“What? No! Old Cogburn here doesn’t belong upstairs. On the rail? That’s crazy. That’s
courting disaster.” She frowned. “Who moved him? He has a corner downstairs in the
rooster section where all the red and black country patterns are. He’s been there
since he came in six months ago. He’s a hard old cock to sell.”
Ada put an arm around her daughter Maddie.
“Maybe a customer moved him, Mom. Took him up there and saw something they liked better,
then just left him there without thinking.”
Maddie’s theory explained the facts well enough for most of the crowd. But Willow
felt as if a shadow had crossed her path.
Something wicked this way comes,
she thought.
More fodder for her theory that Con was Jack. Wherever Jack went, trouble was sure
to be as well.
Ada’s frown deepened. “No, but I would have noticed him from the cash register. I
can see the railing from there. I keep an eye on it just because something like this
could happen. He wasn’t there earlier. I’m sure of it.” She reached for the rooster.
Con stood and stepped in front of her. “Let me.” He took the dish towel from her and,
using it as an oven mitt, picked up old Cogburn. “I’d like to buy this from you. And
the dish towel, too. It’ll make a great souvenir,
the rooster that tried to kill me.
” He laughed. “Besides, Aldo will love it. I’m surprised he hasn’t bought it already.”
Con set the rooster on the floor and reached for his wallet in his pocket.
Ada put a hand on his arm and shook her head. “It’s yours, my gift. I couldn’t stand
to have it around here anyway. Take it away with my compliments. Please. Just promise
not to sue me.” She shuddered.
“Sue you? For an accident? That’s crazy.” He gave her a warm smile. “You have a deal.”
He put his wallet back in his pocket and picked up Cogburn with the towel.
Why with the towel?
Willow wondered as she inched toward Con’s coffee cup. Victory was almost hers. All
she needed was that cup.
Ada turned to her daughter. “Maddie, get a mop. Let’s get this spilled coffee cleaned
up before someone slips on it.”
As Willow took another step toward Con’s cup he blocked her. Ada made an end-round
maneuver and reached for the cup on the floor just as Willow dashed around Con on
the other side and bent to get it. As the two women nearly conked heads Con leaned
down and scooped it up. “Allow me.”
Still holding the toweled rooster, he carried the cup off to the trash can by the
counter and Willow saw him toss it in.
Curses, foiled again. How am I going to convince Ada to let me paw through her trash
for that cup? And how will I know if I get the right one?
* * *
Willow could dig through Bluff Country Store’s trash to her heart’s content, but she’d
never find Jack’s cup. He’d only pretended to throw it away. In reality, he’d hidden
it under the towel with the rooster.
While he was recovering from the explosion Emmett had sent agent Lani Silkwater, code
name Magic, to teach Jack sleight of hand to help him regain his small motor and shooting
skills. He had gotten pretty skilled at it, exactly why no one saw him hide the cup.
Willow’s attempt to gather intel amused him more than it should have.
He walked her back to her booth in the center of town with his new friend, old Cogburn,
wrapped in a towel and bagged in a shopping bag from Bluff Country Store for added
protection. He wanted to preserve any fingerprints on it. Not that he expected to
find any of the Rooster’s.
Jack lingered at the booth. He hated to leave Willow unprotected, but he had to get
back to the guesthouse, dust Cogburn for prints, and contact Emmett. Old Cogburn was
meant for him—a message from the Rooster:
If you’re Sariel, I’m going to kill you.
The Rooster had never been known for his subtlety. But then again, he’d never been
known to miss before. That is, until he only
thought
he’d killed Jack in that explosion. Now the Rooster’s perfect record was toast, and
the hell of it was—he wasn’t certain Jack was still alive.
The turn of Jack’s thoughts was dark. He felt like grabbing his sniper’s rifle and
taking Kennett out right then and there. One well-placed shot between his eyes as
he sold his apples should do it. A nice, clean kill shot.
That should send a clear message to RIOT. Jack could take out one of their assassins
whenever he felt like it. Like now.
It sure seemed like a good message to him.
And hell, when weren’t his shots always placed exactly where he wanted them? He made
those guys on
Top Shot
look like amateurs.
But that wasn’t the mission plan. Though he was sure as hell going to suggest it to
Emmett as soon as he got back to Aldo’s.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Willow said as she apparently lingered, too.
Her assistant watched them as she helped a customer.
“Yeah, that didn’t exactly go as planned, thanks to old Cogburn here.”
Willow smiled and touched Jack’s arm in the gentle way she had. “I think we need a
do-over, something not quite so dramatic.”
The store owner, her friend Ada, had made them each another cup to go. Willow set
hers on the table.
Jack wasn’t sure a nice, quiet meeting between them was possible. Not as far as his
emotions were concerned.
“Let me make you dinner,” Willow said.
The woman was not going to give up on trying to get his DNA. He read the sneakiness
on her face as easily as he read coded intel.
“Monday evening? My place. I’ll clear the house of all potential falling objects.
Promise. Besides, it’s just a single-story house with my shop in the basement. Around
seven?”
Her tone was pleasant, flirty. Her eyes pleaded with him to accept. She was desperately
hoping he was Jack. He could tell that much.
No doubt she was already devising another plan to out him as her husband.
Eating dinner alone with her at her house was dangerous business. And yet there didn’t
seem to be any way to decline without looking like a jerk and hurting her feelings.
He wanted to see her again, to spend a few more hours with her after he’d killed the
Rooster and before he blew this town. Make sure she’d be okay. Say good-bye in his
own way.
“Sure,” he said. “Love to. Let me bring a bottle of Aldo’s wine. White or red?”
“I’ll get back to you on that.” Her eyes sparkled. She looked too happy. And too devious.
Someone should really teach her how to hide her emotions better.
A crowd of customers wandered up. The festival was growing busier by the minute.
Willow glanced at her assistant. “I’d better go help Shiloh. She looks overwhelmed
already. See you Monday?”
He nodded. “If not sooner.”
She leaned forward, rising slightly on her toes, looking as if she was about to kiss
him good-bye. As she always had.
He took a polite step back.
Nice try, Wills.
She cleared her throat and looked down, probably to cover her embarrassment. “Great.”
She turned toward the table in her booth.
He started walking away.
“Wait!”
He stopped and turned toward her.
She handed him a bag of caramels, brushing his hand with hers as she did, a gentle
caress. The kind of touch she knew he liked. “My compliments. Thanks for the exciting
morning.”
He took the caramels, trying not to let his reaction to her touch show—he’d felt it
in a shiver of pleasure all the way up his back. “Thanks.”
As he walked away, he looked at the bag she’d given him—her largest package of Lucky
Jacks.
Yeah, she was sending a message. Damn, he had to work harder at fooling her.
He took old Cogburn back to Aldo’s guesthouse, which in reality was a small apartment
built over the tasting room. He carefully unwrapped the old rooster and set it on
newspaper on the table.
If Jack was right, and no doubt he was, he was always right about matters of assassination,
the Rooster had worn gloves when handling Cogburn. The statue would not have any of
the Rooster’s prints. But Jack had to check anyway.
It’s what Jack, or any good killer, would have done—leave no evidence behind, only
prints that would implicate someone else: whoever had last handled the Rooster.
He got out his dusting kit and tested the rooster. Sure enough, no prints large enough
to be the Rooster’s. Just a few much smaller prints, likely Ada’s or Maddie’s. Which
didn’t dissuade Jack from the belief Cogburn had been pushed with intention. Had the
attempt been successful, it would have been first-degree murder by rooster statue.
Now wouldn’t that have made a lovely headline?
It’s a good thing it hadn’t succeeded or Jack would have had to die of embarrassment.
Can you imagine the jokes that would have gone around the Agency once they found out
that Sariel had actually been alive and then been offed by the Rooster with a rooster?
Jack’s reputation would have never lived it down. So to speak.
Even though he was officially dead, Jack had a legacy to maintain and he’d be damned
if he’d let Kennett sully it by killing him. Again. Especially so ignobly.
Jack needed to report in. He scanned the apartment for bugs and set up the shielding
device he affectionately called the Cone of Silence.
Then he called Emmett. “Chief, the Rooster’s trying to kill me. And my cover may have
been blown.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Don’t be so dramatic, Jack. Of course the Rooster’s trying to kill you.” The chief
laughed. “That’s his MO. He doesn’t care whether Con is really Con or not. He doesn’t
give a damn about killing innocent people. If there’s a chance Con’s you, he has to
strike. Relax. Your cover’s safe.”
Jack took a deep breath. He didn’t want to have to tell the chief about his screwup,
but he had no choice. “Yeah, I know, Chief. I’m not worried about the Rooster. I can
handle him.
“It’s Willow. She’s getting suspicious. Permission to kill the Rooster with a bullet
and get the hell out of here?”
“What did you do, Jack?” The chief’s amusement evaporated.
“I may have accidentally used one of my favorite Bond lines around her. But it’s so
common—”
“Jack! Did you learn nothing in the Agency acting classes? You can’t act like you.
You have to find your motivation and act in character as Con.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’m an assassin, Chief. I don’t usually have to do this undercover
shit. And Willow has the Sense. Just because I may have danced like me—”
“Danced? No. Jack!”
“At the growers’ dinner. I couldn’t help it. I
was
in character. Mostly. The Rooster was trying to kill me during a dancing competition.
If I’d been me, I would have simply killed him back. But instead I had to do something
showy to distract the crowd from what was really going on.”
Even though he wasn’t Skyping, Jack could almost see Emmett scowling and shaking his
head. “So even knowing that Willow knows your dance moves, you went twinkle toes on
me. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds worse than it was.” Jack cursed the Rooster
beneath his breath. This whole scenario was making him sound like a wimp before his
boss. “So? Permission to use any force, any means, necessary?”
“Permission denied. Stick with the mission, Jack,” Emmett said. “The intel you retrieved
from the drop is invaluable. We’re still deciphering the details, but it looks like
the Rooster was contacting other terrorist sleeper cells.
“But we need more. We want his plans for the G Eight Summit and we can’t leave a mess
behind and have local law enforcement breathing down our necks. Make it look like
an accident.
“And for pity’s sake, make Willow believe you’re Con, not you. Stay the hell away
from her if you have to.”
* * *
By eleven, the town of Orchard Bluff was packed, not a free parking spot in sight.
Willow worked on autopilot as her thoughts kept returning to Con and Jack.
Despite the accident, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Con had acted so like
Jack. Jack would have thrown himself in front of a bus to save a stranger’s life.
That’s the kind of heroic man he’d been.
And Jack was
always
totally attuned to his surroundings. Sometimes annoyingly so. She’d be talking to
him as they took a walk around the park by their house and he’d mention something
out of the blue about a plane flying over. Or, “Look there. A beaver has been gnawing
at a tree.” Or, “There’s new graffiti on the fence.” Or some other detail she hadn’t
paid any attention to. Sometimes she wondered if he was listening to what she said
at all.
Which was a long way of saying that Jack would have noticed that rooster as it began
to topple. And he would have been looking for the cause, just like Con had done.
Brick by brick, fact by fact, she was building the case that Con was Jack, even without
that blasted coffee cup. Either Con was incredibly helpful or he was Jack and savvy
enough to know she wanted that cup and destroy the evidence.
Well, Mr. You’re-So-Smart, I’m going to get your DNA and out you one way or another.
Even if she had to sleep with him and see if he purred like Jack.
Not that sleeping with him would be a chore, not if the tingles she’d felt while straddling
him were any indication of the chemistry between them. It would be a great pleasure.
A commotion in the crowd caught her attention. Willow looked up from where she was
making change for a customer to see Shane pushing his way through to the front toward
her.
He came to a stop in front of her table. “Willow! I was making a delivery to the growers’
booth in town when I heard about your mishap with a rooster. How are you? Are you
okay?”
The breeze ruffled his thick light-brown hair, which brushed the collar of his open
denim work shirt. Beneath the shirt he wore a red T-shirt with the apple growers’
logo. He’d rolled up his sleeves to just below his elbows, showing off powerful forearms
and giving a hint of his well-defined biceps. His thighs bulged in the legs of his
jeans. The man was powerfully built and stocky.