I Spy a Dark Obsession

multiple climaxes. Bastian skewered Michael with a withering stare, and the man’s smile dimmed. Bastian remained silent, content to let him fumble.

“I, um, these are my… this is Jeri and Jackie,” he said weakly, waving a hand at them. “Girls, this is my best friend, Bastian.”

He had to admit, they were pretty cute, and gazing at him in open curiosity with guileless expressions on their identical faces. Despite his hurt, he didn’t have the heart to be rude to them. “Ladies, my pleasure.”

The one with red streaks in her hair swatted Michael’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us you had a supersexy best friend in the house? We should’ve invited him to play!”

Bastian raised a brow at Michael as if to say, And why didn’t you?

A flush colored Michael’s cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Maybe Bastian doesn’t like the group scene, dingbat,” her sister said. Then she gave Bastian a speculative, hungry look. “Do you?”

Uh-oh. Caught like a three-legged antelope in a race with a lioness. He was in love with Michael, not dead. His best friend looked ready to disappear… And suddenly Bastian was enjoying himself.

He gave her a wicked grin. “Which sister are you?” he asked the one who’d posed the question.

“I’m Jackie.”

“Actually, Jackie, I love group scenes. I love sex, period, with both women”—he shot Michael a pointed, heated look—“and men.” Let them assume what they would.

Jackie beamed. “Oh, wow!”

“Damn, I’ll bet that’s hot!” Jeri’s wide-eyed gaze bounced between him and Michael, brimming with speculation. And lust. “Can we watch? Please?”

The flush on Michael’s face deepened to the color of an eggplant. Bastian turned on the full force of his charm, taking evil delight in his friend’s discomfort. He’d feel bad later. Much later.

“Oh, I think our friend here might be a teensy bit shy about that sort of thing. He’s still in the closet, you know,” he said in a conspiratorial voice.

The girls nodded in tandem. “Hey, no problem,” Jeri said. But neither of the sisters could hide their disappointment.

“I’m not in the closet,” Michael said stiffly. His protest was ignored.

“Perhaps another time?” Bastian suggested in answer to Jeri’s suggestion. He glanced at his friend. Was it possible for a person’s head to explode?

“Sure!” they squealed together.

“Michael has our number,” Jackie informed him.

“I’m sure he does.” He gave them a wink. “Unfortunately, I have to run. One of us has to bring home the bacon, so to speak. Until next time?” He blew a kiss at Michael. “Later, sweetie.”

The women chorused their enthusiastic agreement while Michael sat in angry silence. And no wonder, with the ideas Bastian had planted in their pretty heads about their living arrangement. Michael was visibly furious that he’d insinuated they not only had sex, but were a permanent couple who played around.

Bastian couldn’t care less, especially after listening to those two vocalize their appreciation of Michael’s prowess all frigging night long.

Stalking through the kitchen, he bypassed the coffeepot and headed straight out the door. Fuck it; he’d drive through Starbucks. And order a triple-caffeinated, hot caramel mocha with four sugars and whipped cream. He’d stop by the gym after work and attempt to kill the calories, along with his frustration.

Turning out of the gate, he soon lost himself in mulling over the strain of living with Michael now that the man was almost recovered. He didn’t know how he’d be able to take another night like last night, but he wasn’t about to leave before Dietz was captured or killed. Preferably the latter.

He was so engrossed in his current misery, the vehicle following several cars behind him almost didn’t register. A silver sedan, nondescript, too far back for him to see the emblem on the grille or read the license plate —Wait, there is no front plate. It had been keeping pace with him for a few miles, never gaining, always leaving cars between them. An innocuous sedan among many, meant to attract no attention. An innocent motorist or a tail?

As planned, he drove to Starbucks, but decided to park and go inside rather than using the drive-through. Under any other circumstances, he might believe he was being overly cautious. The awful memory of Michael bleeding out on the ground cured that notion. If he was being followed, he’d know soon enough.

As Bastian pulled in to the Starbucks parking lot, the silver car turned in to a McDonald’s he’d passed about three businesses back, and got into the long drive-through line wrapped around the building. Bastian got out of his car, locked it, and strolled inside, the picture of a regular guy stopping for his daily jolt before heading to the nine- to-five. Not a care in the world.

The Glock resting in the holster underneath his suit jacket told a different story. He hadn’t been quick enough to save Michael from the assassin’s bullets, and could have just as easily been the one dying because he hadn’t seen danger coming. Never again.

Ten minutes later, he walked out carrying his caramel mocha and a small paper bag containing a cheese Danish, and casually glanced toward the McDonald’s. The silver car was almost to the pay window, if it was the same one. “Time to boogie,” he said under his breath.

Sliding into his car, Bastian set his drink in the holder, the bag on the passenger’s seat, and got under way. As he left the parking lot, the silver car abandoned the line, headed for the exit, and eased into traffic, once again keeping several car lengths between them.

“Bingo,” he muttered. “Now the question is, Who are you?”

Could be Dietz, one of his henchmen, or anyone. Bastian had dozens of agents working scores of cases at the moment, all of which he was responsible for in Michael’s absence. Taking out a SHADO leader would be considered a coup for any of the country’s most wanted, not just Dietz, and he’d do well to remember that.

The fact that the general public didn’t know of SHADO’s existence didn’t mean shit. Many who comprised society’s underbelly did, and that’s what counted.

He was more than halfway to the compound and had turned onto the two-lane road several miles from his destination when the sedan made its move. In the rearview mirror, he saw the vehicle rapidly closing the distance, making no attempt to be discreet now that they were on an isolated stretch with help minutes away. Minutes that could prove fatal.

Whipping out his cell phone, he placed a call to the emergency command center at SHADO, taking some comfort in the fact that those guys were ready to roll twenty-four/seven. The voice on the other end of the line was a godsend.

“This is St. Laurent,” the man said in greeting, tense with concern. “Chevalier?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m about six minutes out, got a visitor comin’ up my tailpipe and not in a good way. Silver sedan, no front plates. Must have something special under the hood to catch my Porsche. I need backup, Jude, five minutes ago.” The car continued to close the gap, and Bastian pressed hard on the accelerator.

“You got it. Hang on.” The blind agent — one of the casualties in Dietz’s grab for power and money — exchanged a few brief words with someone on the other end, then returned. “Okay, we’ve got you on tracking. Stay ahead of the target and our team will intercept.”

“Tell them to hurry, man. Things are about to get nasty.”

With that he closed his phone and tucked it into his suit pocket—

Just as the sedan rammed him from behind. Cursing, he fought to control his lightweight sports car as it fishtailed. While he had his hands full, the driver whipped to the left and put on a burst of speed, bringing the sedan even with his car. Bastian grabbed for the Glock under his jacket and palmed it. Glanced over to see the other driver already had his hand cannon pointed at Bastian’s window.

“Fuck!”

He ducked as the window shattered in a spray of glass. Felt his car get rammed again, jerking to the right. Sitting up, he intended to pop off a shot out the broken window, only to see that he was already on the shoulder of the road, barreling toward the culvert beyond. No time to correct the wheel. Only time to suck in a sharp breath as the car met empty air.

The engine whined and the nose dipped. The front end met the earth first in a teeth-jarring impact, then the