The ambassador straightened his fancy white jacket and strode along the hallway in firm strides. Another man left after him, moving in the opposite direction. Scarlett eyed the slowly closing door to the office. Her plan had been to plant her device inside a cleaning supply closet around the corner that shared an inner wall with Dorokhov’s office. The technology should be good enough to pick up conversations, but it wasn’t ideal. Taking a chance, she dashed across the hall, caught the door just before it latched and darted into the office, closing it gently behind her.
It was dark and she flicked on the overhead light to make sure no one else was in the room. Easier to plead ignorance at the start than to snoop around and find someone sitting in the dark, watching her commit a crime. The room was beautiful in its old-fashioned opulence. A marble fireplace with a large gold-framed mirror above it formed the focal point of the room, and heavy red, velvet curtains shut out the rest of the world. A massive desk made of some dark wood with a satin finish sat to her right.
If she was caught here she didn’t know what they’d do to her, but it wouldn’t be good.
An ornate brass lamp on the desk was perfect for her needs. She hitched up her skirt and reached inside her panties, removed a small plastic bag. Carefully she laid the lamp on the desk and removed her tiny expandable screwdriver from the bag. It was fiddly, but after only a few seconds she’d removed the base of the lamp and peered inside.
A wave of icy horror swept over her bare shoulders and down her spine. Inside the lamp was another electronic listening device. A sophisticated one. Not a remnant of the Cold War. Crappity crap. She wanted to scream but clamped her lips shut. Sweat bloomed on her skin and her palms grew damp. Someone was already spying on Andrei Dorokhov, or his predecessor. And that someone might right now have her under surveillance.
This isn’t happening.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Then pulled herself together. It was happening and she needed to get out of there. Fast.
Quickly, she reassembled the lamp and wiped off her prints. There was every chance whoever was spying on the Russians had just witnessed her attempting to do the same thing. Or maybe they only had audio… Please, only have audio.
She stuffed the small plastic bag of equipment down her bodice, turned off the light before opening the door a few millimeters. No one was in the corridor so she slipped quickly across the hall into the bathroom. She flushed the transmitter down the toilet and dropped the screwdriver in the garbage.
Her chance was gone. Maybe it had never truly existed—just another fragile hope to keep the illusion alive. She leaned her forehead against the wooden stall door as her heart slammed into her ribs. Adrenaline made her dizzy. Skin clammy. Her body alternated between hot then cold as her reaction shifted from panic to despair. She needed to get out of here. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid and naïve as to think she could pull this off, but maybe that’s how her father had been framed in the first place. Stupid and naïve must run in the family, along with gullible and unlucky.
* * *
FBI Special Agent Matt Lazlo watched Sarah LeMay hightail it across the plush carpet back to her sister. She intrigued him. Less confident than her sister. Not as obviously beautiful, but certainly more attractive—to him, anyway. Deep thoughts lurking beneath the surface—thoughts he’d like to explore and, come to think of it, a surface he wouldn’t mind exploring either. She even smelled good—tangy lemon that was both sweet and fresh.
She wasn’t his usual type, all big dark eyes and waif-like figure. He liked lush curves, long hair and a good time smile.
The sister had curves but for some reason it was Sarah who held his attention. They’d shared a connection earlier. He’d have had to be dead not to notice it, and despite many close calls, he wasn’t dead yet. He was tempted to ask for her number, though the idea of taking a politician’s daughter out for a night on the town did not mesh with his tight budget.
Everyone had to live a little, right?
“A friend of yours?” the Russian Ambassador’s wife asked.
Damn. He shouldn’t have let his attention wander. She’d cornered him when he walked back into the reception and Matt’s survival instincts had kicked in. FBI agents should not hang with beautiful women from the Russian Embassy. If anyone other than Assistant Special Agent in Charge Lincoln Frazer had asked him to do this he’d have wondered about the guy. But Frazer was the rock star of the FBI—he could probably form his own division if he wanted. The guy had received an unexpected invitation to dinner with the President of the United States and had asked Matt to step in at the last minute. Matt would rather be back on his boat drinking beer, but it was hard to refuse Frazer, especially on the day they’d buried the Vice President. The latter had died from a heart-attack at his home in Kentucky. It had followed a series of events that had gotten one of Matt’s best friends shot, and the president almost killed. Attending a Christmas reception in Frazer’s stead seemed like a small favor under the circumstances.
Matt had joined the FBI for peace and quiet, and a more regular work schedule. The last six weeks had been anything but. He was looking forward to a little R&R over Christmas.
The Ambassador’s wife was looking at him expectantly.
“No, ma’am. I only met her earlier when she spilled champagne down my shirt.”
Natalie Dorokhov had inky-black hair and ruby-red lips—more Wicked Witch than Snow White. The woman sipped her champagne and eyed him thoughtfully. “She looks about fifteen.” Her eyes were pale blue and looked a hell of a lot older than fifteen.
Matt smiled politely. Sarah LeMay was not a little girl. She just had that youthful wholesomeness that defied years. Pointing that out to this woman would go down like a case of VD so he changed the subject. “Are you enjoying Washington, ma’am?”
Natalie smiled smugly. “I enjoy meeting new people. My husband was stationed here years ago, before we met, so he knows the city and has friends here.” Her bare shoulders rose and fell. “Though I do dislike being treated like an agent for the Kremlin every time I go to ‘tea’.”
“Comes with the territory, I guess.” No way was he talking Russian security with her, ever.
Sarah was whispering urgently into her sister’s ear before she began physically dragging her toward the door. Sergio Raminski looked pissed. Matt didn’t trust the guy and was glad the LeMay women were putting some distance between them and him. Matt had wanted to talk to Sarah again, but she didn’t even glance in his direction. So much for the connection he’d imagined.
Too bad. He turned his attention back to Natalie. “Your English is excellent, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Her smile grew wider, as if she was hiding a secret. “I had some very good teachers.” Her expression changed. “Ah, my husband is trying to get my attention.” She put her hand on his bicep and squeezed. It sent a bolt of get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here straight through him. “It was nice to meet you, Matthew.” Because he introduced himself as Matt, people made assumptions he rarely bothered to correct. “I hope we will meet again sometime soon.”
He hoped not.
“Natalie.” He inclined his head. First name terms with the Russian Ambassador’s wife…? His old buddies on the teams would laugh their asses off, not to mention his colleagues at the FBI. God help him.
Matt checked his watch, figured he’d fulfilled his duty, and handed his glass off to the nearest waiter. He was dog-tired after pulling a series of fifteen-hour days trying to help get monsters off the streets.
Sarah LeMay and her sister were nowhere to be seen. He gave a mental shrug. Not the sort of woman he should be pursuing anyway. Sarah didn’t seem like the no-strings, fling type and he was too busy with work and figuring out his mother’s care regime to fit in a relationship. He texted Frazer’s driver and headed downstairs. The limo was just pulling along the curb when he stepped onto the sidewalk of 16th Street.
There stood Angel and Sarah LeMay arguing on the pavement. Angel
was obviously not happy with her sister. He couldn’t hear exactly what was being said but she was shaking her finger in Sarah’s face and cursing like a senior chief. The urge to step in and protect the slighter woman was almost overwhelming.
Frazer had hijacked his evening and told him to enjoy himself. “Can I offer you ladies a ride?”
Angel’s furious expression immediately cleared though Sarah grabbed her arm and tried to hold her back.
“You sure can, handsome.” Angel shrugged off her sister’s grip and sashayed toward him. He almost swallowed his tongue when her coat gaped and he noticed where her hemline hit her thighs. Holy cow. The fact he hadn’t noticed earlier was astonishing because the woman had legs. It pissed him off. He was a trained observer and he’d been distracted. What else had he missed?
Angel slid into the limo and began searching for a bar. Sarah stood on the sidewalk staring at him with haunted eyes. Her chin lifted a notch and her throat rippled. Angel was a flirt but her sister was a different creature entirely.
“Coming?” he questioned.
Emotions raced behind her eyes and she looked like she wanted to bolt.
“Are you okay?” He took a step forward.
She pressed her lips together and nodded quickly. “Yes, thank you.” But her voice was small, all laughter gone. Not the same woman who’d teased him earlier. There was something fragile about her. Considering the cynical nature of his job, he was surprised it attracted him so much. He didn’t do fragile. He did tough and feisty. Women who gave him shit and knew the score. Women who didn’t get upset when he didn’t call them the next day, or ever. Sarah LeMay looked like the exact opposite of his usual type and he had no idea why she drew him so completely.
“Want to get in the car?”
Her eyelids closed for a moment and then blinked wide as if afraid to drop her guard. She moved toward him, bunching her skirt to climb in beside her sister.
“Where to?” he asked, getting in beside them.
“A club.” Angel looked frustrated by the lack of alcohol in the vehicle. Welcome to the Bureau.
“Home.” Sarah’s voice trembled. “I’m not feeling well.”
It would explain her rapid change in demeanor.
Angel eyed her sister narrowly. “Scar, I swear to God…”
“Scar?” Matt queried.
“Nickname.” Sarah said quickly. “Can you drop us at one-forty-five 19th Street, please?”
Matt gave the driver the address while he watched the interaction between the two sisters.
Something was squirrelly. Angel’s lips were pressed firmly together, index finger tapping impatiently on her exposed knee. Sarah stared fixedly out the window. The short hairs on the nape of his neck went taut.
None of his business.
Angel turned back to him and broke the tense silence. “So where are you going next, sailor?”
Sarah shot her a glare.
“Home.”
“And where is home?” She tossed her blonde locks over her left shoulder.
“Virginia.”
When he didn’t elaborate Angel went back to her impatient tapping.
If Sarah had been the one asking would he have answered differently? Maybe. Would he have offered to bring her home? Definitely maybe. The more he looked at her the prettier he realized she was. Darker brows, dark lashes, perfect lips. Gold streaks amongst mid-brown hair that was pinned messily to her nape. Angel was gorgeous—as was the ambassador’s wife—but neither of them had that…what the hell was it? Sweetness? Vulnerability? Smarts?
But the woman was practically vibrating in her seat. He resisted the need to reach out and squeeze her hand in reassurance.
They arrived at the women’s house in awkward silence. He got out and held the door. Angel stalked up the stone steps of her parents’ home in heels that could be used as lethal weapons. Killer heels, killer dress, killer face. All of which left him cold.
Sarah climbed out of the limo more slowly. “Th-thank you for the ride.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you feel better soon.” Matt stared at her intently, wishing she’d meet his gaze, wanting to ask her out. She turned away and followed her sister up the steps.
Frustrated because cowardice was not something Matt usually tolerated in himself, he climbed back into the limo and the driver pulled away from the curb. He turned to look through the rear windshield. Sarah LeMay was standing on the top step staring after him as if she had regrets of her own.
Dammit.
Chapter Two
Scarlett followed Angel inside the LeMay family row house. The decor was all white walls and pale wood, stylish and appropriate for entertaining bigwigs, as well as being a warm and inviting family home. Scarlett had always felt welcome here. Now she felt like a fraud.
“You’re home early.” Angel’s mother, Valerie, came out of the lounge into the hall to greet them, kissing them both on the cheek. “I thought you were going to a club?”
“Scar wasn’t feeling good so we came home early.” Angel’s voice held an edge her mother thankfully missed. Her best friend was seriously pissed and Scarlett didn’t blame her.
Valerie put a cool hand on Scarlett’s brow. The woman was even shorter than she was. Concerned brown eyes raked her with affectionate concern. “You don’t feel hot but you look pale. You want to stay here tonight?”
“Thanks, Mrs. LeMay.” Scarlett always called her ‘Mrs. LeMay’ even though for years the woman had said to call her Valerie. “I should probably go home. I have work tomorrow.”
“On Christmas Eve?” Those brown eyes widened.
Scarlett nodded. “It’s a good time to be in the lab. Quiet. Mom’s gone for the week to visit Dad…” Silence pressed down like a felled tree. Crap.
“You’re coming for Christmas dinner, right?” Valerie asked.
Scarlett shook her head. “I have an experiment—”
“Nonsense. You’re coming here. I won’t hear another word about it.” Valerie nodded decisively and that was that.
“Okay, thanks,” Scarlett finished lamely. Assuming she hadn’t been arrested and stuffed in jail…
“Oh, dear.” Valerie reached up to touch her right ear. “You lost an earring.”
Scarlett froze as her hand shot up to check. Please don’t let it have fallen when she was in Dorokhov’s office. Chances were slim. It could have fallen off in the reception room or the bathroom or in the limousine. She’d only been in the office for a couple of minutes, tops.
It was easy to tell yourself not to worry but harder to actually make yourself do it.
“I’ll leave you guys to it. Your father and I are watching It’s A Wonderful Life,” Valerie said. “We’re at my favorite part where they fall in the pool.”
Angel shook her head. “I don’t know how you stand the excitement, Mom.”
“That’s why you have to enjoy yourself when you’re young because when you’re older you’ll just want to stay in and watch old movies with your crusty, old hubby.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead and walked into the family room, closing the door behind her.
“You’re about as exciting as my mother, you know that?” Angel muttered. “Except when she was our age she knew how to party. By the time you hit fifty, we may as well bury you.”
Scarlett flinched and crossed her arms. Angel had a Ph.D. in bitchery, which she put to good use when she was mad. It was easier to ride out the storm than fight. Scarlett followed her friend up the stairs so she could get changed and leave. She needed to be alone.
“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you,” Angel continued. “Two of the hottest guys I’ve seen in forever and you drag me away like we’re in mortal danger. Do you even like men?”
Scarlett sighed. “I like men just fine.”
“I mean the good looking ones, not the dweebs you date.” Angel stomped up to the top floor and flung open the door to her bedroom.
Maturity wasn’t her strong point. Loyalty was.
> Under the circumstances Scarlett hadn’t had much choice except to leave the party—not that she could tell Angel her reasons. She couldn’t risk involving her in a potential scandal that might get seriously ugly considering who her father was. Angel would go ballistic if she found out the truth and Scarlett didn’t want to deal with it right now. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth. She really hadn’t planned this out very well, too excited at the opportunity to plant a listening device to think about the repercussions if things went wrong.
She dropped the remaining earring on Angel’s dressing table. “Sorry I lost your earring.”
Angel grunted and threw off her heels.
Scarlett would replace the jewelry as soon as she could get to the store.
Angel wasn’t done. “How many years have I stood by you? Have I ever asked for anything in return?”
Constantly.
“I’m twenty-five years old and I feel like I’m already trapped inside my boring life. We were supposed to party, remember? And that sailor—oh, my God, Scarlett, did you even notice the way he looked at you?”
“I spilled champagne down his shirt. He looked at me like I was an idiot.”
“He didn’t.” Angel shook her head. “He was scorching hot and he was into you. You didn’t even get his number. You’re such a pain in the ass.”
Scarlett shed her coat and walked through the adjoining door to Sarah’s room to hang it on the back of her door. Yes, she’d noticed how Matt Lazlo had looked at her. It was just another crappy part of another crappy day because she’d desperately wanted a man to look at her like that, and now it had happened… Hasta la vista, baby.
In the long run she’d saved herself some major heartache. That wasn’t fatalism; it was fourteen long years of experiencing what happened when people found out who her father was.
She found the zipper at the back of the dress and tugged it down, sliding off her heels along with the dress. Sarah was the opposite of her sister in many ways though she liked pretty clothes. She was an outdoor nut. Hiking, climbing, skiing. The only interest Angel had in the outdoors was whether or not she’d get her hair and make-up messed up if she got caught in the rain.
Cold Light of Day Page 2