I Spy a Naughty Game

Emma glanced at Blaze and Bastian, shrugging. “Fine with me. I could eat.”

The other two men agreed. Their final meeting with Michael had dragged on into the evening, and by now — almost seven o’clock — they all needed a change of scenery and some food.

Michael pushed out of his chair. “Great! I’ll even buy. Think of it as a good-luck send-off for Mr. and Mrs. John Chase,” he said with a laugh.

For a moment, Emma stared at Michael. She hadn’t seen him laugh in ages, and it looked good on him. He was a damned sexy man, with all that sable hair artfully mussed and sticking every which way. Shaking herself, she got back to the subject. “Do I have to be Brandi? I’m so not a Brandi — sounds too much like Bambi.”

Blaze tweaked her nose, teasing her. “It’ll fit just fine when you get those blond bombshell hair extensions. You’ll be Brandi-licious.”

“Like Pamela Anderson,” Ozzie joked. “All that’s missing is the boob job.”

Blaze poked her playfully in the ribs. “And the oversexed, rehabbed rock star on her arm. Hey, maybe we should give Ash a call?”

Everyone groaned.

“What? I thought it was funny.” Blaze strutted from the office, inviting her to stare at his ass.

Ogling his fine body was one of her favorite pastimes; learning the ropes, literally, in his dungeon was the other. The man knew how to tie a wicked knot and torment her until she screamed, for sure. But she pushed away those yummy thoughts. If she didn’t, she’d never make it through dinner.

The six of them drove separately, except for her and Blaze, since they’d arrived together. They followed their boss to a nice steak and seafood restaurant and, once inside, were immediately escorted to a private dining area, away from prying ears. Michael must’ve called ahead. They settled around the table, and the waitress took their drink orders and left. Michael then set about grilling them again on their specific roles, their check-in and safety procedures — you name it. With regard to this assignment, the man practically knew the color of their underwear. But with what was at stake, he couldn’t afford not to.

What she found most interesting during the evening was the polite tension between Michael and Bastian. When Michael wasn’t looking, the pain-filled gaze Bastian slid toward the man made her heart clench as she wondered what on earth had transpired between them in the past. When Bastian became distracted by questions or comments, the look Michael directed at his friend and colleague was riddled with guilt.

Didn’t take a crystal ball to figure it out — Michael was straight. Bastian wasn’t. And whatever had happened between them had left a divide in its wake the width of the Grand Canyon. She felt sorry as hell for them both.

“It seems we’re all on the same page,” Michael concluded, and gestured to her and Blaze. “You fly to Washington, D.C., first thing in the morning. Get yourselves integrated with Dietz’s moneymen at the Velvet Underground ASAP and get us the information we need.”

“Easy as pie,” Blaze joked. “It’ll be Rambo meets Die Hard times two.”

“Minus the part about blowing up shit,” Bastian put in. “Remember that.”

Ozzie snickered. “At least you get the girl while we have to sit in the stupid van. Wanna trade places?”

“I think not. Can’t blame you for asking, though.”

By the time their meals arrived, the business conversation had turned to more relaxing topics, such as when the hell any of them would be able to take a vacation — somewhere around the twelfth of never — and who at SHADO was getting laid by whom.

Now, that produced an interesting reaction. Ozzie and Willis immediately grumped that they weren’t getting any, while Bastian’s gaze snapped to Blaze, and her lover winked in return. Michael’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he glanced between them.

Oh, boy, dinner and a show.

Ozzie and Willis didn’t even notice and Ozzie chattered away like a magpie on crack, making her wonder how her adorable friend ever became a covert agent. He’d definitely missed his calling as a gossip columnist.

“Damn, that was good,” Michael said, reaching for the bill. “I was starving.”

“You don’t have to pick up the tab,” Blaze protested. “We can pay for our own dinner.”

“Oh, you’re going to pay, all right. Think of this as a perk from me before I send you on a dangerous job.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Their mood was optimistic as they left the restaurant and said their good-byes, then split up and headed across the parking lot to their cars. It was getting late, almost ten-thirty. The lot was nearly empty, the night clear. Emma reached for Blaze’s hand and was about to comment on getting packed for their early flight when a car screeched into the parking lot.

And roared straight for Michael.

“Look out!” she screamed.

Michael spun but had no time to react as the dark sedan braked next to him. An arm appeared out the driver’s window, the glint of a gun visible in the assailant’s hand.

Pop, pop, pop.

Three quick shots, their boss’s body jerking. Crumpling to the asphalt.

She was already running toward Michael as the sedan sped away. Barely heard Blaze’s voice yell, “I’m going after him! Stay with Michael and call McKay for help!”

His Viper revved to life and peeled out, but Emma’s focus was on Michael. Heart in her throat, she dropped next to him just seconds before Bastian and Ozzie ran over and did the same, encircling him. Willis fired off a couple of rounds at the fleeing vehicle, to no avail.

“Oh, God!” Bastian cried. He pushed aside his friend’s coat and ripped open his white dress shirt, rapidly being soaked bright red.

“Bastian,” Michael began, choking. His eyes were glassy as they found his friend.

“No, don’t talk. You’re going to be okay, do you hear me?” Bastian’s voice broke and his chest heaved. Desperately, he pressed on a chest wound with both hands, trying in vain to stanch the flow.

“You’re in charge now.” Michael coughed, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “This has Dietz’s fingerprints all over it. M-make that sonofabitch pay — swear it.”

Bastian nodded, tears streaming down his face. “If it’s the last thing I ever do, I swear it.”

“Good. And Bastian?”

“Yes?” The man swallowed hard and wiped his eyes, visibly struggling to keep it together.

“I’m s-sorry,” he whispered, voice fading as his eyes closed. “Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive! You never lied to me.” He shook his friend. “Michael? No!”

Emma’s shaking hand went over her mouth. Their fallen leader’s breathing was shallow and raspy, and blood was spreading around his body with frightening speed. She was no doctor, but anyone could see that if McKay’s team didn’t get here soon, Michael wasn’t going to make it.

“Please hang on,” Bastian pleaded. “We need you.”

I need you. That’s what Emma heard in his stricken voice, and the tears she’d been holding in finally escaped.

“McKay and his team are almost here,” Ozzie said, flipping his cell phone shut. “Can’t get the medical helicopter in between all these buildings, so they had to bring the van.”

That would take too long. They all knew it.

She waited with her friends, praying Blaze caught the assassin and Michael would survive to see justice served. Silently, she added her promise to Bastian’s.

If it was the last thing she did, Dietz would pay for this.

Blaze raced after the dark sedan, running red lights, dodging oncoming traffic. His mind was focused to a laser point on nothing but catching the assailant and wringing every bit of information from his sorry hide.

And then killing him with his bare hands.

The image of his boss and friend being gunned down in cold blood threatened to wreck his concentration, but