The Cinderella Mission

by Catherine Mann

  He canted toward her.

  She jerked her wrist away. She wouldn’t let him steamroll her. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Damned pit bull,” he mumbled, pulling his hand from her leggings.

  She ignored his comment since he probably only meant to distract her with it anyway. Stretching up on her toes, she tugged his shirt down his shoulder. Purple, green and black bruising stained down his shoulder blade. Her hand fluttered to rest on top. Carefully. “Did this happen yesterday in the weight room?”

  He shrugged his shirt back up and flashed her a vintage Ethan grin. “Doesn’t matter.”

  She wouldn’t let him distract her with that killer smile this time. “Yes, it does. You were hurt protecting me.”

  He cupped her face. “You’d have done the same.”

  “Damn straight. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She gripped the open V of his shirt to keep herself from shaking him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t need to know.”

  “Why do you get to decide that?”

  “I have more experience.” He silenced her with a lingering kiss before backing away. “Finish up your Pilates. I’ll be watching the security cameras until you make it safely back into the house.”

  Ethan swiped his 9mm off the table and disappeared into the night.

  Experience.

  The word lingered in the air, heating it with the knowledge he had in another area, a knowledge she suddenly found herself wanting to learn.

  From him.

  The thought blindsided her. For two years, she’d spun fantasies about the man, resenting the crush while wanting the fantasy all the same. Right now, the longings and dreams felt very real. And very possible.

  She wasn’t one bit closer to getting over her infatuation. Instead, need for him burned deeper, hotter, threatening to overtake her concentration if she didn’t do something about it.

  He’d made it clear he wanted her, too. Why not pursue that? She certainly couldn’t be hurting any more than she already was at the moment.

  Twenty-four years of abstinence sprawled out in her mind. She’d been waiting for someone she could trust. And as much as she knew Ethan wouldn’t be the man in her tomorrows, she could trust him with today.

  He would treat her body and her friendship with care.

  A scant fragment of rational thought insisted she might well be influenced more by her hormones than her brain. Too bad. The force of her desire might be causing an edgy ache and reckless decisions, but she welcomed every ounce of frustration because she felt normal.

  She might not be as experienced as the other women he chose, but she knew with unquestioning certainty that he wanted her. Badly. She intended to follow through on the promise in his eyes. In his touch.

  Ethan Williams would be her lover.

  Before this case ended, she intended to broaden her horizons in more than just field craft.

  Chapter 8

  A flash sparked across the horizon outside the airplane’s windscreen. Ethan gripped the yoke and flew into the light, piloting his twin turbo toward their North Carolina destination with Kelly sitting beside him.

  Granted any damned luck at all—and they could use some—the retired agent who’d opened a mining museum would have insights into the underground European jewel trade. They would spend the morning quizzing him about his legendary gem-cutting skills. Time well spent since they needed to widen the scope of their investigation.

  Ah, hell, he needed some breathing room from the attraction dogging him, and an airplane winging its way to North Carolina made a fairly decent start.

  His private plane also made for a secure location to brainstorm about their investigation going nowhere fast. Sure, they’d lined up top-notch security for the night of the ball, but he wanted answers for Alex Morrow before then. Every day missing increased the chances the agent had died. Or was surviving God only knew what kinds of torture.

  Actually, Ethan knew well. Had in fact been through a few such instances in deep-cover situations that placed him in dark corners of the world, places that never saw light.

  So far, he’d been able to shield Kelly from that. Today’s informal interview would offer her a chance to stretch her wings in a safe environment.

  Although at the moment, he wished he’d opted for a more formal venue so she would have to slap on additional layers of sweaters along with those long skirts she used to wear.

  Kelly twirled the end of her ponytail between two fingers, denim looking sinfully good plastered against her curves. “How long’s this guy been out of the agency?”

  “About fifteen years.” Clyde Hanson had earned his retirement working his way out of one of those hellholes. Ethan made a visual scan of his instruments, then the clear sky ahead of them. “Word has it he knows everything about jewels and gemstones. Picking his brain may help us find a new direction for why someone’s targeting the summit display.”

  “Couldn’t they just be after the monetary value?”

  “Maybe. But then why not hit something like Lord Stanfield’s private collection? Or the Cairo exhibit next month. Even the Smithsonian has less security. With all the dignitaries flown in for this, safeguards will be thick even before we implement our extra carpeting of manpower.”

  It was one thing to bring down scum in a sting, but keeping that entire mass of people safe hamstrung many of the methods usually open to him. Keeping everyone alive would take creativity, luck, and some serious thinking outside the box.

  Given all the current war situations with noncombatants so heavily mixed in, turning to the military for unconventional methods of crowd control made sense. They’d opted to use the cutting edge breakthrough Laser Dazzler—its benign name meant to emphasize the weapon’s nonlethal means. Nonlethal, but effective as hell with intense, rapid bursts of light that disoriented, stunned and even temporarily blinded attackers. “Any word back from Carla on her meeting with the Marines over in Quantico?”

  “Their Urban Warfare Battle Lab is still working up the stats on using the Laser Dazzler in this sort of setting. No doubt, it would be easy to lace in with all the equipment in place for the laser show to highlight the jewels. They just need to work on better eye wear to protect the security personnel from being disoriented, as well.” Kelly fished a hand into her purse and pulled out her Palm Pilot. “They’ve made improvements since using it in Somalia, but it would still look odd if the security folks are all wearing goggles. Hopefully, they’ll have something worked out soon with contact lenses that diffuse the light.”

  “God knows we don’t need bullets flying and one side claiming someone assassinated their ambassador. Could start a world war.”

  Kelly stared down at her Palm Pilot, flipping it in her hand without turning it on. “Samantha’s negotiations for economic relations between Delmonico and the US have stirred fires in more than one nut-case faction.”

  Ethan peered out his windscreen at the miniature landscape below. A haze of mist blanketed the ground. Trails of steam and smoke from power plants rose, not yet dispersed or dissipated by winds—early morning peace, deceptively calming before the launch of a day that could hold anything. “There’s no simple answer to wars generations old. Even if we avert a jewel heist, we’ll be lucky to get through the evening without an old-fashioned fistfight.”

  Kelly twirled the stick to her keypad between her fingers. “You really used to date her?”

  “Who?”

  “Samantha Barnes.”

  So she’d picked up that slip back in their conversation in the greenhouse after all. He’d wondered why she hadn’t commented on it during the discussion of Celia. “If two dinners count as dating, then yeah. Matt introduced us years ago, back in our twenties. Nothing serious. Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  “Who said I was concerned?”

  “Concerned about our cover.”

  She clicked on her Palm Pilot. “I trust you
to do your job.”

  Not that he deserved her trust elsewhere. His relationship track record sucked. He never cheated, but he didn’t stick around long, as Kelly should well know since he’d spilled all about his latest breakup more than once during their lunches. Before he’d known about her feelings for him. Before he’d seen her stand up on a chair and blaze with magnificent fire as she talked about what an ass he’d been.

  Before he’d seen her in a sports bra and leggings.

  Down, boy.

  Eyes on the sky and mind on the mission. He’d invert the plane if he let his mind wander that Lycra-clad path. “Someone’s targeting these jewels at this occasion for a reason. They want something in particular.”

  “I’m surprised they don’t have Tara’s engagement ring on display.”

  Discussion of engagement rings sent a prickling down his spine like St. Elmo’s Fire crackling through the airplane. Not particularly lethal in and of itself, but potentially deadly in its ability to distract. “That rock of hers might blind people during the laser show.”

  Kelly’s laugh swirled through the cabin.

  He wanted to open a window. “Read over the inventory list again.”

  She keyed the tiny pointer along her PDA. “The ambassador of Gastonia has donated the world’s largest sapphire for viewing.” She tapped her lips with the pointer. “Hmm. Sapphires. Funny, but mystics hold that sapphires banish fraud.”

  “No kidding.” Good. Talk that had nothing to do with engagement rings.

  Celia’s engagement solitaire had been buried with her.

  “Sapphires are supposed to alleviate depression by lightening tension. Historically, they were even used as an energy source for curing boils.”

  “And you learned this where, Nebraska farm girl?”

  “From my gym teacher, of course.”

  Damn. Vectoring too close to those meditation thoughts again. “Any more mystic lowdown on the other jewels on display? What about emeralds?”

  Kelly played with the zipper tab on her parka. “Emeralds are said to increase inspiration and patience. Rubies, on the other hand, deal in more volatile emotions and can bring out anger. Centuries ago in Burma, soldiers embedded rubies under their skin to make them invincible.”

  “And to think Carla Juarez and the folks over in ops support have been spending millions developing embedded tracking devices to keep us safe,” Ethan joked, cutting his eyes toward Kelly.

  A smile dimpled her cheeks. “Maybe we should tell Carla so she can include them in her next study.”

  Ethan tore his eyes away from the temptation of Kelly and back to the sky. Silence echoed between them, broken only by the low drone of the engines, the tap of the stylus against her PDA.

  Eventually, Ethan’s gaze gravitated right back to the woman beside him, her brow furrowed, every line of her body taut with tension as she focused on the work in front of her. She looked as if she could use one of her meditation power naps right about now.

  Ethan kept his mind damned well off what she would be wearing and reminded himself today’s mission had a dual purpose. More than tracking leads in the European jewel market, he planned to work in some fun for Kelly into the mix. A rundown, gemstone mining park in North Carolina wasn’t Rio, but he intended to make the day memorable for her.

  Starting now. “Wanna have a go?”

  “At what?”

  He nodded to the controls.

  Her eyes widened, sparked, then glowed with definite interest. “Me? I don’t know anything about flying.”

  “Taking off and landing’s the tough part. This is easy. Just like a car, keep the direction and speed steady. Feel the adjustments in the yoke like you do with a steering wheel. I’ll even put the autopilot on altitude hold for you. Take the throttle if you need to adjust airspeed. Throttle up is faster. Throttle back for slower. Otherwise, hands on the yoke, point her straight and level. If you have the least doubt, watch the artificial horizon on the instrument panel.”

  “Or you could take over.”

  “Not a chance. You’re on your own.” He raised his hands.

  “Ethan!” She grasped the yoke. A slight yaw, bump, jolt and she leveled the wings again as they plowed past the clouds. “Ohmigosh.” Her breath huffed in faster gasps as she flew. “This is incredible. Why would you ever want to land?”

  “Gotta refuel eventually.”

  Her hands loosened around the yoke, her shoulders dropping into a more relaxed angle. “Have you ever thought about doing this professionally? The CIA has pilots on their operative roster.”

  “Nah. For those folks and active-duty service people, it’s more of a calling-to-the-skies. For me, it’s just a cool way to get from point A to point B, like the Jag.”

  “Really cool way.”

  Her adventurous spirit matched to his own with a power he couldn’t miss.

  Couldn’t resist. “Yeah. Next time I’ll take you flying over the ocean. With the Gulf Stream IV, we can make London in less than seven hours. Maybe even wrangle an invitation to look at Lord Stanfield’s jewel collection while we’re there.”

  What the hell had he just said, committing them to time together after the case? Still, the idea took shape in his head with appealing clarity. Too easily, he could envision touring Europe with Kelly—climbing around Stonehenge, making out at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

  Making love on a private beach in Monaco.

  Hell, he was thinking like some damned kid. Someone closer to her age. She should enjoy those kinds of courting rituals from someone still young enough to possess a few illusions.

  For as long as he could remember, he hadn’t wanted anything except the thrill of the next case. No matter how much slime he sent away, it was never enough to satisfy the hunger inside him. He always wanted more.

  Except now. He only wanted one thing.

  He wanted to see if Kelly’s eyes would spark with all that life and vitality when she unraveled in his arms, a thrill beyond any he could imagine.

  An addictive thrill that could lead him into forgetting that his self-indulgence would eventually hurt her.

  Kelly peered through the rental-car windshield at the deserted, snow-filled parking lot outside Crazy Clyde’s Cavern. The tourist trap had pretty much shut down for the winter. Clyde Hanson could well have agreed to see them out of boredom rather than any residual patriotism.

  Reaching for her car door, Kelly stopped short when Ethan pulled it open like some guy on a date. The quaintly old-fashioned chivalry tickled her whimsy. “Aunt Eugenie’s training, I guess.”

  Ethan grunted.

  Not an encouraging sign from a man she hoped to lure into an affair.

  Rows of cabins sprawled dark and bare, puffs of smoke only rising from one chimney in the brown clapboard building labeled Clyde’s Country Store. Kelly trudged through the ankle-deep snow past a thirty-foot neon statue of an old miner with a cheesy searchlight inserted in his helmet where a mining lamp normally resided.

  Who’d have imagined the owner of this two-bit pit stop had once been a driven agent?

  She knew Ethan thought she lived in some innocent ops-support bubble, but she watched and listened, always trying to pick up as much as she could in preparation for her turn. Rumor had it, Clyde had lost more than half a finger when a friend turned on him. Some said he’d gone a little crazy. Others said he’d wised up and gotten out.

  The job allowed so much latitude in obtaining justice, it cultivated a ripe environment for corruption. How hellish not knowing how far to trust even fellow operatives. Ethan lived with the dark underside every day. Alone.

  She slid her mittened hand into his, and he didn’t pull away, this complex man with wandering feet but the gentlest touch. This man who saw into the secret yearnings of her soul enough to give her impromptu flying lessons.

  Ushering her past a frozen pond and up the slick steps, Ethan shot her a quick smile and squeezed her hand. Nothing big. Or overt. Just a simple gesture of reassurance.


  Who saw into his soul and soothed his innermost hurts? Of course he would laugh at her if she even insinuated he needed anything from anyone. Maybe through today’s interview she could show him having a partner wasn’t so bad, teach him there were some people who could be trusted.

  He could trust her.

  Ethan stepped ahead of her. He rapped on the glass pane just over the Closed sign.

  The door swung wide. A burst of dry heat swelled through and warmed her face while the cold chilled her back.

  “Welcome!” boomed the Santa Claus of a man with hands far too large for the intricate gem cutting he performed. “Thank God someone saw fit to drive up here and talk to me before my brain froze.”

  “Hello, Clyde.” Ethan tugged his gloves off and stuffed them in the pocket of his ski jacket. “This is Kelly Taylor.”

  “Well, hi there, Kelly Taylor.” Clyde kicked the door shut behind them, sealing out the howling wind. “I never lucked into a cute little partner like you back in my day.”

  A day long before political correctness, as well, but she couldn’t help but smile at his bluster. “Thanks for seeing us on short notice.”

  “Nothing else to do.”

  Kelly unzipped her jacket and let it flap loose as she strolled around the gift shop made to resemble a nineteenth-century store. Jars of candy canes perched in front of the old register. Wooden display boxes lined the counter and inside the display case. She let her hands sift through labeled box after box—garnets, rose quartz, citrine, topaz. Moonstone?

  So cool to the touch.

  Her eyes traveled ahead of her hand to the next box, clear blue stones glistening, and a sigh whispered free.

  Clyde’s beefy hand shot past her. “You have a good eye, Miss Taylor.” He scooped a handful, the smooth perfection making a startling contrast as they trickled back through his nicked and scarred fingers. “The hue will accent your pale skin nicely.”

  “I’m just trying to remember what qualities this is supposed to posses.”

  “Ah, well, actually a perfect choice for a lady agent. Aquamarines are reputed to weed out unnecessary information. They clarify thought, banish evil sprits and promote light. Here. Feel.”