Shane’s interest in Jack was also suspicious and a little too coincidental. There
was something going on there. She just didn’t know what.
She hated the thought of being alone with Shane, but she had to know what Jack was
up to if she was going to blackmail him into taking her with him when this mission
was over. Once she slept with him and confronted him, of course.
She’d have to be careful, very, very careful, if she was going to potentially step
into the middle of one of Jack’s missions.
She weighed the risk for less than a second. Any peril was worth getting Jack back.
Life without him was just too empty.
There was no one in the store. She grabbed her phone and texted Shane:
I need to talk to someone about Jack
.
Can I see you tonight?
* * *
Jack sat at the kitchen table in the guesthouse and went over the intel Zaran’s spy
plane had collected. Outside, Aldo cussed and swore as he righted the metal rooster
sculpture someone had tipped over in the night.
Rooster tipping. Only in Orchard Bluff.
Jack studied the images with the skill an ultrasound technician uses in detecting
cancer or healthy babies. His trained eye picked up on things the casual observer
would be oblivious to.
The bunker was a terrorist war room and command center. Bulletin boards full of airport
and hotel floor plans and electronic circuit schematics. An adequate supply of food
to last for weeks if Kennett needed to hide out there, waiting for a chance to escape.
A decent supply of fertilizer and explosives, enough to blow up the bunker if the
need arose. And a freezer filled with Grant Cooper’s body. Well, a body, anyway. Who
else would it be? Jack wondered why Kennett hadn’t disposed of it yet. He liked to
keep trophies?
Jack took a sip of coffee he’d made himself. He wasn’t chancing the wrath of Ada again
at Bluff Country Store. He cursed beneath his breath.
Intel collected by NCS indicated Kennett was masterminding and orchestrating the attack
on LA from sleepy little Orchard Bluff. Which was convenient for two reasons—its complete
ordinariness and proximity to Willow. The details of that attack were certainly on
those bulletin boards and easels. Jack had to get in there to take a look before he
blew up Kennett’s stash of explosives.
As Jack suspected, Kennett had an elaborate protection system on the bunker. If someone
tried to break in, they’d be blown to bits along with any evidence of Kennett’s sinister
plot.
Archibald Random, head of RIOT, was behind this. Jack didn’t know how it fit into
Random’s overall plot for world domination. And Jack really didn’t care. He’d leave
that for big-picture minds like that of his boss Emmett Nelson to worry about.
Jack was one little, very important cog in the plot to foil Random. And Jack was damn
well going to do his job and have some fun.
Jack was as much an explosives expert as Kennett. And after having been blown up once
himself, he had a healthy appreciation for the finesse required. It wouldn’t exactly
be a piece of cake getting past Kennett’s defenses and blowing up his bomb shelter
with Kennett in it. But it would make for a hell of a show.
* * *
Ada stopped by the shop, arriving with Willow’s favorite fall coffee drink—Ada’s signature
apple harvest pumpkin spice latte.
“What did I do to deserve this treat?” Willow walked around from behind the counter
and took the warm paper cup from her.
Ada pulled off her lightweight driving gloves. “I needed a break from the store. I
thought I’d save you a trip and pick up my order of caramel sauce myself.”
“That’s sweet of you. Do you have time to sit and visit for a minute? I’m due for
a break, too. I’ve been up since dawn making caramel.” She indicated one of the three
small tables reserved for guests. She wished she could confide in Ada. She really
needed to talk her plans over with someone. But there was no way she could divulge
a word of what she knew to Ada. She couldn’t even share her plans with someone in
the know about Jack like Staci.
Being a living spy’s widow was a lonely, isolated life. What she really wanted to
do was talk things over with Jack. He’d get a kick out of her plot. And absolutely
stop her from implementing it.
“I’ve got a minute.” Ada pulled out a chair.
The two of them sat. Willow took a sip of latte and sighed. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
Ada smiled back. “I’ve been working on perfecting the recipe. The secret is a sprinkle
of Ceylon cinnamon on top. I get it from a top-secret supplier of mine. I must protect
my sources.”
Willow laughed at Ada’s spy reference, though she was sure Ada had no idea why she
found it so funny.
“So, I hear you and Shane have a date tonight. What happened to your interest in Con?”
Ada’s lack of enthusiasm for the situation shone on her face.
“Nothing. And it’s not a date with Shane. Just friends getting together,” Willow lied.
“Well, Shane has a different opinion of your evening together. When he stopped by
the store this morning for his coffee, he was simply beaming. And bragging. I think
he thinks he’s going to get some action, if you know what I mean.” She tilted her
head and studied Willow. “I can’t explain it, Willow, but I don’t trust Shane, even
though he is Grant’s friend. There was something almost sinister about his good mood.”
Sometimes close friends were like slipping with the saltshaker while making caramel—a
real pain. Ada was scaring Willow.
Willow shook her head. “Sinister happiness? That’s a new one.” As she took another
sip, she was puzzled by Shane’s behavior. She’d made it clear they were just friends.
Ada leaned forward. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Sure. And if it makes you feel any better, I’ll call you when I get back from Shane’s.”
Jack had taught Willow to always have backup. “And tell you all about it. If you don’t
hear from me by midnight, call me.”
Ada nodded. “And if you’re having such a good time you don’t answer?”
“Call back. If I still don’t answer, I give you permission to charge into Shane’s
and haul me out of there. Or call the cops.”
Ada shook her head and grinned. She obviously thought Willow was just teasing.
“Seriously,” Willow said.
“Okay. Deal. But I think you should be cautious around both him
and
Con.”
“Oh no! Not you, too? You can’t condemn Con based on rumors. Aldo says he’s the real
deal and so does his
nonna.
And no one doubts his
nonna.
” She mimicked Aldo and laughed. “Don’t forget my fabulous sleuthing, either. I did
a thorough online search on him. I didn’t find a bit of evidence of anything criminal,
immoral, unethical, or even fattening.”
“You can’t believe everything you read online,” Ada pleaded with her.
Willow gave up. She needed to confide in someone. She wanted someone to understand
about Jack. She needed an ally, even if what she was about to do was reckless. Especially
given how gossip seemed to funnel through Orchard Bluff Store.
“I can’t help liking Con. He reminds me of Jack. Hang on,” Willow said. “I want to
show you something. Maybe then you’ll understand.” She set her coffee down, popped
up, and went to her locked supply drawer where she kept receipts and other important
papers for the shop.
She pulled Jack’s picture from beneath a stack of papers and carried it to the table,
set it down, and slid it over for Ada to see. “I’ve never shown this to anyone here.
I know people think it’s odd I don’t have his picture on display.” She was just obeying
Agency orders. “It’s hard to explain why.” She shrugged. No one would believe her
anyway. “Everyone grieves differently. I’m trying to move forward with life. I can’t
if I’m reminded of him every day.”
It was as good an explanation as any.
She watched Ada study the picture, waiting for an exclamation of recognition.
Finally, Ada smiled and pushed the picture back across the table to her. Her eyes
sparkled and she appeared to be touched by Willow’s gesture. “Jack was an attractive
man. I can see why you miss him. How does Con remind you of him?”
Willow couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She sputtered for a minute before coming
up with a response. “What do you mean, how does Con remind me of him? Isn’t the similarity
obvious?” Drew and Staci had seen it immediately.
Ada grabbed the picture back and studied it again. “They have similar coloring. I
can see that. And maybe something about the eyes. But you must be reacting to their
personalities. Because, no, really, except for a passing similarity, I don’t think
they look at all alike.”
“B-b-but…,” Willow stammered. “They’re practically twins. Take a closer look.” She
pointed at the picture.
Ada obliged her, studying and frowning. “Nope. Nothing.” She looked up at Willow.
“If anything, Con looks more like Aldo than your Jack. Huh, maybe they are cousins
after all.”
* * *
Willow couldn’t get Ada’s words out of her head as she mechanically went through her
afternoon. How could Ada not see the striking resemblance? It was so blatantly obvious.
Willow felt as if she were living in the Twilight Zone. She half-expected Rod Serling
to appear at any minute to explain what was going on. Like maybe an alien had body-snatched
Ada.
Could Willow have been mistaken? Was she being so stubbornly optimistic and hopeful
that she’d deluded herself into believing Con was Jack because she wanted him to be?
As Willow stood in front of her mirror, brushing her hair and getting ready for her
visit with Shane, she almost chickened out, almost decided it was a pointless mission.
If Con wasn’t Jack, Shane wasn’t a person of interest to anyone, certainly not her.
Not with Con around.
For her evening with Shane, she was going for the opposite look she used when she
was trying to seduce Con. She was going barefaced for the fresh, innocent look, with
just a hint of mascara and a dash of light-pink lip gloss. She applied the gloss and
frowned at her reflection. Did she look too feral? Like a woman on the hunt?
She hated all these doubts. And she really hated the evil woman she’d become. She’d
spent an hour making Shane a special four-piece box of his favorite chocolate-covered
lavender caramels—laced with a strong dose of the most powerful over-the-counter antihistamine
on the market.
She wasn’t taking any chances. She’d learned one thing from Jack and his spy friends
Kyle and Drew—when entering a dangerous, clandestine environment, always, always,
always stack the deck in your favor. And that’s all she’d done, really, just dosed
Shane’s caramels with a little something to make him drowsy, a little chemical something.
Yes, she was all for all-natural and dead set against chemical additions, but she
really couldn’t help herself this time.
It was just too bad it had taken her so long to get the recipe just right. Those silly
antihistamine pills were bright pink on the outside. But, fortunately, white on the
inside. She’d had to crush and strain them to get rid of the bright-pink coating.
Then add extra sugar to cover the bitter taste, which messed with her recipe. So she’d
had to add extra salt so the caramel wasn’t too sweet. Which would seem like an oxymoron
to the uninitiated caramel lover.
Adding chemicals to her organic, all-natural caramel seemed like a crime against nature.
And to make matters worse, she had a bottle of apple wine to accompany it. Wine was
supposed to increase the soporific effects of the antihistamine. Oh, really bad her,
she’d looked up how to make it even more potent.
And now she was even beginning to think like a criminal. She had put one untainted
caramel in the box in case Shane offered her one. She’d marked it subtly with a little
flourish of chocolate on top. And she had an untainted box of caramels in her big
purse that she was going to swap for any leftovers of the drugged stuff as soon as
Shane was out.
And even more heinous her, while Shane boasted about his tolerance for alcohol and
resistance to most drugs, she knew his Achilles’ heel. He was particularly sensitive
to the drowsy effects of plain old antihistamines. Just two weeks ago, he’d complained
to her about his allergies and how he couldn’t take the most effective antihistamine
because it made him way too sleepy to drive or operate the farm equipment.
So, yes, she was bad to the bone for what she was about to do.
And not as confident as she’d originally been. She was so insecure, she’d nearly broken
down and shown Jack’s picture to Shiloh when she’d come in for her shift. Just to
get her reaction and see whether she couldn’t see the resemblance, either. Maybe only
people who had known Jack well could see it? Only remembering Emmett’s firm warning
stopped her. She’d already screwed up once today and look what that had gotten her!
More doubt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Willow curled up on Shane’s ratty old sofa next to him, shoes off, feet bare, legs
tucked beneath her, with a glass of the wine she’d brought in one hand. She was on
high alert for any signs Shane was going to make a move on her as she listened to
him drone on about his late lost love and pry her for details about Jack.
“Crystal had the cutest little birthmark on her neck. Right here.” Shane touched Willow’s
neck just above the hollow of her throat.
She fought a wave of revulsion. The look he gave her, she couldn’t explain it, but
if he’d been a vampire searching for her jugular that look and touch wouldn’t have
creeped her out more. It wasn’t the first time during the evening she’d debated the
wisdom of coming here. If she hadn’t been so desperate to out Jack as himself, she’d
have grabbed her purse and run.
“Did Jack have anything like that? Any identifying mark that if you saw it, you’d
know it was him right away? Something that took your breath away because it was so
uniquely Jack?” He took a drink from his second glass of wine.