Vacation to Die For Page 5

  Am I flattered that he so obviously wants to partner with me? But of course.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Ryan scribbles something on a pad.

  Emma and Arnie exchange glances and blushes. All posturing aside, their budding relationship is at that delicate juncture where trust and commitment intersect.

  Jack and I are sooooo far beyond that, which is why I’m sure he’s getting just as big a kick out of Dominic’s flirtations as I am.

  Or maybe not. Jack is no longer smiling. “Why does Dominic get to cover Eden Key with Donna? It just doesn’t make sense. For one reason, we’re a proven mission team. For another, wouldn’t it be more believable for a publicly-acknowledged couple to take a vacation there?”

  “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious,” Dominic interjects. “It’s a singles resort. We’ll be going undercover, as single consenting adults”—he winks at me when he says this—“which is much better for the mission, is it not, Ryan?”

  Jack’s mouth drops open—then shuts again.

  Because he knows Dominic is right.

  He turns to me. “Donna, what do you think?”

  “Well….hmmm. Well, I…” I turn from him, to Dominic, and back to Jack. “I’ll do whatever is best for the mission.”

  Ryan nods. “Then it’s settled. Donna, since ID validation falls on you, you’ll also act as mission leader on this assignment. That said, group reconnaissance meetings take place in Donna’s tiki as needed, or every forty-eight hours, beginning at nineteen-hundred hours on Day One. Along with plane tickets under your aliases, you’ll also find an all-inclusive island pass, which allows you to move freely from one resort to another. Abu, Arnie and Emma will take the flight at ten o’clock tonight. Dominic, Donna and Jack will take a later one, which leaves at ten tomorrow morning.” He waves his hand at Janine, who nods dutifully as she makes the necessary travel changes.

  “Jack isn’t piloting the plane, right?” Arnie asks with a snort. “If so, the last place I want to be is an exit door seat.”

  Again no one laughs—certainly not Jack—although I detect a shadow of a smile on Dominic’s lips.

  Ryan sighs tiredly as he looks down at his notes. Class is dismissed.

  Emma smacks Arnie on the head as she takes her ticket and heads out the door. If that’s not a broad enough hint for him to cut the lame jokes, then I don’t know what is.

  Okay, maybe I do. But it’s going to hurt.

  Jack pats me on the shoulder. “Hey, this one should be fun. Sand, sun, sex on the beach”—When all eyes turn to us, he smiles—“drinks, I mean. And at least we won’t have to fake the rum-fueled romance part.”

  Ryan looks up. “Jack, you’ve got it wrong. Donna will be faking it—with Dominic.”

  Ooops.

  Jack stares at Ryan. Then at Dominic.

  And finally, at me.

  I’m too awestruck too say anything.

  But Jack doesn’t know that. His take on things is that I’m not supporting him.

  He shrugs as he leaves the room.

  “Petulant prat, eh? Not to worry, my sweet. Jealousy is a wonderful aphrodisiac.” Dominic grins as he takes my hand in his. “Speaking of which, what say you join me for a bowl of mussels, at that little boîte on the beach just around the corner—what is it called? Oh yes, the Sand Dollar! We can work on our cover over dinner and a good bottle of wine.” Gently, with one of those thick fingers, he traces the lifeline on my palm. “We’ll play dessert by ear.”

  As Dominic leans in ever closer, he blocks my view of Jack, who is walking out the door.

  Hopefully, not out of my life.

  I should go after Jack, shouldn’t I? But wouldn’t it be rude to jerk my hand away? Besides, Jack said it best: our relationship is built upon mutual trust.

  I guess that’s why I stand and say to Dominic, “So sorry, old boy. I’ve already got dinner plans—with Jack.”

  Dominic’s eyes narrow even as he smirks. He suddenly realizes things aren’t going the way he’d planned.

  That’s okay. I’m not the only one he’ll respect in the morning. If this mission is going to succeed, he’s got to show some courtesy to Jack, as well.

  I sashay toward the door after the man I love.

  But he’s already gone home. Without me.

  By the time I’ve walked home, I’m sweaty, hungry, and tired.

  On the other hand, Lassie and Rin Tin Tin are well-fed. Seems that Jack gave them our steaks, then went out to eat on his own.

  I’m a big girl. I can forgive him. When he comes home, I’ll make it up to him.

  It’s four o’clock in the morning and still no Jack.

  This is turning out to be one lousy summer.

  Chapter 4

  The Mile High Club

  If you’ve yet to join one of the most coveted clubs in the world, maybe your next flight will provide you the perfect opportunity. The initiation is arduous, but certainly worth it! Here’s what you’ll need to do:

  Step #1: Get drunk. That way, you’re totally open to any lame come-on line thrown at you by a seatmate you wouldn’t look twice at in any other situation.

  Step #2: Be the first one to go to the lavatory. This gives you time to adjust the lighting to your best advantage. However, should this attempt set off any alarms, do your best to act innocent when the flight attendants pound on the door. (In doing so, it would help if you refasten your push-up bra.)

  Step #3: Consider a little role-playing. The most obvious is “Pilot and Stewardess,” but we all know you’re much more imaginative than that! Go for something less obvious like say, “Bronco-Bustin’ Cowboy and Wild Filly,” or perhaps “Poodle meets Great Dane,” both of which are worth extra bonus miles, because let’s face it: anyone can do it standing up. On the other hand getting down on all fours in an airplane lavatory takes real skill! Very important tip: if your hand ends up in the toilet, don’t flush.

  Step #4: Afterward, expect the longest walk of shame in your lifetime. Yep, no doubt about it: everyone sitting between the lavatory and your row heard your partner’s ecstatic moans, despite the number of those little tissue squares you stuffed into his mouth. Unfortunately, there’s nothing left for you to do but hold your head high as you walk back to your seat—

  So try hard to ignore the snickers, cat calls, and applause.

  Does membership have its privileges? You betcha—bragging rights! Just think of all the gal pals you’ll shock—not to mention all the man-ho’s you’ll impress.

  The morning flight to the newly branded Fantasy Island takes place on a spanking new Airbus A-350, and boy, is it packed to the gills.

  Jack, Dominic and I are sitting in First Class. We are all in the same row, but the men’s seats are placed at each window, whereas my seat is placed with one other in the middle of the aisle.

  I wish Jack’s ticket had placed him next to me. Then again, we aren’t supposed to know each other, let alone interact in public.

  At least, that’s an excuse I’m willing to live with.

  I try to focus on the dossier explaining my cover. It says my name is Lotta Tallant. Supposedly I’m a sex therapist. I’m also a redhead who’s into chess, math, and submission, all of which is supposed to be enticing to our target, should he be wandering through Eden Key looking for love in all the wrong faces.

  The seats are really minicubicles, affording the first-class passengers the ultimate in privacy, what with high backs and curtained openings. When desired, the chairs open to a fully horizontal position.

  I’d certainly desire it, if Jack were by my side.

  I glance over at his cubicle, where the curtain is shut. His pouting is ridiculous.

  The moment we’re airborne, Dominic puts his efforts toward charming two of the plane’s female flight attendants into opening a very rare bottle of cognac saved for the owners of Fantasy Air.

  I’ve got no problem with the fact that Dominic is an equal opportunity flirt. Time that Jack realize it, too. I slip over
to his cubicle and pull the curtain to one side. “You know, you’re acting like a spoiled child.”

  He lifts a corner of his HUNT CLUB complimentary eye mask. “We’re incognito, remember?”

  “You were certainly incognito last night.” I plop myself on his lap. “Where the hell did you go?”

  “I did what any red-blooded fake husband would do, whose fake kids and fake wife are out of his hair for the evening. I hit a real lounge with a real bartender, where a bunch of really miserable guys were grousing about the fact their real wives and kids were pains in their asses,” he says matter-of-factly. “And suddenly I realized how lucky I was.”

  I smile gratefully at him. “Well, I feel the same way.”

  “You do? You mean, you find it okay that we take some time off from each other, in order to assess what we really want out of this—this fake relationship?”

  “No, of course not! I mean…” I don’t know what the hell I mean, since I don’t really think he knows what he means, either.

  At least, I hope he doesn’t. “Is that all I am to you—some ‘fake wife’?”

  “On this mission, you’re not even that.”

  “If you’re speaking of Dominic pulling Eden Key as his cover as opposed to you, I had nothing to do with that.”

  His look says, we both know better than that.

  Okay, maybe if I’d squawked more, Ryan could have been persuaded.

  So why didn’t I?

  Because it was fun watching Jack get a wee bit jealous.

  I didn’t realize how quickly wee bit can turn into totally livid.

  Surely he agrees with me that it’s time to kiss and make up. “Forget the mission for five minutes. What are we in real life?”

  He pauses before answering me. When, finally, he can muster the words, it comes out in a soft growl: “Lovers. Best friends. Life partners.” He stops. “I guess you can add ‘heartbreaking flirt’ to your side of the ledger sheet.”

  “Jack, be fair! You certainly do your fair share of flirting.”

  “It’s in my job description, remember?” I don’t know if his scowl is in response to my accusation, or in regard to how he feels about this part of his gig.

  Our gig. “Yeah okay, well, welcome to my world.”

  “The difference between you and me, my dear Mrs. Stone, is that I’m not ‘that guy’ when I’m home with you, or when I’m in the office, for that matter.” He jerks his head in Dominic’s direction. “Whereas you’re always…how did Dominic put it? Oh yes—‘Donna Stone, the manslayer.’ You enjoy turning men’s heads, even as you gut them alive. And that will always be the case.”

  I can’t see Jack’s face through a scrim of tears. “You’re right. I have no excuse for ever making you feel as if you aren’t the only man in my life.”

  Jack frowns. “That’s just it. I’m not the only man.”

  I open my mouth to say something—

  But the words don’t come out.

  Because I know he’s right. He’s got to compete with terrorists and other bad guys who want to maim and destroy. My job, like his, is to stop them from succeeding.

  And doing so—being an assassin—is almost as big a part of my life—my identity—as being a mother.

  Could I give it all up?

  Yes. And I will, gladly—when the Quorum no longer exists.

  Unfortunately, that won’t happen until we know for certain that Carl no longer exists, either.

  He is the ex from hell. Worse yet, he’s the terrorist from hell.

  We both know that Jack won’t rest either, until Carl is permanently out of our lives. In that regard, so far, so good. Six months and counting. If we can go a year, I’ll gladly do without the official death certificate to feel the time is right to retire.

  Here’s hoping Jack feels I’m worth waiting for.

  In the meantime, we will complete the missions assigned to us, including this one, which we must do with the assistance of Dominic Fleming.

  I have nothing left to say to him, so I turn to leave. Besides, I’ve got to clean up my face. No one should see me this upset.

  That is, no one should see Lotta Tallant at her worst—least of all anyone on this flight, who may lead me to Dr. Mandrake.

  As I bolt toward the first-class lavatories, I collide with one of the female flight attendants enamored by Dominic. Her hair is mussed, and her lipstick is smeared. I shouldn’t stare, but it’s hard not to, seeing how the back of her skirt is stuck in her pantyhose, revealing a thong and a tattoo of an airplane on her left butt cheek.

  I’m just about to warn her of this wardrobe malfunction when she turns back around to face me. “Economy passengers aren’t allowed in the first-class lavatories,” she says, frowning.

  “As it turns out, I happen to be a first-class passenger. Not that you’ve noticed. Where’s all that elitist service touted in your glossy brochure?” I grab the handle to the lavatory. “Here’s a thought! Get that pout off your face and fix your skirt before the passengers in Coach get the wrong idea about the glories of First Class. We wouldn’t want them to think that one of the bennies is free membership in the Mile High Club, now would we?”

  She opens her mouth to say something, but then thinks twice. Instead she huffs off.

  If I’m not mistaken, there was a tear in her eye. Oh hell, I think I’ve made her cry. Well, too bad. I’m having my own pity party.

  Oops! The lavatory door is unlocked, but it happens to be occupied—

  By Dominic. He must be changing because his shirt is open and untucked, revealing the pecs and abs that have launched a thousand sighs.

  He’s wearing nothing else, except his boxer briefs.

  “Don’t leave,” he implores me through a sly smile. “There’s always room for one more.”

  Hmmm. I think I know why the female flight attendant had her wardrobe malfunction.

  At that very second the plane hits a hiccup, and I fall forward toward him. I give a little yelp when I realize what I’m leaning against ain’t a gun in his pocket—

  He’s just very happy to see me.

  Don’t….look…down…

  Despite a burning desire to validate the one rumor (or should I say, fantasy) about Dominic Fleming that is most frequently and furiously bandied about the spook loops, I force myself to look him in the eye instead—not so easy to do, considering that he looms a head taller than me, and this darn lavatory is the size of a postage stamp.

  As if reading my mind, he smiles down upon his God-given gift. “Yes, milady, it’s real—and it’s spectacular.”

  The creak of the door is a welcomed interruption. I turn around to see—

  Jack. He must have realized how upset I was, and followed in order to console me.

  By the look on his face, he’s changed his mind. “Sorry, Donna. I had no idea you were on your way to a scheduled rendezvous.”

  “Just practicing our covers for Eden Key, old boy.” Dominic smiles knowingly. “You’re welcome to join us. What do you say, Donna? Share and share alike?”

  Jack goes at him so fast that it takes all my might to hold his arm before he can pummel the dimple in Dominic’s chin into oblivion.

  As Dominic massages the pain out of his jaw, he mutters, “Ah, so the rumors are true! Touché, Donna dearest! You’ve effectively neutered my strongest competition for spydom’s Undercover Lover award.” He opens his arms wide. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone to kiss and make-up in private. By the way, I’ve found that the Kama Sutra pose known as the Divitala the most ideal for these situations.”

  I hold Jack back from slamming the door on Dominic before it closes behind him.

  Jack turns to me. “Seriously? This is the guy you want to partner with, on this mission?”

  “No—I wanted to be with you!”

  “Why didn’t you say something when you had the chance?”

  “Because I—” Hmmm. Should I tell him the truth, that Dominic’s flirtations were flattering, and that I liked
the fact it made Jack so jealous?

  I can’t. I’m too ashamed. So instead I say, “Because he was the partner assigned to me. I…I guess there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  Beg me to do something about it. You know I will.

  But begging isn’t Jack’s style. “You made the right choice. You’ll learn a lot from Dominic. I have a feeling you’ll also learn a lot about Dominic—including whether or not he lives up to all your fantasies.”

  Our chests touch as he brushes past me to get out the door. I’m aroused, and from the way he hardens, I know he is, too. Does this tempt him to forgive my stupidity?

  No. The door closes silently behind him.

  I lean over the basin to splash cold water on my face.

  I wish I could take a cold shower.

  It will be the first thing I do when I get to my room in Eden Key, which the brochure describes as “the epitome of sensuality, what with its heart shaped feather beds, mirrored ceilings, two-person Jacuzzi tubs, libido-warming fireplace, and plush bathrobes—optional attire, since nudity is welcomed with open arms, and your privacy is always guaranteed.”

  Not to mention my loneliness.

  On this mission, it is my penance.

  Suddenly I want to go home.

  That is to say, to be in Jack’s arms again.

  Chapter 5

  How to Stuff a Wild Bikini

  If your vacation includes warm weather and a beach, packing a swimsuit is a must. Oh, pshaw to your lame excuses for staying wrapped in some sack-like muumuu! Time to show a little flesh, if only for these three reasons:

  Reason #1: Anticipating the day in which you can squeeze into your bikini will help curb your appetite. (Or it will make you cry. And if you’re crying, trust me, so is everyone else, all up and down the beach.)

  Reason #2: Putting on a bathing suit encourages you to get into the water, and we all know swimming is great exercise—especially when swimming away from stingrays, jellyfish, or sharks. Who knew you had a perfect breast stroke, and can complete it in Olympic-worthy time?