by Mary Buckham
“For which part?”
How like the man not to let her off easy, though his tone held no heat.
“I should have realized the room had been bugged. Did you find any?”
“Three. Light socket, lamp and headboard. My take is your boyfriend is a bit of a voyeur.”
That didn’t surprise her. What did was the hard slap of her emotions as they hit bottom. One day in and she’d yo-yoed from high to low and everywhere in between. If she and Stone had been who they said they were, the thought of another listening to their every word, their most private actions, revolted her.
Stone’s hand brushed across her arm.
She jumped.
“You’ve got to watch that.” He stepped away to lean against the gazebo rail, facing her. His expression danced in and out of focus in alternating shadow and light. “Most new wives don’t flinch when their husbands touch them.”
“Good point.” As if it was going to make any difference. She wrapped her arms around herself, not chilled so much as disillusioned. Had she done anything right so far? Not that she expected Stone to acknowledge it, but it might have been nice. She moved closer so that her voice wouldn’t carry. “I don’t understand.”
“What?”
“I thought we were here to get information from Blade. Wouldn’t it be just as well to get invited to Brighton Hall and find out exactly what’s going on?”
“Too dangerous. Our mission is to find the intel here then back off. The auction is a last resort.”
How could she have forgotten so soon? An invite to Brighton Hall was only if she failed to get the information they needed here. On the other hand, if they had the opportunity, didn’t it make sense to go where the action was? Only at Brighton Hall would they access not only intel on the item or items being auctioned, but all the players, as well.
But going to Brighton Hall would also mean that Ling Mai, and more importantly Stone, thought she could act as a full-fledged operative.
“How am I supposed to extract any intel if you’re cutting me off before I can probe?” She sighed out of weariness and frustration before nodding over her shoulder. “By asking us to join him, Blade was opening up—”
“The man’s a pro. He offers bait and we jump too soon, he’ll suspect something is off. He might accept it from you, but not from me.”
Great, another reminder of how incompetent she was.
“So we say no and hope he’ll offer again?”
“He will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He’s a man and he wants you. You can see it in the way he looks at you.”
The words sounded husky, though that could have been just her imagination. Blade’s phrase came back to her—he watches you. Truth in either statement? Or wired hormones getting in the way?
She shook it off. “I don’t think he wants me as much as to score one on you.”
“Same thing.” He stepped away from the rail until barely a hand’s length separated them, that and the warm darkness of the night. “We’ll use either. Both. By this time tomorrow, we’ll have our intel.”
“Or an invite to the auction.” She didn’t want to examine too closely why it was suddenly hard to breathe and speak at the same time.
He was staking a lot on a few moments’ worth of conversation, but then again Stone was the pro, the one who’d kept his head and his role intact since they’d arrived. Maybe it was time to start giving him the benefit of the doubt.
Without a word, his hand came around her, pulling her closer. She looked up, noting the angle of his face in the half light, remembering paintings in the Louvre and Uffizi of demon lovers who seduced mortal maidens. Naive mortal maidens.
“What?” She whispered the single word as he looked at her intensely.
“Slap me.”
“But—”
“Slap me hard.” His arm tightened around her, his tone deepening and increasing in volume. “If you think you’re going back—”
She did as she was ordered. Summoning all the frustration, all the humiliation of the last forty-eight hours, she used the flat of her hand against his cheek with a force that snapped his head back.
Only then did she hear shoes hitting the wooden steps of the gazebo.
“I am not interrupting a lovers’ misunderstanding?” Blade’s pronunciation now showed his Etonian English training, a smug assuredness deep in its tone.
“No.” It probably helped matters that her own voice sounded short and breathless as she stepped away from Stone’s arms, surprised that the night’s temperatures had started to drop, hoping that alone explained the goose bumps trilling down her arms. “Not at all. M.T. understands me correctly now. Is that not so?”
The smile Stone flashed her was the devil’s own grin, even with the dab of blood he brushed off his lower lip. “Absolutely, darling.”
She should have hit him harder.
“Good night, Blade.” She walked from the gazebo, her head higher than her confidence before she stopped. “And M.T., find your own place to sleep tonight.”
That was why he’d staged the scene, set it up to explain to Blade what he would, and would not, be hearing in their hotel room. Yeah, Stone was a pro. But she was learning, too.
She just hoped she learned fast enough.
Chapter 11
Late in the afternoon two days later, Stone connected with Jayleen and Mandy. Vaughn stood next to him in the hot shade of the Jakhu Temple, a good forty-five minute walk from the Hotel Taj, far enough away from Blade and Blade’s goons to be able to speak freely. Not that she expected Blade to be anywhere within sight of the temple built for Hanuman, the monkey god. Religious or historic sights were not his thing, even though the view here was spectacular. Not that one could enjoy the scenery in peace with the squeals and screams of the many monkeys inhabiting the courtyard and temple grounds.
She listened with half an ear as Stone used a head mike to connect with their backup team as there were no cell phone towers near enough to make easy calls, even if they believed that their calls would not be intercepted.
Only when he had finished the call did she turn his way.
“What news?” she asked.
“Alex is in place about two clicks from Brighton Hall. Camping.”
“Isn’t that a little rugged?”
“There are enough trekkers and alternative seekers at this time of year to explain her presence if she’s found. Outside close range of the resort but near enough.”
“And Jayleen and Mandy?”
“Here in town. They’ve set up a safe house not far from the Taj.”
“That was quick.”
He glanced at her, his look veiled. “Jayleen has her talents, one of them being an ability to make her way around a strange city.”
Great. Now it sounded as if Vaughn was complaining about her teammate. Which she wasn’t, not this time.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Trust is important in a team.”
Yeah, like he trusted her. No point in trying to explain, though; sometimes it was just better to swallow one’s pride, even if you choked.
“Will they be in contact on a regular basis?” she asked.
“Not unless we call them in.”
“And Kelly?”
“Has already transmitted a number of images to Ling Mai, who’s processing them for recognition. So far, it looks like many are go-betweens, which means it’s taking longer to make the connections between bidder and final buyer.”
“So is that good news?” She tried to read his expression.
“No.”
“Because?”
“Because the few that Ling Mai have identified have connections with several very dangerous, very nasty terrorist organizations.”
Even a newbie op like her understood the implications of that statement, and they weren’t good. But this was Blade. Her Blade, of the easy smiles and the warm friendship. She just couldn’t—or didn’t want to—think he wa
s working hand in hand with the people Stone was describing. There must be some kind of explanation, but so far nothing came to mind.
“So it becomes even more imperative to find out what is being auctioned?” she asked.
“Exactly.”
“Anything else?” She rubbed open palms along her khaki slacks.
Something was worrying him. Not that a rock man gave much away, but even his gaze was remote and removed, staring out toward the snow-capped Himalayas in the distance.
He tightened his jaw and turned to her. She snapped her shoulders to attention.
“Well?” she prompted when he hesitated.
“Jayleen passed along the news that Ling Mai has changed the mission in light of the players involved thus far.” His tone sounded like pebbles dropping into deep, dark, bottomless water.
“In what way?”
“She wants us to get that invite to Brighton Hall.”
If a heart could flatline while still beating, Vaughn’s just did.
“And you agreed?” She waited for the pebble to hit bottom.
“I told her you weren’t ready.”
Nothing like anger to kick-start a reaction.
“Of all the—”
“Wait.” He held up one hand, as if that was going to stop or even slow her down. “I also agreed. We don’t have a lot of options in light of a new development.”
Okay, she could let him know exactly what was lacking in his definition of team, or she could act like a professional, which she kept telling herself she was.
“What’s the development?” Each word rolled like ground glass in her throat.
“It appears MI6 sent in two operatives last week to do exactly what we’re doing.”
That sounded like a good thing to her…or were they talking international rivalries here?
“And the problem is?” she prompted. “Can’t we combine resources?”
He didn’t glance her way, but she caught a shift in his mood before he said, “They found one of the agents this morning three blocks from the hotel. His throat slit.”
Dead? The finality of Stone’s words reverberated through her. Who was the op? Man? Woman? Did he or she have a spouse, a lover, children?
Gone. Just like that. Wiped from the face of the earth.
“And the other agent?”
“Still missing.”
Good news or bad? And what was Blade’s involvement? Could the man who so gallantly kissed her hand only yesterday be so callous and heartless as to murder in cold blood? Or could there be another reason for an agent’s death? Being an operative meant existing in a dark, violent world. Wasn’t she learning that by the moment? Could the agent’s death be due to something other than Blade’s mysterious auction? Or was that her old life rearing its naive head? The one happy to look the other way and ignore the brutality of anything ugly, painful or messy.
Stone waited at her side, no doubt expecting her to waver and run.
“Blade isn’t necessarily involved in the killing.” Even as she uttered the words she sensed Stone’s resistance.
“You still thinking you owe this guy?” he asked, shifting the conversation.
“I do.”
“Not here you don’t.” The look Stone cast her told her to get real and grow up. Not necessarily in that order. “And if you can’t grasp, or won’t grasp that concept, the mission is over.”
Fine. She’d asked to be an operative; nothing she did or didn’t do was going to bring that British agent back. But what she did next might mean the agent hadn’t died in vain.
“So what happens now?” she asked.
“If you have your head on straight, we exploit Golumokoff’s vulnerability.”
Leave it up to the man to throw her for a loop. She thought they’d be talking strategy, tactics, formulating a plan. What was he discussing?
“And that vulnerability is?”
“You.” His appraising look made the thin mountain air nonexistent. He was pushing every button. Twice.
“You mind explaining that?”
“Your boyfriend is a man who doesn’t like losing.”
She kept her tone even, though not her temper. “I told you, he never was my boyfriend and he can’t lose what he never had.”
“That’s your perspective.” He glanced away. “Haven’t you ever wanted something, but didn’t get it? Then, for some reason, years later, it surfaces again? Another chance. Another opportunity. Only once again, it is out of your reach.”
Yeah, she wanted to make a difference, but every turn she made complicated that goal. Clearing her throat, she focused on the topic at hand. “Because I’m supposedly married to you, or because I’m here means I’m now in reach?”
“A man like Blade wouldn’t let a marriage vow stop him if he thought it meant getting what was denied to him before.”
“And you know this because?”
“Because I wouldn’t let it stop me.” The dark, enigmatic look he shot her forced her to swallow.
Nothing personal. The man was talking in generalities, not specifics. Think like a pro, not a woman.
“Fine.” She let out a small whoosh of breath. “Let’s say you’re right. Somewhat.”
His lips twitched into a reluctant grin, but she ignored it.
“So Blade wants to claim what he feels was denied him before, like he couldn’t have any woman he wanted. Then, or now. The man is wealthy, intelligent, powerful and good-looking.” There. She’d made her point, not that Stone wanted to hear her opinion. “But if this is about some macho male competitive thing—”
“It’s not about competition, though there is some of that there. It’s more about possession.”
“You can’t possess a person.”
“You can possess what you feel another person has. Currently your Russian sees you belonging to me. Before, you belonged to your father. Either way, winning you over, by any means possible, sets him up as the stronger male. If I was out of the picture, you’d still be the daughter of the CIA director. A very enticing win for a man like Golumokoff.”
It sounded like a textbook description of dangerous and unstable.
She cleared her throat and attributed the goose bumps on her skin to the temple shadows, nothing more. “So what happens next?”
“You, or more specifically I, turned down his first attempt to lure you the other night.”
“Lure? You make me sound like some Gothic ninny.”
“You’re a woman. He’s a man. Lure. Entice. Seduce. Use whatever term you want. Other women might fall for the points you mentioned—money, looks, power—but you wouldn’t.”
Deep, dangerous water, with eddies and whirlpools, and hidden monsters lurking everywhere.
She eased onto the shoals. “And you know this because?”
“Because you never fell for him the first time around.”
“I told you, our relationship wasn’t like that.”
“No, you have a trigger that’s different.”
She should have slapped him harder the other night.
“And that trigger is?”
“Your boyfriend thinks it’s excitement. He thinks you’re a wind junkie—like him.”
“A wind junkie?” She’d crewed and soloed enough sailboats to realize he was talking about those who sailed against the wind, craving the rush of air and speed and water—the surge of power when one pitted oneself against nature—the razor-edge experience.
He continued, “That’s what the auctions are about for your friend. They’re as much about skirting the law, possessing that which can’t be possessed, and knowing at any time one could be caught.”
He was right. Wrong about Blade and her, but right about the auctions.
“So what does this have to do with getting into the auction at Brighton Hall?”
“By saying no to the man, we put you just a little more outside his reach.”
“And you think that’s going to make me more attractive to him? If he can—what was
the word you used? Lure?—if he can lure me to the auction, he’ll have scored twice. Whetted my appetite and pissed you off at the same time.”
“Exactly.”
She found herself laughing. This wasn’t high school. On the other hand, many of life’s lessons were best learned in the heady emotional turmoil of those teenage years. Game playing. Risk avoidance. The cost of caring too much.
Her laugh died away. “So I’m now the bait, and no longer just the doorway to an introduction.”
He didn’t answer right away, not until she let her gaze lock with his; she wished she hadn’t. One could not hide from those dark eyes.
“What?” she asked, when the waiting and the scream of monkeys jangled already twitching nerves.
“None of this is personal.”
Oh, that was priceless. She was the one being examined and dissected like a lab animal, and he had the gall to say it wasn’t personal.
“It might not be to you. This is just another job to you.” Her breath hitched, but she continued, “An assignment I know you didn’t want, but it has nothing to do with your past life. No skeletons in the closet for M. T. Stone. No warts, no stupid mistakes you made that you wish you could undo, no—”
He stopped her the same way he had the other night, except instead of his whole hand covering her mouth he simply laid two fingers across her lips. Very gently. Very firmly. Very effectively.
Damn him anyway. How dare he make her heart skip a beat and her hands curl into useless fists.
He waited, using that rocklike patience of his, until she stilled her pesky emotions and nodded. Only then did he let his fingers slide away.
“We all have shadows in our closets.” He spoke with the tang of remorse. “The key to staying alive in this job is to make sure those past mistakes don’t come back to bite you.”
Easy for him to say.
He smiled, though there was little humor in it. “A wise man once said an expert is only a man who’s made every mistake once.”
“Great. I’m well on my way.” She meant the remark to be light; instead it sounded strained.
He shrugged. “Yeah. You are.”
A compliment? From Stone? Not in a million years.