Code Name: Fiancée

by Susan Vaughan

  The shower stopped. She heard thuds as he stepped from the tiled stall. Now he was drying off. Stretching the big, fluffy towel behind him, working it back and forth to dry his shoulders, his back, his taut butt.

  At that image, a pulse throbbed between her legs, and heat spread through her body. She squeezed her thighs together.

  Don’t think about him.

  But if she didn’t think about him, her thoughts meandered to her precarious position as target. Nick was right. Alone in that other room, she wouldn’t have been able to relax.

  Not that she was relaxed now.

  And she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Everything about this Greek tycoon was contrary to what she expected. Yes, he had his arrogant moments. He liked to be in charge, but she felt protected and cared for, not patronized. He perceived her fear and insisted on watching over her, yet he respected her abilities.

  In shock, she lifted up on her elbows so suddenly she knocked the pillow on the floor. She’d done what she’d sworn not to do.

  She loved him.

  No denying it. She was in love with a rich man who preferred society women or models like Diana. In love with a man who didn’t believe in love. In love with a man her job forced her to spy on and distrust. Impossible.

  She retrieved the pillow and sank down with it over her head. Her heart pounded like native drums. The steel belt again banded her chest, and she hitched up the pillow for more air. But she didn’t dare come out from under.

  Even in the dark, he’d see her heart in her eyes.

  From beneath the pillow, she heard the bathroom door open. Bare feet padded to the sitting area. He dragged the cushions from the settee onto the floor. The bed gave as he snatched a pillow.

  A blanket flapped. A body settled. Sighed deeply.

  Only a few feet away.

  Then silence except for Nick’s even breathing.

  And her drumming heart.

  Chapter 11

  The next afternoon, Nick took Vanessa’s arm as they left the Canal Bistro. They paused on the deck while they waited for their companions.

  Vanessa gave a three-sixty-degree perusal of the area, ostensibly admiring the dramatic view. That and the Mediterranean cuisine made the restaurant Georgetown’s newest rage.

  “All clear. Snow, we’re ready,” she whispered into her lapel-pin mike, then turned toward the river.

  Nick leaned an elbow on the railing as he scanned the few diners occupying the deck with them. Not that he distrusted Vanessa’s judgment, but an extra pair of eyes couldn’t hurt. Upscale shoppers with Georgetown Park shopping bags and upcoming professionals with laptop cases, all with cellular phones no bigger than a credit card.

  No one suspicious. No one paying them any attention.

  “Look, Nick.” Vanessa pointed to the right across the C & O Canal. “There’s the Key Bridge to Virginia. I love that old bridge, but the Potomac looks better on a sunny day.”

  Nick relaxed and slung an arm around her shoulders. “I have the view I prefer right here.”

  She grinned and poked him in the ribs.

  He was close enough to enjoy how good she smelled—a subtle fresh scent and female flesh. Close enough to enjoy her female curves pressed against him. And close enough to admire her creamy cheeks and the dusting of freckles across her nose.

  In three-inch heels, she still seemed small beside him, delicate. She was anything but. Bad guys with God-knows-what drugs had frightened her, but she’d have toughed out the night if he hadn’t insisted on moving her into his bed.

  He could’ve had her last night. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. His damned sense of honor’d stopped him from taking advantage of her anxious state. Another night of togetherness would pump the torture level to the red zone.

  Her night had been as wakeful as his. He just hadn’t wrestled the sheets as much—a by-product of SF training. The only sign of fatigue was the droop to her eyelids. Sexy, damn it. Except for the plunging neckline of the silk blouse beneath, the conservative navy pantsuit concealed most of the softness he’d held against him last night.

  Discretion meant not waving a red flag at Prince Amir. Or at himself, for that matter. He’d take the trade-off.

  Vanessa angled her head at him. “What is it, Nick?”

  “What could be wrong besides the cloudy weather? I’ve just stuffed myself with lamb Niçoise and Caesar salad. I have my arm around a beautiful woman. The usual New Dawn tails took the day off. Happy Halloween.”

  Doubt crinkled her forehead. “I wonder if New Dawn is holding back because ATSA nabbed their burglars last night.”

  “They seem to change tactics every other day. At the moment I don’t care. I welcome the breathing space.”

  “And the end of this business lunch?”

  “Like clear skies after a flood.” Sometimes she read his mind. Unaccountably pleased, he tightened his arm around her.

  The anticipation of this blasted meeting had ground his gears since the museum reception. He had to admit the meal had rolled along smoothly. Abdul Nadim played jovial host, oiling the conversational pistons with questions and good cheer.

  Ambassador Khalil, waiting to see the route of trade negotiations, kept his comments neutral. “Yamar will benefit from trade with U.S. partners,” was his only input.

  Prince Amir signaled interest in Nadim’s ideas for sales in modern crafts as well as antiquities. While remaining as neutral as the ambassador, Nick offered ideas from his experience in the international restaurant supply business.

  Business was business, Nadim had said more than once. The man was a damned persistent huckster. Nick’s insistence that Markos Imports was for sale had yet to deter him.

  Nadim and the others strolled out to join them.

  “Do not worry, my friend,” the entrepreneur said, patting his ample belly. “Our discussions are like that bountiful meal. Each delicious course will reveal itself in good time and be digested and resolved.”

  “I have no cause to worry, Abdul,” Nick replied. “Thank you for the lunch and the stimulating conversation.”

  Prince Amir lounged against the railing nearby. Designer sunglasses allowed him to ogle Vanessa freely. Forgivable under the circumstances, Nick decided. The deposed prince, although attentive to “Danielle,” remained courteous and respectful.

  Nick’s uncompromising manner on the phone had apparently stifled further trespass.

  With one small exception.

  Vanessa cradled her gift in her hands. About the size of a thick paperback novel, the olive-wood box was inlaid with a floral design in antique ivory and lapis lazuli. Though it was a personal gift, Nick couldn’t fault the prince for such a stunning example of his country’s craftsmanship.

  “Thank you for the lovely present, Your Highness,” Vanessa said, smiling. “I’ll keep my best treasures in it.”

  “You are most welcome, my dear,” Amir crooned in his unctuous manner. “But the most beautiful jewel is the one holding it.”

  Anger steamed the neckband of Nick’s shirt. He’d thought the same sentiment about the diamond pendant, but hadn’t had the wit to express it.

  Amir made a small bow. “This jewelry box is two hundred and fifty years old, but artisans in Yamar make equally beautiful ones today.”

  “I foresee a perfect arrangement.” Nadim gazed into an invisible crystal ball in his cupped hands. “The modern crafts in one of my businesses. The antique boxes in Markos Imports.”

  “It’s a conspiracy,” Nick said with a laugh. “Old friend, you never quit.”

  Vanessa shook hands with Nadim and the others, but sent a teasing look to Nick. “Business is business.”

  Even the dour ambassador laughed at her adoption of Nadim’s favorite saying.

  When Nick saw Grant Snow pulling up in the Mercedes, he managed to make their farewells.

  “Sit rep,” Vanessa said, requesting a situation report, as they entered the back seat.

  “We’ve acquired an admi
rer,” the officer said. “The green sedan again. New license plate. Also stolen. St. Gabriel has put two vehicles on them.” Nick recognized another nickname for Gabe Harris, who usually coordinated their escorts.

  Snow signaled and waited for a break in the traffic lane.

  “Maybe ATSA can snag a couple more New Dawn warriors,” Vanessa said. “Someone who will blab.”

  He pulled onto M Street. “We’ll all have trouble in this traffic. Thick as grass on a putting green.”

  Antique and decorative arts shops lined the wide street. Shoppers and tourists crowded the sidewalks. Modern buildings stood shoulder to shoulder with quaint old brick structures.

  Snow stopped for a red light at the next corner. “Keep an eye on them. I have this alternate route planned out.” He handed Vanessa his notes.

  “You going to try to outrun them?” Vanessa asked, scanning the list of streets.

  “Enough to let our guys cut them off. Here we go,” he said as the light turned green. The powerful German car zipped across the intersection, leaving the sedan lagging behind. Snow hung a sharp left onto the next street.

  Nick looked back. As the sedan followed up the narrow one-way, two Ford Explorers boxed it in. “Got ’em!”

  “Home, Jeeves,” Vanessa said. “Well done.”

  “Thanks, ma’am.” He tipped a nonexistent chauffeur’s cap. “My day’d be complete if I could get in nine holes later.”

  “How’s New Dawn doing it?” Nick asked. The import staff knew of his meeting, but not the location. No one but ATSA personnel knew. Vanessa wore a GPS button, but it was on a secure frequency. “This car bugged? GPS or something else?”

  Snow stopped at an intersection. “No way. I swept her this morning before we left the house, and she hasn’t been out of my sight since.”

  The narrow, potholed street backed onto shops and restaurants. It curved uphill as they proceeded. On the left a jumble of trash cans and larger metal containers beside rear doors. On the right a line of parked cars.

  Both could hide an ambush.

  Vanessa’s index finger tapped her lips, a gesture that spoke of her apprehension. He knew it bugged her that she couldn’t carry a weapon.

  Unease prickling his scalp, Nick started to suggest they find a more populated street.

  Ahead a car door opened. A bearded man wearing a baseball cap pulled low stepped out into the street.

  Adrenaline buzzed into Nick’s system. He tensed for tricks not treats. He sensed Vanessa doing the same.

  The man leveled a semiautomatic pistol at the windshield.

  “Get down!” Snow yelled to his passengers. He stomped the accelerator and yanked the steering wheel to the left.

  Bullets shattered the passenger-side windows.

  The Mercedes slammed into a row of trash cans, scattering them into the street like tenpins. Bags of garbage split open and disgorged their contents across the brick pavement.

  “A trap!” Vanessa smacked a hand against the console. “They used our trap to funnel us into their damn trap. We’re cut off from our escort cars.”

  She spoke into her miniature microphone. “Harris, come in. We’re under attack.” Tersely she explained.

  “Keep going. Get us around this container,” Nick yelled.

  “Backup’s on the way,” Vanessa said. Training and experience focused her as adrenaline revved her heart.

  The car rolled to a stop against the heavy steel container. Snow slumped against the steering wheel.

  “He’s been hit!” She reached over the seat. “Nick, help me drag him into the other seat. I’ll drive.”

  Pushing between the front seats, Nick muscled the other man, about the same size as he, across the console and into the passenger side. Pebbles of window glass littered the leather seat, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Snow clutched the side of his neck at the right shoulder. Blood trickled between his fingers and stained his shirt. He was silent in his pain, but Vanessa groaned at the sight. They had to stem the flow of blood long enough to get medical help. She snatched Snow’s jacket from the driver’s seat and pressed it to his wound. “Hold that tight.”

  She could see no sign of their attacker, but heard an engine fire up. Beyond the container, trash cans clattered as someone rolled them out of the way. “We have to move fast.” She started to climb into the front.

  “I’ll drive,” Nick said, shaking his head. “It’s my car.”

  “You don’t know the streets. I do.” She wriggled between the seats and into the driver’s seat. “Trust me.”

  “M-Markos,” the injured driver mumbled, “take…my gun.”

  Vanessa watched as Nick hesitated. She knew how he felt about just this sort of ambush situation.

  “I haven’t fired a gun in years,” he said, anguish and uncertainty in his eyes.

  “Nick, there’s no time. I need you.” Fear, regret and recriminations could wait. “Shoot back only if you have to.”

  Like clicking a camera lens, he shuttered his expression. His face hard granite and his eyes blue ice, he palmed the Sig-Sauer P-226 with an assurance born of experience.

  Grant Snow slumped lower. Vanessa thought he passed out. At least the bleeding seemed to have slowed.

  “Get us out of here,” Nick shouted.

  She rotated the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. Automatic. Not as much control as with manual. She slammed the gear shift into Reverse and backed up.

  Pulse pounding in her ears, Vanessa swung the Mercedes around the left side of the metal barrier, between it and the building. The fender left sparks and silver paint as it scraped by the masonry. As the car roared away from the doorway, she had the fleeting impression of a man in a chef’s hat waving a long wooden spoon and yelling.

  They made it to the corner before their pursuer could pull his sedan from its parallel space.

  “Three men,” Nick said. “Can’t tell how many weapons.”

  Vanessa stomped the accelerator to the floor. The Mercedes’s tires shrieked as it sought traction against the bricks. The car fishtailed. She steered into the spin and controlled it. She zoomed ahead.

  The attackers sped up behind them. Parked cars and trucks were the only other vehicles on this quiet back street.

  Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

  Bullets penetrated the car’s rear.

  Fear scrambled Vanessa’s heartbeat. She’d never forgive herself if this operation resulted in harm to Nick. She shoved the emotion away. “Nick, are you all right?”

  “A-OK, honey. Just drive.” His voice was tight, but sure. “I’ll buy you some space.”

  He lowered the rear side window and fired several rounds at the other car. “They’re backing off. Step on it.”

  A delivery van labeled with a cartoon fish had pulled out behind her. That would help.

  “They’re passing the van. Can you evade?” Nick fired another shot that caromed off the street.

  The tan sedan hung back. So did the van.

  “Roger that. Hold on!” Every muscle and nerve in her body twitching at the reins, Vanessa hung a right at the next corner, a left after that. Tires squealed, and pedestrians on the sidewalks jumped and pointed.

  In the rearview mirror, she saw no tan sedan. Two other cars pulled behind them, inadvertently running interference.

  Four blocks ahead the street ended in a T intersection. The cross street was a one-way left. An idea flashed in her head. If she could get there far enough ahead of them…

  The buildings at the end loomed closer. She approached the stop sign. A huge delivery truck came from the right. As it entered the intersection, the driver gaped at the fast-approaching silver Mercedes. He braked and stalled his engine.

  The delivery truck, as big and solid as a steel building, blocked their exit.

  Excitement and anxiety spun through Vanessa. If she miscalculated, they would be a humongous bug splat.

  Only a newspaper-vending machine on the sidewalk. No pedestrians, she regis
tered. All the winters she and Jason had spun around on that frozen lake and the E&E driving learned at Quantico would pay off. She could make it.

  She tapped on the brakes and whipped the wheel to the right. The car skidded before the four-wheel drive caught purchase. It grazed the vending machine. The device wobbled, but stayed in place. The car bounded across the sidewalk.

  On the cross street, Vanessa powered the Mercedes the wrong way on the one-way street.

  Horns blared and brakes shrieked as vehicles swerved to avoid the crazy lady. At the next corner, she hung a sharp left and zipped up a residential, tree-lined street. She didn’t know or care which direction it went.

  “We’re out of sight now,” she said, gulping air as she slowed. “They won’t know which way we headed.”

  “Impressive,” Nick said. “You ever do any stunt driving?”

  She laughed, albeit a little nervously. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime. First we need to get Snow to a doctor.”

  She punched her mike. “We’re clear, Harris. Direct me to the nearest hospital. And where’s our damn backup?”

  Vanessa and Nick delivered the wounded Grant Snow to the Georgetown University Medical Center emergency room. They paced the waiting room until they got word that he’d regained consciousness after surgery. His condition was pronounced serious but not critical. The bullet had damaged muscle, tearing through his neck within a millimeter of an artery. He’d lost a lot of blood, but would recover.

  Three ATSA operatives arrived to stand guard. Once stabilized, Snow would transfer to Walter Reed Army Medical Center to recuperate.

  Under escort by two ATSA cars, Nick drove his abused silver Mercedes to Chevy Chase. By the time they pulled into the garage, darkness had fallen on the dreary day.

  When they exited the car, Vanessa clicked her tongue at the scrapes and dings. “Sorry about your baby, Nick.”

  “She’ll heal.” He scratched his head. “Don’t know exactly how I’ll explain this to my insurance company.”

  “Don’t. ATSA will cover you.”

  “Like they did this afternoon?” His blood still simmered. ATSA hadn’t detected a trap. Backup had arrived too late to do anything but escort them to the emergency room.