that Ace could. Still, I had other assets that Van appreciated.

Finally, Ace made the smallest of mistakes. He turned his back on Van for less than a second, giving Van just the right angle to grab Ace’s arm, twist it, kick his leg, and take him down. He fell with a thump.

I was a girl gone wild on the sideline, jumping, screaming. War pronounced Van the winner. “First time anyone has ever beat Ace.”

I couldn’t tell whether War sounded happy or upset by the fact. There was definitely some wonderment in his voice.

I met Van at the sideline with a cold bottle of water and a towel. “H2O? That’s water to you civilians.”

He grabbed it out of my hand, smiling.

“Nice fight.”

He nodded. “Just showing off for my girl.”

My turn to grin like an idiot.

“All right, everyone,” War said. “Take fifteen.”

I was ready for a break. Too much water in too short a time. Guess I’d overhydrated. On the way to the ladies’ room, I walked past the crime scene, keeping my eyes averted. The two guards still sat there doing their thing. I barely glanced at them, preferring not to remember the reason for their presence—the scene of Jay’s bloody death.

I freshened up, still high from the day’s events. My reflection in the mirror was a woman I hadn’t seen in a long time—she looked uncannily happy. I checked my cell. There was a message from Mom. Dutch had spent the night in the Lounge Boy by the window, his trusty rifle at ready, but there hadn’t been any further incidents. I gave Mom a quick call to let her know I was fine, more than fine, actually.

“You’re echoing,” Mom said. “Where are you?”

“The women’s bathroom.”

I could picture Mom’s grimace.

“By the mirror. It’s the only private place.”

We chatted for a few minutes until I’d reassured her all was as well with the world as we could expect given the current circumstances. Then I hung up with a promise to keep in touch and call if I had any trouble, any trouble at all, including a sniffle.

One last glance in the mirror and I headed back. I threw open the ladies’ room door and came to an abrupt halt.

One of the security guards stood there with an ugly grin on his face. Something about him looked familiar.

“We can’t keep meeting like this, Goon,” I said, my heart suddenly jumping speeds from content to fear.

Goon had something tucked in his hand. He reached out to grab me. I flung the door, trying to slam it shut in his face. Unfortunately, the door had a slow-close-slam-prevention spring on it. It floated closed like a butterfly rather than stinging like a bee.

Goon got not only a toe in the door, but a shoulder, his head, an arm, and a leg. I jumped back too late. He grabbed my arm. As I fought to shake it loose, he stun-gunned me. I did my limp two-year-old imitation again, only this time, against my will.

When I woke up, I was lying with my cheek pressed against the cold tile of the ladies’ room floor, my hands bound behind my back. Disgusting. I tried to lift my head and the room spun. Spillage, splash, and a lax cleaning schedule were not my friends. I had to get up before I caught the plague or something worse.

As the fog of unconsciousness keeping me relatively calm burned off, my fight-or-flee response kicked in, highly in favor of flee. I shuddered, cold with fear and contact where bare skin met the floor. Bare skin? I was pretty sure I’d gotten dressed this morning, yet my midriff was bare. My midriff was bare? What the—?

I glanced down at my prone body. My tee was hiked up over my double Ds. One of my girls had popped free of my bra. My pants were unzipped, revealing my new thong underwear. My pockets turned out.
Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh!

I felt like I was going to throw up.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Standing over me, dressed in security guard blue, smiling like he was perusing a copy of
Playboy
, was Goon.

I summoned the strength to look him in the eye. “How the hell did you get in here?” I wiggled, trying to get my tee down and think up a way to attack with my hands bound.

“I’ve been here all day. Walked right in the front door in broad daylight.” He chuckled to himself. “Hell, they welcomed me in.”

I felt sick as I weighed my options. I could scream, but I seriously doubted anyone would hear me. I hadn’t heard any noises from the men’s room next door since before I called Mom. The guys had all gone back to the gym.

I had to stall, keep Goon talking, hoping someone would miss me and come looking. “The perfect disguise. I have to hand it to you. No one ever really looks at security guards. They’re expendable. That’s why they always die when they go to the planet with the starship captain.”

“Damn straight.”

“Where’s a starship captain when you need one?”

“Glad you have a sense of humor.”

I lifted my head, still squelching that sick feeling of being about to regurgitate my bottled water. “I didn’t think you got paid extra for raping and pillaging.”

Goon shrugged. “A man should enjoy his work.”

“Bastard.”

“Hey, strong words. No raping, I promise. I’m a married man. If I copped a feel, fondled the goods as I searched for my property, who could blame me? It’s all part of the job.”

I managed to pull myself into a sit, but my breasts kept my tee hiked up. The perils of being buxom. I looked like Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl. “What property?”

“What property? That’s a good one.” Goon pulled out a knife, the same stiletto from before, and switched it open. “You cheated me, my luscious little double-crosser. Now you’re going to give me the real dongle.” He took a step toward me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Put the knife away or I’ll scream.”

“Scream and I cut you.” He sounded dead serious as he squatted beside me, just out of reach. “And this baby is sharp.”

Visions of slit throats danced in my head. I swallowed hard. “I gave you the only dongle I had.” I wiggled, still trying to get my double Ds covered. “And did you really think I had room to stuff something in my bra?”

“It was worth a look to see.”

I cocked my legs, ready to kick him if I got the chance. I was afraid of that knife. War’s words in training echoed through my mind—a knife is always loaded, treat it as such.

He had the stiletto in one hand and a stun gun in the other. He flashed his stun gun at me. “Don’t make me use this again. There’s debate over the safety of repeatedly stunning a person.”

“I appreciate your concern. But I don’t have any more dongles. What makes you think I do?” I looked him over, trying desperately to come up with an escape plan. I was scared, scared to the point of spitless and clammy cold, because I was telling the truth. And if he didn’t believe me…

“My associates believe you do.”

“You’re associates are flat out wrong.” I looked at him pleadingly. “Listen to me. I’m basically a reasonable person. I place a high premium on my life. No dongle is worth it. If I had it, I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”

“Reilly! Reilly!” Van’s voice floated in from the hallway, growing louder as it moved toward us.

Goon started. His gaze flicked toward the door as he cursed under his breath.

It was now or never for me. I inched toward him, cocked my legs, and kicked his out from under him.

Goon’s stun gun went flying as he fell. It clattered across the floor just out of reach.

“You little bitch.” He lunged at me with the stiletto.

In the heat of battle, my thoughts came in short bursts. I remembered War saying that talking reduces reaction time. So I shut up, stifling a smart-ass comeback. I dodged Goon’s lunge, rolling out of the way. I opened my mouth to scream for Van. And shut it again. I wasn’t going to lead him into danger. Which didn’t mean I wasn’t hoping he’d retrieved his gun from his locker and would come riding to my rescue all on his own.

“He’s armed,” I hissed at Goon. “And he’s a crack shot. He’ll take you out.”

Goon cursed full speed and looked at me wild-eyed, as if wondering whether to believe me or not.

We could hear Van’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward us.

“Your choice. Believe me or not. I won’t be the one with the bullet holes in my head.” Fortunately, I’m an expert bluffer. I had no idea if Van had his gun or not. But I could vouch for him being a great shot.

“I’m getting too old for this. I got responsibilities. This job is getting too damned dangerous.” Goon slid to his feet and ran for the door. “I’ll be back.”

“Spoken like a true Terminator.” I scrambled to my feet and headed for the door to warn off Van. This time the slow-closing door worked in my favor. I caught it with my shoulder.

I stepped into the hall just as Van slid to a stop at the bathroom door.

“You okay?”

My boob was still partially showing. He was a hetero male. His gaze lingered on it a second longer than necessary as he took in my condition.

“I’m fine.” I turned my back to him. “Untie me and call for help.”

He ignored my plea for freedom and pulled my tee down, making me decent. “I’m going after him. Go back to the gym. Find the others and stay there.”

He turned to follow Goon before I could stop him.

“Come back here! V! He’s armed. He has a knife.” He ignored me. “Knives are always loaded!”

Van had his back to me, but he held his gun over his head for me to see.

“Shoot!”

Goon had reached the end of the hall and the exit door into the alley. He hit the door’s push bar and plowed out. Van was behind him and gaining. The man had speed.

Fortunately, so did I. No way was I heading back to safety and letting Van go it alone. We were a team.

I took off after both of them, losing some speed because I couldn’t pump my arms. Bad running form. I hit the push bar with my hip and held the door open with my shoulder.

Call me gun shy, but I halted in the doorway. No way was I going to be a victim of friendly fire. The alley was narrow with just room enough for a single car to pass. The warehouse stood on the west side. On the east side of the alley there was a small drainage ditch, a chain-link fence with another drainage ditch and another warehouse on the other side.

Van stood in the shadow of the buildings maybe half a block to the south of me. South in Seattle is easy to find, just look for Mount Rainier and you’ve got it. Van was scanning, looking for Goon. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.

A gentle south breeze was blowing, carrying his conversation in snatches to me.

“Lost visual.” “Get chopper.” “Hunt him down.” “Can’t be far.”

I frowned. That didn’t sound like your typical call to 911.

A movement caught my eye. Goon was hiding behind a Dumpster maybe twenty feet in front of Van. I could see him from my angle, but Van couldn’t from his. I screamed to Van, frustrated that I couldn’t point. He didn’t hear me. I stepped out into the alley and the door closed behind me. I screamed to Van again. Goon heard and made a dash for it.

Van saw him and took off after him, gaining on Goon and grabbing him by the shirt collar, ready to take him down.

Out of nowhere, the revving of an engine and the squeal of peeling tires drowned out the sounds of the chase. A silver four-door sedan pulled into the alley south of Van from the parking lot.

“Getaway car!” I screamed, bouncing and nodding wildly with my head toward the vehicle.

The sedan revved its engines again and aimed for Van.

“Van!”