The Spy Who Loves Me (7 page)

A
mber?”

Amber twisted around, clutching a battered copy of Ian Fleming's
On Her Majesty's Secret Service
as she feigned surprise. “Finn?” She blinked and took a tentative step toward him. “What on earth are you doing in Pasadena?”

“This is my best friend's house,” he said, nodding at the small group gathered behind him. “What are
you
doing here?”

The question was a reasonable one, and said without any hint of suspicion. Amber mentally applauded her dramatic talent, and flashed her most innocent smile. “A friend and I decided to haunt garage sales today, but she got called away, and I told her I'd find my own way home.”

“Called away?”

“She's a surgeon,” she said, the lie tripping easily off her tongue. “Got paged.” She shrugged. “Happens all the time. I always carry taxi fare when I'm with her.”

“Exciting life,” he said, a hint of something close to wistfulness lacing his voice.

“For her,” Amber said with a shrug. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes locking onto his. “My life's about as dull as they come.”

“Join the club,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed, wondering if he meant it, or if they were both telling the same lie.

“You two know each other?” Millie came over and put her hand on Finn's back.

“Millie…” David's voice drifted over from a few yards away, the warning clear.

“I'm just making conversation,” the older woman said.

“I'm Amber,” she said, putting on her broadest smile. She stepped forward, hand outstretched, as she pretended she'd never seen Millie before, much less had her, David, and Jacey investigated. “Finn's my next-door neighbor.”

“Isn't that nice, dear.” The older woman took her hand off Finn's back so she could swing her entire arm around his shoulders. “Did I hear you say you're taking a taxi home?”

Amber nodded. “My friend drove us here. Well, a few blocks away, actually. I was just walking when I stumbled on your yard sale.” Now
there
was a doozy. No one walked in Los Angeles if they could help it.

“Nonsense,” Millie said, and for a moment Amber thought she'd been caught in a lie. “I wouldn't dream of you taking a taxi. Finn can drive you home, can't you, Finn?”

Amber smiled at Finn. “That's a very sweet offer, but I wouldn't want to put you out,” she said, though that's exactly what she wanted to do. More than that, even. Finn hardly seemed like the type to play hard to get. So if everything went as planned, she'd have run through her basic flirting repertoire by dinner and be in his bed by midnight. Barring unforeseen circumstances, she should have a better handle on who Finn was, where he came from, and who he was working for before the morning paper landed on his doorstep.

Surprisingly, the thought made her a little sad.

“It actually wasn't
my
offer,” Finn said. “But I'm happy to drive you home. We're going to the same place, after all.”

“Right,” she said. She met his eyes, saw amusement reflected there, and this time the smile that touched her lips was genuine. She liked this guy, which worked out well considering she was probably going to end up sleeping with him. She'd do what was necessary to get the job done, but if the guy wasn't a dud, that made it so much more palatable.

And Phineus Teague was definitely no dud. The man intrigued her. She might not be interested in a relationship, but she wasn't about to pass up a good time. Especially not one that was sanctioned by her job.

She'd watched Finn long enough to know the way his hips moved under his jeans, and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He was quick to laugh, had an easygoing grin, and seemed to ooze testosterone. Unless she missed her bet, Phineus Teague knew his way around a woman, and Amber was looking forward to letting him practice his navigation skills.

Oh, yes. If she had to pull Mata Hari duty, she certainly could have done worse. As it was, she intended to thoroughly enjoy this project.

“You don't have to leave right now, do you?” Millie asked, closing a warm hand over Amber's wrist.

“I hope not,” David said. “I just roped Finn into helping with the sale.” He slipped his arm around Jacey's waist. “Since you've appropriated my help, I've been running this show alone.”

Millie sniffed. “If recollection serves, this sale was your idea in the first place.” She took a step backward and clasped Jacey's hand. “And Jacey needs her rest.”

Amber's gaze swept over the group—Millie's protective stance, Jacey's tinted cheeks, David's proud eyes…and Finn's clueless stare. “Congratulations,” she said to Jacey.

Jacey's face lit up. “Thanks. Obvious?”

Amber shook her head. “I'm just a good guesser.”

Finn's brow furrowed and he swiveled his head, shifting his gaze from Amber to Jacey and back again. “What am I missing?”

Jacey leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Not a thing. We haven't told anyone except Millie. I guess Amber really
is
a good guesser.”

“You're—” Finn started.

“Mmm-hmm,” Jacey said, practically glowing. “Ten weeks now.”

At the news, Finn grabbed Jacey under the arms and started to swing her around. But he stopped abruptly, depositing her back on the ground and stepping back as if she were made of china. Millie and Jacey laughed, and Amber joined in. It was a thoroughly domestic scene, the kind she'd always thought would make her gag with the sickly sweetness of it all. But she wasn't gagging. And the delighted look on David's face, the way he watched Jacey with such emotion shining in his eyes, fascinated her.

Finn caught David in one of those overwhelming guy bear hugs, then backed off and slapped his buddy on the back. “Congratulations. You'll name the kid after me, of course.”

“Boy or girl,” David said with a grin. “No doubt about it. Little Phineus will be your namesake.”

Jacey smiled sweetly. “Don't bet on it.”

“At any rate,” Finn said, “this calls for a celebration.” He turned to Amber. “Are you in a hurry to get home?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.” Now that she was in character, she intended to play it for all it was worth.

“Good.” He turned to David. “You guys have dinner plans?”

David's eyebrows raised in not-so-subtle amusement. “If I remember correctly, you came here looking for food. Something about certain troubles.”

Finn waved the remark away. “That's getting better all the time. Seriously, dinner? My treat. I'll put the meal together, you provide dessert.” He glanced around the yard. “You didn't sell the grill, did you?”

David just rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer.

“Need anything from the store?” Finn asked.

“Some nonalcoholic champagne,” Jacey said.

“And some alcoholic champagne,” Millie added.

“Maybe we should send the girls,” David said. “After all, you're my hired help.”

“Indentured servitude,” Finn said. “And nobody picks out my steaks but me.”

“Besides,” Millie added, “Finn and Amber should go together.”

“Millie!” Jacey said, pure embarrassment lacing her voice.

“What?” Millie's face was the picture of innocence.

“It's okay,” Finn said, turning to Amber. “It looks like we're being fixed up. At least for the evening. That okay with you?”

She laughed, the sound bubbling out in a way that surprised her. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “it is.”

 

Diana was on the move again, and Brandon had her in his sights. She'd spent less than two hours at the spa, and Brandon had been privy to their conversation on the deck, courtesy of the miniature microphone he'd hidden on the control panel of Diana's mudbath. He'd donned the uniform of an attendant, and the ruse had paid off.

When Diana departed, Drake remained, cooking in a hot tub while she dressed and headed out. Brandon's first instinct had been to stay in the spa and confront Drake, to surprise him and push his head under the bubbling water until the life drained out of him. But that wasn't a good idea, no matter how satisfying. For one, Drake “Maddog” Mackenzie was as well-trained—if not better—as Brandon. And while Brandon would clearly have the advantage over a half-naked man in a hot tub, he was astute enough to know that the advantage wasn't
that
great.

From a more practical standpoint, they didn't know how much of Mackenzie's plan had already been set in motion. Even if they took the leader out, the shit might still hit the fan. And they wouldn't be any closer to knowing when, where, or how.

So Mackenzie lived. For now, anyway.

And now while Mackenzie relaxed at the spa, Brandon was sticking close to Diana. At first, he'd vacillated over which one to follow, but in the end, the decision was easy. Drake was calling the shots, which meant he wasn't going to get his hands dirty.

So Brandon had made a call to the Unit's Los Angeles field office and ordered two new guys to tail Drake.

Diana was the go-to gal—the one to follow—and right now she was going to try to wrangle some information out of a contact.

Poindexter.
Who the hell was this Poindexter she was going to meet? Brandon had already checked, and no one with that name worked at ZAEL.

Amber had been watching Diana for days now, and the only person she'd been spending any significant time around was Bernie Waterman, a Level I data processor who didn't even have access to classified information. So what was up with that?

The only thing Brandon could surmise was that Diana intended to use Bernie to get close to someone else…but whom?

Brandon had no idea, but he intended to keep the tail on Diana until he found out.

“Rebecca. You copy?” He waited, listening in his earpiece. Nothing.

He cruised for a while, following Diana up the 405 and then onto the 101. He tried again. “Rebecca. Do you read?”

A slight burst of static encouraged him. He was coming into range.

The static increased, and he heard the faint echo of her voice. What she was saying didn't make any sense—
maybe corn to go with the rib eye?—
but that really wasn't his concern.

“Rebecca,” he tried again. “If you read, acknowledge.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Clear.”

“I'm sorry.” A male voice, presumably Finn's. “What's clear?”

Amber cleared her throat. “These,” she said, and Brandon heard a plastic-sounding crinkle. “I hate these clear packages. Makes the food much too tempting.”

“Pretzels are tempting?” Finn asked.

“Love them,” Amber said, a little too enthusiastically. “And great for picnics.”

“Do you want to get some?” Finn asked.

“I take it you can't talk,” Brandon said.

“Absolutely,” Amber said.

“Then I will,” Brandon said.

“Throw them in the cart,” Finn said.

“Great,” Amber said.

“It's something big, all right,” Brandon said. “But I still don't know what.” He gave her a rundown of Drake's conversation with Diana. “You copy?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He heard a muffled noise, probably Finn talking while Amber's mouth was closed, and then, “I'm just going to run over there and grab the champagne.”

“You trust me on the steaks?”

“Implicitly,” she said.

“Steak and champagne,” Brandon said. “I knew you moved fast, but this is pretty amazing.”

“Cut the crap, Brandon,” she said.

“Any ideas?” he asked.

“He called it an Oscar-caliber show?” Amber said, repeating what Brandon had reported. “Think that's important?”

“Probably just talk,” Brandon said. “Drake's always been a political guy. What would he care about celebrities or movie premiers or any of that?”

“Beats me,” she said. “And the Academy Awards aren't until next year, anyway. He probably just means something large and flashy. You didn't get any sense of what they're cooking up?”

“Nada,” he said. “But she's on her way to meet with this Poindexter right now. I'm on it.”

“I just don't get it,” she said.

“Neither do I,” he admitted. “I get the impression something went wrong with their plan, and now they're scrambling to have all the pieces in place for checkmate.”

“And we're playing blindfolded,” she said.