The Spy Who Left Me Page 2

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  Ty strolled back to his room, feeling almost schizophrenic as he forced himself to stay in character—calm, lazy, nonchalant, not a care in the world besides catching the next wave or downing a mai tai. On Hawaiian time. Inside, he seethed. He rarely felt this convoluted, even when facing the wrong side of a gun barrel unarmed. Which had happened a time or two.

  Damn Treflee for showing up like this.

  He hadn’t even checked the guest list properly before she’d arrived. He’d stupidly assumed NCS had cleared everyone on it.

  Tref’s presence posed a bigger danger to his safety and mission than a long-range ballistic missile. If he’d been less distracted by his thoughts of Tref, he might have avoided having to fraternize with a drooling guest just then. Laci lay in wait for him outside his bedroom door. He walked headlong into her long, perfectly manicured tentacles almost before he registered her standing there.

  How had Treflee thrown him off kilter and out of his game so easily? What if Laci had been an enemy agent rather than a sex-starved redhead? It was as if his wife were the enemy’s secret weapon, an agent annihilator who operated by turning his brain to mush. Women.

  “Ty!” Laci’s face lit up with a predatory smile as she took his arm. “Going somewhere?”

  He forced himself to smile lazily down at her. Ty, the tour guide, would play up to the female guests, hoping to earn a big tip, or a repeat customer. Ty, the real him, liked to be the pursuer, not the pursued, in both business and pleasure. And he was strictly a one-woman man. Though his wife frequently told him to tell that to Ripley’s Believe It or Not and see if they believed him. She sure as hell didn’t.

  “Gotta hit the shower and pretty up before the big cruise tonight.” He forced himself to keep a low, slow, sexy tone.

  “You look pretty damn good to me already.” Laci squeezed his arm as if testing to see if he were a piece of ripe fruit.

  Well, he wasn’t. Not for her.

  He shook his head. “Tita wouldn’t agree.”

  Laci arched a brow. “Really?” Her tone teased.

  “Tita has high standards for going out in public. And a dress code.” He gestured to indicate his outfit. “A T-shirt and cargo shorts don’t cut it. She’d tell you a well-dressed guide is good for business.” He winked at her.

  In return, Laci smiled as if she wanted to eat him up. She ran her hands over his chest. “I could help you slip into something … fun.”

  Which he took to mean her.

  As a spy, he had all kinds of moves. None of which he was interested in using on her. He casually reached into his front pocket for his key. Treflee’s camera and phone slowed down his smooth escape. He had to rummage around in his pocket until he found what he was looking for.

  “Maybe some other time. When we have more time.” Did he sound suggestive enough? As if he were a man who liked things slow and hard? “Right now, Tita will have my ass if I’m late.”

  He pried Laci off him. With a quick, fluid move, he slid the key in the door and escaped into his room, flipping the dead bolt behind him. So this is how women feel when they elude the arms of an octopus.

  He paused and listened until he heard Laci’s disappointed footsteps padding down the hall. Yeah, he knew how to read the sound of footfalls. Anger was easy. Disappointment and what-the-hell-just-happened-here confusion had a stop-and-start pattern. His self-satisfied grin was short-lived, as common spy sense overcame him.

  Ty didn’t believe in coincidence. He had learned that lesson on the job. Of all the honeymoon spots in the world Treflee’s cousin could have chosen, she showed up at Big Auau with Treflee in tow? At his little corner of the tropical world? Nope, too much to swallow.

  Treflee was many things, including an energetic, playful blond nymph in bed, but she wasn’t actress enough to fool him. Her surprise was genuine. Although he was sure she’d been trying, she hadn’t succeeded in intentionally tracking him down. All the evidence pointed to her being an innocent pawn.

  If she’d found him on her own, she’d have the divorce papers on her and a pen ready to thrust into his hand the second she spotted him. Good to know the Agency hadn’t screwed up there and left a trail for just anyone to follow to him.

  That left only one viable option—the Agency, and his boss, National Clandestine Service Chief Emmett Nelson. Listing Treflee as Betty on the guest list was exactly Emmett’s style.

  Ty cursed beneath his breath. Emmett liked his spies to remain single. As often as possible, he recruited them when they were young and unattached. He expected them to remain that way. Emmett violated his own policy when he recruited Ty.

  Ty was already engaged to Tref and refused to give her up. Emmett conceded. He needed a young man with Ty’s intelligence, lack of fear, and acting abilities.

  Ty breached Agency policy when he told Tref he was being recruited and asked her advice on whether he should take the job or not. He figured if he was going to drag her into a life of secrecy and danger, she had the right to know what she was getting into. She took it well. In fact, she took it with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

  “Take the job? Why would you turn it down!” she said, reminding him they were young and ready for life to show them some fun. Life practically owed it to them. “Besides, think how sexy it will be to have a spy in my bed!”

  Tref herself was not adventure material. She was steady, calm, responsible, too cautious to be a daredevil, and solidly independent. She liked everything quiet but lovemaking—soft music, solitary strolls, and thoughtful time to herself. But she loved a good vicarious thrill; someone else’s scary story. The perfect balance to him. He could hardly sit still. He lived on action and adrenaline.

  They decided he’d go out and bring back his thrill. His scary tale.

  His spy life bought them the perfect marriage. No ordinary, dull routines to fall into. No drone of a day-to-day worker’s life to live. No “Hi, honey” followed by a peck on the cheek when he came home from work. More like grab him by the collar, drag him to the bedroom, and wrap herself around him.

  Their sex life sizzled, fueled by absence that made their hearts grow fonder, or at least lustier, and the romance of their double lives. The mundane front they presented to the world amused them. The lies they told their friends, family, and neighbors entertained them. The secrets they kept from the world made them inseparable.

  She wanted a career, not a family. Or so she told him. She wanted a loyal lover, not a ball-and-chain type of husband. She had her freedom and he had his.

  He thought they’d had a rock-solid, happy marriage. He went off on adventures and came home to report them to her. Names, locations, and classified details removed or changed to protect his career and both their lives, of course.

  Then something happened. He still hadn’t exactly figured out what. It was like a switch had flipped inside her. She started complaining. He had all the fun. She did all the work. She wanted to start a family. She wanted a baby. A baby needed a father. A father who was around.

  He shook his head. A baby!

  When he hesitated, they fought. Small arguments at first, but larger ones followed. Suddenly she wanted a divorce.

  If there was one thing Emmett Nelson hated more than married spies, it was divorced agents. And not because of any sentimental morality on his part. Agents’ exes were a liability, a national security breach waiting to happen. Messy business.

  He gave Ty orders to fix his marriage and fix it fast.

  “Make the woman happy, damn it!” had been Emmett’s exact words to him.

  Hell, Emmett hadn’t needed to order Ty to fix things. He loved Tref. He still loved Tref. He’d always love her. He had no intention of letting her go.

  He would have fixed his marriage then and there. If he’d known how. Short of that, he did the only sensible thing—took evasive action and hid out, hoping to buy time. Hoping Tref would miss him, come to her senses, and realize they were meant to be together. Hoping he’d figure out h
ow to win her back.

  He’d checked the weather, too. There hadn’t been any messages from spylover23, Tref’s screen name. So trufflesguy, him, had remained stonily silent as well. Certainly neither one of them had any intention of mentioning sunny weather, their code for “I love you.”

  Ty knew Emmett’s game. The threat of this “coincidence” was implicit—make up with your wife. Now. Or your entire career is on the line.

  Fantastic. No problem. Nothing like asking the impossible.

  All Ty had to do was avenge George Hsu, a fellow agent and friend who’d been murdered on assignment here in Hawaii. Follow Shen Lin, the little prick of a Fuk Ching Chinese crime gang member suspected of killing George on orders from the Revolutionary International Organization of Terrorists, or RIOT as they were commonly known in the espionage world. Hope Lin would provide him a way into Sugar Love Plantation, RIOT’s Hawaiian lair. Keep an eye on Hal Rogers, a Hawaiian-born CIA analyst and traitor who was planning to sell the top secret Pinpoint Project to RIOT. Complete George’s mission to stop RIOT from starting a war between China and the United States. And win back my angry wife’s love.

  And the pièce de résistance? He had less than a week to do it.

  Ty pulled Treflee’s camera and phone from his pocket, feeling an almost overwhelming urge to smash them, or his fist, against the wall.

  Instead, he took a deep breath and turned the camera on.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Treflee had given Ty a bad time about not recognizing her name on the guest list, but she hadn’t recognized his real identity, either. Before embarking on this grand adventure, she had taken a peek at the vacation package brochure online, complete with tour guide bios, no photos. Of course, she had a good excuse for not recognizing her husband—different last name and a totally fabricated bio.

  Their vacation week would begin with a shopping trip to Lahaina and a sunset cruise with three free drinks included in the package. And shopping? Hey, she could do that. Maybe she’d even look for that black pearl she wanted. If she had time after spying on Ty.

  She wondered if he secretly loved being a “tour guide,” living the high life like movie spies do. Treflee figured no real spies lived this way—shopping, cruising, surfing, taking scenic waterfall drives. Not unless they were on vacation themselves. At least according to the stories Ty used to tell her.

  Not that she could tell if Ty had lied to her. He openly admitted having to change certain details of his missions. If he’d been living this kind of cushy life, and lying about it, while she held down the fort at home and went into the office day after day to handle employee complaints, she was really going to kill him. Slowly. With lots of torture involved.

  She hid out in her room until it was time to meet. She joined up with the bridal party—Carrie, Laci, Brandy, Carla, and Faye—in the parlor. There was no formal lobby. The old sugar plantation house was more of a bed-and-breakfast than a hotel. Carrie’s group had the entire place to themselves for the week.

  Auau was an elegant, high-end, intimate, romantic setting with a fantastic ocean view. Most of the year, the owners rented it out for weddings, a cog in the Hawaiian wedding industry along with the neighboring plantation.

  As Treflee joined the group, she gave Carrie a hug. “Very funny registering me for this little vacation as Betty.”

  Carrie frowned at her. “What are you talking about? Why would I hack you off? You hate that name.”

  It was Treflee’s turn to frown. “You didn’t?”

  “You’re Elizabeth to the airlines and Big Auau.” Carrie shrugged. “I figured I couldn’t go wrong using your legal name.”

  Treflee smiled, trying to cover her confusion. Who was lying and why? “Sorry. My mistake. How are you holding up?”

  Carrie gave her a look that said she was crazy for asking. Carrie was a tough cookie, not a heartbroken whiner. “Fantastic. We’re going to have the time of our lives on the cruise tonight.”

  The girls were dressed in strapless evening dresses of varying lengths and tightness, and spiky heels, all of them going for sexy and sultry. If Treflee had her guess, she’d say they were the outfits they’d been planning to wear to the now defunct bachelorette party.

  Treflee had dressed in a simple empire-waist sundress with a subtle Hawaiian print and flat, strappy sandals. She carried a large woven tote edged with pink trim. Personally, she thought they were overdressed. This was Hawaii, after all.

  Ty strolled in smiling, dressed in a white linen shirt, tan slacks, and canvas boat shoes. Conversation came to a screeching halt. Carrie’s bridesmaids ogled him as if he were the stripper they’d reluctantly canceled for Carrie’s party. Someone even whispered, “Take it all off.”

  Treflee did a possessive mental growl, trying not to let anything show on her face. She knew the body beneath the clothes nearly as well as she knew her own. It was indeed droolworthy.

  She made a fist, trying not to remember how it felt to run her hands over his broad shoulders and naked chest. Trying to forget how he used to make a muscle just for her to squeeze and admire. And how she used to trail kisses all the way from his bicep to his lips.

  She wondered if he was enjoying playing stud muffin?

  Greg came in behind Ty, looking like an explosion of color gone very wrong in his garish Hawaiian print shirt. Fortunately for him, and anyone who cared about style, standing next to Ty, he may as well have been invisible.

  “Ladies!” Ty flashed his most charming smile. “Tonight we party. But first, the ladies shop till they drop in Lahaina.”

  The girls jockeyed for the key position next to him. Treflee was used to his effect on women, and mostly immune to it now. It used to bug the heck out of her. Maybe it still did. A little. She really didn’t like being an eyewitness to it.

  Sometimes she wondered why Ty didn’t just sign the divorce papers and get on with the lady killing. She could be as self-serving and vain as the next person, but realistically, she wasn’t even in the same league as some of the attractive and appealing babes who threw themselves at him. He could have had a good stash of eye candy to his credit. In her weaker moments, she wondered what he ever saw in her. In her strongest moments, she wondered what she saw in him.

  Ty diplomatically offered one arm to the woman paying the bills, Carrie, and the other to her best friend, Laci. Tall, thin Faye, the amply hipped, dark-haired Brandy, and the nurse, Carla, crowded around them.

  Treflee held back and filed in line next to Greg. A few hours alone in her room had given her time to think up a plan. She was going to find out what Ty was up to here in Maui. Two could play the game. And once she had enough on him, she’d blackmail him into signing the divorce papers.

  The CIA has a motto engraved in stone just inside the door at Langley, “And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.”

  Treflee was taking the Agency’s motto to heart. She couldn’t go on living with this ache, wondering where Ty was, who he was with, or whether he’d come home alive. She couldn’t keep hoping he’d suddenly decide to settle down and become the family man she wanted him to be. And she absolutely couldn’t hold on to the pain of her secret and keep blaming him. As agonizing as pulling away from Ty was, she had to put him behind her. If the truth of what he was up to in Maui brought her freedom and peace, then she had to find it.

  Step one of the plan meant befriending Greg to see what he knew. Step two—follow Ty around Lahaina while she was supposed to be shopping. Step three—search Ty’s room as soon as she got the chance. She hadn’t gotten as far as deciding what step four should be yet. She prayed it wouldn’t be necessary.

  She smiled at Greg and took the arm he offered her. He looked pleased that someone had noticed him. In front of the plantation house, they piled into a chauffeured party bus. Treflee had to clamp her mouth shut to keep her jaw from dropping as she stepped inside. The bus was more Austin Powers than Bond—magenta carpeting, tan leather couches, flat-screen TV, and fully stocked bar.


  Ty took his place by the bar, cranked on the surround sound system, and flipped on the pulsating, multicolored lighting. Treflee was in a nightmare—a garish nightclub. She could feel a migraine in the making already. Strobe lights and pounding music brought them on, which was why she preferred softly lit piano bars and jazz.

  Greg shot her a concerned look. She must have looked a little green. Or maybe it was just the strobe. She was definitely angry with Ty. He was showing off his pouring skills and biceps at the bar while Carrie and her friends paired up and did hip-bumping, cleavage-shaking dances for his entertainment.

  Treflee turned to Greg. “How long is the ride to Lahaina?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” he shouted over the bump-and-grind tunes playing. “If we were going straight there. But we’re taking the scenic route so we can take advantage of the party bus. Brace yourself for a long ride.”

  Greg was evidently not a party animal, either. Or maybe he was just a nice guy. He took her elbow and guided her to a seat on the perimeter of the bus as far away from the action as was humanly possible. Which unfortunately wasn’t far.

  “Can I get you something?” he asked, looking like he had to be polite, but didn’t relish breaking into the group of ladies crowding the bar and ogling Ty. He probably feared he’d come into contact with a bump from Brandy’s ample hips and end up in the hospital. She was really getting into the dancing.

  Treflee leaned into him to speak directly into his ear, hoping he’d hear her. “No, thanks. I’m not cruel enough to send you into that.” She nodded toward her cousin’s group.

  He gave her a thankful smile.

  Treflee returned his smile, hoping to look sympathetic. “Have you worked with Ty long?” He’d been MIA for six months and she was dying to know what he’d been up to.

  “Not long. A couple of months.”

  Bastard, she thought, eyeing Ty at the bar. Had he been partying it up all this time? Watching him, she was beginning to wonder if spies really did live the good life and he’d simply been lying to her about that, too. “Have you been an island guide long?”