License to Love (An Agent Ex Novel)

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  To the courageous men and women who serve our country, clandestinely and otherwise, at home and abroad, and the spouses and families who wait for them.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Stinger

  Teaser

  Also by Gina Robinson

  Praise for Gina Robinson

  About the Author

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  A LUXURY HOTEL ON THE STRIP

  LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

  Disappearing on her husband in the middle of an expensive Vegas magic act would be considered rude. By almost everyone. Especially given that undercover CIA agent Lani Silkwater was performing on stage with her husband of less than a day, premier illusionist Rock Powers. As his exceptionally able-bodied assistant.

  She’d shown him just how able-bodied too many times to count, on stage and off. But particularly last night, on their wedding night, when she’d played contortionist just for him. The memory should have made her blush, if she’d been prone to blushing.

  Damn, Rock, she thought as she waited in the dark just offstage for her cue.

  He’d gotten her drunk and taken advantage of her, plying her with romantic sweet nothings and shuffling her off, still in her stage costume, to be married by Elvis before she came to her senses. Being duped by Rock was the truly embarrassing part. She wouldn’t be surprised if she discovered he’d drugged her drinks.

  If she’d been sober, she never would have signed the license. And he knew it. But he was as smooth a manipulator, as charming a rogue, and as big a liar as any spy or foreign agent she’d ever known. And she’d known plenty. In his favor, he worked magic with his hands, and she didn’t just mean in the show. You had to love a man skilled at sleight of hand.

  Worse still, she’d been so sloshed, she’d signed the stupid document, Lani Silkwater, which was her real name rather than the cover name Rock knew her by, Lani Torres. A fact she’d only realized in the morning when she woke and spotted their signed commemorative certificate of marriage sticking out from the breast pocket of the jacket he’d tossed on the floor by the bed.

  Blowing her cover was a major, major violation of the trade, a total lapse in spycraft. And probably made the damn thing legal. Hopefully, Rock hadn’t bothered to check her signature for authenticity and noticed the name she’d used. He’d been nearly as drunk as she was.

  Fortunately, he wasn’t the only one in this relationship with sticky fingers. She knew a thing or two about pickpocketing, too. She’d lifted the certificate and stuffed it beneath the insole of the three-inch-high white pumps she wore. The stupid thing would probably give her a blister when she made her stage entrance and danced into Rock’s arms.

  First thing when she got back to Langley, if she got back to Langley, she’d have to tinker with the marriage records and get her name replaced with her stage name before it became public record. She’d love to just delete the marriage, wipe it off the books altogether. But that type of operation required higher clearance than she possessed. She knew guys who could do it, both in and outside the law. But the fewer people she involved, the better. The last thing she wanted was to call her blunder to the chief’s attention. CIA National Clandestine Services Chief Emmett Nelson would not be happy. He’d be furious.

  Chay, the show’s choreographer, rested a hand on Lani’s shoulder. She jumped. He’d sneaked up on her with those graceful, quiet dancer moves of his.

  “Sorry!” Chay laughed. “Got a case of jitters tonight?”

  Jitters? Fear of being executed on stage, more like. Assassins are such harsh critics.

  Lani faked a nervous smile. Fortunately, she was good at faking just about anything. She felt confident the smile looked genuine enough to fool Chay. “I was lost in thought. I didn’t hear you.”

  “A great performer always concentrates on the show.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You’ll do fine. You’re always brilliant.”

  Empty promises and false assurances. If Chay knew the stakes involved and the men I’ve angered, he’d be preaching a different message. Like run for your life.

  Chay gave her shoulder a squeeze. “One more minute. Are you ready?”

  As ready as I’ll ever be. She nodded. Being an adrenaline junkie helped.

  Rock had inadvertently put her in an especially uncomfortable bind. Joining in holy wedlock, or even questionably holy wedlock performed by the King, violated the Agency’s unwritten rule, particularly without the blessing of her boss. Fortunately, she worked for the good guys. Emmett would merely bench her and assign her to desk work at Langley when he found out.

  Merely. If she hadn’t been about to go on stage with the eyes of the crew on her, she would have rolled her eyes. Desk work would kill her. Which is why she intended to rectify the situation before the boss got even the smallest inkling of her mistake.

  She took a deep breath and tried to get her head in the show. She should count her blessings. If she’d been an enemy RIOT agent, she’d already be dead instead of planning a run for her life before the end of her act.

  A valuable piece of top-secret intelligence, intel she’d stolen just before the show, information that would save Hoover Dam from being blown to smithereens in an attempt to bring down the Western power grid, rested between her breasts beneath the tightly corseted white bodice of her costume. Which was, ironically enough, a wedding gown with a diaphanous skirt that would catch the laser light bouncing around the stage. The sheer material showed off her tan legs and the tiny white-sequined bikini panties she wore underneath.

  Rock had supervised the design of the costume, and constructed the illusion himself to be spectacular and bend her mind to his will—convince her to marry him. His reasoning had been that if she played his bride night after night she’d eventually acquiesce and actually marry him. After all, he was a world-class master of persuasion and mind-bending. When she hadn’t, he’d done what he did best—resorted to trickery.

  The music on stage rose to a crescendo. That was her cue. Chay gave her a gentle shove. “You’re up. Break a leg, beautiful bride girl.”

  A broken leg would be lucky compared to the danger she faced, namely death by sniper bullet and a broken heart.

  As Lani glided seamlessly into the act, her long dark hair blew in the breeze created by fans at the other end of the stage. This was the most dangerous part of the performance for her. Blinded by the stage lights, the audience before her disappeared, becoming a clapping, cheering, dark mass housing a Revolutionary International Organization of Terrorists, or RIOT, agent who wanted his intel back and her very dead. With any luck, he wouldn’t try to kill her until he was close enough to search her body and
retrieve what she’d taken.

  But RIOT agents were unpredictable and often crazy. A single shot and she’d crumple, a wilted, red-stained white bridal flower bleeding out before the audience’s eyes.

  As she strutted toward Rock and his outstretched hand, playing the seductive part of the eager bride, her breath caught at the sight of him.

  His long, dark bangs fell forward over his forehead. Stage makeup emphasized his sexy five o’-clock stubble. And his brown eyes sparkled beneath the heat of the stage lights with lust and challenge, with showmanship and desire. Rock claimed the spark between them gave the show the magical quality it needed to thrill audiences and made his life complete. If that were really the case, she was about to do the unforgivable—betray the man who was her magic.

  She’d violated still another of the most important rules of spycraft and fallen in love with her target. Now she had to pay the price and do her duty. She’d been sent not only to save the dam from the RIOT scum, but to steal an extremely valuable illusion from Rock.

  Magic thrummed through the air, created by Rock’s magnetic presence and sheer force of personality. By the music and the lights. The stage. The curls of smoke wafting up. The illusions he created were so powerful and complete, an extension of his mind that she almost believed them. And she knew his secrets.

  Her spy senses on high alert, Lani swore she could feel her enemy draw a bead on her as she took Rock’s warm hand and felt the spark his touch always elicited. She sensed her stalker calculating the risks and odds of success.

  As the volume of the music rose, she guessed her hunter knew he didn’t even need a silencer. Every eye in the audience would be on Rock. No one would see the RIOT bastard shoot her. He’d be the magician of the moment. But he wouldn’t get what she’d tucked between her breasts. That was her only safety net right now.

  She smiled at Rock with her heart breaking. She was planning to ruin his life.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, behold my beautiful bride.” Rock squeezed her hand. “Isn’t she lovely?” His voice boomed through the theater, silken and husky. “I married this girl last night. For real, folks.”

  Lani’s heart stopped. He wasn’t supposed to make a public announcement.

  Even the most cynical heart loved a real-life love story. The theater resounded with the audience’s approval, drowning out the panicked beating of her heart in her ears as adrenaline kick-started her back into action. Rock squeezed her hand again, reminding her of her role. Lani inclined her head toward the crowd as Rock had taught her and turned to face him.

  Dressed like a disheveled groom after the ceremony and grinning like an idiot, he looked pretty much as he had last night as he carried her over the threshold of his mansion. Tight black tux pants. His gauzy white shirt falling open to his waist, revealing a hard, defined chest with every muscle glistening beneath the lights. It was tucked into a small, stylized vest, a wide belt really. His bow tie was untied, hanging loose on either side of his chest. The look in his eyes said he couldn’t wait to ravish her.

  Just looking at him turned her on and broke her heart.

  I hate to leave you, baby.

  He may never believe it, but she loved him. He and his crew had made her feel as if she belonged, like only the Agency had before. She hated to leave him. But she couldn’t stay and she couldn’t tell him she was going or why. If she lingered much longer, she’d be dead.

  He pulled her into his embrace. “They say that love makes you feel as if you’re walking on sunshine. As if your feet don’t touch the ground.”

  Slowly, they began to levitate together. But the audience wasn’t impressed. Not yet. Not until another sexy, scantily clad assistant tossed him a shiny silver hoop and he spun it all around them to prove there were no strings attached.

  He lied, of course. But the audience gasped and applauded, believing him.

  She wrapped herself around him. She touched his cheek, ran her fingers through his hair, and stared into his eyes, trying to memorize every detail of them.

  She mouthed, “I love you, Rock.”

  And then she kissed him. It was supposed to be a stage kiss. A faked tongue-down-the-throat affair. But she made it the real deal. Pressed up against him. Opened her mouth to him. Kissed him as if they were doing a repeat of their wedding ceremony. As she did, they levitated higher into the air.

  The crowd went wild.

  During the months Rock had been honing her magic, he taught her the secret to the coin drop. He told her to practice by holding a coin in her hand and staring at it so that when she performed the trick and was in reality staring at her empty hand as if it held the coin, she’d be convincing. She took his advice now, and kissed him as if she were staying, coiled herself around him as if it would be impossible for her to disappear.

  But, of course, that was the magic of this trick—making just her disappear, leaving him, the sexy, mournful, frustrated bridegroom dangling and holding empty air. The timing had to be perfect. She prayed her assassin didn’t see her disappearance coming. Just a second more …

  Rock gave the signal. Now.

  “Bye, baby.” In one swift, confident move, she swung behind the black curtain behind her. She motioned for the stage crew to let her down and unhooked herself from the wires as the audience roared with approval. From their vantage point, it looked as if she had disappeared in a puff of white smoke. Vaporized.

  She landed on the floor behind the curtain with a thud that the music drowned out.

  The stagehand nearest her frowned at her. She was going off script and he was confused.

  There was little time. In an instant, Rock would call her back.

  She had just moments to escape, but she couldn’t leave him to fail. “I’m not feeling well. Clara!” She motioned for her double, who waited in the wings, to take her place. “Quickly.”

  Clara was the same height, age, body type, and general appearance as Lani. They doubled for each other in acts that required teleportation or being sawed in half. With enough makeup, they could pass for each other on stage. Not on camera, but they were close enough to fool a theater audience. Fortunately, there were no cameras for this trick.

  Clara realized something was wrong and came running.

  Lani pulled her veil and tiara off as Clara rushed to grab them from her and pin them on. With luck, the audience wouldn’t notice the difference between the two women and would assume Lani had reappeared in a siren’s dress meant for after the ceremony.

  She tried not to think about what Rock would think.

  Before anyone on the crew could protest, Lani ran off the stage, through the backstage area, and down the hall toward freedom, her high-heeled bridal shoes clicking on the vinyl floor as she sprinted off to save the world.

  On second thought, disappearing for good with their marriage certificate in her shoe, less than twenty-four hours after the nuptials? Simply popping out and not reappearing at his command during the middle of his successful act—yeah, that was heartless. Even for Lani, who was used to disappearing on people.

  CHAPTER ONE

  LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

  TWO YEARS LATER

  Out of costume and dressed inconspicuously in a show T-shirt, jeans, and a silk-screened black hoodie to hide his distinctive tattoos, Rock Powers leaned against the crowded casino craps table and placed the bet he’d been cryptically instructed to play, Hi-Lo. The house edge on this placement was just over eleven percent. The payout fifteen to one. So far he hadn’t won. What else was new? He was beginning to wonder whether he was wasting not only his money, but his time. He wondered the same thing about his search for Lani nearly every day.

  On his own, he’d never play these lousy odds. The house always held the advantage. Just like fate seemed to. He preferred to stack the deck in his favor, which was why he was banned by the Vegas casinos from playing any card game. Too good at sleight of hand, and palming and counting cards. Anyone as good at the ambitious card trick as he was was bound to be suspect. Ha
zard of the magician’s trade. The mysterious person who’d instructed him to play craps and wait to be contacted knew a thing or two about him. Which was reassuring, in a strange, creepy way. At least the guy had done his research.

  Rock was a gambler, but only on stage, and in his bid to find his missing wife. Much more of this futile betting and he’d lose his favorite Rock Powers Faith Unseen show T-shirt right off his back. Hey, it was a limited edition.

  Where the hell was the bastard who’d given him these ludicrous instructions to place this bet and wait for him to identify himself? The mysterious contact that either had a Jason Bourne complex or was some kind of an espionage nutcase.

  I know where your wife is.

  The words on the missive slid beneath his dressing room door two nights ago, on the last night of his show’s run until it picked up again in November, haunted Rock. He might have ignored it; turned it in to security so they could catch the guy the next time he slunk by. Except for the enclosed QR code. Which when Rock had snapped a shot of it with his cell phone, took him to a video of a living, laughing Lani. A hypnotic video Rock had studied until he felt as if his eyes were going to fall out.

  Lani, two years older? Different hairstyle. Wearing up-to-date trendy fashions and makeup. A newspaper in the background with a current date. But then anyone could print one of those up, right? Her fabulously rich laugh. He couldn’t get enough of hearing it over and over again. When was the last time he’d laughed like that, really laughed from the heart? The night he’d married Lani.

  The way her shiny, straight, nearly black hair fell over her face as she moved. The distinctive gesture she used to sweep it back and tuck it behind her ears, out of her dancing, barely perceptibly almond-shaped eyes. The curve of her full lips as she smiled.

  There was only one way to describe Lani—exotic. One quarter white, one quarter African-American, one quarter Japanese, one quarter Hispanic, Lani called herself the great all-American mutt. Everyone else found her looks arresting.

  A picture could have been Photoshopped, altered in any number of ways. A video? That was a trickier deal. Then he spotted the unique silver ring on the pointer finger of her right hand and his heart stopped. He noticed every detail, as he was trained to do. She wasn’t wearing the huge diamond-and-platinum wedding ring he’d given her.