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“You could have joined us.” Dooley sat down across from him, raking his shaggy white hair off his forehead. “Made it a party.”
Brock shook his head. “I have to catch a plane early tomorrow morning. Although you didn’t mention where you’re sending me this time.”
“Seattle.”
Brock picked up his beer and took a long swallow. He knew Dooley was watching him, waiting for a reaction. Too bad he’d be disappointed. Seattle was now just another pit stop in a long line of cities. London, Chicago, Toronto. They all blended together after awhile.
He’d grown up around Navy bases in different parts of the country, including Whidbey Island. His mother was a Navy groupie, taking dead-end jobs in towns near a base in hopes of enticing an enlisted man into marriage. She’d caught five, but thrown them back when they’d failed to make her happily ever after. His own father hadn’t even bothered to stick around long enough to see Brock born. Dooley was just one of the four stepfathers who had tried to fill the void. His favorite one.
“Speaking of Seattle, I talked to your mother on the telephone yesterday.” Dooley motioned to the waitress for another round of beers. “She told me she received an invitation to the Talaveras fortieth anniversary party. You’re invited, too.”
Brock nodded, though he had no intention of going. He’d cut all ties with Seattle the day he’d left twelve years ago. Dooley knew all about the Talaveras. Knew how close Brock had been to them before he enlisted in the Navy in the middle of his senior year. Tony Talavera had been his best friend the three years Brock had lived in Seattle. Tony’s family had opened up their home to him.
He stared at his empty beer mug, remembering Sid and Rose and Katie the Pest, Tony’s little sister. She used to have her nose buried in those gothic romances, escaping to her room whenever Tony would tease her about them. It all seemed like such a long time ago.
Their waitress approached, breaking his reverie. Brock sat back and waited until she had set the frosty beer mugs down in front of them and walked away again. “So tell me about this mission.”
One corner of Dooley’s mouth twitched. “It’s a little unusual.”
“Then it sounds like my kind of job.” Brock’s special skills as a military tracker had made him one of Dooley’s best operatives.
At first, Brock had thrived on the recovery work. The travel to exotic locations. The one-night stands with beautiful, mysterious women. But somewhere along the way, his job had lost its allure. It all just seemed so pointless.
He’d thought about quitting, since he didn’t really need the money anymore. But then what? Brock knew he was at a turning point in his life. Unfortunately, he had no idea which direction to go.
He leaned back against the booth. “Who’s the client?”
Dooley took a swig of his beer, then wiped the foam off his upper lip. “A native of Calabra.”
Brock knew about the tiny island nestled in the Caribbean. The people liked to keep to themselves, never exploiting their beautiful beaches or tropical forests for the hordes of tourists that flocked to the other, more well-known islands. Few people even knew of Calabra’s existence.
“This woman is one of the candidates in a special election there,” Dooley continued. “Apparently, she believes recovering the item will win her votes. She promised to pay top dollar and kept emphasizing the importance of keeping this transaction confidential.”
Brock arched a brow. “Don’t we always?”
Dooley nodded, then picked up his mug and grinned. “But guess what she wants?”
“What?”
“A skirt.”
Brock waited for the punchline, but Dooley just kept grinning at him. “A skirt?”
“That’s right. And get this…I received another inquiry about obtaining the same skirt. Only this customer was too skittish to give his name and quickly backed off when I quoted him our usual fee.”
Brock held up one hand. “Wait just a minute. What the hell are you talking about? What skirt?”
“A woman’s black skirt. Made out of some weird kind of black fabric with a zipper in the back and a slit up the left side. I’ve tracked the skirt from New York City to Houston and now my sources tell me it’s reached Seattle. Your mission is to secure this skirt and turn it over to our client in Calabra as soon as possible.”
Brock stared at him for a long moment, then laughed “Sully put you up to this, didn’t he? He’s still peeved because I found that old Egyptian papyrus after he’d been searching for it for eight months.”
“This is legit, Brock.”
“Come on, Dooley. Give me a break. A skirt? Now, if I was supposed to find a woman in a skirt, that might be a different story. I do have certain skills in that area.”
“And you might need them for this job. I told you it was bizarre.”
Brock stared at him over the rim of his mug. “You’re serious.”
“Damn serious. Apparently, there is a rare thread that the natives of Calabra believe has special powers. This thread is woven throughout the fabric of the skirt. It was never supposed to leave the island.”
Brock still wasn’t buying it. “Special powers? Are we talking about voodoo?”
Dooley shook his head. “More like a love charm or some such nonsense. According to this client, whenever a man sees a woman wearing this skirt, he’s entranced forever. The client’s afraid of the havoc the skirt could wreak on an unsuspecting public. Or at least, that’s the story she’s telling.”
Brock grimaced. “A skirt that binds a man to a woman forever. Sounds like my worst nightmare.”
Dooley chuckled. “It’s all a bunch of superstition. I’m still amazed at what people will spend their money on. But apparently this client has tried other avenues to secure the skirt and failed. I promised her that you could get the job done.”
“I’ll admit I’ve been called a skirt chaser a time or two, but never quite this literally.”
“It gets better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess. I have to find matching shoes for the skirt?”
“No, but you do know the woman who has it. Kate Talavera.”
Brock stilled. “Now you have to be joking.”
“Afraid not, Brock.”
He leaned forward. “Are you telling me Kate stole the skirt?”
Dooley shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s been passed through several people since it was smuggled into the country.”
Brock breathed a silent sigh of relief. He didn’t want to think of Kate, or any of the Talaveras, involved in something ugly. Their warmth and friendship was one of the few memories he had that was untarnished.
Brock pushed his beer away. “Why didn’t you tell me the Talaveras were involved right from the start?”
“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t hear me out.”
“You were right.” He stood up. “You’ll have to find somebody else to do this job.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Dooley asked as Brock headed toward the door.
He slowly turned around and moved back to the table, his jaw clenched. “I’m not going to steal from the Talaveras. I’m not going to lie to them, either. And you know I’d have to do both to do this job.”
“I know it,” Dooley said bluntly. “And I know they’re important to you. Hell, that’s why I came to you first. You know better than anybody that I don’t tell my people how to do their job. If someone else goes out on this assignment, then it’s completely out of my control. They’ll use whatever methods are necessary to get the skirt. And you know what that means.”
Dooley didn’t have to spell it out. Brock knew all too well that Kate or any of the Talaveras could possibly be hurt in the process. Kate’s home could be ransacked. Or worse.
“Hell, Dooley.” Brock raked one hand through his hair. “I don’t want to do this.”
“That invitation to the anniversary party is the perfect opening. Make a vacation of it. Catch up with some old friends.”
Brock shook his head. “No way. I’m going to find the skirt and get out of Seattle. If I’m lucky, none of the Talaveras will even know I was there.”
“Does this mean you’re taking the mission?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Dooley squinted up at him, his head cocked to one side. “You always have a choice. You can just walk away. Pretend I never even brought it up.”
But Brock knew that would be impossible now. “Do I have any competition to worry about? Did the second caller go looking for a better deal?”
“It’s possible,” Dooley said slowly. “Did you know the Weasel is going solo now?”
Brock nodded. “I heard something about it.” The Weasel was a mercenary who had worked for a top agency in London. But he was too volatile, so they’d let him go. Now he was working out of the U.S., making cut-rate deals to drum up business. The Weasel didn’t care who he hurt to accomplish a mission. Brock didn’t even want to think about what would happen if Kate Talavera got in the Weasel’s way.
All his old memories about the Talaveras came flooding back. Part of him wanted to see them again, although he knew Tony was in Brazil now, working for an export company and recently married. How would Tony feel if he knew Kate was in possible danger? And that Brock had turned his back on her?
Brock picked up his mug off the table and drained it. “I’ll take the mission.”
“Good.” Dooley held up his beer. “To success.”
Brock had never failed at a mission yet. The key was proper planning and keeping a cool head. Tomorrow, he’d catch a plane to Seattle. Then he’d scope out the territory. The first item on his agenda was locating Kate’s residence. Hopefully, she’d be in the telephone directory, making his job a little easier. If not, well he still had a few contacts in Seattle. He’d find her place one way or the other.
After that, his job would be simple. He’d wait until the house was empty, then search the place until he found the skirt. If he was lucky, and he’d depended on luck more than once in this job, he’d be on an airplane to Calabra by tomorrow night.
So why did Brock have a sinking sensation that his luck had just run out?
2
KATE STOOD in front of a long mirror in her old bedroom, staring at the new secret weapon in her fashion arsenal. The skirt she’d caught at Gwen’s wedding fit perfectly. She turned to the side, thrilled that the mended seam was invisible, thanks to her mother. The thread she’d used was almost an identical match. Almost.
The question was, did the skirt still work?
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that it was her lunch hour. A meeting planner for one of the biggest hotels in Seattle, she normally munched on leftovers from business brunches. But the hotel was full of prospective models today, interviewing for a local talent agency, so the catering menu had been limited to baby carrots, assorted dried fruits, and bottled spring water.
A diet she’d endured herself during her college years, trying to shed all those unwanted pounds she’d carried around as a teenager. A combination of low self-esteem and an Italian mother who loved to cook had led Kate to balloon up to almost two hundred pounds by the time she was fifteen years old.
Now she was a perfect size ten, the same size, ironically, as her petite mother, who never gained an ounce from the high calorie meals she made. Kate smiled to herself, remembering how Rose had entreated her to move home again after Kate’s apartment building had been sold to a condominium developer. She’d gained five pounds just thinking about it. So instead, she’d chosen to stay in a suite the hotel made available to its employees.
But she didn’t intend to stay there much longer—if the skirt still worked. She smoothed down the silky black fabric, the key to winning the man of her dreams. Todd Winslow had been the golden boy at her high school—football captain, senior class president, National Honor Society. He’d been her next-door neighbor since they were both in elementary school, and was always unfailingly polite to her. Not like so many other boys who heckled her about her weight.
But he’d never really noticed her either. And she’d forgotten about him after high school, when he’d moved to California. Until six months ago, when Todd, who owned a successful home shopping network, had invited three of his most influential teachers to appear on the show. Rose Talavera, a retired high school math instructor, had been one of the three.
Upon her return, Rose raved about both the trip and Todd Winslow. Gushing over the courteous way he’d treated her and hinting broadly to Kate that he was perfect husband material. Kate had seen Todd on the show and agreed. He was even more handsome now than he had been in high school. With her mother’s glowing recommendation ringing in her ears, Kate had made an impulsive decision to invite him to the anniversary party. She’d been shocked when he’d accepted the invitation. Especially since he would have to travel over eleven hundred miles from Los Angeles to attend.
Todd had sent his RSVP via e-mail, and they’d been corresponding that way ever since. His messages were both funny and flirtatious. Kate had never thought that she could attract a man like Todd—but now she had the skirt. The altered skirt.
How could she find out if it still worked? The sound of a jackhammer pounding the pavement outside gave her the answer. She’d stroll the sidewalk and see if the construction workers noticed. Of course, a few of them had made catcalls and whistles when she walked into the house so it might be hard to tell. But it was still worth a shot.
Taking a deep breath, she turned and opened her bedroom door, running straight into the man who stood on the other side of it. Lurching back, she screamed as he reached out and caught her by the shoulders.
“It’s all right. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s me. Brock Gannon.”
Her heart beating wildly in her chest, she took a deep breath, trying to subdue the adrenaline rush. “Brock?”
It simply couldn’t be him. Brock Gannon was a skinny teenager with a black leather jacket. This man wasn’t skinny. And he wasn’t a teenager. He stood well over six feet tall and his broad shoulders almost spanned the doorway of her room.
“Brock,” she said again. “Is it really you?”
He nodded. Then his gaze dropped down her body, rising ever so slowly again until his gun metal-gray eyes met hers once more. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just stood there, staring at her with a look of stunned disbelief on his face.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her mind whirling. Brock hadn’t been in the house for over a decade. At one time, he and her brother Tony had been inseparable, sharing a love of fast cars and even faster women. He’d certainly never given Kate, a chubby teenager with pigtails, a second look.
But she’d been a little wary of him anyway. He’d always dressed like a tough hood, with clothes that never seemed to fit his gawky body. He’d never talked much either. And she knew he’d gotten into his share of trouble. It all culminated when he got in a fight his senior year in high school—with Todd Winslow of all people—and had been expelled. Brock had joined the Navy the next day and she hadn’t seen him since.
How ironic that the boy he’d beaten up was the man she’d been fantasizing about just a few minutes before. She wondered if Brock even remembered Todd Winslow, or knew how well he’d done for himself. But judging by his expression, Brock didn’t even remember her.
Then a slow smile curved his mouth, transforming his face into one of the most handsome she’d ever seen. “Katie the Pest? Is it really you?”
She took a step closer to him, surprised to feel a slight wobble in her knees. She held out her hand. “It’s just plain Kate now.”
“Hardly,” he breathed, grasping her hand and pulling her toward him for a hug.
Kate sucked in her breath at the hard strength of his body. Brock Gannon had definitely grown up. She felt the scrape of his whiskers against her cheek and the contour of his finely honed biceps beneath her fingertips. At last, she stepped away from him, a blush warming her cheeks. From the way he was staring at her, she wasn’t the only one disconcerted by the unexpected reunion.
Then it hit her. Brock was looking at her like that because of the skirt. It obviously still worked. But rather than relief, she felt a twinge of disappointment. Brock probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance except for this skirt. The adrenaline rush she’d felt at his arrival began to fade away and the question she had when she first saw him standing outside her bedroom door came back.
“How did you get into the house?”
He hesitated a moment. “The door was open.”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe I forgot to lock it.” She must have been so excited about trying on the skirt that it had completely slipped her mind.
“I just walked right in.” He smiled. “I guess old habits die hard.”
She knew her parents’ house had once been like a second home for Brock. His own home life had been less than ideal, according to her brother Tony. The tiny apartment he shared with his mother was in a seedy part of town, most of their furniture and clothes secondhand. His mother worked nights as a cocktail waitress, leaving Brock to fend for himself. Which was why he’d spent most of his time at the Talavera’s house.
But that was over a dozen years ago. She found it a little odd that he had just walked right in and up the stairs to her bedroom. “What brings you to Seattle?”
He hesitated a moment. “I came for the party.”
“Oh.” She’d sent an invitation to his mother, asking her to pass it along to him, but hadn’t heard a word from either of them. “I never got your RSVP, so I just assumed you weren’t coming.”
“I hope it’s not a problem.”
