The pickup man stepped away from his vehicle, but he didn’t fire. The rear car roared toward them.
The Mercedes bounced across into the other lane.
“Go straight through to the street in back.” A 3-D map of the neighborhood in his mind, Nick was in combat mode.
A uniformed maid ran out of the house and yelled at them as they sped across the yard and onto Park Lane.
“They’re not following,” “Danielle” said, replacing her S&W in the ankle holster. “Turn right.”
She looked to Nick for verification.
He nodded. “Affirmative.”
In less than thirty seconds they were speeding along Oakdale Terrace. Snow zipped into the driveway of a massive Tudor-style house. The property sloped to the garage at basement level. He pressed the remote clipped on the visor. The left garage door swung up and open and then closed securely behind them.
“I’ll check the house,” Snow said as he cut the engine.
Vanessa exhaled a relieved breath. Her pulse lowered to an inaudible level. “That was close. We misjudged their readiness. The guys in the SUV must’ve figured out we’d go back to plan A. We wanted to have officers ready to roll them up when they tried that. That mistake won’t happen again.”
“The E&E worked.”
E&E. Escape and evasion.
She glanced sideways. He sat erect and still, his gaze on the door from the garage to the basement. The jargon and the hunting hawk’s wary alertness in his blue eyes would’ve told her he was military whether or not she’d read his file.
He was a dangerous man in more ways than one. Awareness prickled her forearm.
And he hadn’t even touched her.
She gathered her hair and yanked it upward into the black scrunchie from her pocket. Now that she could relax a little, she needed the mass out of her way. She shook her head to tumble the curls around the top of her head.
“Nessa. No, Vanessa.”
Startled, she gaped at Markos. “You know my name.”
“You’re Diana’s sister.” His black brows bunched. The sculpted mouth thinned to a razor blade. His voice held its sharpness. “The painter. You ruined my best suit.”
Ye gods. He remembered her. “I hoped you’d forgotten.”
Not only was Nick Markos the urbane CEO type her sister had dated, but he actually had gone out with Diana. At the memory of their previous encounter, Vanessa couldn’t contain a groan. If he hadn’t recognized her, she wouldn’t have had to deal with the embarrassing episode.
Or with her less-than-professional reaction to this strong and sexy man. Oh, how could she stay detached and cool while acting undercover as his fiancée? How could she stay uninvolved? Her stomach clenched at the nerve-racking challenge.
Snow appeared at the doorway. “All clear.”
Not quite.
While Grant Snow showed Vanessa—no, Danielle—to her room and oriented her to the security setup, Nick retreated to the sunroom in the back of the house. He strode across the terra-cotta floor and the beige-and-green Tabriz—another of Alexei’s damned extravagances—and around the cushioned bamboo sofa and chairs.
He stopped at the bank of tall windows overlooking the flagstone terrace and backyard. Staring out blindly, he sucked in calming deep breaths.
Damn. His hands still shook from the adrenaline rush.
For years he’d successfully avoided E&E situations and all physical confrontations outside a gym.
He’d avoided anything that reminded him of why he’d left the army.
And all it took to slam him back into the zone was two cars of bad guys in an ambush.
He wouldn’t go there again. ATSA had a full backgrounder on him. They knew of his failure. They wouldn’t trust him, shouldn’t trust him. They sure as hell wouldn’t want him to straphang on their operation. Insert himself where he wasn’t wanted. He was Alexei’s heir and Danielle’s ostensible lover, the go-between with the bad guys.
That was all.
His shoulders relaxed as calm returned. He turned and passed through the door to the terrace. Earthy smells of drying leaves and bare soil in the planters hung on the warm October breeze.
A wooden privacy fence extended from the sides of the house around the back to enclose stands of maples and shrubbery gone wild. Not very secure.
Too many places for an intruder to conceal himself.
But that was the idea, to let the terrorists think kidnapping Danielle was possible.
At the terrace edge sat a pile of flat rocks next to the half-mortared low wall—part of his brother’s now-aborted landscaping plan. He lowered himself to a stone step and stretched his legs out.
The wall was a reminder of what else he needed to focus on—liquidating all Alexei’s properties. The real Danielle was safe. Let ATSA take care of the extremists. From what he’d just witnessed, their people were prepared for contingencies.
Their people included a hell of a shocker—Diana Wade’s overly protective sister. That relationship was another reason to stifle his hormones around her. His turned-on reaction to her five years ago—in spite of what she’d done to him—was what had cooled him on Diana.
He’d ignored the attraction then, and he’d ignore it now. He needed to redeem his family’s name, to regain his own honor, not sully it further with a libido lapse.
Besides, she was a professional government agent involved in a potentially dangerous situation—with him. Undercover meant a mask, subterfuge, deception.
He shook his head. Danger in his hormonal reaction to her. Danger in the situation. Danger in female deception.
Good reasons to keep secret his broken engagement. To prop a wall between them. She’d be too professional to breach that barrier. He could use it to shield himself.
He did admire Vanessa’s cool competence. Her decisiveness and intuition in the car ambush told him why she was on point for this op.
On point. Damn. He had to squash the Special Forces mode.
“This equipment is better than that at ATSA headquarters,” Vanessa said.
The large basement room had been converted from a rec room to a gym, complete with stair climber, two treadmills, free weights and a Bowflex machine.
Snow grinned. “Alexei Markos sure spared no expense on this country club.”
“More like a palace.”
Vanessa mulled over the cost of Alexei’s renovations. Nick had speculated that his brother had spent New Dawn’s skimmed money on the house. That might not be far off.
She followed as Snow continued the grand tour through the laundry and utility rooms. Humming softly, the central air system kept Washington’s sultry climate at bay.
They’d begun on the second floor. The Tudor-style house had five bedrooms, not including a private basement suite for a nanny or chauffeur. Three baths upstairs and two and a half down. The master suite—his—boasted a dressing room and a sitting alcove as well as a Jacuzzi and a separate shower.
Decadent, she thought. Just what she expected of Alexei.
What did Nick think about the house and his sybaritic brother’s expensive tastes?
Ye gods, she was an idiot. She didn’t know the man. He was CEO of his own company. From offices in three countries, he oversaw importation of exotic décor, equipment, foods and ingredients. He wore hand-tailored silk sport coats and Gucci loafers. He probably thought nothing of living among Persian rugs, Chinese screens and brocade draperies.
His tastes made no difference to her. She would have to know more about him for the role, but her interest was professional, not personal. In spite of her sensual reaction to the man, she had to remain professional from here on out.
No personal involvement, she vowed. Detachment. That was the key to her survival undercover.
They mounted the stairs to the marble-floored foyer, a three-story sweep with a balcony, beamed ceiling and mullioned clerestory windows. She expected Queen Elizabeth I to sweep down the long staircase and order her to go dress properly.
>
Tough, Queenie. She wasn’t taking off five hundred dollars in designer silk and denim.
Vanessa grinned at her flight of fancy. This was just playing dress-up. She didn’t care much about fashion.
“Living room’s there on the left, dining room right.” Snow gestured ahead of them. “Kitchen and sunroom in the back. Markos is probably in the library, here to our right over the garage. He can show you the in-house security system. I need to report in.”
“Who’s control officer on this mission, Gabriel Harris?” She’d seen him driving the escort car.
Snow shook his head. “Simon Byrne pulled CO. Hero Harris’s tail’s in a twist, but he’s in the unit.”
Gabe Harris had seniority on Byrne, Vanessa knew, but his tendency for grandstanding, the reason for his sobriquet, made him a risky CO. Byrne was brash and unconventional, but a good man. She didn’t know why, but the two men seemed to be in constant competition.
“You all set?” Snow asked.
Her pulse kicked up a notch. All set? You’re leaving me alone with him? she nearly said. She’d known all along she’d be alone with Danielle’s fiancé, but that was before her embarrassing past had been resurrected.
The ATSA command post was set up in the empty house next door. The owners, away on a two-month trip abroad, had approved it. Snow could go unseen through the fence to the CP.
“I’m good to go,” she said. “Wearing my GPS tracking button and communicator.” She reached up to adjust the receiver in her left ear. She’d brushed her hair and left it down to conceal the miniature device.
“No mike?” Snow lowered his voice. “Aiming to keep things private between you and the Greek tycoon?” Pokerfaced, he hiked a thumb toward the library door.
Vanessa lifted her chin. “The mike’s in my pocket, turkey. It’ll stay off while I use the ladies’ room.” She’d take time to unpack, too.
She turned and walked up the stairs with Snow’s chuckle resounding in her ears.
“Hi. May I come in?” Vanessa rapped lightly on the open library door. “Snow said you’d show me the security system.”
Nick rose from his chair at the gleaming wooden desk and closed the lid of his laptop. “Come in, Vanessa. The security command station’s over there.” He indicated the console on a library shelf.
“Don’t stand on my account.” She strolled over to examine the console, but her gaze kept veering to the man.
His guarded expression and stance—on the balls of his feet—said soldier. The sport coat was gone. Its removal didn’t diminish the power in his shoulders or the breadth of his chest. He didn’t return to the leather desk chair, but hooked a hip on an edge of the desk. The position stretched the worsted fabric of his trousers across muscular thighs.
Vanessa ignored the flip of her pulse. Learning a predator’s killing skills in Special Forces probably paid off in the business world, she speculated as she examined the console’s small screen and keypad.
She knew this wireless security system—keypad operation, audible or on-screen feedback, window sensors, motion sensors and a battery backup. “Ibex makes a good home system.”
“Alexei wanted thorough protection for his precious antiques.” His words held an edge of bitterness.
Setting aside Alexei’s descent into criminal activities, did Nick disapprove of his brother’s lifestyle?
“This setup would do under normal circumstances. But I’m sure you’ve already been told that.”
“And about the outside cameras ATSA has installed to compensate for its inadequacies.” He didn’t return the smile. “Did you get settled all right?”
The expensive, layered businessman’s cut didn’t suppress his glossy hair’s rebellion at being tamed. Crisp curls here and there softened his severe features.
The intensity of his gaze beneath the raven brow rattled her. Was that heat in his incredible azure eyes, as though he were mentally undressing her?
No, only her imagination. No.
She cleared her throat. “I’m in the bedroom beside the hall bathroom.” Only the bathroom between her room and his. Too close. She swallowed. Detachment, detachment.
The black brows crinkled again. “Danielle would be sharing my suite with me. Janine, my housekeeper, will wonder about our…relationship.”
At the humor in his eyes, Vanessa felt the heat color her cheeks.
“I took the liberty of placing some of my things—extra cosmetics and some clothing—in your suite. Your housekeeper will understand that a high-maintenance woman like Danielle would want her own bathroom and dressing area.”
“I see. If you don’t find towels, I’ll have to search. This house is a maze, and Janine’s off weekends.”
His mocking tone slid into a courteous one, but artificial, as though he pretended she was his invited house guest instead of a government operative on duty.
As though he didn’t want to confront how they’d first met.
She’d like to forget that brief encounter, too, but the time to face the firing squad had arrived. She trailed a finger along a bookshelf as she perused art history titles.
“Um, about that episode five years ago…”
“Ah. How is Diana these days?”
White teeth gleamed against his olive skin, but somehow the expression didn’t project good humor. And yet his heated gaze still raked her. Was it male arrogance or attraction or anger? He folded his arms. Below the T-shirt sleeves, dark hairs swirled over sinewy forearms.
“Fantastic! Couldn’t be better,” she said with forced brightness. “She’s doing television commercials and magazine spreads for L’Oreal. And she’s engaged. Whitley’s the ad exec on the cosmetics campaign.” Finally Diana’d found a man who appreciated the real woman behind the beautiful facade.
One day Vanessa, too, would find a man who appreciated her as a real woman, not just a buddy or an undercover persona. Definitely not undercover, where no one saw Vanessa at all. She could dream, couldn’t she? She shored up the corners of her smile, which had begun to sag.
His jaw firmed. “Either he sneaked by her sister the pit bull or he passed muster better than I did.”
Bookshelves reached to the high ceiling. Afternoon sunlight streamed through a wide window to the desk at the far end. But the room seemed to shrink to a closet as Vanessa closed the space between her and her steel-jawed companion.
She hated confrontation and dealing with angry people. In most of her FBI career, she’d played the good cop, a role ATSA had capitalized on when she transferred. Honesty and compassion suited her better than deception and smoothed most bumps.
“Look, I apologize for getting paint on your suit that day. I never meant to do that.”
His unblinking blue glare told her he wasn’t buying. “That’s what Diana said when she hustled me out of there. What did you mean to do?”
“Diana was just getting over a painful affair. I came over to paint the bedroom in her new apartment. I saw you as the same type of controlling, high-powered executive who’d used and dumped her. I didn’t want to see her hurt again.”
Philip had romanced Diana and moved her in with him. When he’d met someone new, Diana’d come home one afternoon to find her bags packed.
“So you were warning me off.”
“Not exactly. Advising you to be gentle. Considerate.”
“Sounded more like back off. Or else.”
Ye gods, had her clumsiness paint-rolled over a potential relationship between him and Diana? They’d had only that single whitewashed date. Diana’d reported an enjoyable evening at the theater. Then he’d simply never phoned again. Vanessa couldn’t tell from his poker face, but did he still have a thing for her stunning sister?
But he was engaged, she reminded herself.
She didn’t like the pang either thought gave her.
A dark ring outlined his irises and intensified the blue. His sage-and-cedar aftershave teased her senses, and she backed up a step instead of burying her nose in his
chest.
“I let my temper get the best of me. I shouldn’t have lumped you in with that rat bastard Philip.”
But like Philip, he was smooth and urbane. His male confidence and exotic looks had sent a current of electricity through her that scrambled her circuits. Out of self-defense as well as sibling loyalty, she’d gone extreme on the attack.
“Forget about it. I’m lucky you were wielding a paint roller and not that deadly Smith & Wesson.” His voice and gaze softened. His mouth twitched, but didn’t curve into a smile.
Just as well. If he smiled, her heart might not be able to survive the impact.
“I won’t be carrying the 640 again. Danielle wouldn’t have a firearm.” Vanessa grinned. “Back then, I was an FBI special agent. I had a Sig-Sauer 9mm.” She saw no reason to mention that on paint duty, she hadn’t been armed.
His mouth thinned and one ebony brow arched. “I’m intrigued. How did a redhead from Brooklyn—”
“Queens.”
“Queens, then. How did a redhead from Queens get to the FBI and ATSA?”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those sexist pigs who think women should be secretaries or socialites.”
“Not me. Two of my company’s top executives are women. In spite of your militant defense of your sister, you don’t seem the cop type.”
Vanessa shrugged. She’d heard that before. “I come from a long line of cops. My dad’s a desk sergeant in Queens now, but he walked a beat for years. Jason’s a detective in Manhattan. Troy’s a uniform cop.”
“Where does Diana fit? Youngest? In the middle?”
Ouch. So he was still interested in the cover girl. So what had happened? Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to ask. “Jason. Then me, Diana a year later. Troy’s the baby.”
“So why the FBI and not NYPD?”
Defensive anger heated her cheeks. Was he checking her qualifications? “New York City seemed to have enough Wades on the job. And I wanted to leave home.” Observing an FBI negotiator at a bank robbery when she was twelve had led her to the Bureau and their use of her people talents. Talents that seemed to fail her with this enigmatic man.
Code Name: Fiancée Page 3