Good. Drink, drink.
The more alcohol he had, the more effective that antihistamine was going to be.
“Yes,” she said. “He had the cutest cowlick just here.” She reached over and stroked
Shane’s head, indicating the spot and making a note to remember it. Because, of course,
she was lying. Jack didn’t have a cowlick. But the Agency had warned her well and
good. She never gave out intel about Jack, not to anyone. Least of all to a man she
was suspicious about.
A bag of chips and a bowl of dip sat on the coffee table in front of them, untouched.
Shane indicated it. “Have some chips and dip. I made the dip myself. From a mix.”
He laughed.
The last thing she intended to do was eat anything she hadn’t brought herself. For
one thing, she’d seen the unsanitary condition of his kitchen. And for another, Jack
had always told her that when you’re on a spy mission you don’t trust the food of
the enemy. Wise counsel. It could be poisoned.
“It looks delicious. Maybe later. First, I’ve brought you something sweet.” She popped
up to get it, watching him over her shoulder as he finished the glass of wine and
she set hers on the table.
Yes, she was an evil woman, sympathizing with him about his grief and plying him with
alcohol so the antihistamine would work to maximum effect. She wanted him dozing soundly
so she could snoop. She just hoped that if he was indeed an enemy agent, he hadn’t
planted surveillance cameras all over the place.
A fire crackled in the old fireplace and, although it should have made the room seem
homey, did little to mask the sense of gloom in the house.
She went to her purse, which she’d dumped on a nearby chair, and pulled the box of
doctored caramels out.
“For you.” She held the gold foil box wrapped with a lavender ribbon out to him, poised
on her fingers like the apple the witch had offered Snow White. Maybe she shouldn’t
have been so obvious when offering her poison? “A get well gift. Chocolate and caramel
never fail to make a person feel better. I made them specially for you.”
Not in a dark dungeon, like Snow White’s witch, but concocting poisonous treats is
an evil business, even if done in a candy kitchen for the good of Willow’s marriage
and possibly the world.
Shane didn’t seem to notice either her deceptive, too-sweet nature or her nerves as
he took the box from her outstretched hand. “Specially for me, huh?”
He pulled off the ribbon and then the lid of the box. “Are these what I think they
are?”
NCS chief Emmett Nelson had always told Jack and his buddies that the most convincing
way to lie was to tell as much truth as possible. Wedge the lie in the middle, where
it would go unseen.
Following that advice, she nodded and smiled as she picked up her wineglass and sat
down. “I made them this afternoon. I’ve been fiddling with the recipe and wanted your
opinion on the new blend.”
She wanted to know whether the antihistamine flavor was too strong and would kill
the market for this new
knock him out
flavor. Not that she had any intention of selling them. Not unless she got her pharmacy
license. Though she did have a great name for them—KOs.
Shane waved his hand over them as if wafting their scent toward him and took a long,
big sniff, acting as serious as if he were judging the world chocolate contest.
Willow held her breath. Just how sensitive
was
his nose? Was he like Jack, who could sniff out an explosive or foreign chemical
from ten feet away?
She felt a sudden chill creep down her spine as she realized her own stupidity. If
he was a foe of Jack’s, of course he’d be able to sniff out the allergy meds in the
candy. Not that they were particularly aromatic, to her nose they didn’t smell at
all, but she’d seen Jack sniff out things she couldn’t smell for the life of her.
He had the fine nose sensibilities of a chemical bloodhound.
She fought hard not to cross her fingers in front of Shane. With Jack potentially
back in her life, everything had taken on a sinister nature again. But not all spies
had Jack’s nose for chemicals, right? She couldn’t remember Drew having the same knack.
At least not to the same degree.
“Ah … deep, dark chocolate. Lavender.” Shane smiled at her. “Am I missing anything?”
She almost relaxed. “No, I think you got it all. Excellent.”
Shane, with his dimples and blond growth of five o’clock shadow, should have been
appealing to the point of irresistible. Lettie would have been all over him. But Willow
felt a shiver of revulsion. She hid her feelings by taking a sip of wine, hoping it
would mellow her fear and make her relax.
She felt a deep sense of foreboding, but she’d felt that since the anniversary of
Jack’s death, so it was no help to her now. She was on her own.
Shane, however, didn’t stop playing his chocolate connoisseur game. He kept wafting
and sniffing as she held her breath.
Finally, he smiled. “Liar!”
She jumped, nearly spilling her wine.
“You’ve added more salt.”
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. He was exactly right. How could he tell
by simply smelling? He did have Jack’s talented nose. She’d been totally reckless.
And yet, either Shane was toying with her or she’d gotten away with her deception.
She forced herself to keep smiling. “You really are good!”
Whether he smelled the chemical addition or not, he had a dangerous talent. She had
to proceed carefully.
“I’m experimenting with making lavender sea salt caramels. You picked up the extra
salt.” She let her surprise show and lowered her voice, hoping to keep him distracted
until she drugged him. “You have a talented nose.”
He smiled and leaned close to her. “The best.”
Not quite. Or you would have picked up the antihistamine. Jack would have. Or maybe
you have and you’re toying with me.
“We’ll have to convince you to come back next year and judge the apple pie contest.”
“I’d be up for it.” He leaned back and spun the box around 180 degrees in his hand
with a flourish so that the doped caramels ended up closest to her. He offered the
box to her. “Ladies first.”
Jack would have cursed at Shane’s table-turning chocolate box maneuver. She had made
sure to hand the box to him so that the untainted caramel should have been nearest
her. Willow tried not to bite her lip and give away that she was nervous.
Think like a spy.
It would be impolite and out of character for her to reach across the box and take
the caramel farthest from her. An enemy agent would notice her deliberate move and
get suspicious. She had to act naturally.
She took the box from his hand, studied it, gave it a gentle half turn as she pretended
to make up her mind about which piece of candy to take, and held the box back out
to him. “Oh, I couldn’t. I made them for you. You have to choose first.” Again, nothing
but the truth there.
She’d handed him the box in such a way that the drug-free caramel would be near her.
She had to protest once more, just to keep up the ruse, but she hoped he still insisted
she take the first piece.
“No, seriously. You first. My mama taught me manners. She’d have my head if I didn’t
treat you like a lady.” He spun the box around again.
She smiled and took a drugged caramel. She waited while he selected a candy, fortunately
a drugged one, then set the box down.
Her heart hammered in her chest like one of Shane’s dogs begging to get out the door.
The dogs lay, heads on their paws, at Shane’s feet by the sofa, mournfully looking
up but refusing to beg for a treat. Shane had them well trained.
“To death by heavenly chocolate and caramel!” Shane raised his caramel almost as a
toast and laughed.
At his words, she nearly dropped her caramel, recovering just at the last second to
raise it to her lips. She’d put enough allergy medicine in it to put down an elephant.
There’s no way she wanted to take a bite.
But there was nothing for it. She held her caramel up to her lips to bite and “slipped,”
dropping it from her fingers.
The candy fell on the floor. Buddy dove for it and licked it up. She and Shane reached
for Buddy, each in a fury to stop him from swallowing it.
She watched in horror as Buddy chomped and caramel-tinged saliva rolled down his doggie
cheeks.
Shane got to him first. “Drop it!”
Buddy stared at him, looking innocent.
“I said, drop it!”
Buddy barked twice and wagged his tail. His mouth was empty.
“I’m so sorry!” Willow looked on in horror. What had she just done to Shane’s dog?
“That’s dark chocolate he’s just eaten. It’s almost as bad for a dog as pure cocoa.
He’ll be sick. We have to take him to the vet.”
Shane set his caramel down and shook his head, looking as if the last thing he wanted
was to make a run to the vet. “Bud’s a big dog, aren’t you, boy?” He rubbed the dog’s
jowls and scratched him beneath his chin. “There wasn’t enough chocolate to make a
dog his size sick enough to worry about. He’ll be fine.”
Shane gave Buddy the evil eye. “I just hope he doesn’t get a taste for chocolate.
If he does, he’s no good to me.”
Something about his tone sent a shiver down her back. He meant it. And a dog who was
no good to him—what did he do with such an animal?
“But, really, Shane, I think we should—”
Shane cut her off with a look.
She felt awful, absolutely horrible. She didn’t believe Shane. She’d put an extra-thick
coating of chocolate on those caramels to disguise the taste of antihistamine. And
she’d used 70 percent cacao chocolate. The higher the cacao content, the more dangerous
it was for dogs. What if poor Buddy got sick?
She’d never be able to drug Shane then. And she wouldn’t forgive herself for accidentally
hurting Buddy.
Shane grabbed Buddy’s collar, called to Duke to follow him, and led them out of the
room, returning shaking his head.
He sat down right next to her on the sofa. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, deep, dark-chocolate–covered
caramels.” He picked up his caramel, grinned at Willow, and put it into his mouth
whole.
That was easy.
He rolled his eyes back in pleasure as he sucked on the caramel. “Heavenly.”
Play the game. Never give yourself away or you’re dead.
She heard Jack’s warning in her mind almost as clearly as if it were audible.
She held the candy box out to Shane again. “Have another.”
* * *
Jack stood at the edge of the Rooster’s apple orchards at the top of the path of flowers
just outside the apple barn. He wore black camo, his typical
sneaking out and spying at night
garb. He was nothing more than a shadow. Death coming in little army combat–booted
feet. Kennett’s dogs hadn’t even picked him up.
He stared at Willow’s car in the driveway, frowning.
What the hell is Willow’s doing here?
Yes, he’d been tracking her. When her car headed for Kennett’s, he had to follow.
Happily, her visit coincided with his mission to infiltrate Kennett’s, so he could
kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Although he intended to kill only one
bird, a great big cocky one.
His heart stopped for just a minute before kicking back into gear with an unreasonable
stab of jealousy. And a pang of denial—maybe she was just hanging with the dogs. Yeah,
everyone in there was a dog, including Kennett. But Jack was thinking of Buddy and
Duke, who were a higher class of animal altogether than the Rooster.
Jack bit back a long string of curses in Portuguese that Kyle had taught him years
ago. There was nothing quite as impressive as Portuguese cursing. Jack had an irrational
urge to ram Kennett’s door in.
Which, of course, was not covert at all. That didn’t stop Jack from wanting to charge
in, take back his wife, and carry her caveman-style the hell out of there. Kennett
anywhere around Willow gave Jack barbarian urges.
Was she taking pity on a poor invalid? Just being friendly? Or something more dangerous?
Had she finally made the connection between Kennett and Con? He hoped not.
Jack’s pulse pounded out of control at a time when he needed calm and clear thinking.
The woman was stubborn. She wouldn’t rest until she found out for sure whether he
was himself or not. None of which explained exactly what she was doing here. Or why
he was so damn jealous and distracted. He forced his attention back on his mission.
The apple barn beckoned before him, locked tightly with an alarmed padlock. Breaking
through it was not a problem for Jack.
The curtained, warmly lit living room window before him, however, was a huge temptation.
There was just the tiniest of cracks between the bottom of the curtain and the window
ledge.
Enough for a spy camera to peep through.
Jack just hoped the Rooster hadn’t armed any devices to jam Jack’s night-vision goggles
or spy cams. Jack slunk to the side of the house with his bag of spy gear slung over
his shoulder, tiptoed through the fall asters and mums, insinuated himself between
Kennett’s siding and his bushes, and inconspicuously put his high-def, night-vision
spy cam key chain on the outside window ledge so it could focus through the tiny slit
beneath the curtain. After activating it, of course. This wasn’t the cheap kind with
a flashing red light to give it away. This was the real-deal CIA-grade device.
Jack wore night-vision goggles with spy cam receptor video. He hunkered down in the
bushes and turned on the video receiver. Almost instantaneously he was watching Kennett
cuddle up next to Willow.
Nope, Kennett hadn’t set up a jammer.
There’s jealousy and then there’s soul-baring, blinding, raging, protective jealousy,
the kind that makes a guy want to kill. Jack experienced a high-voltage jolt of the
second kind. He did not want that killer touching Willow, not even to shake her hand.
Before Jack could master his emotions, he rammed his shoulder against the outer wall
of Kennett’s house.