Code Name: Fiancée

by Susan Vaughan

  “I be fixin’ you a healin’ salve, Monsieur Nick,” Janine said, clucking her tongue.

  Affection and compassion in her luminous eyes, Vanessa lifted his arm around her shoulders, as if her diminutive frame could support him.

  He couldn’t utter the words that it wasn’t today’s wounds that coated his face with a cold sweat. If only a salve were the cure. Dredging up strength, he murmured thanks.

  Over the fire’s roar, he heard the distant scream of sirens and the protest of fire-truck klaxons.

  Mr. Falstone stood in the chapel doorway with the organist. Shoulders slumped like his jowls, he didn’t look so pompous. He shook his head at the burning frame that had been Falstone and Drumm’s newest hearse.

  Around them ATSA was slowly bringing order to chaos. Their tiny radios squawking, men and women strode by—crows with black raincoats flapping over their somber feathers.

  Behind the barricade the D.C. detectives had set up, the vultures peered and pointed. A man in lime-green bicycle shorts and a helmet craned his neck to see over the somberly clad mourners.

  The Somalia flashback receded, and Nick focused on the present situation. Was one of those people a real vulture?

  Ice congealed in his gut at the image of Vanessa in that inferno. The bomber had killed whoever had been in the car and might’ve gotten them, too. “Look at that bunch. Did one of the guests I greeted set up this bombing?”

  Vanessa’s brow crinkled in perplexity. “Security was tight. And I see no motive. How would Husam Al-Din collect his ten million if you or I were dead? And who is in the car?”

  Rage boiled his blood. His jaw tightened reflexively. “If I had the damned money, I’d be tempted to give it to the bastard just to end this thing.”

  He was vaguely aware of her shocked intake of breath, but his brain was working on the problem.

  Vanessa had put her life on the line enough. End the threat? Yes, that was what he had to do.

  Police, fire trucks and ambulances added to the chaos of who was in charge. No one was injured in the blast but Nick and the mysterious driver. The emergency medics dispensed blankets to keep the others warm until the authorities released them.

  Vanessa watched as an EMT cleaned and smeared antiseptic cream on Nick’s cuts and burns. Only one cut appeared deep enough for stitches, and Nick persuaded the man to sew him up then and there so he wouldn’t have to endure a hospital. She left Janine clucking over him at the ambulance while she went to check on what had happened to J. T. McNair.

  After a brief search, Byrne and Harris had found the driver out cold in a clump of shrubbery. Later, Vanessa learned that after he regained consciousness, he said he’d been drugged. A chunky man in a suit and chauffeur’s cap had asked him for a light. A quick jab with a needle and he went down.

  A search of the burned Mercedes determined that the so-called chauffeur was a suicide bomber. Sticks of dynamite and a detonator strapped around his torso had formed the extra bulk. None of the ATSA personnel knew how he’d gotten to the chapel. And whoever his accomplice was didn’t volunteer the information.

  Vanessa and Nick returned to the Chevy Chase house in a D.C. black-and-white. Contrary to Janine’s protests that she had work to do, Nick commandeered one of his “security” people to drive her home.

  When Vanessa returned late that night from debriefing, Nick was waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

  Showing no ill effects of the day, he looked just as sexy and dangerous as ever in the worn jeans that clung to his muscular thighs.

  His injuries, minor cuts only, were hidden beneath his shirt, a tee as gray as his face had been. She suspected the explosion and seeing his own blood had thrown him back in time, triggered his emotional reaction and shock.

  Her gaze wandered from his black hair to his strong features, stamped with arrogance and determination. And yes, pride in the set of his chin. Protecting her was giving him back some of his lost pride and honor. She would help him beat the remaining guilt if she could.

  The only softness was in his dark, spiky lashes and the sensuous mouth she knew could kiss her into oblivion.

  Knowing the end was inevitable kept her from blurting out her true feelings for him. Their intimacy had grown and deepened. Beyond sex, they’d shared themselves, their hopes and dreams. A naturally dominant male, in bed he took control, but also relinquished it to her. He ensured her pleasure—a mild word for the sparkling wildfires that his lovemaking swept through her—until his own climax destroyed his control.

  Leaving him, leaving the connection they shared would shatter her already cracked heart. She’d feared becoming too immersed in an undercover role and the worst had happened.

  She’d fallen in love with a man out of her league. A man who’d hate her if he knew part of her job was to spy on him.

  No matter the outcome of their affair, she’d find the truth that would set this proud, honorable man free of guilt.

  She longed for nothing more than to lose herself in his arms, for reassurance they were well and whole and together, for the soul-deep wonder she found only in his arms.

  But she had a job to do. A job made more dangerous by today’s events. And time was running short. There was no time for vulnerability or one-sided love.

  After a hot shower, she’d donned her warmest outfit, light wool slacks and a rose-pink cashmere sweater. She still felt chilled to the bone. The bomber had nearly included all three of them in his bid for glory in the afterlife.

  What Nick had said worried her more at present. If he found the money, he wouldn’t really give any of it to New Dawn. She knew that.

  But Simon Byrne didn’t.

  The ATSA control officer had been standing nearby. He’d heard every heartfelt word. She’d given up searching Nick’s papers and laptop, but after today Simon insisted on a nightly report.

  She had no choice. Duty came first.

  But it made her feel lower than a snake.

  She was sure her guilt flashed in neon on her forehead. Nick’s expression showed no suspicion, no hint that he knew she’d just come from snooping in the study. So she manufactured a tired smile.

  “How’s the back?” she asked as she trudged up the stairs. His soreness might give her the excuse to sleep alone.

  “No worse than a sunburn. Maybe it’s Haitian voodoo, but Janine’s salve eased the sting.” His too-careful stance said otherwise.

  “You’ll be sleeping on your belly for a while.”

  His sly grin and heavy-lidded gaze gave her heart a kick. “And I promised you could be on top tonight.”

  The sexy rejoinder heated her cheeks and triggered a delicate pulsing between her legs.

  He wanted her. Really wanted her. And she tried not to care if he wanted her as herself or as her undercover persona. The way he looked at her with those slumberous dark eyes and the tender way he touched her made her feel beautiful, desirable and, yes, glamorous.

  She halted her progress two steps below the top. If she went into his arms, her willpower would melt like an ice cube in a furnace.

  The moment and his comment required not drama but levity. And diplomacy. Forming what she thought was a sexy pout, she gazed up at him. “A broken promise. I’m deeply wounded. Maybe this betrayal calls for abstinence.”

  His look didn’t waver in intensity. His hot-eyed gaze cruised her body. “Abstinence would punish us both.”

  She licked her dry lips. His obvious arousal had her heart thudding. “I don’t want to hurt you. Your back.”

  “We’ll apply my company mottos. Innovation and creativity. Come here, Vanessa.” It was not a request.

  She couldn’t very well remain on the stairs all night. Good sense and emotion battling within her, she mounted the last two steps.

  When Nick tugged her into his arms, she yielded to his steel embrace and the electric current eddying in her blood. She sighed and rested her head on his solid chest.

  “You worked late tonight.” His voice rumbled plea
surably in her ear. “Anything?”

  “No breakthroughs.”

  “Husam Al-Din must have incredible charisma and power to convince a man to commit suicide for no reason. It’s beyond me. How did he get there? Did he drive one of the funeral guests?”

  She shook her head. “Everyone’s accounted for. He could’ve arrived hidden in one of the cars, or he could’ve sneaked in through the woods. They’ll keep checking.”

  “Do they think the bomb was a warning?”

  “It’s the only explanation that makes sense. But nothing in this situation makes sense.” She ought to escape and sleep in her own room. But not quite yet. Being held felt so good. So right. “I’m sorry about your car.”

  His chuckle tingled through her. “All taken care of. Now I won’t have to find a body shop.”

  “There’s another complication to stir the pot.”

  He kissed her temple as he pulled her into the master bedroom. “And what’s that?”

  She shivered with delight when his tongue found the shell of her ear. “The bomber had a button to trigger the explosion, but there was also a remote arrangement. The destruction makes it impossible to tell…” Hypnotized by his velvet voice and his ministrations, she couldn’t continue.

  “…which way the bomb was triggered,” he finished for her. “I see. I’ve heard of that. In case the bomber gets cold feet. Diabolical.” He threaded the scrunchie from her hair and finger-combed the tresses over her shoulders. “So there are several possibilities.”

  She nodded, lost in the sensuality of his long fingers on her scalp, on her neck. Her knees were dissolving, along with her resolve. “Mmm, possibilities.”

  “One, either the bomber or the accomplice went for it when they planned to, as a warning. Two, they meant to kill us and triggered the blast when they saw us back away.”

  She ran her hands up the taut muscles of his back beneath his T-shirt. He smelled of soap and fabric softener and the cedar that seemed to be part of his skin. She’d like to keep something of his so she’d always have his scent.

  “Or three, the driver-bomber got cold feet, and the bomb went off by remote.” she said. “Which means the remote holder was there. Was someone we know.”

  “Nadim or Prince Amir or one of the staff? Damn.”

  “I’ve been over and over all this with the team. To no conclusion but one.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “If we could find out how they got the house plans, we’d have the link to Husam Al-Din.”

  “And time is running out.” Gingerly, he lifted his T-shirt away from his bandaged back and over his head. He began to unfasten her slacks. “You can do no more tonight, latrea mou. You need to get off your feet.”

  Before she could recall why she should leave him, his hot mouth came down on hers and burned every thought from her brain. Mindless joy swept through her, liquid heat in the onslaught of his raw sexuality.

  No, she could do no more. Nor did she have power to walk away from him tonight. Why did she ever think she could?

  Bending, he kissed his way up her belly and torso, peeling away her bra and sweater as he went. The fiery demands of his mouth, hands and body ignited flames within her. She dropped onto the bed and pulled him down with her.

  Something crinkled and crackled beneath them.

  “What’s all this? You were working in bed?” she said, laughing and pushing at the papers.

  He scooped up the obstructions and tossed them to the floor. “It’s the damned New Dawn sales list. I thought I might find items he kept.”

  “Something worth about ten million dollars?” With an index finger, she smoothed his brow, crimped again with frustration. “Didn’t find it, did you?”

  He plucked her hand away and kissed her palm. “I fell asleep dreaming of Chinese cabinets and Assyrian plaques and you. I—”

  “What? What did you say?” She sat up, trying to dial a vague memory into clear focus.

  “I was dreaming of you. Naked, if you must know.”

  Her system swamped with sensation, she struggled to think. “No, no, the other part.”

  “What? The Chinese cabinets and Assyrian plaques? You know, from the list.”

  She smiled, a self-satisfied Cheshire-cat smile. She knew who’d given the map to New Dawn. But nothing more could be done tonight.

  About that, anyway.

  “What is it, Vanessa?” One ebony brow quirked up. He lay at an angle across the Washington-mall-size bed, his desire for her evident in the prominent bulge in his jeans. One hand propped up his head and the other stroked her bare breast.

  She gave herself over to his sensuous caresses and the heated need coursing through her body. “Nothing that won’t wait until morning.”

  Tomorrow she’d confront a traitor and probe the U.S. Army’s layers of secrecy.

  But tonight was for the two of them.

  She helped him skim out of his jeans and briefs. Careful of his injuries, she caressed his taut buttocks and slid her palms up his sides as he rolled on top of her. Sighing, she kissed his flat male nipples and reveled in his rock-hard weight and furnace-like heat.

  Her heart swelled with love, and her body tingled with excitement. “Nick, what about creativity?”

  “Later. Innovation can wait,” he rasped, thrusting home. “Vanessa, I need you.”

  The next morning, Nick stepped into the garage. A brand-new, sweet midnight-blue Mercedes S600 waited for him. The dealer’d happened to have one in the showroom when he’d called yesterday afternoon.

  ATSA promised to cover his loss once the operation ended, but delay in replacing his wheels wasn’t an option. They might need the power and security this vehicle offered.

  Their driver appeared at the door from the kitchen. He was polishing off one of Janine’s apricot muffins. “Morning, Mr. Markos.”

  “Good morning, McNair. No aftereffects of yesterday’s drug to hurt your appetite?”

  A wide grin split the man’s dark face. “Nothing affects my appetite. Good thing, too. That woman is one fine cook.”

  Vanessa’s heels clicked on the cement as she entered. He turned to admire the curves he knew so intimately hugged by the sexy green knit dress he favored. When her hand reached for his, the tenderness threaded all the way to his heart.

  She was sunshine and joy. He’d settled on Danielle, not knowing what could be. Vanessa’s warmth and influence had him reexamining his priorities.

  And his life.

  Pain gnawed in his gut that she would walk out of his life when this was over. A life without her in it looked bleak, as empty as the black hole he’d been carrying around inside for ten years.

  He couldn’t let that happen. Perhaps success in this mission would restore enough of his lost honor so he’d have a life he felt he could share.

  She smiled at her ATSA colleague. “Good morning, J.T. You’re lucky to be eating Janine’s cooking for free. Someday she’s going to have a restaurant.”

  Unabashed, McNair licked the apricot stickiness from his fingers. “Mmm, I’ll be her first customer.”

  Nick opened the rear car door. “Just don’t let your stomach distract you from your job.”

  Not that he was the man to advise anyone about distractions. Vanessa Wade distracted the hell out of him.

  “No, sir. You’re safe with me at the wheel.” All at once somber, the ATSA driver flapped a small salute. “My nap shut me out of yesterday’s fireworks, but I’m not interested in a rerun. No sparks, shells or salvos of any kind today.”

  Vanessa eased into the car. “Except for the one we’re about to set off.”

  Chapter 15

  At Markos Imports Nick met with the two remaining staff, Celia Chin and Emil Alfieris, to go over the last inventory and accounts. In spite of their pleas and Abdul Nadim’s finagling, he would sell.

  He needed to rid himself of the constant reminder of his half brother’s dishonor. Running a business he had no expertise in made no sense. And spre
ading his business interests too thinly would risk everything he’d built.

  The three of them worked at the conference table while Vanessa observed from the ring of comfortable chairs.

  The employees barely tolerated him, the executioner, but they loved her. The minute they’d walked in the door, she’d greeted them with personal comments. Celia’d shoved her family photos in Vanessa’s face, and Alfieris had smoothed back his overlong black hair and lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. She kept them all supplied with coffee while they talked.

  Vanessa instinctively knew the right word, the right touch so people’s personal concerns and joys poured out of them like warm syrup. She cared and showed it in ways he’d bet most people didn’t perceive or appreciate.

  He, on the other hand, was all business. Hell, he was the one paying Alexei’s employees’ salaries. But it was her sympathy and genuineness that kept them doing their jobs with some semblance of conscientiousness.

  He had to give the two employees credit for moving around what little stock they had to make the showroom attractive. As the meeting concluded, he told them if he didn’t conclude a deal within the next week, the shop inventory would be folded into the house auction.

  Celia’s mouth thinned with disapproval, but she merely nodded. He figured she’d finally accepted the inevitable. Emil stared at the floor like a man who didn’t care.

  “I’m sorry a sale hasn’t worked out to keep you both on at Markos Imports,” Nick said, “but my recommendations should help you obtain new positions soon. We’ll stay open the rest of the week. Then you’ll have two weeks’ severance.”

  He stood to signal the conclusion of the meeting.

  “I should tell you, Mr. Markos,” Celia began, “that I have found another position. Bethesda Antiques and Antiquities needed a new manager.”

  “Congratulations, Celia. That’s excellent,” Nick said, greatly relieved.

  “Thank you for your recommendation.” The slender Chinese woman made a small, graceful bow and glided from the room.