The Spy Who Left Me: An Agent Ex Novel Page 4

  Fortunately, Treflee’s rum kicked in about then. A pleasant calm settled over her jangled senses as she looked across the crowd. There were probably a hundred and twenty people aboard the boat. And not a child or family unit in sight. Suspicious, Treflee glanced around at left hands. There was a shocking lack of wedding rings.

  If not for the calming effect of rum and curacao, she could have killed that Carrie! She’d booked them on a meat market cruise and not even bothered to warn her.

  Worse yet, or maybe better yet, depending on your point of view, a tall, dark man ogled her from across the deck. If Treflee hadn’t just seen a dead man and had actually been single, she might have been flattered and taken up the invitation in his eyes. He had honey-colored skin and looked like an exotic mix between Hawaiian and mainlander. Not exactly handsome, but he had a face that would be hard to forget. Hoping to discourage him from making contact, she turned away.

  Treflee’s gaze flitted to the door just as the engine roared to life and they pulled away from the dock. Too late to jump ship.

  * * *

  Dinner passed in a blur of grilled mahimahi and pineapple salsa. Treflee was sorely tempted to get her last free drink, a third mai tai. But two was her limit. Alcohol loosened her tongue, and she needed her wits.

  She stared at the magnificent deep-hued Hawaiian sunset, feeling melancholy with Ty, the man she’d loved, now the evidence of her failed marriage, sitting at her table. No romance in sight. Just broken pieces before her eyes.

  She paid little attention to the conversation until Faye and Brandy returned unexpectedly before dessert.

  “They ditched us.” Brandy scowled, referring to their two prisoners of love.

  Treflee wondered how that was possible aboard a confined boat.

  “The nerve,” Carrie said with more venom than one would expect. “Bastards.”

  “Yeah,” Faye added.

  And she’s the erudite one, Treflee thought.

  “Men! Don’t you just hate them?” Carrie said. “They’re all lying, scheming, cheating jerks.”

  Obviously sensitive to the dangerous turn the conversation had taken, Greg suddenly excused himself. Ty looked like he wanted to bolt, too, but Laci had him by the arm in a death grip. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  The alcohol and the creeping dusk messed with Treflee’s senses and made her sentimental. She sniffled. Just a little. “Amen,” she muttered, feeling totally drained.

  Carrie set her wine glass down and shot her a surprisingly sympathetic look before turning to Ty. “Excuse her,” she said. “She’s going through a bad divorce. Asshole of a husband left her without signing the divorce papers. Just abandoned her.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want a divorce,” Ty said. “Maybe he still loved her.”

  Right, Treflee thought, fighting a lump in her throat and refusing to look at him.

  Carrie rolled her eyes. “Funny way of showing it. He took the coward’s way out. He didn’t stay around to fight for her, did he?” She shook her head. “Look at her. She’s like a lost kitten. I had to drag her on this vacation. We’d be two of a kind. Thank goodness I came to my senses and ditched the jerk just before the wedding. At least I’m free.”

  There was just the slightest hint of pain in Carrie’s voice. You had to know her well to hear it, and Treflee had known her since birth. They were born three weeks apart.

  “Oh, honey,” Carla said, using what Treflee supposed was her nurse’s bedside-manner voice. “I didn’t know.”

  Treflee had just met them all on the flight over from the mainland. They weren’t in the confide-in-you stage yet.

  Carla gave Carrie a look that said she understood now why Treflee wasn’t into partying. “He just abandoned you? Why did you want the divorce? What did the bastard do? Let it all out. You’re among friends.”

  You know, sometimes life just hands you a gift. Treflee’s gaze flicked to Ty. Laci tightened her grip possessively. Treflee sighed heavily, as if she didn’t really want to talk, but in reality, she was dying to lash out.

  “Oh, it was just, it was just everything.” Treflee threw her hands up and shook her head. “He traveled all the time for his job, like eighty percent of the time. Or more. He missed our anniversary, holidays, my birthday. He was gone so much, he never even met Carrie, my closest cousin, almost a sister to me.” Treflee sniffed, faking sentimentality. Okay, I’m laying it on a little thick. Who can blame me?

  “I was the little red hen. I had to do everything myself—manage the house, pay the bills, get the car fixed. A few sympathetic calls, texts, and e-mails did not make up for not being around to help out. I felt like I was single. With none of the fringe benefits. Online dating would have offered more companionship and support.”

  “There must have been some benefits,” Ty said, and looked down at the dessert plate the waiter set before him.

  “You mean the trinkets he brought home and the secrecy?” Treflee crossed her arms and ignored the coconut cream pie before her, wondering what had possessed her to think she could attack him without him firing back.

  “Hey, give him a break. A guy gets home from a business trip, the last thing he wants to do is talk.” Ty winked at the girls, who nodded and smiled.

  Damn his charming soul!

  Treflee balled her fist in her lap. “Yeah? Well, I had a pretty good idea he wasn’t talking for other reasons. Code of the road, you know. The occasional trip to the titty bar … and more.”

  “Titty bar! Men! Adolescents who never grow up.” Laci’s knuckles turned white as she dug bright pink fingernails into Ty’s arm, indignant with anger.

  He winced. Served him right. For just a vengeful instant, Treflee hoped she drew blood.

  She’d hit the right button with Carrie’s friends. Women who served their country side by side with their male counterparts evidently found strip clubs demeaning.

  The other girls joined in, swearing and calling Ty, actually to his face though they thought it was behind his back, all kinds of names. Treflee had to give them credit. They’d picked up some colorful expletives in the army.

  She was suddenly enjoying herself. Retribution is oh so fun when you have the upper hand.

  She glanced at Ty to see just how good of a spy face he’d put on. Was he squirming? Seething? He looked calm. But inside, Treflee hoped he was roiling.

  “Yes, Ty,” she said, emphasizing his name, “was full of secrets. He never talked to me.”

  The girls all looked at Ty.

  Carrie turned to him and apologized. “Her almost ex is ironically also named Ty.” She sighed and shrugged. “Sorry. No offense intended.”

  Oh yes there was!

  He smiled like, no problem, I understand. Okay, so he was doing a pretty good acting job.

  “I wanted a baby,” Treflee said truthfully, letting her heart and disappointment sink into her tone. “And he didn’t. I loved Ty. I wanted to make a family with him. What’s so wrong with that? That’s what people who love each other do.” And I needed a baby to fill the void left by the one I’d lost.

  Ty looked down at the table, frowning.

  Carla patted Treflee’s hand.

  Faye’s eyes grew hard. “How long were you married?”

  “Seven years.”

  “Seven years! The honeymoon phase is long over by then,” Brandy said. “Why didn’t you just feed your pills to the plant?”

  “Oh, I did. I even told him I was on the patch, and then I used a fake one. But he was careful,” Treflee said. “He always insisted on using protection.”

  “Controlling SOB!” Faye shook her head.

  Treflee nodded, keeping tabs on Ty with her peripheral vision. He was showing no signs of cracking. So she went in for the kill just as he lifted his mai tai to his lips. “Oh, it wasn’t all his fault.” She sounded so magnanimous. “So much traveling wore him out. He was just so tired. You know, he couldn’t always…” She trailed off delicately.

  The girls’ eyes went wide. They
leaned in toward her.

  “He couldn’t always get it up,” Treflee said just loudly enough for them all, and the people at the table next to them, to hear. What a blatant liar she was. If there was anything Ty was good at, the sack was it. He never had any trouble keeping things up. Keeping them down, more like.

  Ty sputtered. All the ladies looked at him as he choked on his drink.

  “Sorry!” Carrie laughed. “Something about talking about impotence, even another guy’s, upsets men.”

  So do lies about his own performance, Treflee thought.

  Treflee shook her head sadly. “Yeah, yeah. And all the tiredness and being off schedule affected his staying power, too.”

  Ty reached for his water, talking as he coughed. “Swallowed down the wrong pipe.”

  Treflee smiled to herself. That was low, but he deserved that shot below the belt. He really did.

  Fortunately for Ty, the sun had slipped below the horizon and the stars were beginning to twinkle. With the sun gone, it was time for the below-deck entertainment to begin.

  An announcement blared from the loudspeakers. “Passengers, please report to the glass-bottom viewing deck for our fantastic Polynesian dancing show!”

  Ty zipped out of his chair and toward the stairs with Laci almost running to keep up with him as she hung like a barnacle on his arm. The rest of the group followed.

  On the lower deck, they took seats on benches around the glass deck viewing area. An array of exotic, curvy hula girls and several ripped, dark, and handsome Polynesian men danced onto the glass in a rustle of grass skirts. Treflee was pushed to the edge of the crowd with about five women between Ty and her and Greg on her right. Probably just as well. She didn’t think Ty was thinking kind thoughts about her at that minute.

  “Hula, hula!” Carrie said in a hubba-hubba tone as she spotted the men. “I want one of those.”

  Beside Treflee, Carla’s gaze was glued to the male dancers.

  “Careful,” Ty said. “You’re in danger of being as bad as Treflee’s husband.”

  Was Treflee the only one who caught the irony?

  Carrie waved aside his concern. “We’re single. We’re allowed.”

  “All right, how reflective is that glass?” Carla said, leaning forward for a closer view. “I’d like to see some wildlife and I don’t mean tropical fish.”

  “Oh, for a stiff breeze right now.” Faye sighed.

  “In the hull?” Treflee asked.

  “A big fan would do,” she retorted.

  “I doubt they’re commando under those skirts,” Treflee said, trying to maintain her rain-cloud status in the group. “They’ve gotta have on a Speedo.”

  “Nooo!” Faye said. “That would kill the fun.”

  “I vote for commando.” Brandy was leaning forward with her elbows on her lap and her head in her hands, mesmerized.

  Tiki torches blazed around the perimeter of the hull, reflecting in the glass of the viewing area. A band of Hawaiian musicians started strumming ukuleles and pounding drums. The dancers began undulating and swishing, their hands telling a story Treflee wasn’t interested enough to follow.

  The last time she’d seen a hula, she’d been with Ty in Waikiki. She didn’t feel like remembering that right now. Being on the edge of the show, and emotionally and physically exhausted, she quickly lost interest and zoned out, staring almost sightlessly at the dark pane of viewing glass nearest her.

  This vacation was turning into a bigger disaster than she had even imagined. Was there any way she could blackmail Ty with the dead guy, get her divorce, and come out of the whole thing without being charged with treason or something?

  She was lost in her thoughts when a thump startled her. It wasn’t the beat of a drum or the patter of feet. The dancers were deft and moved across the glass quietly. Treflee frowned, thinking at first that a fish must have bumped into the viewing glass. But when she looked, there was nothing there.

  Her frown deepened. Why couldn’t she just enjoy the show?

  She was still frowning and staring when a face appeared from the water and pressed against the ocean’s side of the glass. The face of a man she recognized—the dead guy from Woo Ming’s.

  She screamed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The dancers froze. The drumbeat stopped. A hundred-plus pairs of eyes stared at Treflee as she pointed toward the face in the water and gesticulated, muttered, played a bad game of charades, and did everything but speak coherently about the dead guy with the tiny fish nibbling at his face.

  Greg understood first and cursed beneath his breath as he put his arm around her and whispered for her to cover her eyes. “Stop the boat! We’ve hooked a floater.”

  Ty jumped into action, taking a look for himself before grabbing Greg, yelling to the crew for a wet suit and gear, and heading to the main deck as Treflee disobeyed Greg and stared pale-faced into the dead zone along with everyone else.

  A few minutes later, a pair of divers appeared behind the glass as everyone watched. They grabbed the body and pulled it away.

  Someone called the coast guard. Carla jumped up and, screaming that she was a nurse, headed to the main deck to provide medical assistance. As if that would help the Woo Ming guy. He was lucky his head was still attached to his body, and Treflee was willing to bet he had no blood left. No, that guy had been dead for hours. He was way beyond help. And Treflee needed that third mai tai. Badly.

  * * *

  Sometimes the show does not go on. Sometimes it’s just disrespectful to watch a gig full of eye candy and undulating hips when some poor fool’s just turned up dead and swimming with the angelfish.

  They kept everyone in the hull as the boat immediately headed back to Lahaina Harbor. The crew offered people coffee and tea, nothing stronger. They were met at the dock by the coast guard and the cops. Although Treflee had discovered the body, neither showed much interest in little old her. If only they knew!

  Treflee guessed simply seeing a body through a glass window didn’t hold much vital information for them. They asked her just the one cursory question—where’d you see the body?—and then escorted her from the hull to the main deck.

  Greg and Ty were on the main deck, standing in a pool of water over the tarp-covered body with a crowd of cops around them. As Treflee came up the stairs, she watched Ty’s profile in the overhead lights. A chill rippled down her back. He looked completely calm.

  He turned to look at her so suddenly she didn’t have time to wipe the guilty, knowing expression from her face. He saw it. She knew it by his subtle reaction to her. He knew she knew something.

  The man knows me too well.

  A courteous crewman escorted her to the waiting party bus for the ride back to the plantation. This ride was the polar opposite of the ride to town—no drinking, no flirting, no wild lights or music. Just hushed conversation, questions, and surmises about what had happened to the guy.

  Since Treflee had gotten the best look at the dead guy because he appeared in the glass pane nearest her, she bore the brunt of the questioning.

  “I can’t tell you much,” she said, and shuddered. “His eyes looked dead and glassy. His hair swished back and forth in the water. His skin was pale and ghostly. And fish were nibbling at his face.” Treflee choked up on the last sentence.

  The fish-eating mental image pretty much shut them up. For a while.

  “Did you see any wounds?” Faye asked Treflee, shifting her skinny butt in her seat and leaning toward her.

  Treflee paused, frowning in thought. She knew what and who killed him. But what had she actually seen in the glass window? It was better to play it safe. She shook her head. “It was all so shocking and gross. I don’t remember anything but the face. It looked like it came straight out of a nightmare.”

  * * *

  Back at the plantation, Tita greeted them with the equivalent of a Hawaiian hot toddy—warm coconut milk spiked with rum. The other girls gathered in Carrie’s room to gossip more about the even
ing’s events and dissect the police procedure and response from a military, cop-type-girl point of view.

  Treflee didn’t particularly want to be alone, but she couldn’t stand another question. So she begged off and headed to her room where she changed into her pajamas—a cotton cami and shorts—and a knee-length robe. She lay down on the fluffy bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Trying to sleep was futility at its finest. Especially after she realized that neither Ty nor Greg were around.

  Now that the police had a body, would they trace the murder back to Ty? Would Emmett Nelson, head of the National Clandestine Service and Ty’s boss at the CIA, be able to cover for him?

  Treflee was worried. On all counts. And curious about Ty’s mission. Did it involve the dead Chinese guy? She needed to get a look at Ty’s room. She doubted he’d left any incriminating evidence around, but at the very least, she could retrieve her camera and phone.

  Treflee had no idea how she was going to get into his room. But however she was going to do it, she wasn’t leaving any fingerprints behind. She grabbed the pair of manicure gloves she’d brought with her. What could she say? She liked soft skin. Every few days she slathered her hands with lotion and slept with gloves on.

  She checked the hall. All clear.

  She knew which room was Ty’s. Earlier, she’d seen him come out of it. She was no good at picking locks, though heaven knows she’d tried. And she knew Ty—he was careful about locking up. But just on the off chance she’d get lucky twice in one day, she went to his room.

  She put on her gloves and gently tried the door. It fell open in front of her. That was almost too easy. She wondered for a second if this was a trap. Ty knew her as well as she knew him. He’d expect her to try to get her stuff back and spy on him.

  She hesitated, wondering if he’d booby-trapped the room. She scanned the floor at her feet, looking for the old match-in-the-door trick. When she didn’t see one, she shrugged. What the heck.

  Treflee slipped into the room and closed the door behind her, pulling the security latch to slow Ty down if he came home before she could get out.