by Cassie Miles
“Lucky for us, I’ve got something fancy to wear. It’s a draping toga thing. Bianca can probably help me out with jewelry.”
“So can I.” He reached into his pocket. “I’ve been carrying this around for a while.”
Resting on the palm of his hand was a small, black velvet box. She suddenly realized that he was on one knee. Pulling her legs down, she sat on the edge of the bed. “This doesn’t mean we’re engaged. Not for real.”
“Got it,” he said. “But your mom was right. It’s easier to explain our relationship by saying we’re engaged.”
He flipped open the lid to the box and showed her a square-cut diamond solitaire with a white platinum band. Even though they weren’t really getting engaged, her heart fluttered. The brilliance of the stone took her breath away. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you’ll be wearing the ring. Even if it’s only for tonight.”
When he slipped it onto her finger, she held up her hand to admire the sparkle. For a moment, she allowed herself to sink into a wedding fantasy, imagining herself in a stunning white gown and a veil. Her bouquet would be white orchids. She’d walk down the aisle with her handsome father and Troy would be waiting in his tuxedo—no, in his marine dress blues. And he’d look like a hero, her special hero. She could almost hear the organ music in the background.
When she gazed down at him, she wanted to accept this ring for what it really meant. She wanted to be engaged to him.
Still on one knee, he met her gaze. “The ring looks good on you.”
“It’s kind of tight,” she said. “My fingers are swollen.”
“Because of this little guy.” He rested his hands on either side of her belly, leaned forward and placed a kiss at the place where her waist should be. Then he stood and kissed her forehead.
Though she didn’t think his kisses were meant to send a message, she drew her own conclusion: the baby came first.
If she hadn’t been pregnant, Troy never would have asked her to marry him. Their relationship was only about the baby. He’d never told her that he loved her. There was no basis for a wedding, much less a marriage.
“There are a couple things I want to talk to you about,” he said. “Are you up for a talk or would you rather nap?”
“I’ll lie down,” she said, sinking into an unreasonable state of gloom as she stretched out on the bed. If she hadn’t been carrying his child, he wouldn’t even be here.
“I’ll join you.”
“The bed is too skinny.”
“Not a problem.”
Quickly, Troy reconfigured the room, shoving the twin beds together. He kicked off his shoes and lay on the bed beside her, within easy reach. His hand stroked from her shoulder to her belly and back again.
The sensual warmth that came every time they were physically close immediately lifted her spirits. Though he didn’t love her, they were lovers. Their sexual chemistry might not be a sufficient basis for marriage, but it was pretty remarkable.
His long leg wrapped around her thigh, and he pulled her closer. The sensation of his body pressed against hers was becoming more and more familiar. They fit together well.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked.
“When I put everything together, it doesn’t make sense. Let’s say that Matthew Clark really is Kruger, the mysterious spy. Why would he want to kidnap you?”
“To get to my parents,” she suggested.
“Why you? It’s more logical for him to go after Bianca. He already knows her.”
She watched his mouth as he spoke. His lower lip was fuller than the upper, and the corners turned up. Would their child look like him?
“Olivia?” He called her back to the topic.
“I’m listening,” she said quickly. “What did your sources tell you about the kidnap attempt?”
“The tactic sounds like Kruger, but there’s no indication that he knows your parents. They only met once. It was last winter at a CRG Energy Christmas party.”
With the tip of her finger, she traced his lips. “When Bianca and I introduce our parents, we usually say something vague, like they work for the State Department. Maybe Kruger got curious about them, did research and found out that they were CIA.”
“Their identities are buried,” he said. “I had to call in a bunch of favors and use my top secret security clearance to get information on your parents.”
She was far more interested in the shape of his lips and jaw than in speculating about spies. “Maybe the connection is to you. Not my parents. The kidnapping could be part of the Hatari scheme.”
“It’s possible.”
She vividly remembered his characterization of the Hatari cell as vicious killers. “What else could it be?”
“There might be a more personal reason for someone to kidnap you.” He laced his fingers through hers. When her hand turned, the diamond caught the light and shimmered. “There could be someone with a grudge.”
“Against me?”
“A jealous ex-boyfriend. Or a stalker? Or somebody you offended?”
“Oh, puh-leeze. I’m a midwife. I don’t have nefarious enemies lurking around every corner.”
“Everybody has enemies. Even you.”
“Nope, I’m perfect.”
She leaned forward to kiss him but he pulled back.
“Nobody’s perfect,” he said. “My brother is one of the most decent men I’ve ever known, and he has enemies. There was a guy he treated at the clinic who got ticked off and came after Alex with a gun.”
“I heard about that.”
“I hate to bring this up. When we saw Alex at the hospital, he mentioned Carol Rainer.”
Olivia shoved away from him and rolled onto her back. She didn’t like to think about the Rainers and what happened on that cold night last November. Carol might blame her for the loss of her baby. “I was wrong. There are people who hate me.”
“We should probably talk to Carol.”
Even if Carol Rainer despised her down to her toes, Olivia found it difficult to imagine the outdoorsy woman from Dillon involved in a two-car chase through the foothills. “If this is your idea of foreplay, you might want to rethink your technique.”
He bridged the gap between the beds. With an impressive show of strength, he flipped her toward him and adjusted her body so she was facing him. His kiss was long, slow and deep.
She forgot about everything else.
Chapter Eleven
The party for Bianca’s law firm to welcome the Saudi prince and the higher-up executives from CRG Energy Group took place at a private home in an old-money neighborhood with winding streets. It wasn’t the sort of home Olivia ever aspired to own. She liked to keep things simple, and this place was definitely high-
maintenance. Three stories with five chimney stacks, the house sprawled across an acre of prime Denver real estate.
In the early evening dusk, garden spotlights illuminated the yard. As Troy drove their Range Rover into a line of cars proceeding around the circular drive, she peered through the windshield. “How many gardeners do you think it takes to keep the grounds looking so lush and gorgeous? All the flowers are blooming. The grass is perfect.”
“It’s nice,” Troy said.
“‘Nice’ doesn’t begin to describe it.” She pointed to a grouping of dwarf apple trees with fruit hanging from the boughs. “There’s proof. This garden is Eden.”
“Does that make us Adam and Eve?”
“And Kruger is the snake in the grass.”
“When you meet him—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I’m not supposed to mouth off. Mom told me to smile and look innocent.”
“You’re not the one I’m worried about.”
“Then who? Surely not my parents.”
“Bianca’s got her feathers ruffled. She’s seeing Matthew Clark’s undercover identity as a personal betrayal.” A muscle in his jaw tensed. “Bianca needs to be cautious.”
He’d
been on edge since his last conversation with Sergeant Nelson. On the way to his brother’s house to borrow a suit, Troy had barely said a word.
She reached over and touched his forearm. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like the way this is playing out. There are too many people involved, too many different agencies. Somebody is going to drop the ball.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Kruger won’t be here.”
“He’d better show,” he said. “A forensic team is going to be searching his condo while he’s here.”
“Is that legal? Don’t they need warrants?”
“We’re talking about CIA and homeland security.”
She knew what was wrong. “You don’t like this because you’re not in charge.”
“I wouldn’t mind if I knew who was actually giving the orders.” He craned his neck to see around the line of cars. “Using the valet doesn’t work for me. We might need to make a quick escape.”
He cranked the steering wheel and exited the line of cars. Opposite the front door, their Range Rover was stopped by a teenager in a valet vest.
Troy lowered the driver’s side window. “I’d rather park it myself.”
“Sorry, sir,” the valet said. “We’re supposed to take care of all the vehicles.”
“I have a special circumstance.” Troy jabbed a thumb in her direction. “My fiancée is nine months pregnant. We might need to leave in a hurry.”
The kid in the red vest stared through the window at her belly. He swallowed repeatedly, causing his Adam’s apple to bounce up and down like a yo-yo. “You can park on the side by the catering trucks.”
“And I’ll hang on to my car keys.” Troy turned to her. “Should I let you out here?”
“Yes, please.” Though she was fully capable of walking, her sister had talked her into wearing high heels that made every step precarious. “I’ll see you inside.”
She stepped across the flagstones at the entryway and entered through double doors that were opened wide. Watching these attractive people in designer cocktail dresses and suits reminded her of the soirees and galas she’d attended while growing up as the daughter of Washington, D.C., diplomats. Her mother’s connections in the art world got them invited to tons of cultural events. Her parents knew everybody, and people loved to have the supercharming Laughtons in attendance.
Moving stiffly in her heels, she made her way into a vast room with an inlaid parquet floor. There must have been over two hundred people there, but the house didn’t seem crowded. French doors opened onto an outdoor patio where small groups had gathered. There were three buffet stations, several bars and circulating waiters in white shirts and black bow ties. A gentle undercurrent of music came from the grand piano in a library-type room.
She spotted her parents. They blended perfectly into this crowd. Her white-haired father was dignified, and her mom was sheer elegance in a slim column of peach-colored silk. The skirt was too short for her ankle holster, and Olivia wondered where Mom had hidden her weapon. They were chatting with one of the senior partners in Bianca’s law firm, a man Olivia had met but couldn’t recall his name. A lapse of memory like that would never be tolerated in a spy. Apparently, she hadn’t inherited her parents’ ability for espionage.
Bianca stood beside them, shifting her feet and looking nervous. Troy was right to think she might be the loose cannon. Her sister seemed to be laughing too loud and drinking too freely. Would she be the one to drop the ball?
Olivia turned and found herself face-to-face with the chiseled cheekbones and dark eyes of an extremely handsome Saudi man. He introduced himself.
“Prince Amir,” she said as she inclined her head. “My name is Olivia. I’m Bianca Laughton’s sister.”
“I see the resemblance,” he said. “You are both quite stunning women.”
“Thank you.” Her lavender gown with the deep vee neckline draped elegantly over her baby bump. The swirling yards of fabric made her feel beautiful, even sexy. A high slit on the right side showed off her legs and the perilous high heel shoes.
“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your mother and father,” he said. “Your mother helped coordinate a modern art exhibit in my country.”
She had to wonder why Amir had singled her out. When it came to status, she had to be the least important person in attendance at this event. Was there another motive? Olivia didn’t have the subtlety of her parents. The only way she knew to get at the truth was to ask directly.
Before she could blurt out an inappropriate question about kidnapping and terrorists, she saw Troy coming toward them, and she was totally distracted. The charcoal suit his brother had loaned him fit perfectly across the wide span of his shoulders. He’d opted not to wear a necktie, and the collar of his light blue shirt set off his tanned complexion. She loved to watch him move. Striding toward her, he was smooth and confident. An intriguing balance of masculinity and sophistication, he looked like he belonged here.
Proudly, she said, “I’d like to introduce my fiancé.”
The word rolled easily off her tongue. Fiancé. Betrothed. The man I will one day marry. She hadn’t expected to make that claim or to have it feel so good.
As if Troy couldn’t get any cooler, he greeted Amir in his native language. They exchanged comments and a laugh. And she felt the aura of tension fade away. She wasn’t a spy and didn’t have to act like one. If Amir was up to something, she’d leave it to Troy to figure out the angles.
Her parents and Bianca joined them and the prince. Her mother responded to Amir in Arabic—one of the seven languages she spoke fluently. With Mom and Troy and the prince enjoying each other’s company, her dad leaned close and whispered, “I saw you come in alone. Where was Troy?”
“He parked the car so we can leave quickly if we need to.”
“Avoiding the valet,” her dad said. “Smart move.”
Though he was talking to her, Olivia realized that her dad’s gaze was riveted to her sister. Bianca stood at the fringe of the Arabic conversation with Troy, her mom and the prince. The indecisive expression on her sister’s face reminded Olivia of someone on the edge of a cold swimming pool deciding whether or not to jump.
“We are being rude,” the prince said as he turned and focused on Bianca. “We should speak English so these lovely ladies can add their opinions.”
When her sister smiled back at him, Olivia noticed the spark between them. They were an unlikely couple whose professional relationship would make any personal connection difficult, but their chemistry was obvious. No wonder Bianca was nervous.
From across the room, Olivia felt someone watching her. She scanned the faces of the crowd; no one seemed to be staring in her direction. In any other situation, she would have dismissed this prickly sensation, but it wouldn’t go away. She was reminded of how she’d felt outside the hospital in Dillon. Someone watching. Waiting to make their move. This wasn’t her imagination.
She should have been better prepared, should have listened more carefully when her parents and Troy talked about Kruger. Olivia had seen the fuzzy photograph from long ago, but she didn’t know what Matthew Clark looked like.
A man with shaggy, steel-gray hair wearing a beige suit and yellow necktie caught her gaze. Was he Matthew Clark? She gave him a polite smile and a nod. Instead of responding, he looked away. Was this man the focus of the investigation? Was he aware that a forensic team was searching his condo at this very moment? Did he feel the danger?
Her father nudged her shoulder. “Don’t stare.”
Though she wanted to ask if that man was Matthew Clark, she had no desire to be more deeply involved in espionage. This is not my job. She linked arms with Troy. “At the risk of sounding like a cliché of a pregnant woman,” she said, “I’m starving. Can we hit the buffet?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” he said.
As they crossed the room, she whispered, “The guy in the yellow necktie has been watching me.”
“That’s C
lark.”
A knot of fear tightened inside her chest. Her heart skipped. “Should I be worried?”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised. “Stay close to me. I’ll keep you safe.”
She trusted that he would.
TROY WASN’T CUT out for this type of espionage. He was uncomfortable at large social gatherings where every comment twisted into double and triple meanings. Allegiances shifted as easily as the direction of the wind. No one could be trusted. His type of intelligence mission was to go forward with a clear objective, with guns blazing if necessary.
His assignment at this party was supposed to be simple. When Matthew Clark left, Troy would send a text message to the team that was searching Clark’s condo. His message would be their signal to get the hell out.
It should have been simple. But Troy had reasons for concern. For one thing, Clark appeared unduly nervous. His behavior was furtive, as though he knew he’d been identified.
Earlier, while Troy was parking their vehicle near the service entrance, he had noticed one delivery van that was unlike the others. The logo for a cake baker on the side of that van had been applied in a rush, which made Troy wonder if somebody had used that van to get inside the house.
There was virtually no security at this event. With the exception of the prince’s entourage—three of those guys were armed—there were no bodyguards. Nor had the guests been checked off an approved list. Dozens of anonymous waiters, waitresses and bartenders were circulating. All of them wore white shirts and black bowties, a simple disguise.
Troy’s gut told him that Kruger, alias Matthew Clark, was in danger. After twenty-two years undercover, he must have been involved in a lot of nefarious plots. He had to know secrets that others would kill for, which would explain his nerves.
Though Troy had passed on his observations to Nelson, he’d heard nothing back. His apprehension heightened as he observed Olivia’s CIA parents and her obviously frazzled sister milling through the room.
Beside him, Olivia downed another pastry puff and sighed. “This food is delicious. Have you tried the crab cakes?”