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  He made a rolling motion with his finger, indicating they should keep talking and Boss picked up with, “We’re…uh…we’re gonna need all the mouths we can find in order to get rid of this food Eve’s been cooking.”

  Ozzie nodded and made another rolling motion with his finger even as he bent to grab a notepad and pen from his duffel. Becky picked up the ball and ran with it. “And speaking of, what’s on the menu tonight, Eve?”

  “Um…I,” Eve looked around, baffled. And when her eyes landed on him, Bill nodded and gave her an encouraging wink.

  “Please tell me it’s some more of that Mediterranean pasta salad,” he said, widening his eyes to prod her into playing along.

  “Oh, well…I…” she stuttered but then seemed to physically pull herself together. Her shoulders straightened, her expression firmed, and she stood just a little taller. “I hadn’t planned on it. I thought maybe I’d start with a green salad, and then some lasagna and garlic bread. What does everybody think?”

  Various noises of indecision were made by all as Ozzie hastily scribbled something on the notepad. When he turned the message around, there were exactly two words written there: OPTICAL BUG.

  Oh, shit.

  For a split second, silence filled the room. Then everyone played the game like a champ and started debating the merits of lasagna over pasta salad. And all the while, the goddamned CIA was listening in…

  Chapter Ten

  “Aren’t we going to stop and call to let them know we’re coming?” Vanessa shouted over Rock’s shoulder.

  For the last three and a half hours, they’d been speeding—first down the rutted-out jungle track and then the pot-holed road—toward San Jose on a rusty old motorcycle that Rock had miraculously produced from thin air.

  Okay, maybe not thin air. He’d produced it from out of the jungle. On the opposite side of the road from where he’d picked that leaf for her to chew—which had worked wonders, by the way—he’d scrounged through the shrubs, pulling away vines, and came away pushing what looked like an old dirt bike, but was, in reality, a pile of gears and rusty steel attached to a whining engine that truly belonged in the scrap metal pile at a junkyard.

  Compared to the shiny paint and sparkly chrome on the custom choppers back at BKI, this thing would be ashamed to even call itself a motorcycle. And the ride? Holy hell, she’d thought the long skid and bounce down the side of the mountain was hard on the ol’ ass cheeks, but it was nothing like sitting on the back of, what she’d affectionately come to think of as, Sir Rusty RidesLikeATank.

  “No,” Rock yelled back at her. “I’m gonna leave you at La Sabana Park. From there, you can either catch a bus or call them to come pick you up!”

  What?

  After everything they’d been through together over the past day, he was still determined to do this thing without her help? Without the Black Knights’ help?

  “You’re kidding me!” she barked, then had to grind her teeth together when he leaned into a tight turn. The way the dirt bike sounded, she expected the poor thing to disintegrate beneath her, just explode in a cloud of oxidized dust. But then Rock straightened out, and old Rusty miraculously held itself together, so she continued, “We can help you, Rock! Come in with me!”

  He shook his head before taking another curve, this one in the opposite direction. Once again, she clamped her jaw and tightened her grip around his waist, pressing her face into his back. And she was startled to realize how badly she wanted to plant a kiss there, just push her lips into the shallow divot of his spine so she could feel his hard muscles flex on either side of her face. Just breathe in the smell of him, the warmth of him, the—

  And it was official; she was a total goner.

  Because it didn’t matter what hurtful things he’d said or that he was mixed up in something likely to get him killed—and maybe the rest of them along with him. It didn’t matter that he was stubborn and willful and altogether too quick to take matters into his own hands or that he was determined to toss her away like last week’s takeout Chinese. It didn’t even matter that he swore he’d never feel for her all the things she felt for him.

  What mattered was that she loved him. Loved him with everything she had and, because of that, she was going to help him whether he thought he needed it or not. And if there was one thing she was sure of beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was that he stood a better chance with the Black Knights than without them.

  When they came out of the curve, she scooted forward, pressing her thighs more tightly around his hips, pushing her bound breasts into his back, and tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to ignore the hot stab of excitement that exploded between her legs just by being this close to him with ol’ Rusty vibrating away beneath her. It helped when she felt Rock stiffen in response to her sudden shift in proximity.

  Step one complete. Now, step two…

  Flattening one palm against his washboard belly, she made sure her pinky finger lay no more than a centi-meter away from his penis, and the ache between her own legs throbbed like a bad tooth. But, as anticipated, Rock sucked in a hard breath that allowed her to keep her focus.

  And…step two complete. Step three?

  While he was distracted, she surreptitiously moved her other hand to his hip and carefully slipped her cell phone from his pocket, stealthily transferring it into her own.

  Mission accomplished.

  Hastily, she scooted back, shifted her hand, and felt him relax.

  And, holy smokes, he wasn’t the only one. Because the feel of him pressed all along her front, so hard and warm and completely, utterly male was making her ridiculously lightheaded. And he was certainly right about one thing: she was hot-to-trot where he was concerned. One touch, one look, and she was ready to toss off her panties and ride him like a amusement park rollercoaster.

  Of course, if he’d been unwilling to humor her in that endeavor before, he’d be even more adamant about keeping her at arm’s length here in about half an hour. A little morsel of remorse lodged in the pit of her stomach for what she was about to do, but she ignored it.

  This is what’s right, she told herself, though there was an annoying voice inside her head whispering how Rock may never forgive her for what she was contemplating doing.

  Well, if that’s the case, so be it. I’d rather Rock hate me and be alive, than like me and be dead…

  The little voice pointed out the idiocy of the thought, because, really, how could Rock like her if he was dead? And it was at this juncture in her internal debate that she told the perturbing little voice to fuck off.

  Hardening her resolve, she started wiggling in her seat like maybe she’d contracted a severe case of jungle ass-rot. And just as she’d hoped, a couple of seconds later, Rock glanced over his shoulder concernedly.

  “What’s gotten into you?” he yelled above the engine’s sickly, earsplitting whine. “You’re squirmin’ around back there like you’ve got a whole colony of leaf-cutter ants in your pants.”

  She pasted on an expression of embarrassment and chagrin. “Sorry!” she hollered, then she added, “It’s nothing!”

  He turned back to the road, but only after sliding her a long look of disbelief from the corner of his eye.

  Vanessa bit her lip and writhed around on the torn-up leather seat, wincing only slightly when the maneuver made the bruises on her butt start barking like a pack of wild dogs.

  Rock swung back around, his dark brows pulled down in deep V. “Okay, that’s it! What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “I gotta pee!” she blurted, making sure to wince convincingly.

  “You can’t hold it?”

  She shook her head, and he sighed heavily before turning to scan the narrow expanse of roadway in front of them. After about a mile, an old dirt path appeared on their right, and Rock throttled down. Pulling the rusty bike onto the track, he motored up a short distance, until the mountain forest pressed in on them from either side. Then he stopped and cut the engine.

  S
weet, blessed relief. Vanessa’s ears started celebrating, and she was surprised she didn’t feel them happy dancing on either side of her head.

  “I’ll be quick,” she promised him as she hopped from the bike.

  “Here,” he said, digging into his pack, pulling out a couple of packs of antiseptic wipes and handing them to her.

  “Seriously?” She lifted a brow. “That’ll probably burn like crazy.”

  “Mais, non. They’re not for…” he looked down at her crotch and then glanced away quickly. Was that an actual blush she saw staining his cheeks? “…for that,” he finished, clearing his throat. And, yes, that was a blush.

  Huh. Will wonders never cease?

  The devil in her couldn’t help but press him. “Then what are they for?”

  “They’re for,” he turned back to her, his hazel eyes roaming over her muddy face, “cleaning up a bit. Not that you need to. You’re fine. You’re always fine. You could be covered in cow manure and you’d still be fine. You could be wallowin’ in pig slop and you’d still be fine. I just thought that—”

  He suddenly stopped, obviously realizing he was babbling. Vanessa couldn’t help herself; she was grinning from ear to ear. “Never mind,” he groused, reaching forward to snatch the wipes from her hand, but she held them out of his grasp.

  “No, no,” she told him. “I’ll definitely take them.” Because, truth of the matter was, the thought of scrubbing some of the dirt from her face and hands sounded divine. “And you might think of doing the same.” She looked pointedly down at the wide, dirty palm extended in her direction. “I’ve seen cleaner fingers on a diesel mechanic.”

  Rock glanced at his hand, frowned, said a really filthy word in French, and hid his fist behind his back.

  “Not that I wouldn’t still think you were fine, too, even covered in cow manure or pig slop,” she added, watching delightedly as his jaw slung open.

  Deciding that was the perfect time to make her exit, she didn’t wait for him to respond—simply turned and ran into the trees. Immediately, she was overwhelmed by the sound of insects buzzing, birds chirping, and monkeys screeching in wary alarm. Of course, compared to the noise pollution that was Sir Rusty RidesLikeATank, the jungle’s cacophonous song was a symphony.

  And it was just what she needed for the next few minutes. Because the loud, buzzing hum of the rainforest was guaranteed to drown out the sound of her voice.

  Traipsing through the undergrowth, she stopped when she figured she’d gone some thirty yards or so from the trail. Leaning against a tree, dragging in the rich smell of wet foliage that was a welcome reprieve after sucking in the dirt bike’s rank exhaust for the last three-plus hours, she opened up the packages of wipes Rock had given her and scrubbed her hands and face. The medicated cloths smelled stringent but, more importantly, clean. So she used the last bit of moisture on each to swipe at her armpits. Then she figured she’d stalled for about as long as she could, so she slipped her cell phone from her pocket and thumbed on the device.

  Oh, look at you, you three big, beautiful bars!

  But, still, she hesitated. If she did this thing…

  A myriad of thoughts spun through her head, all of them resulting in Rock losing what little trust he had in her.

  But this is what’s right, she told herself. So, raking in a determined breath, she took one more moment to still her shaking fingers—he’s going to kill you for this, that pesky voice insisted—and punched in a number she knew by heart.

  A series of beeps and clicks established her secure connection, and then there was no turning back.

  ***

  Is this really happening?

  Eve glanced at the faces surrounding her and decided, yes. Yes, this was really happening.

  She was really crammed in her master bedroom closet with a half-dozen hardened operators watching Ozzie finger one of her silk slips while licentiously wiggling his eyebrows at her. “Nice,” he said, nodding appreciatively.

  “Uh…thanks,” she told him, rolling her eyes when he winked as if to say, I can think of a lot of other ways you can thank me, sweet britches.

  And, yes, he’d actually called her that once. Sweet britches.

  Who did that?

  Ozzie apparently. But, in spite of herself, and in spite of Ozzie’s general inclination to toss out ridiculously demeaning pet names, Eve couldn’t help but like the guy. He was just so…so…easy, she guessed was the word. Easy to get along with. Easy to brush off. Easy to not take seriously.

  Unlike Billy…where everything was serious.

  And speak of the devil. Right on cue, Billy slapped Ozzie’s hand like one would a recalcitrant child. “Cut that shit out.”

  “Why?” Ozzie demanded in a stage whisper.

  “Because it’s annoying.”

  “You’re annoying,” Ozzie snapped back.

  “Jesus!” Billy hissed, once more having to smack Ozzie’s hand away because the Black Knights’ computer whiz kid was now in the process of lifting her slip up to his nose in order take a deep whiff. “I said, cut it out!”

  And even though she knew Ozzie was just trying to get a reaction from her and Billy and anyone else who might want to jump into the fray, Eve couldn’t help the blush that stood out like two red flags on her cheeks. The combination of fair skin and a tendency toward almost debilitating shyness was the bane of her existence. Of course, she was working very hard on that last one…

  “Party pooper,” Ozzie whispered, sticking out his bottom lip and rubbing his hand as if Billy actually hurt him.

  “Both of you guys need to zip it,” Boss commanded and, despite herself, despite her determination to “grow a pair,” the man’s booming bass, especially echoing in the small space, made her jump.

  She jumped again when Billy reached out to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Easy, Eve. We’re okay.”

  Crimeny. The way she was hopping around, you’d think she was standing on live electrical wire. And all those gathered in the closet with her had to think she was the world’s biggest wimp. Yep, she could almost see the circus sideshow advertisement now…

  Come one, come all! See the woman with the amazing backbone of a squid!

  Great. Just…great.

  Taking a deep breath, promising to smack herself upside the head should she jump for no reason again—a little aversion therapy never hurt anyone—she glanced around the group, briefly registering the fact that she missed the warmth of Billy’s hand when he removed it. “Are we really okay? Because if that’s the case, I don’t understand why we’re all crammed in the closet. And just what the heck is an optical bug anyway?”

  After Ozzie held up that message, to her utter befuddlement, they’d talked inanely of food for the next couple of minutes until Steady—she’d learned he was the equivalent of the Black Knights’ doctor-on-staff—strolled over to her Bose iPod dock and jacked in his iPhone. Seconds later, the booming beats of Los Lobos blasted through the house, and Boss motioned for everyone to follow him.

  Here.

  To her closet…

  “An optical bug is a high-tech listening device undetectable not only to the naked eye but also to standard bug detectors,” Ozzie explained. And it was amazing how quickly he could go from class clown to engineering professor. If he’d been wearing a pair of glasses, this is the part where he’d shove them up the length of his nose. “What it does is shoot a high-powered beam of light at a window where it picks up on vibrations in the glass. It then turns those vibrations into audible speech. But as James Bond as that sounds, an optical bug has a fatal flaw.”

  She lifted a brow, feeling the need to pinch herself. Who would ever believe the Chicago debutante whose sixteenth birthday party ran on the front page of the society paper was in a closet with a group of clandestine government defense warriors, trying to help a supposed rogue operator, all while being bugged by…who was bugging them exactly?

  That was going to be her next question.

  “If you turn o
ff the infrared filter on a digital camera,” Ozzie continued, “and snap a photo, the light beam shows up as a red dot.”

  He handed her his digital camera, and there on the display screen was her living room. And there in the middle of her living room window, was a big, glowing dot.

  “I knew,” he went on, “given Boss’s general tendency toward paranoia—”

  “It’s only paranoia if they’re not out to get you,” Boss interrupted, his expression surly, which caused Ozzie to grin like a little kid.

  “Like I was saying,” he continued, “given Boss’s general tendency toward paranoia, I knew you guys had swept the premises for bugs, so I couldn’t figure out how they picked up Vanessa’s trail. I knew they couldn’t have tagged her leaving the house. We’re all too good for that. And I’ve seen her Ricardo Ramirez disguise. That thing’s a beaut. So, no way, just by seeing her, they’d realize who she was. Which meant they had to know what to look for and where to look for it. And the only way they’d know that was if they’d somehow been listening in on the goings-on around here. That’s when I realized…optical bug.”

  Eve couldn’t stand it anymore. “Who are they?” she asked.

  “The CIA,” Becky, Boss, Ozzie, and Billy all answered at once, while Steady simply muttered, “The Company.”

  Uh-huh. She raised a hand to her spinning head.

  Geez freakin’ Louise! She’d known the U.S. government was after Rock. That’d been made very clear to her when Becky first approached her about appropriating her vacation home as a base. But she hadn’t realized that by agreeing to help the Knights try to clear Rock’s name, she’d also be making herself a target of “The Company.” Which probably showed exactly how naive and gullible she really was.

  “It’s okay, Eve,” Becky assured her, reaching forward to squeeze her fingers.

  “Um,” she blinked, this time not worrying about the fact that her squiddy backbone—or lack thereof—was showing, “how is it okay? The freakin’ CIA is after us.”