Tag, You're It! by Penny McCall Page B

recoiled like basefans doing a reverse wave. Since Alex and Tag had chosen to remain by the diner's door, the disdain passed them by. Alex still couldn't suppress the sudden urge for a shower.
    "What's he compensating for?" she asked Tag from behind her hand.
    "Nothing," Tag said, "the guy is good at what he does."
    "What does he do?"
    "He finds things for people."
    "Sounds like you know him."
    "Mercenary," Tag said grimly. "I ran across him a few years back." Tag had been undercover working for one side of a mob turf war, the Hummer driver, at his mercenary finest, on the other. Tag could have said a lot of things about the guy—all of them bad—but he had great instincts, great enough that somehow he'd smelled the end coming and had gotten out before it came down to handcuffs and mug shots. Good for Tag, since his FBI affiliation hadn't been discovered. Bad because a criminal was free to roam the world doing anything he wanted, for anyone. And apparently he held a grudge. "Name's Pierre Phillipe Francois Dussaud II."
    "Nooooo," Alex said. "The second? As in junior?"
    One corner of Tag's mouth quirked up but his eyes stayed on the Hummer driver. "I wouldn't say that within earshot."
    "His name is bigger than he is."
    "So's his ego. From what I hear, he lives up to all your expectations of men."
    "He's not the only one."
    Tag grinned at that. "I have some surprises left."
    "I'll take your word for it." She would have walked away, but things had started to get interesting. Just because she enjoyed her own company so much didn't mean she couldn't appreciate what other people got up to.
    "We are looking for the Lost Spaniard treasure," Junior announced in a pronounced French lisp. "We would be grateful for any help that can be provided, and then if you would kindly keep out of our way, we would be most appreciative."
    "Does that usually work for him?" Alex wondered.
    "I don't know, but I'm not impressed," Tag said.
    He wasn't the only one. It started with one lone voice Alex didn't immediately recognize, probably Jess or one of his cronies. The voice sounded old, and the tone of it was senior-citizen-with-a-right-to-know. The effect on the crowd was the Little Dutch Boy pulling his finger out of the dike.
    Junior was peppered with questions. The crowd surged forward in a mad panic to establish a pecking order, threatening to flatten him against the side of his vehicle. Death by Hummer. Hummercide.
    "What are you grinning about?" Tag asked her.
    "Nothing." But she kept grinning. It was the only entertainment she was likely to get, because the intended victim lifted a hand and crooked a finger.
    The Land Rover and the Jeep vomited out a passel of black-clad knuckle-draggers who locked arms and shoved everyone back so there was an island of personal space big enough for the Hulk.
    The crowd subsided verbally, too, relegated to threatening looks and angry mutterings, and subjected to some pretty fierce body odor, judging by the grimaces of the people in armpit proximity.
    Junior looked down his nose at everyone, very French aristocrat. Then he caught sight of Tag. And he smiled.
    "That's not a nice smile" Alex said, apparently too loudly.
    Junior shifted his gaze to her, held her eyes long enough to give her the creeps, then went back to supervising crowd intimidation.
    "Is that sulfur I'm smelling?" she asked.
    "He's small, but potent," Tag said. "Not somebody you want to mess with."
    "There's no love lost for you, either."
    "He considers me competition."
    "What do you consider him?"
    "A loose cannon. And a pain in the ass." A dangerous one, but Tag could see she'd already figured that out. What she hadn't clued in to was the possibility she was in Dus sights right along with him.
    "A loose cannon and a pain in the ass. That sounds like something you'd say about me," Alex observed. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you have."
    "Not yet. I was saving those for the next time you ticked me off."
    "I wouldn't want you to overwork your