My Spy Read online

  “Calm down.” Zoe held out a glass of water. “Drink this and take a deep breath. You're sheet white.”

  “Tell me!” Annie wobbled toward the television, where an ambulance raced through crowded streets, trailed by a full police motorcade. “Is he alive?”

  “No one knows. At least they're not saying.”

  Swaying, Annie reached for the corner of the couch. “What about the children?”

  Reynaldo, her maintenance chief, answered. “Upset, but all safe, thanks to that man in the white uniform.” His eyes narrowed on Annie. “He is the one who was here before, but he never spoke of the Navy. Was he on leave?”

  “I don't know, Reynaldo.” Annie's eyes locked on the television. “Someone must know. What are the news people saying?”

  “Not much. There's a complete blackout.” Her chef frowned. “Why didn't Sam tell you he was in the Navy?”

  Annie stared at the ambulance, her heart racing right along with the swift wheels.

  She hadn't known Sam was in the Navy. She hadn't known he was going to Washington. He'd said very little about himself, shifting the talk to his boat and the weather and the voyage ahead of him. Annie hadn't pressed for information, since it was clear he wasn't going to be staying long.

  For two weeks they'd laughed and sailed and explored the cove.

  For two weeks they'd toasted marshmallows on the beach and watched the stars through his big telescope. Annie had been busy, but she'd made time to slip away. One star-swept night she had leaned against his strong chest, tugged off his shirt, and pulled him down onto the teak deck.

  Afterward, they'd kissed slowly, without words or regrets.

  Both had been very careful not to talk about love.

  Now he might be dying in a pool of blood at the back of an ambulance three thousand miles away.

  Footsteps raced down the hall. The door to the office flew open.

  “Where is she?” Annie's older sister surveyed the room, stunning in tight black trousers and a black silk blouse. Only Annie noticed the ink smudges on her wrist and palm, a dead giveaway that she'd been in the middle of editing a new book.

  Annie sat up straighter. “What's wrong?”

  “You are.” Taylor O'Toole threw up her hands. “I was in the middle of a delicious murder of a very nasty villain when I got a call from your assistant saying that you'd fainted. You've been overworking again, haven't you? Missing meals, too, probably. Why didn't you tell me you needed help?”

  Annie avoided her sister's anxious gaze. “I'm fine, Taylor. It was the bus.” The blood. Sam's blood. She drew a strained breath. “All those children. It just took me by surprise.”

  “You and twenty million other Americans, who are glued to their TV sets even as we speak.” Taylor sank down beside Annie on the couch. “You look like the walking dead. I'm calling Dr. Royland.”

  “I'm fine, Taylor. Don't overdramatize.”

  Her sister's eyes glinted. “One more word and I'll carry you out to the car myself.”

  Annie felt her sister's hands tremble and realized Taylor was terrified, but working hard to hide it. “I'll make an appointment next week, I promise. But not now. I'm too busy to be sick.”

  “Last time I checked you had a staff,” her sister said acidly.

  “A very fine one.” Annie watched her anxious employees drift outside. “But they're overworked already,” she added quietly.

  “And you aren't?” Taylor barked. “You're getting me seriously pissed off.” She glanced at the television, watching a replay of the miraculous rescue, ending in a tight shot of the fallen officer.

  Taylor leaned closer, studying the man's features. “Wait a minute. Isn't that …” There was new understanding in her face when she turned and took Annie's arm.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you up to the house. After that, I'm doing something I don't do often enough.”

  Annie's brow rose. “Giving up leather pants?”

  “Very funny.” Taylor opened the door. “I'm going to take care of my baby sister.”

  “I'm no baby.” Annie took an irritated breath. “I told you I can't take time off right now.”

  Taylor examined the cuff of her silk shirt. “Too bad. As the co-owner of Summerwind, I would be bound to conclude that my manager needed a vacation. An enforced vacation.”

  Annie stiffened. “You wouldn't.”

  “Try me.”

  “That's cheap. No, that's rotten and low-down.”

  “Isn't it, though?” Taylor smiled coolly. “Now, are you coming or not?”

  “LET'S HAVE THE DETAILS. ”

  Annie didn't turn as she searched for her house key. “About what?”

  “About that gorgeous man on the school bus. He's the hunk who moored his boat in the cove last month. You told me he was sailing down to Mexico.”

  The key trembled in Annie's hand. She didn't want to remember Sam's lazy grin or lean, tanned body. She didn't want to think about his first kiss or the moment it had raced out of control.

  “Last month?” She tossed down her coat, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the bank of windows overlooking windblown trees and brooding coast. “It did look like Sam, didn't it?”

  “Don't pretend it wasn't. I saw his face on the television and that's the man you described to me, the one who had just sold his company and was headed on a long, leisurely trip to Mexico and the Caribbean.”

  Annie opened one hand slowly on the cool glass. “Did I?”

  “I'm your sister, not one of your staff, for God's sake. I was gone, remember? So give me the details.” Taylor's eyes narrowed. “Were you lovers?”

  Annie closed her eyes and let her forehead sink against the cold glass. “I told you most of it, Taylor. He said he was off the clock for the first time in five years, and he was going to savor every second.”

  “And?” Taylor prompted.

  “He was nice and funny and we had fun together. I could see he was interested, but he didn't push things. When I had some problems with the new smoke detectors, he offered to take a look.” Annie smiled. “You wouldn't believe how fast he diagnosed the problem. He helped Reynaldo fix the wall below the rose garden, and the next day he repaired Dad's old motorboat in the cove. He was amazing.”

  “So the man was good with his hands.” Taylor's eyes narrowed. “Did you sleep with him?”

  Annie turned away from the twenty-mile panorama of wild sky and racing sea. “I'd rather not talk about it.”

  “Tough. I'm your sister and I want an answer.”

  Annie paced restlessly, avoiding Taylor's eyes. “He was off limits and I knew it. The man was in the middle of his dream voyage and I was swamped with work. We had a few pleasant strolls on the beach, traded a few tall tales and shared a few meals.”

  “What else?”

  “Okay, we spent two nights together. He was … incredible. That's the end of it.”

  Taylor's eyes narrowed. “I don't think so.”

  “Okay, I didn't want him to go.” Annie's voice broke. “I didn't want it ever to end, but it had to, and I felt like a complete fool for letting myself in for a fall. I mean, how stupid can you get? He was on a boat, leaving in a matter of days. I—I fell for him like a misty-eyed teenager.” She took a shaky breath. “But he never made any promises. Neither of us did. So that was that.”

  Taylor moved, blocking Annie's path. “Then why are you freezing? Why did you go bone white when you watched that replay?”

  “I'm not allowed to care? He was covered in blood, Taylor.” Annie sidestepped, hugging her chest. “Why is it so cold in here?”

  “Sit down while I light the fire. After that, you're having my special tea spiked with whiskey.”

  Annie sank into her favorite cozy wing chair. For a long time she didn't speak. “It doesn't have to mean anything. It was just the shock of seeing him on the cement. Completely still.” Maybe dead.

  “Sure it doesn't mean anything,” Taylor called from the kitc
hen.

  Annie closed her eyes, trying not to think about Sam. Finally she shook her head. “I can't stand this. I'm calling Washington. The Navy must have an office there.”

  Taylor carried in a tray. “Of course they do.”

  “Then I'm calling.”

  Taylor poured Annie's tea and set the cup on the end table their father had carved for their mother thirty years before. “I'll make the call. Sit still and drink this.”

  Annie didn't hide her surprise. “I thought you'd be out the door by now. You hate being here at Summerwind. And your next book is due—”

  “My book can wait,” Taylor said flatly. “I don't like the resort, true enough. We both know this place has never been my thing. Even when I was twelve, I was tired of watching the rich, beautiful guests get all Mom's and Dad's attention.” She shrugged. “I guess that makes me a bad-tempered brat, but there it is.”

  “You have your own interests, your own career. There's nothing to apologize for.”

  “Maybe.” Taylor stood by the fire, stiff and slender and effortlessly elegant. “I should have helped you more, Annie. I should have been here, especially that winter when Mom and Dad …” The words trailed away, as gray as lost dreams, as heavy as broken promises. “Okay, I screwed up, I admit it.” Taylor glared out the window at nothing in particular.

  “No one said you screwed up.”

  “No one had to. It was on everyone's faces when I came back. I was the wild O'Toole, the one who broke all the rules and didn't even show up for her parents' funerals.”

  “That's not what people thought,” Annie said quietly.

  Taylor raised a manicured hand. “It's time for the truth. I couldn't face losing them any more than I could face coming back to Summerwind and the town where I've always been such a screw-up. But that's over now,” she said tightly. “I'm here to help, even if the thought of pampering your trophy wives and overpaid sports heroes ranks right up with a double root canal.” She took a deep breath. “I'll even manage to smile when I hand out the aromatherapy masks to the ladies who lunch.”

  Annie couldn't hide her surprise. “I thought you only rented that house on the cliffs for two weeks.”

  “I changed my mind.” Now it was Taylor's turn to fidget. “I bought it last week. You're overworked and you're going to get a break, courtesy of your big sister. Right after I call Washington.”

  Annie was almost too surprised to answer. “I can call myself.”

  “But I can do it better.” Taylor stared out at the dunes rolling down to the sea. “This place is so incredibly peaceful. How could I have forgetten?” She took a breath. “About Washington—I did a book tour there last year. There was a big shindig in Georgetown, and I met half a dozen diplomats and three or four admirals that night. Lucky for you, I always keep private phone numbers.”

  “You got their private numbers at a cocktail party?”

  Taylor straightened her shoulders. “Of course. Having a direct line to an admiral or diplomat can come in very handy.”

  “In case of a hostile invasion?”

  “You are such an innocent.” Taylor sniffed. “Drink your whiskey and tea while I concentrate. Offering blatant flattery can be hard work.”

  For the next hour Annie watched her sister charm and cajole her way through the endless bureaucracy that protected all highly placed military figures in Washington. Taylor was shunted through the Pentagon before finally managing to track down the top admiral on her list. Friendly at first, he turned remote the instant Taylor brought up the wounded officer on the school bus.

  No matter how Taylor finessed and flattered, the man wouldn't budge. No information was available about the status of the fallen officer. Not to anyone.

  Irritated as much as disappointed, Taylor hung up. Her other calls to Washington proved equally unproductive.

  On television, every major channel was replaying the bus footage, intercut with veteran commentators interviewing the relieved parents of the rescued children. But there was no news about the officer who had been carried, bloody and unmoving, aboard a Navy helicopter and airlifted from the scene.

  In a haze of worry, Annie tried several Navy hospitals on the East Coast, only to be blocked by harried operators fending off similar calls. Clearly, all of America wanted to know what had happened to their newest hero.

  Taylor finally left, promising to handle any problems at the resort. Both sisters were surprised when Annie didn't protest.

  Tears pricked, but Annie shut them away, telling herself that modern medicine could work miracles. She knew Sam would be getting the finest possible care. He was probably in surgery at that very moment. Because there was nothing else to do, she began another round of phone calls, hitting the same dead ends.

  As shadows gathered, she sat by the phone, praying for good news.

  Where are you, Sam? Are you alive or dead?

  But like the rest of America, she had to wait.

  Bethesda, Maryland

  The surgical ward was closed down tight. Two senators and a presidential aide paced before the big green doors, glaring at the uniformed guard who patrolled the ward.

  Nurses spoke in muted voices from the nursing station. Down the hall, past the double doors, came the muffled echo of voices mixed with the beeps and hums of advanced technology at work.

  “What the hell's going on in there? It's been almost nine hours. How long can they operate, for God's sake?”

  No one answered the presidential aide. Lean and tanned, he waved a coffee cup. “I need answers. The White House wants a photo op and a prime-time announcement about the recovery of America's newest hero.” He slammed down his paper cup, cursing as his pager began to vibrate. “What the hell am I supposed to say?”

  “Tell the commander in chief that the officer's still in surgery. That much is obvious.” The senator from Montana was a redfaced man whose homely features hid a mind like a shredder. He leaned toward the doors, listening intently. “The equipment is still working. At least they haven't pulled life support.”

  The aide balanced a sleek palm-top device and punched in a text message. “What good is news if you can't stroke it or use it? We know as much as every other damned person in America who saw that live footage. Who the hell was that officer anyway?” He glanced at the senator from Montana. “You work military appropriations. Can't you find out?”

  The senator moved closer, his voice falling. “I know that already. The man's military record would fill a book—if it weren't all classified.” He stared at the big green doors, where his colleague was pacing. “But we may have a bigger problem.”

  The aide snorted. “What could be a bigger problem than a call from the Oval Office and me with no answers?”

  The senator moved uneasily. “Not here. Three o'clock—my office.”

  As he spoke, the double doors jolted open.

  A surgeon in rumpled scrubs strode into the hall. His eyes were lined with fatigue as he tugged off his surgical mask. “Gentlemen, I believe you were waiting for some news?”

  Chapter Three

  “ANNIE, WAKE UP. ”

  Someone was shaking her. She blinked and saw Taylor holding out a portable phone.

  “My friend the admiral just phoned, asking a lot of questions. He wanted your number, so I got down here pronto.” Taylor gestured with the phone, keeping the receiver covered. “I think this is someone from the Navy, but she won't tell me anything. She'll only speak to you.”

  Annie glanced at the clock.

  It was 5:30 A.M.

  She shoved a tangle of hair out of her eyes and took the phone. “This is Annie O'Toole.”

  Papers rustled, and a woman answered. “One moment, Ms. O'Toole.”

  Annie was put on hold. She looked at Taylor and shrugged. “Wake me up at five-thirty, then put me on hold.”

  “Ms. O'Toole?” The male voice held the faintly flattened vowels of the Midwest, heavy with authority.

  “Yes, that's right.”

 
“I see that you've left a number of messages requesting information about the officer wounded on the schoolbus in Washington. May I ask how you know this man?”

  “I met him last month while he was here on his boat.”

  Taylor's eyebrow rose, but Annie paid no attention. She gripped the phone, her heart pounding as the silence stretched out. She could almost sense the man's wariness.

  “Ms. O'Toole, are you interested in his welfare?”

  “I'm very interested.”

  “In that case, you won't mind answering a few questions. When did you last see him?”

  Annie had the sharp sense that her answers were being recorded. Possibly there were other people in the room listening to the call. The thought left her chilled, even though she had nothing to hide.

  A chair squeaked. “Ms. O'Toole?”

  She glanced out the window, down to the windswept beach where she had first seen Sam cruising into the cove. Her heart did a little flip-flop at the memory. “About six weeks ago. When he left, he told me he was headed for the Baja coast.”

  “How did you two spend your time together?”

  Alarm bells began to clang. “Sam helped me with some repairs here at the resort, we enjoyed some local wine and we did some stargazing.”

  “Did he discuss his work with you?”

  “No.”

  “He told you why he was headed south?”

  “For a vacation.” Annie frowned. “Why are you asking me all these questions.”

  “Let's be frank, Ms. O'Toole. Were you and Sam intimate?”

  Annie slammed down the phone without thinking. “That's your answer, pal. Who do you think you are?”

  “You need to disconnect,” Taylor pointed out gently, taking the phone and breaking the connection. “But that was very nicely done just the same.”

  “He was asking about us—personal things. Why should I tell a stranger about my private life?”

  “No reason at all.” Taylor frowned at Annie. “What are you worrying about now?”

  “That I destroyed any chance of getting news about Sam.” Annie rose to pace in front of the window. “Good work, Annie. Bite the hand that was about to feed you.”