Free The Spy Who Loves Me by Julie Kenner

or how.
    So Mackenzie lived. For now, anyway.
    And now while Mackenzie relaxed at the spa, Brandon was sticking close to Diana. At first, he’d vacillated over which one to follow, but in the end, the decision was easy. Drake was calling the shots, which meant he wasn’t going to get his hands dirty.
    So Brandon had made a call to the Unit’s Los Angeles field office and ordered two new guys to tail Drake.
    Diana was the go-to gal—the one to follow—and right now she was going to try to wrangle some information out of a contact.
    Poindexter. Who the hell was this Poindexter she was going to meet? Brandon had already checked, and no one with that name worked at ZAEL.
    Amber had been watching Diana for days now, and the only person she’d been spending any significant time around was Bernie Waterman, a Level I data processor who didn’t even have access to classified information. So what was up with that?
    The only thing Brandon could surmise was that Diana intended to use Bernie to get close to someone else…but whom?
    Brandon had no idea, but he intended to keep the tail on Diana until he found out.
    â€œRebecca. You copy?” He waited, listening in his earpiece. Nothing.
    He cruised for a while, following Diana up the 405 and then onto the 101. He tried again. “Rebecca. Do you read?”
    A slight burst of static encouraged him. He was coming into range.
    The static increased, and he heard the faint echo of her voice. What she was saying didn’t make any sense— maybe corn to go with the rib eye?— but that really wasn’t his concern.
    â€œRebecca,” he tried again. “If you read, acknowledge.”
    â€œOh, yes,” she said. “Clear.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” A male voice, presumably Finn’s. “What’s clear?”
    Amber cleared her throat. “These,” she said, and Brandon heard a plastic-sounding crinkle. “I hate these clear packages. Makes the food much too tempting.”
    â€œPretzels are tempting?” Finn asked.
    â€œLove them,” Amber said, a little too enthusiastically. “And great for picnics.”
    â€œDo you want to get some?” Finn asked.
    â€œI take it you can’t talk,” Brandon said.
    â€œAbsolutely,” Amber said.
    â€œThen I will,” Brandon said.
    â€œThrow them in the cart,” Finn said.
    â€œGreat,” Amber said.
    â€œIt’s something big, all right,” Brandon said. “But I still don’t know what.” He gave her a rundown of Drake’s conversation with Diana. “You copy?”
    â€œMmm-hmm.” He heard a muffled noise, probably Finn talking while Amber’s mouth was closed, and then, “I’m just going to run over there and grab the champagne.”
    â€œYou trust me on the steaks?”
    â€œImplicitly,” she said.
    â€œSteak and champagne,” Brandon said. “I knew you moved fast, but this is pretty amazing.”
    â€œCut the crap, Brandon,” she said.
    â€œAny ideas?” he asked.
    â€œHe called it an Oscar-caliber show?” Amber said, repeating what Brandon had reported. “Think that’s important?”
    â€œProbably just talk,” Brandon said. “Drake’s always been a political guy. What would he care about celebrities or movie premiers or any of that?”
    â€œBeats me,” she said. “And the Academy Awards aren’t until next year, anyway. He probably just means something large and flashy. You didn’t get any sense of what they’re cooking up?”
    â€œNada,” he said. “But she’s on her way to meet with this Poindexter right now. I’m on it.”
    â€œI just don’t get it,” she said.
    â€œNeither do I,” he admitted. “I get the impression something went wrong with their plan, and now they’re scrambling to have all the pieces in place for checkmate.”
    â€œAnd