She didn’t return his smile. “Not usually.”
“Look, I’m not ready to call it quits.” He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. “This whole business is really starting to tick me off. I want to know who’s behind it.”
“So do I, but your safety is more important.”
“Herman is the only one who has been hurt, and that was his own fault.”
“So far.”
He studied her face. “You really want to give up and go home?”
The idea of capitulating to their unknown foe burned her to the core, but this wasn’t about her. “I signed on to protect you, and I intend to do that to the best of my ability. I’m simply offering my professional opinion.”
“Opinion noted, and I appreciate your concern, but so far I’m not impressed by the intelligence or the effectiveness of the opposition. Besides, I think we’re up to the challenge, don’t you?”
He had effectively turned the situation back on her. It disturbed her that he’d figured out how to push her buttons in such a short time. They barely knew each other, yet he already understood her visceral response to a challenge.
“We’ll have to be even more vigilant.”
His blue eyes twinkled. “I’m game. Are you?”
Ah. He understood because he felt it too—the rush that came from proving you were better, smarter, faster.
Madelyn nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Good.”
She closed her door as soon as Carter’s lock clicked. Energy from the fight still coursed through her body, and her mind raced. She should report the attempted mugging to the police, but what would they do with the information? At this point they had minimal chance of catching the perpetrators. She peeled off her jacket, hung it in the closet, and removed her holstered gun from her waistband. When a knock came from the connecting door, she opened it to find Carter holding up a piece of paper.
“What’s that?”
“You wanted to see one of the letters. Well, here you go.”
Chapter Seven
“Let me see that.” Madelyn snatched the page from Carter’s hand.
It was an ordinary piece of cheap paper, printed on an ordinary laser printer—impossible to trace. It wasn’t like the old days when typeface could be traced to the individual characteristics of a particular machine. She held it up to the light but didn’t see any distinguishing marks. Then she read the text.
Go home. Keep quiet. Stay away from the press. The men in the garage were just a warning. Next time you won’t get off so easy.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he touched his finger to her lips. Shooting a glance at the pen on the desk, he took her hand and led her to the French doors. They stepped out on the balcony and closed the doors.
He inclined his head toward hers. “This has to be connected to the bugs.”
It was the weekend, when thousands of government drones deserted the capital. Only an occasional car passed on the street below, so there was little background noise to compete with their voices.
“Either that,” he continued, “or two different parties are involved, and they both know my room number.”
“Possible, but unlikely.” She waved the paper. “Do you suppose they were all like this?”
“Based on what Herman said, this threat is vaguer, but the letter mentions a specific incident.”
“One that happened less than a half hour ago. And this letter hasn’t been folded or mailed. It must have been slipped under your door sometime after we left for the hospital this morning— maybe even since the attack. That means whoever sent the other letters is in Washington now.”
“Assuming they came from the same source. Do you think Herman was lying when he said he had nothing to do with the letters?”
She weighed the probabilities. “I don’t know. He might have confessed to the fake bomb and the car stunt but denied the rest in order to keep me from heading back to Chicago. That might slow down his grand plan to get you on every front page in America. But he’s the one with the broken wrist, and he did seem genuinely frightened in the garage.”
“He did. Then again, Herman’s not exactly GI Joe.”
“True. Do you have any idea why someone wouldn’t want you to speak to the press? What are they afraid you’ll say?”
“Beats me. Those interviews are always the same publicity BS anyway—hardly the time or place for earth-shattering revelations.”
“Well, someone is afraid of you.”
He straightened, resting his hands on the balcony railing, and stretched. “I’ll tell you what I want to do. I want to take a walk. We can stroll to the Mall and pretend to be tourists.” He turned to face her. “What do you say?”
A dozen objections raised their hands and waved. “In light of everything that’s happened, I think we have to take these threats seriously.”
“We can take them seriously outside. Even if somebody has a tail on us, what can they do? No one’s going to shoot me on the Mall surrounded by cops.”
“Carter—”
He raised a hand to stop her. “You might be able to bully Herman into staying cooped up in a hotel room for two days, but I’m going out. You’re welcome to come if you like, but I can take care of myself.”
Madelyn studied his rebellious expression. She couldn’t force him to stay in and couldn’t let him go alone. She had no choice. She could be gracious or she could be angry, but she was going out.
“Come on. We could both use the exercise.” His insistence gave way to cajoling.
“Didn’t you get enough exercise in the garage?”
“That was the wrong kind.”
She understood the need to move, to breathe deeply, to dissipate the negative energy churning through her. “Okay, but I’d like to take a quick shower and change first.” To wash the harsh smell of combat off her body.
“Good idea. About thirty minutes?”
A half-hour later, refreshed by a hot shower, she knocked on his door. When he opened it, a shower of sparks fluttered through her midsection. She’d spent most of the past three days in his company, but she still wasn’t used to the physical impact he had on her. He wore faded jeans and a blue T-shirt a shade darker than his eyes that revealed the muscles of his shoulders and chest without clinging. He looked good enough to eat. Literally. So much for convincing herself she was immune to his brand of overt masculinity.
“Don’t you ever wear anything but black?” he asked.
She glanced at her long-sleeved black shirt and black pants, puzzled by his question. She liked black. It was always appropriate, always matched, and never called attention to her. “Not often.”
“You should. I’d love to see you in something bright, like turquoise or pink. I bet you’d look cute in pink.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t ever want to look cute, and I hate pink.”
“Red, then.” He ran his gaze over her from head to foot and back. “Yes, red would be perfect.”
She shivered, though she wasn’t cold. Quite the opposite. Her skin tingled as if he’d stroked his hands down her body. She had to do something. She couldn’t have a near-panic attack every time the man looked at her. She turned and marched toward the elevators. He laughed and caught up in two long strides.
Down in the lobby, the doorman held the door as they stepped out under the portico. It was another perfect early autumn afternoon, warm but not hot with thin wisps of cloud stretched across a hazy blue sky.
As soon as they hit the sidewalk, Madelyn’s distraction vanished. She couldn’t fantasize about Carter’s body and guard it at the same time. It was too nerve-wracking to worry about protecting him in such an open space where trouble could come from any direction. She eyed every person on the street, looking for anomalies in appearance or behavior. She glanced into every parked car and listened for slowing or accelerating traffic behind them. She had a brief, fanciful wish that they were just another couple walking along the sidewalk making small talk and enjoying
the city on a pleasant Saturday afternoon. But they weren’t. They couldn’t be.
It was after Labor Day, so the crowds of tourists on the National Mall had thinned, but there were still plenty of people roaming across the dusty, trampled grass taking pictures of the Washington Monument and standing in line to go through security at the entrances to the various museums of the Smithsonian Institution. A boy of seven or eight raced back and forth with a brilliantly colored dragonfly kite, trying to catch a breeze while his father called out encouragement.
“Do you want to see Old Glory or the First Ladies’ dresses?” Carter asked.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She gave him a now-think-about-it look. “They won’t let me in.”
His brows drew together in momentary confusion then relaxed. “Of course.” He slid his hand around to the small of her back and patted her Glock in its holster. “Me too.” He flipped up the tail of his T-shirt to reveal black leather. “I’ve been back in the States for a year, but I keep forgetting about the increased security everywhere. Do you carry all the time?”
“When I’m working. And for the duration of this tour, I’m working 24/7.”
He examined the red stone towers of the old Smithsonian building as though he’d developed a sudden fascination with nineteenth century Romanesque Revival architecture, but his brows drew together and a small muscle worked in his jaw.
“What?” she demanded. “You had to have known how this would work when you agreed to have a bodyguard.”
“I didn’t think about it on that level. I had other concerns, and I wanted to get to know you better.”
An initial flicker of betrayal morphed into burgeoning anger. Had he just confirmed her suspicions?
She grabbed his elbow and spun him to face her. “This was all a sham, wasn’t it? You never believed the threats were real. You just wanted me along as entertainment. Your recommendation had nothing to do with my reputation or competence.”
He reached for her shoulder, but she slapped his hand away. “That’s not true. I’ll admit I was attracted to you, but after I discovered Phoenix, Ltd., I told Pat about the letters and the publisher’s insistence on a bodyguard. He told me how good you are–that you’re intuitive and observant. That’s why I recommended you to Herman.”
Her anger faded. Patrick Lynch had been a good boss, a strong leader who supported his staff. She had learned a great deal from him, and it was good to know she’d earned his respect, despite the way her career had ended.
Carter’s mouth tipped up at one corner. “You know, I would have figured out some way to meet you on my own. As you’ve observed, I may not always be suave, but I am persistent.”
She had to smile.
“At any rate, I may not have believed the threats in the beginning, but we can’t ignore them now. And even though I didn’t expect to, I’ve had several opportunities to see that Pat was right. You are good at what you do. You handled the guy in the parking garage like a real pro.”
Maybe because I am a real pro.
“What were those moves? Did they teach you that at Quantico?”
“It’s called Hsing I Chuan. It’s an ancient Chinese martial art.”
“Like Kung Fu?”
She nodded. “It’s an offshoot. I’ve been studying for years, but today was the first time I’ve had a reason to use it outside the studio.”
“It was very effective. Could you show me sometime?”
Madelyn frowned. “It’s not a parlor trick. It takes years of study and practice to perfect.”
“I’m sure it does. I’d just like to see a more formal demonstration of the techniques.”
She studied his expression. He might be sincere. It was hard to tell. A large part of being a successful spy was being a good actor. Then again, maybe she should give him a lesson or two. It wouldn’t hurt to show him, up close and personal, just what she could do. Besides, she might enjoy knocking the wind out of his sails a couple of times. “All right, maybe sometime.”
He smiled. “Good. Now let’s get some ice cream. We didn’t have lunch, and I’m starving.”
“Of course you are.” The man was ruled by his stomach.
“There’s a vendor over there on the corner. Come on.” He steered her down the sidewalk.
They had just reached the ice cream vendor when the theme from Flower Drum Song, inexplicably one of Grandma Li’s favorites, began playing in Madelyn’s purse. Carter raised a questioning brow.
“It’s my grandmother. I’ll call her back later.”
“We’ve got plenty of time. Go ahead and take the call. I’ll order for you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and perused the menu of flavors.
She hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could face a typical Grandma Li lecture with Carter standing within earshot.
“Even I know better than to let my grandma go to voicemail,” he warned.
Guilt poked her. She was not being a dutiful granddaughter. She hadn’t seen Grandma is six months, and she’d promised to call her back several days ago. With all the drama, it had slipped her mind. She walked a few steps away and pulled out her phone. “Hi, Grandma.”
“Too busy to call your old grandmother?”
Grandma Li was nothing if not predictable. “I’m working right now. I have a new client.”
“That’s good. At mahjong this morning, I told Bernice Yu how well you’re doing with your business. You know her granddaughter is expecting her third baby.”
Madelyn sighed. Grandma was in top form—no beating around the bush. “I’m sure Bernice is thrilled.” She had gone to high school with Bernice’s granddaughter, Marilyn, who had married a successful ophthalmologist. His striking resemblance to a sea lion did nothing to diminish him in Grandma Li’s eyes.
“You bet she is. When am I going to be thrilled?”
“That’s hard to say.”
“Is this new client of yours a man?”
“Yes, Grandma.”
“What does he do? Is he rich? Good-looking?”
“He’s a writer.”
“A writer? Hmph.” Grandma Li gave a snort of disapproval. “A doctor would be better. Writers don’t make much money.”
Madelyn glanced up to see Carter standing in front of her with a cup of ice cream in each hand and an annoying grin on his face. Heat rose in her neck. He couldn’t have overheard, could he? She had to end this conversation fast. “I have to go now.”
“Just a minute. You didn’t tell me if he’s good-looking.”
Unable to stop herself, Madelyn raised her gaze to meet Carter’s laughing blue eyes and felt an odd little twist inside. “Yes, he is.”
I am what? he mouthed.
“Good. A good-looking grandson-in-law is better than none, even if he isn’t a doctor. How soon can you bring him for a visit? I can always tell Bernice Yu he’s a brain surgeon. That ought to shut her up.”
Madelyn sighed again. Conversations with Grandma seemed to have that effect on her. When the woman latched onto an idea, she was like a stray dog with a bone. Only a fool would try to take it from her. “I don’t know, Grandma. We’ll be in San Francisco in a few days. Maybe I can find time to stop by for a quick visit.”
“That’s perfect! You make time. I want to meet him. What if he’s not good enough for you?”
Exasperation threatened to strangle her. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not marrying him. Now I’ve got to go. Take care of yourself, and I’ll call you soon.”
Madelyn disconnected before Grandma Li could hatch any more wild schemes. Between Herman and her grandmother, she felt like she was trying to direct traffic in a pinball machine.
“You’re not marrying who?”
She had expended her last ounce of patience trying not to snap at Grandma Li and had none left for Carter. “You, if you must know. I’m not marrying you.”
“Ah.” He nodded as if her announcement made sense and handed her a cup with a glistening scoop of white and
a small plastic spoon. “I got you coconut gelato. I hope you like it.”
His calm only served to aggravate her further. “You’re not a doctor.”
“True.”
“My grandmother wants me to marry a doctor.”
“Whose doesn’t?”
Irrational indignation bubbled up inside her. “And Bernice Yu’s granddaughter is pregnant with her third baby.” The idiocy of the statement struck her the second the words left her lips, and she wilted with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. You must think I’ve lost my mind.”
“Not at all. I know a fellow victim of grandmother guilt when I see one.”
She shook her head. “Grandma Li’s at the top of her game.”
He chuckled. “Wait until you meet my grandmother. She could give yours lessons.”
“I doubt that.”
He cocked his head and regarded her with undisguised amusement. “Are we actually having a competition to see who has the toughest grandma?”
Madelyn froze then burst out laughing. Once she started, she couldn’t stop until tears rolled down her cheeks. Days of raw tension poured out and dissolved in uncontrollable laughter. After a few minutes, she pulled herself together and rummaged in her purse for a tissue, wrung-out and mortified by her loss of control. If Carter had entertained any doubts about her sanity before, her little display must have convinced him she’d gone over the edge.
“I’m sorry about that.” Her voice shook as she brushed a stray tear from her face.
He gave her an odd look she couldn’t decipher before replacing it with a casual smile.
“Don’t worry about it. You’d better eat your gelato before it melts.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon walking around, enjoying the traditional tourist sights. Carter was an entertaining tour guide and a perfect gentleman. He never once mentioned her embarrassing outburst, and Madelyn was torn between relief and regret when he checked his watch around six and announced it was time to return to the hotel. She was exhausted from the events of the morning and the effort required to maintain a heightened vigilance all afternoon, but she’d enjoyed herself too. He was an astute people-watcher and had surprised her into laughter several times with his humorous observations.
Unwritten Rules (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 1) Page 9