Code Name: Fiancée

by Susan Vaughan

  Nick had spoken on the telephone with Danielle since her aborted kidnapping. Knowing she was protected eased his mind about cooperating with ATSA. He figured she was giving her minders holy hell. In three languages. He grinned.

  She’d sure given him the devil for placing her at risk. Second on her list, or maybe first, was the danger to her damn reputation for the connection to crooks and terrorists. Before slamming down the phone, she’d ended the engagement.

  Not revealing his broken engagement had seemed wise at first. Now he wasn’t so sure, but the relationship allowed ATSA to set up this trap. He’d keep up the pretense for the mission’s sake. He’d convinced Danielle to keep mum about the engagement until the kidnappers were caught. The sudden breakup might not deter them at all.

  So how did he feel about being dumped?

  Angry? No. Hurt? Sort of. He felt the disappointment of a lost account rather than the pain of a broken heart.

  Brief affairs that went nowhere had palled. Danielle and he had things in common—friends, ambition…. Marriage had seemed like a good idea at the time.

  Too much heartbreak and turmoil with his father’s serial marriages had taught him he wasn’t cut out for true love. No forever and family for him. He’d thought good sex and a tight prenup would yield a marriage with few strings, so no one got hurt when it ended. Still, he’d had misgivings.

  He shifted his feet. Glanced at his Rolex.

  An hour since the London plane had landed. The woman playing Danielle should be finished with Customs. He wanted to get this initial meeting over with and hustle her to the house.

  He shouldn’t be anxious. He knew the drill, but he’d put cloak-and-dagger ops behind him ten years ago after his last, disastrous op. These days he was a simple businessman. No intrigue outside the board room.

  His spoiled younger brother had changed that.

  Activity in the corridor from the International Arrivals Building caught his attention. Among the group of tourists and business travelers came the woman he awaited. The designer sunglasses hooked in the breast pocket of her jacket identified her. Bulging tote and slim black Prada purse of the type Danielle favored swinging from her shoulder, she walked with purposeful grace.

  Close behind her strode a copper-skinned man in sunglasses and a denim jacket. Too close.

  Alarmed, Nick started toward the advancing crowd. As they drew nearer, he saw that Denim Jacket wore an owl lapel pin.

  The ATSA pin of the day that they wore to ID each other.

  Of course. ATSA had arranged guards to protect her during her trip. He deliberately relaxed the tension in his shoulders and turned his attention to his “fiancée.”

  The tailored jeans, fitted leather jacket and heeled boots were right on target. About the same diminutive height as Danielle, but curvier. Yes, curves where there should be curves. Very nice. Red hair, but a softer rose-blond than the fire-engine tone the salon regularly painted Danielle.

  The overall look and her oval face would match any description or photographs New Dawn possessed. On her ring finger winked the two-carat stone he’d bought Danielle to seal their bargain.

  Odd. He had the feeling he’d met this woman before. Impossible.

  Intelligent green eyes searched the lounge with candor and warmth, not the guarded coolness he expected from a spy.

  Just as well she wasn’t his type. Too wholesome. Too open. Too…cute. But as he perused her parted lips and ripe curves, his blood stirred.

  Bad move. Hell, what was he thinking?

  Wholesome and open was an act. She was an undercover agent, probably more expert in deception and betrayal than any jet-set babe. The downside of wealth was that women wanted him for his money or his connections, not for himself. Danielle had been no exception.

  Plus the situation precluded sex. She had to do her job as Danielle. He had to do his part. He had to stay alert if they were to stop New Dawn.

  “Nick!” the pretend Danielle called, threading her way through the crowd. A warm smile curved her lips. She halted in front of him and turned her cheek for a kiss.

  Danielle had coached this woman well.

  She leaned close, her breasts pillowing against him.

  Her subtle scent, not calculating perfume or cloying hair goop, but something like rain-washed spring flowers, triggered traitorous urges. The errant urge to taste her lush mouth temporarily derailed him.

  With a mental kick in the butt, he gave her the expected quick buss. “Danielle, I’m glad to see you.”

  Her un-Danielle-like, bubbly laugh elicited a smile from him, the first he’d managed in days. Weeks.

  “You’re glad? I felt as though I was in a bad movie. Let’s get out of here.”

  Nodding at the uniformed porter alert for his signal, he started to lift the tote from “Danielle’s” shoulder.

  With a firm grip that surprised him, she held on to the strap. “I can manage this one.”

  Nick understood her independence. He would’ve done the same. But Danielle was used to being catered to. He covered her hand with his and spoke low enough so only she could hear. “My fiancée would have the porter handle all the luggage.”

  Without so much as a blink, she released the tote to his grasp. The pink flush on her fair cheeks was the only sign of her chagrin at the slip.

  Buttery freckles on her nose. She might be a true redhead. The notion pleased him. The image of her on his bed, naked, the proof before him, popped sweat on his brow.

  A few minutes later, the suitcases on a cart, they headed outside to his waiting Mercedes.

  Nick preferred to do his own driving. He didn’t want to forget that at one time he didn’t have the wherewithal for even a junker. But ATSA’d inserted an officer as driver and bodyguard. After New Dawn’s threatening call, the terrorists would expect him to hire protection.

  Denim Jacket and the local ATSA surveillance team entered a second sedan ahead of them. The lead car would take the same route, but remain separate and unobtrusive.

  Unless they ran into trouble.

  Green eyes glinting with good will, the woman he was supposed to call Danielle smiled at him. “That went fine back there. I think this will work.”

  Her voice was low and sexy, without the hint of twang that sneaked into Danielle’s speech. He couldn’t put out of his head—and his body—the feel of her breasts against him when he’d kissed her cheek.

  No. Kissed Danielle.

  Hell.

  “It’d better work,” he said, irritated at his unwanted attraction. “You do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

  They pulled away from the curb behind the lead car. He subsided into the plush upholstery. Damn. He was protecting the woman he’d planned to marry, and here he was lusting after a stranger. And being deliberately rude to her. He saw no honor in any of that.

  Snow, the driver, steered the car into the terminal departure lanes. Heavy traffic slowed their progress toward the exit.

  Vanessa glanced sideways, speculating. “Of course,” she said. “A lot is riding on our success.”

  He merely nodded and gazed at her solemnly. As his dossier had suggested, Nick Markos fit the self-made tycoon type.

  Decisive, domineering and direct.

  In his silver-gray silk T-shirt and hand-tailored sport coat that molded to the hard planes of his chest and shoulders, he exuded confidence and male power. His cool confidence bespoke his Special Forces experience.

  Late thirties. Eyes the color of the Mediterranean, even bluer against his olive skin and raven hair. A blade of a nose, cleft chin. A face of hard, masculine beauty. Drifts of Brooklyn and the Continent in his deep voice added to his undeniable appeal.

  Her heart throbbed an extra beat. Just the anticipation of this mission. No big deal.

  In London, Danielle had described Nick as principled, but in charge and inflexible. The definitive way he’d phrased his statement bore that out. But why was he angry? No, she shouldn’t even think the question. Detachment, remem
ber?

  She leaned forward. “Snow, all clear to head directly to the house?”

  “No problem. Straight up the fairway,” the officer said, with his typical golf allusion. He kept his eyes on the traffic as he nosed the Mercedes onto the Dulles Access Road.

  Conscious of Markos’s azure gaze on her, she kept her eyes forward. He might be a handsome devil, but he was an arrogant one, had to be to get where he was. She didn’t have to like the man to do her job, and she’d ignore her hormones.

  Dislike and sexual attraction. Ironic, but she could use both. Her attraction to him would enhance her role as his fiancée, and her distaste would help her project the cool disdain she’d learned was characteristic of Danielle.

  Her persona’s aloofness would work to maintain her detachment, her distance.

  Now to focus on the other part of her job. She extracted a mirror from her purse. In the reflection, she observed the scooped roof of the Dulles terminal receding in the distance.

  At closer range, a black Durango with Virginia plates. Two men in the front. One more behind, maybe two.

  “Snow,” she said.

  “Roger. Got ’em,” Grant Snow replied. He spoke into a tiny microphone hooked around one ear, then to her. “Here. You take the map. Alternate routes are marked.”

  Vanessa unbuckled her seat belt and leaned up to accept the folded chart.

  “Are we being followed?” Nick said. He, too, unbuckled and twisted around to peer behind him.

  “Maybe. Or the Durango might contain a bunch of guys coming home from a Vegas weekend.” Vanessa didn’t want to alarm him unduly. She unfolded the map of greater D.C.

  Nick placed the flat of his hand on the maze of streets and highways. “Don’t cut me out of the loop…Danielle. This charade won’t work if you do. I’ll shut it down.”

  Surprised at the heated tone in such a cool customer, Vanessa angled her head at him.

  His eyes blazed blue fire at her. Anger. And something else. Did he recognize her? She didn’t think so. Fear? Mr. Macho feared losing control?

  Reluctant to touch him again, she hesitated. Being pressed against that hard body in a chaste embrace had heated her from the inside out. She didn’t need that complication.

  But he needed reassurance.

  She patted his hand, then snatched hers away. “I understand your concern. I didn’t mean to ignore you. We’re just into the standard drill.”

  “License plate’s a rental,” Snow said. “This could be a shot over the bow.”

  “So following us could be just a warning?” Nick asked.

  “Exactly. To make you nervous.”

  “Let’s let them know we’re on to them,” Snow suggested.

  “You got it,” Vanessa said, studying the map and the alternate routes on yellow stickies.

  When they pulled onto I-495, the Beltway, the SUV was still with them. Vanessa watched the tail with her mirror.

  “Sucker them,” she said to the driver. “They’re probably expecting us to exit at River Road. Take the one before it instead, onto the George Washington Parkway.”

  “Roger that.” A moment later, Snow veered from the left lane across two lanes of traffic. Horns blared and tires screeched as they careened down the exit ramp.

  The SUV tried to follow, but a tan Hummer cut it off.

  The sudden turn slid the map to the floor. Vanessa landed in Nick’s lap. They lurched sideways into a corner. His arms went around her. One hand clamped her shoulder. The other brushed her breast before sliding to her waist.

  Fiery tingles shot through Vanessa. Male heat and the scents of cedar and sage filled her senses.

  So much for cool disdain.

  When the car straightened out onto the Parkway, she realized how intimately she was draped across Nick’s lap. And how the contact had affected him. A hard ridge poked her ribs.

  Ye gods.

  Heart pounding, she flew back to her side of the seat.

  “Fasten your seat belts,” Snow ordered.

  His words reminded Vanessa of an old Bette Davis movie. The rest of the famous line popped into her head.

  It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

  Chapter 2

  Nick straightened his jacket and buckled his seat belt. His trousers pinched, thanks to his body’s reaction to having this woman’s breasts imprinted on his lap.

  Apparently oblivious, her expression was neutral as she re-fastened her seat belt. Her cheeks glowed pink, but her transparent complexion probably reacted to any stimulus.

  “Yo, Grant,” she said to the driver, “you took ten years off my life, but it was worth it. We lost them.”

  “Anytime. V12 power. Yowza! All-wheel drive. Room for clubs in the trunk. Do much off-roading, Mr. M?”

  His brush cut was all Nick could see above the headrest, but he heard the grin in the man’s voice.

  The powerful German machine sped eastward along the highway following the Potomac River’s meanderings.

  “Not lately. Remember who owns the car. I’d like to be able to drive it again once this is over.” The S600 was an indulgence, one he deserved for working his butt off the past several years.

  The man gave a chastened nod. “Yes, sir. Will do.”

  Nick muttered an inarticulate grunt. Famous last words. That’s exactly what Alexei had said before he’d totaled their father’s Alfa Romeo in a rocky field.

  Snow adjusted his earpiece. “The other car’s following the Durango on 495. Just a bunch of goons, but we’ll set up surveillance on them. CO says to keep our original route.”

  “They followed us. We saw them. Now they know we saw them. What’s next?” Nick said.

  “Probably nothing today,” the woman answered. “They’ll have to regroup. One thing we know about this bunch—they don’t give up.”

  She directed Snow to take the next exit. In a few minutes they were rolling along Gouldsboro toward Bradley Boulevard, a direct route to Alexei’s house in Chevy Chase.

  Now that Nick’s body had subsided, he settled back. Why’d he have such a strong sexual reaction to her? Even now his libido was prodding him with the fantasy of peeling her out of those tight jeans and easing her beneath him on the plush leather. He’d put his lips on the delicate skin of her throat, just there, where a blush—

  He went still. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He could think of a dozen reasons to avoid attraction, let alone sex, with her. Not the least of which was the fact that she was a government agent, secretive and probably paranoid, schooled in deception.

  Not the girl-next-door she appeared to be.

  And she thought he was engaged to be married. Why did she make him keep forgetting that?

  His mind needed to be on their common goal—stopping New Dawn and keeping Danielle safe. This dicey situation called for focus and restraint.

  He would ignore his seat companion. In fact, he would avoid her except when they had to be in public as lovers. Anything but icy control might blow this whole charade. He kept his gaze on what passed for scenery—strip malls and new brick McMansions plopped on treeless lawns.

  “Approaching choke point,” Snow said from the front as they headed left on Connecticut Avenue.

  Apparently ATSA and Special Forces used the same jargon for a blind spot prime for ambush. “Choke point? You expect another attempt?” Nick turned to his “fiancée.”

  The car turned off Connecticut into the neighborhood streets that led to Alexei’s house.

  “These narrow, winding streets are funneling us to our destination,” she replied. “ATSA did a sweep earlier, so it should be clear. Caution’s a good idea anyway.”

  She combed her fingers through her long hair, and then let it fall across her shoulders in cognac-colored waves.

  Nick wondered if her curls felt as silky as they looked. Something about the hair… A memory stirred, amorphous and distant, but he shook it away as irrelevant.

  Stately old homes in Tudor and Colonial styles sat i
n repose like dowagers at the end of a banquet table. Privacy fences or stone walls shielded some estates, and expansive, landscaped lawns distanced house from street. Graceful old maples and beeches shaded decks and porches. Driveways curved to garages. Only a few vehicles were parked on the street.

  “Most of these belong to employees and visitors.” Nick nodded toward a truck with Zeno’s Lawn Care painted on the side. “That’s the same company that mows Alexei’s lawn.”

  The woman cocked her head at him. “It’s your lawn now. He left everything to you, didn’t he?”

  He nodded ruefully. The property, the business, the debts. The trouble. Until he could unload it all.

  “Everything. More than I bargained for.”

  The Mercedes made a left onto Park Boulevard, a street hardly wide enough for the landscaped median between the lanes. Ahead of them, a tan pickup truck pulled from the curb at an angle and stopped, blocking their way.

  “Snow! A stopper, up ahead.” The woman withdrew a small pistol from an ankle holster. She looked out the rear window. “And a plug to box us in.”

  Nick saw the green sedan behind them.

  Adrenaline surged in a rush that threw him back more than a decade to a Somali village and a snatch-and-grab that had gone sour because of an ambush. Remembered smells of sweat, dust and cordite filled his senses. Dread raked his spine.

  Time slowed and perceptions sharpened. Gasoline fumes and the woman’s fragrance flared his nostrils. Her piece was a Smith & Wesson 640. He could distinguish individual grains of dirt smearing the pickup’s license plate.

  Long-suppressed battle instincts kicked in.

  All in an instant of real time.

  “Stop the car!” Nick barked. “I know this street. You can cut across by that driveway on the left.”

  The pickup’s driver’s door opened. A man stepped out, shielded by the door. He wielded a long-barreled handgun.

  The woman’s green eyes glittered with skepticism as she weighed Nick’s suggestion.

  “Snow, here’s your chance for off-roading. Hang a left across the median. See the driveway?”

  Without a word, the driver swung the big sedan onto the median strip. It powered between two trees and across a bed of yellow fall flowers.