by Misty Evans
He gave her an incredulous look. “You actually like this guy?”
“He's a nice man who’s working hard to wipe out viral epidemics. I don't believe for a moment that he knows Falana is planning to start one.”
Mick rolled his eyes so hard his head tipped back. “I can't believe you sucked up his bullshit.”
“Bullshit?” Her voice came out louder than she intended, garnering a few uncomfortable stares from those passing by on their way to the next lecture. She wasn't even sure why she was so angry, but it felt like fire poured from every inch of her. “Why do you hate him?”
“Come on, Cassie. Don't be so gullible. He has no intention of getting you a job with his company. All that talk of changing the world”—he made air quotes, his voice condescending—"is crap. I've never tried the technique myself, but I'll have to add it to my repertoire. I’m sure it gets him laid at every conference.”
Oh yeah, there was definite jealousy glowing in her partner’s eyes. It was completely messy and out of her comfort zone, but a small part of her cheered.
She was about to retort when she spotted their target over Mick’s right shoulder. The countess strolled toward them on her way to the lecture hall, decked in a bright colored dress and dripping in diamonds.
Make it good. Falana would overhear, so Cassandra reined in her claws and took a deep breath, going back into Cassie Juno mode.
“Dr. Gotty cares about people, not just investments. You should try it sometime. Pick a cause, Graham, score justice for the underdog, take a real risk that could change the world. You have all the money you need. What you don't have is purpose, a cause to fight for, like Seymour does.”
Mick didn't miss a beat. “That's what I have you for, isn't it? Find me an underdog who needs justice, give me a cause worth investing in, and I'll throw everything I have at it.”
His eyes were steady, his face so close to hers, she could see the sincerity there. There was meaning beneath the words. He was throwing down a gauntlet, not just as Graham Sterling looking for a new investment, but as Mick Ranger searching for something as well.
Could she give it to him?
“Deal.” The word was out before it had formed in her mind. She touched his cheek, almost a lover’s caress. “I'll find you someone to help, a cause to invest in.”
Falana was past them now and Mick started walking away, following the woman to the lecture hall. “Twenty-four hours, Juno,” he flippantly called over his shoulder. “You've got that long to find me a cause worthy of my money.”
For the next few moments, Cassandra stood rooted to the floor, her pulse racing, her mind as well. The last of the lecture attendees filed into the hall and the doors closed. She forced herself to take a couple deep breaths to slow her pulse.
They needed that invite to the party—it had to be the one Falana was throwing, and she must be the boss Seymour had referred to. Cassandra hoped against hope he was innocent. That he had no idea what his boss was up to.
She liked him. He was smart, outgoing, caring, and handsome. A doctor who truly believed he could make people’s lives better.
She needed to believe Seymour wanted more than sex from her. He wanted her to join him in his quest to change the world through medical technology and fieldwork. An ideal that sounded pretty damn good to her.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Dr. Gotty was perfect in so many ways, and would have been a dream mate for her up until a few days ago.
Now, she wanted more. Different.
A little risk.
A little danger.
A little mess.
Her pulse sped up again. Her breathing too. She no longer wanted an organized, normal life.
She wanted Mick.
Covert communication is an art
Safe house that evening
Success was in reach.
At least with the mission. With Cassie? Mick felt like he was going down in flames.
He’d never doubted his skills with the opposite sex. Women loved him. All he normally did was flash a smile and give them the look—the melting puppy-dog eyes he’d perfected in the mirror at age seven—and they became putty in his hands.
Cassandra Donovan was an entirely different beast. A sexy, bullheaded, too-damn-good-for-him beast who had walls higher than any he’d ever scaled.
And he’d scaled some pretty damn high ones before.
Mick Ranger did not give up. Ever.
Pouring two glasses of white wine, he went over his plan to get back on her good side while finishing his covert conversation with Parker. “Seymour’s up to something.” He had the cell Hunter had given him for his new identity as Graham Sterling—one with a number he could hand out at the conference—tucked between his shoulder and ear. It was a high-tech gadget that probably read his blood pressure and pulse rate while he spoke, and had enough encryption to make Mick’s eyes bleed. “I need more intel on him.”
Cassie had gone upstairs to change after their day at the convention. She’d barely spoken to him since their pretend fight over Dr. Gotty’s seducing—er, recruiting—her.
Recruiting. Right. The guy had a hard-on for her a mile long. And their fight had been over so much more.
When the asshole hadn’t produced the invite she’d expected by the time they’d left the conference center, Mick knew she blamed him.
She was right. He’d blown it by letting his jealousy get in the way.
He’d played the game when Cassandra had thrown out the act about finding a cause to support, and he’d been sure Falana had bought it when she’d eyed him with a smile inside the lecture hall, but no invite or other interaction had taken place with Gotty the rest of the day.
Mick had some groveling to do, and man, did he hate groveling. It was to be avoided at all costs.
He heard typing on the other end of the connection. “Financials are clean. Family history as well,” Parker said. “We’re running checks on all the Lanix employees, including the board of directors. I’ll keep you posted if anything comes up.”
“Gotty’s dirty. Has to be. He never flinched when Cassandra mentioned Codex One dealing with gray areas and investments at the bar the other night.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s dirty.”
“He’s too smart not to know that his boss is.” Cassandra came walking in, staring at her phone. “Gotta run.”
He clicked off, shoved the phone in his back pocket, and handed her a glass of wine.
Her face was pinched, her eyes disappointed. She accepted the glass absentmindedly, lips pursing as she blew out a sigh. “I thought for sure Seymour would follow through with the invite, but there's still nothing. Beatrice is going to kill me.”
“I'm the one to blame. I promised her I would secure it today and I failed. The mission isn’t over yet. I still have tomorrow to sweep the countess off her feet.”
He clinked his glass against hers and raised it in salute, but she did not drink. Worry creased her brow. “What if you don’t?”
“I’ll find another way to free Epstein and her son. I’ll handle Falana.”
“How can you be so matter-of-fact about it?”
He shrugged. “Worry never did me any good. Might as well put that energy toward formulating a plan B. Don’t lawyers have backup plans for when things go wrong in court?”
“I’m not a trial lawyer.”
“Bet you’d be a good one.”
A single brow rose in a quizzical expression.
He grinned. “You’re good at arguing, and your tough act is pretty convincing.”
“I may debate certain issues, but I don't argue.”
“Sure sounded like arguing today.”
She took a sip, staring at him over the rim of the glass. “You like arguing, don't you?”
He set his glass down. “I prefer persuasion over an outright argument.”
She took another sip, her gaze never leaving his. “I prefer persuasion as well.”
His blood warmed, the look in her
eyes morphing from disappointed to challenging.
He edged closer. “You amazed me today with how quick you are on your feet.” Reaching out, he ran a finger across her knuckles. Her skin was soft under the callused tip. “I'm sorry if I let you down.”
“You played it perfectly. I still don't understand why Falana hasn't made a move on you. You're like her ideal package—young, handsome, rich, and you have at least a few scruples.”
He hadn't been overtly throwing himself at her, but he'd certainly given the countess plenty of opportunities to approach him. “She’s playing hard to get. She’ll come around.”
Cassandra's phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen. “A text from Seymour!” She read it, her eyes coming up to meet Mick’s with a smile. “I’m in! I’ve been invited to the party!”
The words wound around his brain. “It’s only for you?”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded, the smile faltering. She turned the screen, so he could read the text where it clearly stated in somewhat formal language that Ms. Cassie Juno was invited to attend a party hosted by Countess Kossiwa Falana Von Strauss at her estate on the east side of the city. There was no mention of bringing Graham Sterling, or even a plus-one.
Of course, Falana wouldn't extend an invite to an unknown extra guest. Everyone invited to her estate would be carefully vetted.
“You can't go alone.”
Cassandra typed away, ignoring him. “I most certainly can. There. I accepted.”
Jesus. “Cassie, you know it's not safe for you to go by yourself. You can't protect Dr. Epstein and Nathaniel, or eliminate our target.”
When she lifted her gaze, defiance lit her eyes. “I'm your way in.”
Was she listening at all? “And what do you plan to do? Throw a contract at them? Debate the merits of giving up with Falana?”
A repeat of earlier, he saw fire rising inside her. “I can get in and figure out whatever you need to know to extract the doctor and boy. I can give you a heads-up to where Falana is, help you sneak in and…”—she waved a hand around—”do whatever it is you have to do to her.”
Murder was too ugly for her to say, too unpleasant for her to think about. “You could end up getting caught. What then? Do you know how to defend yourself? Escape, if necessary?”
He saw his words hit home. She looked away, snatching up the wineglass and taking a long drink before setting it back down a little too sharply. “I may not be a SEAL, Mick, but I'm not incompetent. I can help you get in and do what needs to be done, even if you aren't coming through the front door with me. We can't miss this opportunity.”
The thought of what could happen to her made his stomach sour. “This woman is ruthless. Do you understand how dangerous this is? I can’t—and won’t—let you go in there alone. I'm calling Parker and Beatrice.”
She smacked her hands on the countertop, leaning toward him with a glare that’d cower most men. “I won't be alone. You, Hunter, Parker, Henley, and Slash will all be close by to rush in and help me if I need it. I won't, but I will be able to sneak you in. I can help get Dr. Epstein and Nathaniel out.”
He wanted to shake her. It was one thing to talk a good game and flirt with a player like Gotty, it was entirely another to walk into Falana’s home with no training and try to outsmart her security. “No. Not gonna happen.”
“It’s not your call.”
His phone buzzed with an incoming text and he held a finger up to stop her ranting when he saw the caller ID. Unknown number. “What the hell?”
She moved to try and read the screen, but when he saw the beginning of the text read you are personally invited, he grinned and pulled the phone away, opening the message. “Well, lookie here. What do you know? A personal invite from the countess herself.”
“No.” Cassie reached for the phone and he let her have it. A smile split her face, her eyes twinkling, still partially from their argument, and also because she was ecstatic. “We did it! You got one too. And yours is personally signed by Falana. I'll be damned.” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “I guess she was just playing hard to get.”
Secretly, he was extremely relieved. He didn't let it show, giving her a roguish grin. “No one is immune to this charm, partner.”
She handed the phone back. “You have to accept so they'll put you on the list. I'll let Parker and Beatrice know.”
“Later.” He pocketed the phone and grabbed his wineglass, raising it in the air. “Right now, we're celebrating.”
She clinked her glass against his. “Are you sure that's a good idea? I doubt anyone makes the countess wait for an answer. What if she changes her mind?”
God, she worried too much. “Playing hard to get is an art. Trust me, she won't change her mind. If anything, leaving her dangling will increase her interest.”
Consternation crossed her face. “We should go over the blueprints of the house and our original extraction plan. Maybe come up with an alternate as well.”
“Hunter and I already have two different extraction plans in case the original goes astray.”
“You do?”
Like she’d said, she wasn't a SEAL. “I never go into any situation without multiple backup plans. Seriously, Cass, don't worry. Your only job—if I let you go—is to keep yourself safe and get the hell out when I give the signal. Got it?”
He saw that internal fire spark again, and he almost chuckled.
“What do you mean, if you let me go?”
“I have an invite. Technically, I don't need you to go. I can say you came down sick, and you can stay here at the safe house, the key word being safe.”
“I will not.” The wineglass met the countertop again. “We’re partners, remember? What if you're mingling and someone asks you about the conference or one of the lectures we attended?”
He poured wine into her now empty glass. “I'm going to have my hands full getting Epstein and her son out, and taking care of Falana. I don't need to worry about you and your safety.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Repeating it didn’t make it true. The wine was full-bodied and dry. Not his style, but even without his appreciation for finer things, he could tell it was an expensive bottle. He either had to ply her with more of the damn stuff or make her see things from his perspective. “I’m sure you can, but if you're there, I'm going to be worrying about you, which will distract me. In this type of situation, distraction can end up putting me six feet under. Do you understand? I care for you, Cass. There's nothing I'd like more than to have you by my side, but I can't risk you getting hurt.”
She took the wine, turned around and put her back against the countertop, as if thinking things over. He let her, keeping silent.
After a minute, she faced him once more, her face softer, her eyes no longer filled with contention. “I care for you too. That's why I want to be there. I can help, Mick. I promise. Give me a chance to prove it. I won't be a distraction, and you don't have to worry about me. I can handle myself.”
He leaned his elbows on the counter, twirling the glass around. “The first thing you have to accept is that I'm in charge. If you go in with me, you do exactly what I say, when I say it. No arguments, no debates. If I tell you to pull the plug and haul ass out of there, you do it.”
She mimicked his stance, setting her elbows near his. “I understand.”
“I need more than that. Swear to me you will not go off on your own and will do exactly what I tell you to do at all times.”
She’d washed most of the makeup off her face and she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her gaze dropped to his lips, her mouth so close to his, he could smell the wine on her breath. “I promise.”
Damn, he wanted to kiss her so bad. The memory of that morning surfaced, stirring all the lust he'd been fighting. “Swear it, Cass.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, making goosebumps trail down the back of his neck. “I swear, Mick.”
Score. He still wasn't sure he’d le
t her go, but if he did, he would make Hunter and the other two men keep her as their top priority, regardless of what Parker and Beatrice wanted. He would take care of Falana. Once the countess was out of the way, Epstein and Nathaniel would be safe, anyway. If they didn't make it to America, it wasn't the end of the world. But if anything happened to Cassandra? He couldn't live with himself.
“We’ll go over the plan in the morning, including your assignment. For now, it's time to relax. Tomorrow is a big day.”
And after that? The unspoken words about the future hung in the air taunting him. His was wide open, and he couldn't wait to get back to America, to see his family, to figure out if he was going back to the Navy or…
Or what? That was the question.
His partner in crime elbowed him. “There’s a good movie on tonight about a SEAL and his team. It's based on a real-life story. Maybe you know them.”
He had little interest in a Hollywood version of a Special Forces team and what had happened to them—he lived the real thing—but spending time with Cass was worth suffering through it. As she led the way into the living room, he picked up the wine and brought it along.
Halfway through, the wine was gone, and Cassie swayed slightly on her feet as she rose to make popcorn. While she did that, he broke out a second bottle, this one lighter and sweeter.
As they munched popcorn, she asked about certain aspects of the movie. He tried not to be too critical of the unrealistic dialogue and creative license the directors had taken, but he couldn't help himself. The errors were plentiful and it drove him nuts.
Cassie leaned her head on his shoulder. “They should make a movie about you. It would be a lot more exciting than this one.”
She was drunk, and he laughed. “Far from it, I imagine. But hey, you never know. Maybe I'll get a book deal when I get back.”
“I have some experience with intellectual property, so I can negotiate the contract for you, if you want.”
He’d been joking, but he patted her leg. “Absolutely. You're stuck with me now. Every time I need a lawyer, I'm calling you.”