“You’re welcome, Mr. President,” Chloe said.
With that, President Toscana and his bodyguards swept out of the room.
“Well, that was nice,” Chloe said.
For a moment, Vaughn thought of his father. Had he had moments like this? Heady moments, when men of great stature thanked him for a job well done? I wish you were here to tell me, Dad, Vaughn thought.
“You in there?” Chloe asked, startling him.
“Yeah, I—” Vaughn’s cell phone trilled, cutting him off, and he reached into his breast pocket to grab it, shooting Chloe an apologetic glance.
“Agent Vaughn,” he said, falling back into his chair.
“I just wanted to call and congratulate you on a job well done,” Betty Harlow said.
“Uh . . . thank you, ma’am,” Vaughn replied, shocked.
“Harlow?” Chloe mouthed.
“Just don’t go getting a hero complex on me,” Betty growled. “I can’t tolerate that crap.”
“No. Of course not.”
“We’ll see you in a couple of days,” Betty said. “Pass my thanks on to Agent Murphy.”
“I will,” Vaughn replied.
He hung up the phone, placed it in his pocket, and leaned back in his chair, smiling at Chloe. She eyed him dubiously as he stretched out his legs and crooked his arms behind his head.
“Why do you look like that?” Chloe asked finally.
“Because Betty Harlow just called to personally congratulate me . . . well, us, on a job well done,” he said.
Chloe sat down hard, her expression dazed. “Does she even do that?”
“She does now,” Vaughn said, raising his eyebrows.
“Wow,” Chloe said.
Vaughn took a deep breath and relaxed into the chair, deciding to let himself enjoy this feeling of triumph, even if it was just for a few minutes. It wasn’t every day that he received a personal thank-you from one of the most powerful and respected men in the world and a phone call from his boss, who wasn’t known for her effusive expressions of praise.
“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Chloe said, breaking into his thoughts. “We still have Toscana’s big speech at the UN tomorrow night, and don’t forget there’s an assassin on the loose.”
“Right,” Vaughn said, sitting up and placing his feet flat on the ground. The moment had passed, and in the real world he still had a job to do. “Back to work.”
10
“WHO ARE WE GOING to meet at this place?” Vaughn asked Marianna as their limo zipped uptown later that night. He kept his eyes trained out the window at the lights of the city, the dog walkers and nannies and the trench-coated men and women rushing home from work.
There was nothing of particular interest for him outside the car, but focusing on the sidewalk prevented him from staring at Marianna’s bare legs. She was wearing an extremely sexy fringed dress with a hemline that was almost X-rated. Somehow her delicately crossed ankles seemed to be inching closer and closer to him with each passing city block. Avoiding all contact, Vaughn had his elbow crooked on the door’s arm rest, and his knees were turned away from Marianna. If she got any closer, he was going to have to jump out of the moving limo.
“They’re just friends of mine from boarding school,” Marianna replied blithely. “They go to Columbia, so I promised them I would meet up with them when I was in town.”
“Friends? I don’t know how much I trust your friends at this point,” Vaughn said, only half kidding.
When Marianna didn’t reply, he finally risked a glance in her direction and found her staring down at her lap. She fiddled with the small beaded purse in her hands and sighed, her expression dark.
Nice one, Vaughn. Very charming, he berated himself.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I can’t believe I just said that. I’m such an idiot.”
He watched her fingers working as she twisted one black bead on the bag’s strap around and around.
“No, I’m the idiot,” she said, shaking her head. “You must think I’m so stupid. First Carlos and Roberto, and now Dominic . . . Maybe my father’s right. Maybe I am still a naïve child.”
Vaughn reached out and placed his hand over Marianna’s. “You’re not a child,” he said. “Look what you survived this morning.”
Marianna scoffed and pulled her hand away, tucking it under her arm. “Oh, yes, I was very brave with all the screaming and crying,” she said.
“You did fine,” Vaughn replied. “Better than most people would have done. Believe me, I know.”
Marianna looked at him tentatively, her face half in shadow, half illuminated by a streetlight outside her window. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Well, it’s true,” Vaughn said.
He knew he was in trouble. He couldn’t believe he’d actually put his hand on hers. What kind of CIA officer did that? One who was starting to fall for his assignment, that was what kind. He found himself looking forward to meeting Marianna’s friends, even if they did turn out to be of the shallow, self-interested sort she’d surrounded herself with at the club the night before. At least with a few more people in the mix there would be no more loaded private moments.
The limousine swung around a corner and eased to a stop in front of a brick building with a long red awning stretching out to the edge of the sidewalk.
“This is it. Marcel’s,” the driver said.
Vaughn jumped out of the car and walked around to open the door for Marianna. As they made their way up the front steps, Vaughn slipped into work mode, keeping his eyes peeled for shadowy figures, men lurking in corners, anything remotely out of the ordinary. A tuxedoed man held the door open for them and smiled.
“Ms. Toscana,” he said with a nod.
Vaughn tensed slightly. That was odd. Unless the guy was a serious student of current world events, why would the doorman at a restaurant on the Upper West Side know Marianna’s name? Vaughn studied the man’s angular face, committing it to memory, just in case. When the man stepped aside, Vaughn finally noticed it—something very out of the ordinary. There was no one in the restaurant. No one aside from a few members of the wait staff lined up along the right wall. All the tables were set with ivory tablecloths and china, candles flickered along the walls and on every available surface, but the place was deathly silent.
“What’s going on?” Vaughn asked. This was one of the most popular eateries in the city. When he had told Elena where he and Marianna were headed, she’d looked it up online and found that even on weeknights it was next to impossible to get a reservation there. Where was everybody?
“You were so worried about my security,” Marianna said to him as the maitre d’ slipped her wrap from her shoulders. “So I reserved the entire restaurant.” She smiled. “It reminds me of one of my favorite restaurants in Rome, Trattoria di Nardi. You should go there sometime.”
Vaughn swallowed hard as he looked around at the polished wood chairs, the gleaming silver. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard. “Your friends aren’t coming, are they?”
“Michael, Michael, Michael,” Marianna said, slipping her arms around one of his. “Those friends don’t exist. When are you going to catch up?”
A hot, embarrassed, somewhat flattered blush covered Vaughn’s face. “Marianna, we can’t do this,” he said gently. “We can’t go out on a date.”
“Are the lady and gentleman ready for their table?” the maitre d’ asked, appearing soundlessly at their side. He was a slim man with slick black hair and a square face. Something about his smile made it clear to Vaughn that he enjoyed being in charge for an important guest like Marianna.
“It’s just dinner, Michael,” Marianna said, biting her lip. Suddenly she looked vulnerable again, less in charge than she had just moments ago. Vaughn realized that she’d given him the power to hurt her. He hated it when women did that. It almost always made him crumble.
It is just dinner, as long as you keep it casual, Vaughn told himself. Just get it over w
ith.
“Okay,” he said with a sigh, cracking a small smile that caused Marianna to grin. “We have to eat, right?”
“This way,” the maitre d’ said, bowing before he started to wind his way around the deserted tables and chairs toward the back of the room. He had been loitering nearby while Marianna and Vaughn conversed, obviously waiting to pounce the second a decision was made.
Vaughn walked behind Marianna, watching the swish of the fringe on the hem of her black dress as she walked—watching her hips sway slowly back and forth. The moment he realized what he was doing, he blushed again and averted his eyes, forcing himself to recheck the perimeter of the restaurant. If he didn’t get control of his hormones, he was never going to make it through this night.
“Our finest table,” the maitre d’ said, pulling a chair out for Marianna.
The table was stationed in the corner behind the privacy of an old-fashioned accordion-style room divider. Vaughn realized it was probably there to afford solitude for romance-seeking couples, but considering romance was not on the agenda and there were no other diners in the restaurant, its presence was pointless. And the screen obscured his view of the room. He folded it up to the wall, ignoring the tongue clucking of the maitre d’.
“Is the table unacceptable, sir?” the man asked.
“No. The table is just fine.”
Vaughn took the corner seat across from Marianna and surveyed the restaurant. From where he sat he had a view of the front door, the bathrooms, and the kitchen door. No one would enter the room without Vaughn’s seeing them.
A tall man sat down at a grand piano on the other side of the restaurant near the deserted bar and began to play a jazz tune at a quiet, unobtrusive volume. Marianna smiled at Vaughn, her eyes shining in the candlelight as the maitre d’ slipped a pair of menus in front of them. Vaughn felt a very first-date-like stirring in his chest and wondered what Betty would say if she could see him now.
“Snap out of it, Lothario,” he heard her voice say in his ear. “Who do you think you are?”
“If you would like the soufflé for dessert, I suggest you put in your order now,” the maitre d’ said, folding his hands together at waist level as he loomed over the table.
“I don’t think we’ll be staying for dessert,” Vaughn said, attempting to get back to a businesslike atmosphere.
“Michael, there’s no rush,” Marianna said, peeking over her menu. She locked eyes with him and lowered her chin. “After all, we do have all night.”
Something in the way she said it made Vaughn’s heart stir again. All night. All night with Marianna. His nonagent side—the side he was not supposed to be listening to—very much liked the sound of that. He glanced around the room and checked his watch. It was only eight o’clock. He’d told Chloe he would be out for the night with Marianna and her friends, figuring he’d probably end up at another downtown club standing in the corner while they partied. His partner would never know that the evening had turned out differently.
No one would know—unless he decided to tell them.
Marianna gazed at him steadily across the table, her eyes challenging him to break the rules. There was just something about her. Something mysterious—something intriguing. Something that made it so easy to forget everything else.
“The soufflé sounds great,” Vaughn told the maitre d’. He exchanged a slow smile with Marianna, savoring the thrill of his racing pulse. “And we’d like to take a look at the wine list as well.”
* * *
“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” Marianna leaned her forearms on the iron fence that overlooked the Hudson River and the New Jersey coastline on the opposite shore. It was a cool, clear night, and the lights on the buildings across the way glinted in the darkness like thousands of low-flying stars. During the day the same buildings were gray, industrial blocks of brick, but at night there was something romantic about the view.
Vaughn studied Marianna’s profile, dozens of cheesy movie lines flitting through his mind unbidden. The view’s beautiful from where I’m standing. . . . It’s even more beautiful because of you. . . . He cleared his throat and turned away, resisting the urge to say something he would regret on every conceivable level.
“It’s too exposed out here,” he told her, leaning back against the fence. He scanned the walkways of Riverside Park, unable to distinguish the faces of the joggers and pedestrians in the darkness. “We should really get you back to the hotel.”
Marianna sighed, a breeze tossing her dark curls around her face. She tipped her head forward and stared down at the rippling water. Vaughn had a feeling he knew what was coming—she wanted to talk. All night she had been trying to find out more about him, trying to inject a romantic vibe into the dinner by feeding him from her fork and touching his hand on the table. Vaughn had done everything he could to deflect her advances without being outright rude, but he could tell from Marianna’s tentative body language that she was about to call him on it.
The locale she had chosen for this talk wasn’t lost on him either. It was Marianna who had suggested a stroll through the park, ending down by the water. There was no better setting for a goodnight kiss between two people who couldn’t, under any circumstances, go back to one another’s rooms at the hotel. Though neither of them said this aloud, they both knew it all too well.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” Marianna asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she turned her head to face him.
“I did,” Vaughn replied truthfully. It had been more than good. In the moments he had let his guard down, it had been fun and interesting and very datelike. Then the guilt would seep in and the good feeling would end until he found himself slipping again. He’d spent the evening on an internal roller coaster.
“Really? Because you’ve seemed a little . . . closed off,” Marianna said, standing up straight. She pulled her wrap more tightly around her slim shoulders and searched his face, waiting for him to explain.
Vaughn sighed. “Marianna . . . I have to be closed off,” Vaughn said, pushing his hands into the pockets of his gray trench coat. “I’m supposed to be protecting you. I can’t . . . get distracted.”
A sexy smile slid across her face and she stepped closer to him. “Is there something about me that you find distracting?”
He watched her hand reaching out for him, knowing he should stop her, but somehow he was frozen. When she rested her hand on his cheek, the warmth of her touch seemed to spread throughout his entire body. The heady scent of her perfume filled his senses, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
How had he let this happen? How had he let himself start falling for this person he had despised just yesterday—the last person in the world he should even be thinking about? She was too young for him. She lived in another country. She was the daughter of a dignitary. And to top it all off, he had a responsibility to take care of her. Mixing business with pleasure wasn’t just frowned upon by the CIA—it was forbidden.
“Marianna,” Vaughn said, his throat dry. “I can’t—”
“Michael, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to throw myself into the river and you are going to be in big trouble with your boss.”
Vaughn’s heart skipped a beat, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d slipped his hands under the thick blanket of her hair.
“I guess I can’t argue with that,” he mumbled.
She closed her eyes and tipped her face toward his. Vaughn leaned down and touched his lips to hers. It had been years since he had experienced a first kiss with someone, and he’d forgotten about the rush, the fog that took over his brain. As Marianna wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body closer to his, the voices in his mind faded to nothing and his racing heart took over.
For the moment, Agent Vaughn was breaking all the rules, but Michael was exactly where he was supposed to be.
11
VAUGHN ESCORTED THE TOSCANA family back to the presidential suite along with a half-dozen It
alian security personnel, some of whom had been called to duty in the States after their colleagues had been taken into custody. As he followed the line of dark-suited men, Vaughn felt as conspicuous as a professional hockey player with no missing teeth. The new security people had been cold to him all morning, unable to decide whether he was the enemy, for bringing down their friends, or their friend, for bringing down their enemies.
Meanwhile, he felt as if Marianna’s parents could see right through him, as if they were completely aware of the struggle he’d been enduring all morning. They knew why he’d been avoiding eye contact with Marianna, why he’d practically flinched when she’d grabbed his arm for balance getting out of the limousine at the UN that morning. Marianna, of course, seemed to be going out of her way to be as close to Vaughn as possible even as he avoided it, making his defensive tactics all the more conspicuous. He felt like a teenager suffering under the evil eye of his prom date’s parents. Every time he caught Mrs. Toscana looking in his direction, he was certain he could read disapproval on her dark features. His guilty conscience was sure that Marianna had told her everything.
They’re going to have me taken off the case, Vaughn thought, sweating underneath his tight shirt collar. They’re going to call Betty and tell her all about my unprofessional conduct, and I’m going to be a laughingstock at Langley.
Vaughn took his place near the wall, behind the couch on which Marianna and her mother had seated themselves, running his finger between his collar and his neck. There was a heavy silence over the room as everyone mulled over the horrifying statistics they had heard that morning. The family had attended a breakfast at the UN, followed by a symposium on the world AIDS crisis. From the lack of conversation in the limo on the way back to the hotel, virtually everyone had been affected by the speakers, the video footage, the overwhelming facts.
And here I am stressing about a schoolboy’s crush, Vaughn thought, shaking his head. What is wrong with me? No one else here is thinking about me and Marianna.
“Agent Vaughn, how do you feel about my daughter?” Mrs. Toscana asked suddenly.
Close Quarters Page 8