Baby Battalion

by Cassie Miles

  Instead, he went quiet. She was right. It was his fault they’d been separated. Nothing he did or said would change the facts.

  Inside the car, she exhaled a long sigh as she fastened her seat belt. “I’ll try to stop sniping at you. It’s just that I’m having a hard time pretending that everything is normal.”

  “We have a lot to discuss. Should we go back to the hotel?”

  “In your dreams.”

  “Never hurts to try.” He started the car. “I’ll take you back to Pierpont House.”

  “Thank you.” She checked her wristwatch. “It’s coming up on midnight. I should be exhausted, but I’m not. It feels like I’m bouncing around in a pinball machine with bells ringing and lights flashing.”

  He remembered, “Like the pinball machine in that retro tavern we visited when we were on vacation in the Bahamas.”

  “That was fun, but not what I was thinking about. I have a computer game that plays pinball.”

  “First the zombie-killer and now pinball, you’re quite the little gamer.”

  “It gives me something to do late at night when I can’t sleep.” She shrugged. “Why am I so lit up?”

  “You’re reacting to the action we took earlier, something to do with how adrenaline floods your body. I can’t explain, but I know what you’re talking about. Time gets weird. You look at your watch, thinking only a minute has passed, but it’s an hour. Or the opposite happens and time stands still. Either way, your brain won’t turn off.”

  “That’s a fairly good description.”

  “You used to meditate,” he said. “That might help.”

  “That’s a great idea. I should have thought of it.”

  “You’re lucky to have me around to remind you.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, “we’ll see about that.”

  He watched as she adjusted the seat and wiggled into a comfortable position. She closed her eyes. He could see the tension leaving her neck and shoulders. Her hands rested limply in her lap. Her chest rose and fell at a steady pace.

  A long time ago, she’d told him about her two-minute meditations where she imagined a distant horizon and allowed her mind to sink into a pure, white calm. He’d tried to follow her instructions, sitting in a yoga pose on the floor in their bedroom. But he could never get beyond the blue sea and the horizon.

  Instead of fading to blank, his imagination created surfers and sailboats. Then the sharks would show up. Enlightenment wasn’t his thing. He was ever alert to the dangers below the surface. You relax. You die.

  He checked the rearview mirrors to make sure they weren’t being followed. After that first assault at the Pierpont House this morning, he hadn’t seen anything that would hint at assassins. It probably didn’t hurt that Omar Harris and his men had paid a visit to the Zamir household. No arrests had been made. The suspicious nephew had disappeared as had a black SUV registered to him.

  Nolan seriously doubted that the Zamirs would be hiring Donovan Event Planning in the near future. Tess wouldn’t be happy about the loss of business, but it was a small price when you considered that the Zamirs had tried to kill her.

  Her meditation had slipped into slumber. Her head lolled to the side. Her lips parted, and she made a snuffling noise. She’d always snored a bit, even though she denied it. He liked her little sleeping sounds. Her flaws made her special; knowing those flaws made her his woman.

  In the area approaching Pierpont House, he parked at a curb. The most dangerous point of their journey was the arrival when he had to slow down to enter the gate. He took out his cell phone and called ahead to make sure the gate was already open and he wouldn’t have to slow down.

  Beside him, Tess stirred. It seemed a shame to disturb her, but she’d wanted to get back here.

  He unfastened his seat belt and leaned toward her. There were a number of ways he could have awakened her. Jostling her arm or calling her name. But he chose to steal a kiss.

  Gently, he joined his lips with hers. She wiggled a bit as he increased the pressure. Her mouth was soft and sweet. He stroked his fingers through her silky hair.

  She gasped, and then she kissed him back. Her arm encircled him, pulling him closer, holding him tightly. She deepened the kiss. Her tongue pushed against his lips, and he drew her inside his mouth.

  Passion roared through him, the same fierce passion that he’d felt in the hotel suite. His hand tangled with the seat belt as he reached for her breast.

  She pulled back. “What are you doing?”

  “Waking you up. We’re almost to the Pierpont House.”

  “I can’t believe we’re making out in the car like a couple of horny teenagers.”

  He glanced toward the back of the Hummer. “It’s a big car. We could get comfortable in here.”

  She gazed up at him. For a moment, he actually thought she might be considering his proposition, and his heart soared.

  “No,” she said firmly. “What happened earlier tonight isn’t going to happen again. Not until I decide what to do.”

  “Keeping that resolution won’t be easy. Tess, I can’t keep my hands off you.”

  “That’s your problem,” she snapped.

  “Is it?” He caressed her cheek. “You kissed me back.”

  “I won’t let that happen again.”

  Next time, he hoped, she’d kiss him first.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning, Tess awoke to another kiss. Joey had come upstairs to the bedroom at Pierpont House and crawled into the bed beside her. “Wake up, Mommy.”

  “Hey, kiddo.”

  She snuggled him close but didn’t open her eyes, not wanting to leave a wonderful dream of Joe. She mentally corrected herself. His name is Nolan. She didn’t want to slip up and call him by the wrong name. Joe or Nolan, it didn’t matter. He was alive in her heart, and she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  But how could she ever trust him? He’d lied to her for five years. No decent relationship was possible without basic trust. Not even if the sex was incredible. Her dreams had been one replay after another on a continuous, fabulous loop. Her body was still tingling and moist. If she kept thinking like this, she’d never get out of bed. And that would not do.

  Pushing Nolan out of her head, she opened her eyes and looked at her son. “How was your campout last night?”

  “We had marshmallows. And we had a fire in the fireplace, but we didn’t have to get twigs.”

  “Because the fireplace is electric,” she said.

  “Can we get a fireplace for our house? Can we? Please.”

  She didn’t know if Joey consciously asked questions when she wasn’t really awake, but she’d noticed that his most outrageous requests generally came before she got out of bed. More than the usual pleading for a dog, he’d ask for a snake that ate mice or just the mice or if he could write his name on the wall with fingernail polish. His early morning creative endeavors knew no boundaries.

  “No fireplace,” she said. “Next summer, we can go camping and build a real fire in the forest.”

  “In a real tent?”

  She immediately pictured Nolan camping with them, showing his son the ways of the wilderness. Joey could learn how to fish and whittle a stick and skip rocks across a lake—all those things that fathers and sons did together. They’d both love it. How could she deny them that relationship?

  Rolling onto her side, she turned away from the light that crept around the edges of the window. “Mommy needs more sleep.”

  “It’s late,” he said. “I already had breakfast.”

  With a groan, she squinted at her wristwatch. It was after eight. She had to get up and get moving. There were a million things to do before the Smithsonian event tomorrow. “You’re right, Joey. I’m up.”

  “Can I come with you today?”

  This request wasn’t outrageous but a little odd. He usually hated coming along on her appointments where he had to be on best behavior. “It’s not going to be interesting. I’m ju
st doing business.”

  His eyes—so similar to his father’s—looked up at her as though searching. He held her hand. “I won’t be bored. I promise.”

  Her son couldn’t possibly know what had transpired between her and Nolan; that secret was locked in a vault. Yesterday, she’d talked to the others in the house, and they had decided that no one would mention the possibility of danger to him. But Joey seemed to sense that something was wrong.

  “Not this morning,” she said. “I’m going to see a grumpy caterer named Pierre. He’s no fun at all.”

  “I wanna come.”

  Later, she had an appointment at the Smithsonian to check out the blueprints with Nolan. “Maybe this afternoon, we can go to a museum. I’m not sure. But maybe.”

  Joey applauded and gave her another hug.

  She hoped it would be possible to make good on that offer.

  LESS THAN AN HOUR later, she was in the Hummer with Matt Soarez on her way to the caterer. Her handsome, macho bodyguard talked about how much his life had changed since he joined CSaI and married Faith.

  He grinned when he said the name of his new wife, who was back in Freedom with her baby girl. Tess clearly remembered the rosy glow of newlywed happiness when everything was clear sailing. She’d crashed and burned since then. Was there really a chance to rise from the ashes?

  Nolan hadn’t been at the house this morning, and she missed seeing him. When she’d gotten dressed, she’d selected a soft pink turtleneck because he liked her in pastels. And she’d dabbed a bit of his favorite perfume lightly behind her ear. If he kissed her, he’d catch the scent.

  Though she told herself that she was still too angry to be excited about seeing him, she was lying. She wanted Nolan to notice her, to compliment her. She longed to see his nod of approval and to hear his smoky-voiced compliments.

  Trying to sound nonchalant, she asked, “Was Nolan planning to meet us?”

  “I’m not sure. I know he’ll be with you this afternoon at the Smithsonian.”

  And that appointment brought up another question. “Do you think it’s safe for me to bring Joey to the museum?”

  “The situation is changing minute by minute.” Soarez gave a philosophical shrug. “The last I heard, the CIA was still looking for the young man you met at the Zamir house.”

  “His name was Ben.”

  “He’s the real threat, and he appears to be acting without the knowledge of the rest of the family. Mr. Zamir is cooperating and hiding behind diplomatic immunity. His wife and daughter have moved to their Manhattan penthouse.”

  “I guess that means I won’t be planning their dinner event next month.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Though the connection between Greenaway and the Zamirs was vague, she would never work with them again. How could she? Their supposed friends had tried to kill her.

  She wasn’t accustomed to thinking this way. The only issues that should concern an event planner had to do with table decorations and, of course, the food.

  IN THE PARKING LOT outside the catering service, Nolan and Coltrane were waiting. The two tall, rugged men leaned against the hood of a black Mercedes sedan. Since the weather today was cool but sunny, their dark glasses didn’t seem odd.

  Nolan had his arms folded across his chest. She saw the hint of a smile when the Hummer approached—a smile that was meant for her. Automatically, she smiled back. Her heart did a backflip.

  He opened her car door and took her hand to help her climb out of the Hummer. “Good morning, Tess. Sleep well?”

  His sly grin suggested that he’d been able to read her mind and knew all about her sexy nighttime fantasies. She was slightly breathless as she replied, “I slept well. And you?”

  His voice was so low that only she could hear. “I couldn’t help feeling that something was missing from my bed.”

  That would be me. Aware that the others were watching, she took a backward step. “Why are you all here? You can’t be interested in the banquet food.”

  Nolan answered, “Coltrane and I came to get a list of all kitchen staff and servers who will be at the event. We need to do background checks.”

  “This catering service has security clearance. That’s one of the reasons the Smithsonian likes to work with them.” Avoiding Nolan’s gaze, she asked Coltrane, “Couldn’t you have just called for the list?”

  “We could have,” Coltrane said, “but we find that people are more cooperative when we meet them in person.”

  “I understand.” She looked from him to Nolan. “I’ve seen you in action. You’re very…persuasive.”

  A green Volkswagen bug zipped into a parking place, and Trudy hopped out. Her gray-haired assistant bustled closer. She stopped and frankly stared at the three men from CSaI. Her blue eyes twinkled. “Is it just me or is it hot today?”

  As Tess introduced her, Trudy took her time, flirting with both Coltrane and Soarez. When she came to Nolan, she reached up and patted his cheek. “I certainly remember you, young man. I understand you and Tess have been spending some time together.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’d better treat her right or you’ll answer to me.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said.

  Before Trudy could launch into a discussion of dating rules, Tess called a halt. “Let’s all go inside, shall we?”

  As Tess dug into her briefcase for her notes, Trudy joined her. She was beaming. “I haven’t seen so much testosterone in one place since we did that dinner for the Navy SEALS.”

  “You’re shameless,” Tess said.

  “You can’t blame me. I mean, look at those boys. Especially Nolan.”

  “Can we focus on this meeting?”

  “Oh my,” Trudy said. “You slept with him.”

  Was it that obvious? Tess swallowed hard. “Why would you possibly think that?”

  “I might be old, but I’m not dead. I can tell when a woman has that well-loved glow.” She sniffed the air. “And you’re wearing perfume. I know what’s going on with you two. And it’s about time.”

  “We’ll talk about this later.”

  Tess strode to the door where the three sexy bodyguards were waiting. Without making eye contact, she entered the front office of the catering firm. The walls were hung with various wedding photos. Poinsettias lined the walls. Inside the glass-topped counter were menus in fancy script and various place settings.

  The three manly men looked somewhat out of place, and the female facilitator seemed eager to make them comfortable. She dashed from her desk to greet them and fell all over herself to assure Coltrane that she would get those lists immediately.

  Because Trudy had been in touch with the florist, the ice sculptor and the cake baker, she stayed at the front to work out a few details for the event. The main issue was timing. Governor Lockhart’s event started at six o’clock, earlier than usual for this type of dinner. And Santa Claus would arrive at half past six with gifts for the children.

  Tess guided Nolan and Soarez through a swinging door into the industrial-size kitchen, where four workers in white chef coats were busily chopping at their stations. The savory scent of roasting fowl floated through the air.

  Pierre, clad in a black chef jacket with the sleeves rolled up, stalked toward them. He glared at his Patek Philippe wristwatch as if to indicate that they were wasting his time. Every time she met with the chef, he found something new to complain about.

  After she did the introductions, Soarez firmly shook the chef’s hand. “I’m looking forward to your partridge in a pear tree appetizer. Nice choice for Christmas.”

  “A brilliant choice.” Pierre didn’t hesitate to toot his own horn. “I considered doing the entire menu from the ‘Twelve Days of Christmas’ song with French hens and goose eggs. But the ‘seven swans a-swimming’ weren’t practical for a large dinner party.”

  Tess had heard this idea before and had vetoed it. She wouldn’t put it past Pierre to slaught
er the “eight maids a-milking.” She asked, “Did you get my message about the additional twenty-six guests?”

  “Seven of them children,” he grumbled. “Why are there so many children at this event?”

  Much as she hated to point out the obvious, she said, “It’s Christmas Eve. Parents want to be with their kids.”

  “Which is also why we’re eating at such an absurdly early hour,” he said. “Six o’clock.”

  Nolan spoke up. “Look on the bright side, Chef. Kids are easy to feed.”

  “Perhaps for someone like Tess. She can just throw another hot dog on the grill.”

  Spoken like a man who was childless. She prided herself on feeding Joey fresh veggies and healthy grains, but she wasn’t about to get into an argument with the chef before a big event. “Is everything on track? If you have any special needs, now would be the time to tell me.”

  “My people will be on site at four-thirty. Ask me then.”

  She’d been hoping to avoid last-minute hassles on Christmas Eve, when a lot of suppliers wouldn’t be open, but the chef didn’t seem to care about the calendar. “I’ll be there after lunch,” she said. “The museum closes at one tomorrow, so the florist shouldn’t have any problem setting up.”

  “Very well.” He waved a hand, dismissing her. And then, he turned to Soarez. “You, my friend, are in luck. We’re practicing the partridge appetizer. I insist that you taste.”

  “I’d be honored.”

  Pierre swept through his kitchen like a king, ordering his minions who jumped to do his bidding. If his staff wasn’t actually afraid of him, they put on a pretty good show. She wondered how many sous-chefs Pierre fired in an average month.

  Walking beside her, Nolan murmured, “This guy’s a diva.”

  “You are so right.”

  Not all great chefs had huge egos, but Pierre was definitely over the top. He spread a sheet of butcher paper on a chopping block and set a plate in front of them.

  “Designed to be finger food,” he said, “I present a confit of partridge with walnuts and poached pear in a pastry shell.”