Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  “All of which make you an exceptionally talented agent. Sometimes we find that women have the finesse needed to establish relationships. Men and women think in different ways.”

  The male–female argument? What was this assignment going to be? All her excitement dried up, and an uneasy trepidation took its place. Beth dropped her chin, swallowed away all the pointless complaints she had, and tried to regroup without calling the jackass a chauvinist prick.

  “Mr. Jasper, if you’ve read my file, you’ll see I’m an expert marksman, fluent in several languages, and have proven more than once I can slip in and out of cover without fail.”

  “And I think you are perfectly suited to use those talents, plus the years we’ve spent cultivating your background, to help with the Gregori Naydenov problem.”

  “And what is that problem?” she asked, biting her tongue.

  “What do you know about him?”

  She knew he liked the scene. And that the scene loved him. Attractive. Wealthy. Well connected. “He likes a girl on his arm and makes the rounds of the who’s who events.”

  Jasper agreed. “He’s a money launderer, money-wiring expert. His clientele are the illicit upper crust. He handles the cash flow for several of the most notorious cartel leaders, terrorists, and arms traffickers.”

  “Interesting.” She’d heard that Gregori Naydenov also had an accent that made clothes fall off beautiful woman. “Where’s he from?”

  “He calls Georgetown home, but he’s from the Eastern Bloc by way of Monaco.”

  Beth pulled one of her curls, trying to make the connection between very unrelated regions. “How did that transcontinental transition happen?”

  “Naydenov’s dynamic. He talked his way right out of Kosovo as a child and worked his way through Monaco.”

  Kosovo to Monaco. She’d heard his accent was hard to place, French sounding but not quite. Now she knew why.

  Jasper steepled his fingers again, tucking them under his chin as though he had profound musings to share. “And you’re also aware of his interests in rare art?”

  “No.” She shook her head. He’d never been on her radar. “But that’d fit his profile.” Georgetown, society-page interests, working with big money. Rare art sounded like a hobby a man like that would be into. Boring but expected.

  Jasper leaned back in his chair. “In 2003, during the Iraqi occupation, several thousand rare historic pieces were looted from the National Museum of Iraq. Items that dated back to 2300 BC. Some of the greatest artifacts ever discovered. We took heat for the looting, and I’m in the business of fixing our reputation.”

  Beth chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to see where the CIA could be involved. She knew that the FBI and the military had worked on the looting problem, but not the CIA. “I don’t understand your jump from—”

  “For years, the US has helped in the retrieval of stolen relics.”

  “Okay. That I know.” Given that the Smithsonian was her cover job, she had a working knowledge of the issues stemming from the museum looting.

  “Naydenov not only knows where one of those pieces of art is, but he’s buying it in an underground auction in two weeks. He wants a piece called the Sun Bowl. We want to know where it’s been and where it’s going before we get it and give it back.”

  “The Sun Bowl?” She tried to process Jasper’s explanation. The CIA was involved in art theft? That wasn’t right.

  “It’s a sixty-five-hundred-year-old Sumerian bowl. Apparently, it’s the hottest thing on the stolen fine arts market at the moment.”

  “And you want me to…?”

  Jasper smirked. “Be on his arm when the auction happens. If not his arm, his hotel room. Find where the other players are, provide intelligence to intercept—”

  His hotel room? Indignation swirled with bile in her stomach. Her molars ground together. “I’ve worked on counterterrorism for years. If you could, please explain to me, Mr. Jasper, how years of studying the ins and outs of national security–worthy play makers equates itself to being a piece of arm candy to an art snob who washes money.”

  His smirk deepened. “Miss Tourne…”

  She’d said too much, but it had all come out. Not that it mattered anyway. Years of filling the role they had wanted and it was all for jokes. The only way into a man’s trust in that time frame was to let him between her legs. That wasn’t her style. Not once had she gone that route. Nicola never had either, and Beth admired that about her. They’d always found a way around the inevitable.

  But two weeks? To get invited to tight-knit meeting and navigate the obvious assumptions of a man inviting a woman to accompany him on an international trip? Shit, this wasn’t what she wanted.

  Eyebrows raised, Jasper cleared his throat. “If this isn’t for you, say so. There’s plenty of work to keep you busy. But if you do take this one and the job goes well, then maybe our next discussion will be about how accurate your shot is or how useful your working knowledge of Arabic would be.”

  She stared numbly.

  “You’ll be placed in the capable hands of one of my best handlers, and you’ll be allotted security from the pool of operatives familiar with the scene. Given your socialite status, it would raise eyebrows if you were to travel to the Middle East without a bodyguard. Naydenov wouldn’t suspect a thing.”

  A handler she didn’t know and a bodyguard who would know if she wandered off to Naydenov’s bedroom. Humiliating.

  “Think it over, Miss Tourne.”

  Beth squared her shoulders and choked down the bile in her throat. “I’ll have an answer for you by this time tomorrow.”

  Not waiting to hear any more, Beth rushed out before frustrated tears made her look like a fool in the section chief’s office.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Early evening—actually late afternoon—and the crowd of warm bodies surrounded Beth as she pushed her way to the bar. Nicola guarded an empty barstool, ignoring the drunken advance of some jerk who must’ve had a death wish as he breathed down her neck.

  “Hey.” Beth took her seat and gave an evil eye to the guy.

  The neck-breather’s smile lit. “Two gorgeous girls. My lucky night.”

  With one stupid move, he tossed his arm over Nicola’s shoulder and leaned for Beth. Before Beth could warn the dude of the danger, Nicola elbowed him with that special touch of hers. His cheeks puffed out, his brow dropped down, and he doubled over.

  Not turning her head, she gave Beth a roll of her eyes. “I tried to say ‘go away’ politely.”

  “Jeez. Alright already.” The guy stumbled away. “Bitches.”

  Beth evil eyed him again. “God, I’ve had enough of cocky, assuming jerks.”

  Nicola shook her head. “I warned him while you were gone. Oh, and I ordered you a little somethin’-somethin’.”

  The bartender placed a shot glass in front of Beth and filled it up.

  “Just you tonight.” Nicola nursed the soda in front of her. “I’m on call. Nothing too hard for me.”

  “Tequila? A beer would’ve been fine, hon.”

  Nicola turned on her barstool. “Prepare yourself.”

  One eyebrow up, she asked, “For?”

  “Cash and Roman will be here any second. A little liquid courage always helps you two.”

  “Helps?” Beth’s stomach flipped. She hadn’t found a way to mention Roman dropping by last night and how things had ended. Well, they’d ended like they always did. That wouldn’t be newsworthy. But she didn’t normally act so affected, and he didn’t normally act so bold. Never, never before had a truce been called.

  Shot in hand, Beth clinked glasses with Nicola and tossed back the tequila.

  “Whoa!” She shook her head and grabbed the lime. “That burned.”

  Nicola’s phone buzzed as she sipped her soda. A second later, she lit the screen. “Cash. They’re in here somewhere.”

  A shiver ran down Beth’s spine. While it was lucky for the neck-breather who had escaped
with only an elbow to the groin, their arrival was bad for Beth. She had that buzzy, warm, swimming feeling that only Roman could give her. And she bit her lip, knowing she’d violated the only major life rule she had at the moment: Don’t drink around Roman, especially just hours after he’d slid his hands up her leg in the middle of the night.

  “Why’d Cash have to bring Roman? That wasn’t the plan.”

  Nicola laughed. “Where there’s one, there’s the other.”

  “I know…” Beth toyed with the lime she’d finished.

  “Oh, I forgot.” Nicola scanned the room. “There’s a new guy. Strict instructions from Boss Man for him to stay close to Roman.”

  “Good guy?”

  “Think so. They’ve got some uber-military connection that has them all bro-ing out. They went through boot camp with the guy’s older brother. I don’t know. It’s a guy thing.”

  Beth nodded as if she wasn’t excited and apprehensive that Roman was nearby. Maybe his little buddy would allow for a distraction.

  She saw Cash and Roman out of the corner of her eye. They moved through the sea of bodies. Both were big guys. Cash was taller, Roman wider. Beth would’ve bet that almost every woman that saw them stuttered in conversation as they passed. Some guys just got all the looks, and her one shot of Señor Patron was reminding her of that right now.

  Shit. One shot of tequila wouldn’t do that to her. Noticing his mussed, dark-blond, almost-brown hair or the intense espresso brown of his eyes that swept a room or even the simple way his shirt melted over his muscles, Beth could only blame herself.

  She tried to center. Failed immaculately. Then looked around for something, anything, to use as a distraction.

  Behind Roman was a guy who had to be their friend. Nice looking. Younger. But damn if she wasn’t drawn back to Roman and his chiseled jaw. He even had a little dimple in his chin that, some nights, she might’ve sworn was her sole reason for living. Just to see that little indentation deepen when he smiled at her.

  Nicola bumped her shoulder, breaking Beth out of her trance.

  “I hate you, Nic. You know that, right? Hate. Hate. Hate.”

  Nicola laughed.

  “Don’t leave me alone with him.”

  She giggled harder. “I know.”

  “No. You have no idea.” Because Beth hadn’t gossiped yet about last night or her job offer. She hadn’t expected Cash would arrive so early, and definitely not with Roman.

  Roman’s eyes caught her, and her body reacted. As much as she wanted to blame too much tequila, that excuse wouldn’t fly. Not when her stomach somersaulted when he gave her the slightest hint of a knowing smile.

  Nicola spun on her barstool, happy-squeeing into her husband’s embrace. Slowly, Beth turned fully around on her stool and couldn’t have felt more obvious if she’d had a sign above her, blinking in neon lights, that Roman Hart was her rock star.

  Cash wrapped an arm around Nicola. “You two look like you’re having fun.” He pointed to the third guy. “Montana, this is Beth. Beth, the new guy on loan.”

  She shook Montana’s extended hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Montana made polite small talk, but it took him two seconds to head his own direction, and for that, Beth was grateful. Not that she wanted alone time with Roman. Ugh, maybe she did. No. Most certainly not. It would be easier if Montana walked his military butt back here. He could talk to Roman.

  Roman pushed to the bar, leaning in next to her but not saying a single word. Not even turning to her. So this was Roman on a truce. She hated it. Until his arm brushed her back and she couldn’t move. Each time he touched her, she was doomed to the same fate. Stupid, spectacular shivers where they connected.

  Instead of embracing the rush of him across her skin, Beth needed to have a conversation with Nicola. Because, forget Roman stopping by in the middle of the night, how could she figure out this CIA job without Nicola’s advice?

  Nicola was still laughing because she didn’t know the nightmares were back. Didn’t know how Beth craved and feared Roman’s touch. Nicola, without the reminder being shoved in her face, forgot about Beth’s history and really wanted her best friend and her older brother to get together. Beth couldn’t blame her. So much time had passed.

  Cash pulled Nicola against his chest. “What’s with you, sweet girl?”

  Beth ignored Nicola’s giggles and grumbled an answer for her. “She’s up to no good.”

  “Ah.” Cash shook his head, knowing what Beth meant. “Leave them alone.”

  Finally, Nicola stopped laughing and deadpanned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  But from the way she said it, she knew her little plan had worked. Operation Get Beth and Roman in the Same Room was always a go where Nicola was concerned.

  Beer in hand, Roman nudged into the conversation. “What’s with the giggle box?”

  “Take a guess.” Beth rolled her eyes.

  Because it wasn’t even a secret. Nicola had made her intentions loud and clear to them both.

  “I’m down if you’re down.” Roman winked at Beth, laughing a deep rumble because what he read into the situation was no-attachment sex. Not that there was any possible way for anything else to happen. Truth was, that was how he knew her—emotionless when it came to relationships—so she couldn’t blame him. Then he teased and whispered, “Oh, I forgot. We’re on a truce.”

  “Oh my God.” She spun back to the bar and waved down the bartender. “Can I get a Sprite?” Next, she turned to Nicola. “I thought we were due for a girl’s night. I’m calling that in. Now.”

  As if Nicola and Cash had a secret mind-melding, wife-husband connection, they smiled in unison, making Beth roll her eyes.

  “We are.” Nicola leaned against Cash. “But how can I say no to a face like that?”

  Beth sat up straight in her chair. “Easy. No. No. No.”

  “She’s really good at saying…” Roman took a sip of his beer “…no.”

  Cash laughed, tossing back his head and spinning Nicola off her barstool. “Come on. Leave Miss Grumpy Pants to her Patron.”

  Sprite. No alcohol for her. One shot on an empty stomach was survivable. More than one would do some damage.

  Montana walked back over. “Hey, guys. I’m out. Catch up with you tomorrow.”

  They all did their goodbyes. Montana hadn’t said much to her, but he had a good vibe. Beth liked him. Roman and Cash obviously got on well with him.

  “I really like that kid.” Roman leaned back against the bar, reading her mind. “His brother’s a tank. Think the whole family comes from military.”

  “Hooah.” Cash raised his beer then downed it.

  The bartender arrived with Beth’s soda. It was a freakin’ Sprite, her last-ditch defense mechanism. Tonight wasn’t going the way she had in mind. She hadn’t talked to Nicola about work, hadn’t decided what she was going to do about the job offer, and couldn’t stop leaning into Roman.

  Focus on work.

  Since day one, she’d wanted out of the confines of the CIA office and into the field. Now the opportunity was available… but it sucked.

  Could she sleep with a guy for the job? Her stomach sank. Lots of people did, and what Beth claimed to want—what she did want—was a good-looking man she could be with and know that she’d never fall for. Well, she wasn’t going to fall for a money launderer.

  Her eyes found Roman. She couldn’t fall for him either.

  The guy was muscle built on muscle, corded and carved. Sinewy in the right spots. Even the veins that traced down his cut arms were sexy. And the way his smoldering voice, with that low gravel to it, carried over her…

  Everything warmed too much when he looked at her. Then there was that deep twinge of guilt in her chest, reminding her of the scars torn jagged across her soul. Add in the fact they were friends, sorta.

  Crap. That was the problem. She wanted Roman until she realized she liked him, and liking a man wasn’t fair, much less allowed.
>
  Beth rubbed her temples and sighed, snagging the lonesome straw in her Sprite and taking a sip. It was a little flat, and the straw must’ve had a crack in it, giving her lots of air. It made the soda feel funny on her tongue. One disappointment after another.

  “Thought you were in it to win it.” Roman settled onto Nicola’s abandoned barstool. “What is that?”

  She spun the defective straw around the glass. “A lemon-lime fail.”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you frown. Hey!” Roman hollered as the bartender passed, and pointed to her shot glass. “Two shots of whatever she was drinking.”

  “Sure thing, buddy.” The bartender cleared Nicola’s half-empty glass and left them alone.

  “I don’t need another shot. But thanks.” She tried another sip of the Sprite. Blah. It wasn’t working for her.

  The bartender arrived with the tequila, placing both glasses in front of Roman. Roman slid one in front of her. “No one needs a shot. But don’t leave me hanging.”

  “It’s, like, four in the afternoon.”

  “Better than four in the morning. Least while we’re on truce.”

  She glared at him then at the shot, hoping maybe it might jump back into the bottle. “No, I’m not in the mood.”

  “Oh, come on. When have you ever said no to a little drinking fun?”

  True. And all that stupid work she’d done to make her cover believable was her downfall. “M-kay.”

  Without waiting for him, she threw it down, loving the burn. Maybe too much, but it made her giggle, made her arms feel warm instantaneously, and her fingertips tingled. She relaxed for the first time since he’d walked in. But she was just drinking away her problems, and that wouldn’t do crap to help her figure out if she should sleep with a mark—

  “Beth?”

  His low rumble did something wicked to her, and when she looked up, she couldn’t ignore the pull of his deep eyes. He didn’t want a truce. “Hmm?”

  His head tilted for a moment, then he sipped his beer. “Joking aside, you doing okay?”