by Julie Miller
These? Plural? Cole swept his gaze over to Tori. She had the maitre d’ laughing now, completely distracted from the restaurant’s intruder. But there was no time to ask when she’d received another message from “Daniel.”
A.J. went on. “The D.A. wants to nail the shooter who took down Lee Cameron.”
Cole spotted Chad and his guest at the front door through the decorative shrubs and dragged his gaze back to his onetime partner. “Tell him to get in line.”
“The slug they pulled out of Cameron is a foreign job. The lab’s running it through Interpol to trace the manufacturer.”
“Have them focus on Eastern European sources.” Tori had rejoined them. “Cross-check with the Bureau reference I gave you on the statue’s original owner.”
She linked her arm through Cole’s, playing the couple game this time. She hesitated a moment, then lined herself up flush to his side. He felt the gentle swell of one breast, the sleek muscle of one hip pressed against him. Cole breathed out a sigh of relief at the unexpected contact. One form of tension dissipated and another, less timely sense of awareness took its place.
If she was this close, he could keep her safe. When she was this close, it felt real. He hadn’t realized how much he craved real. Without thinking about charades or consequences, Cole laced his fingers through hers, binding them together. “You’re thinking Lancelot ordered the hit?”
Tori nodded. “My guess is you’re looking for a betrayed smuggler or terrorist as your contract man.”
“Terrorist?” A.J. swore beneath his breath. “You never did take the easy way, did you, amigo?” He put his mouth to Tori’s ear and intentionally whispered loud enough for Cole to overhear. “Keep your eye on this guy. He’s not as invincible as he thinks he is.”
“Are you still here?” Cole razzed, pushing him away. He didn’t have time to debate the wisdom of having stayed with this assignment so long.
A.J. looked at a spot beyond Tori’s shoulder. “Chad Meade’s at your six. I’m gone.” He winked at Tori. “Call me.”
“Cole? Victoria?”
Startled, Tori’s grip flinched within his. He gave her a stay calm squeeze before releasing her, and they turned to greet Chad.
“Didn’t I just see you?” Tori took a stab at light, impersonal conversation. “How’s London?”
“Under control now, thanks. Lana should be pleased.” Chad craned his neck to look around them. “What happened to your friend?”
Cole glanced over his shoulder and hid his smile. A.J.’s reputation as the best shadow-man in the precinct was well-earned. Even his plate had disappeared from the table. He turned back around and shrugged as if Chad had been hallucinating. “What friend?”
Chad’s blue eyes narrowed. He shoved Cole aside to get a clear look at a table beautifully set for one. Cole braced for the abuse about to be thrown his way.
“My uncle might believe in ghosts, but I don’t. We pay you good money to guard Jericho and do as you’re told. But he’s not even here, is he. I saw that man. Were you trading secrets? Does he know about the attempt on Jericho’s life? Who was he?”
Tori planted her hands on her hips. “I met with an old friend, thank you very much.” She had enough miff in her tone to make it clear she felt insulted. “First, Cole shows up and does his jealous lover routine, and now you’re here making a scene, telling me I can only hang out with people who are on your list of approved friends. I didn’t realize that if I wanted privacy I’d have to leave town.”
Cole pressed his smile into a firm line as Chad scrambled to do damage control with the lady. Maybe she could handle this undercover role, after all. She certainly had Chad snowed.
“I was speaking to Taylor about neglecting his duties to my uncle, not your social life. I’m very pleased with the progress we made this morning. Of course, you’re free to come and go from the house and meet with whomever you please. In fact, I have someone with me now you might enjoy meeting. He runs an art gallery over on Forty-seventh. He acquired several of the more unusual pieces for us that you’ll be working with.”
She tipped her nose in the air, and Chad held his breath, waiting for acceptance of his apology. She dragged out the fuss long enough to give A.J. plenty of time to blend in with the crowd. And she’d shifted Chad’s focus so that he’d forgotten all about the black-haired mystery man who’d upset him in the first place. “Well.” She huffed out a sigh. “I suppose I did overreact a bit. It’s just that I feel like I’ve had someone looking over my shoulder ever since I went to work for Mr. Meade.”
Her green eyes flickered up to Cole’s. Yeah, he’d been watching her from minute one. He made no apologies.
But Chad did. “I’m sorry. We’re just trying to help with your work, and we do have security measures in place we have to respect. But certainly what you do on your own time is your own business. Forgive me?”
Chad reached for her hands and carried them up to his lips, where he proceeded to kiss each one. Tori’s eyes widened with a start above Chad’s bent head. Something hard and territorial slammed in Cole’s gut as Chad tilted his head and slyly brushed the next kiss against her jaw.
Cole clamped his hand down over Chad’s shoulder and pulled him away from Tori. “It’s been fun as usual, Chad, but we were just leaving.”
Tori’s eyes flashed to his, but she didn’t take the hint. Correction. The arch of that auburn brow said she understood the silent message just fine. She was just refusing to cooperate.
“I’ve got time to meet his friend.”
She was playing a dangerous game, toying with Chad’s lusty interest in the opposite sex for the promise of information.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
Chad shrugged loose of Cole’s grip and adjusted his jacket, grinning as if he’d just won some kind of battle. “Martín Lukasiewicz.”
Seeing he was the focus of their attention, the short man nodded and Tori waved. “Lukasiewicz.” She rolled the name around her tongue. “Sounds Slavic or Polish.” Her knowing gaze slid up to Cole’s. “Eastern European.”
As in Lancelot? Cole’s muscles clenched around his bones as he imagined what she was thinking. The woman just couldn’t play it safe, could she. He saw the wheels of speculation churning behind her eyes. She pulled her shoulders back and tipped her chin as if prepping for an interrogation.
“I’m not sure of his heritage, but we can certainly ask him.” Chad’s pretty, manicured fingers urged her forward.
No! The man might damn well be a representative of a foreign crime boss. Hell, he could be a terrorist. The fact that he was a friend of Chad’s made him probable scum. And she wanted to waltz on over there and play Twenty Questions?
Wasn’t gonna happen.
Cole reached around Chad and snatched Tori’s hand, pulling her to his side. “You’ll have to do that another time. Like Chad said, I need to get back to work.”
He could count on Tori to argue. “But—”
“I was hoping to hitch a ride with you to the hospital.”
Those rebellious green eyes searched his face for some kind of explanation. But he couldn’t very well warn her off without giving something away to Chad.
“If you’ll wait a few minutes, I’ll be happy to give you a ride. But I’d like to talk to Mr. Lukasiewicz.”
Funny how she could articulate so clearly without seeming to unclench her teeth. He’d deal with her wrath. He wouldn’t deal with her getting hurt. “I’m already late. Please?”
Chad reached for her free hand and tugged, as immune to the Taylor charm as she apparently was. “Give him your keys, Victoria. I have the Porsche. I’ll drive you home.”
Cole bristled at the proprietary tone. “I don’t think so.”
Chad puffed out his chest. “You’re late. Remember?”
“Gentlemen!” Tori jerked her hands free of both men’s and scolded them with the kind of glare his mother had used when he’d gotten into trouble as a boy. She didn’t give either one of
them a chance to argue. “You’re fighting over me as if I were the car. I drove here by myself and I will get home the same way. You—” she pointed at Cole “—pay the bill and meet me out front. You—” she pointed at Chad “—introduce me to your friend. I can’t stay long, I have work to do, too.” She looked at them both. “Capisce?”
Quick to please the lady, Chad bowed his head with a deferential nod. “I’ve always admired an independent woman,” he said.
There was plenty of independent thinking to admire in this sleek redhead. “You go on. I’ll be there in a minute. I need to, uh, straighten things out here, you know?”
Was that a wink? She’d wasted enough charm on Meade already, but she had the sucker wrapped around her finger and ready to do her bidding.
“Don’t be long,” said Chad as he retreated.
Cole tried hard not to compare the playful indulgences she allowed other men to the drop-kick and sharp tongue she used on him. When she spun around, her cheeks were flushed with color, her eyes dancing with concern.
“Do you think we diverted enough attention from A.J.? I tried to make him sound like my acquaintance, not yours. Why the hell are you here in the first place? You’re supposed to be with Jericho.”
“Whoa. Slow down.” Maybe she didn’t have everything quite under control, after all. He cupped his hands around Tori’s strong shoulders, instinctively offering that same point of contact that seemed to defuse his fears every time he touched her. “Jericho’s at the hospital, sleeping off the effects of one of the trial antidotes Dr. Kramer came up with.”
Tori frowned. “Without the source of the poison, how can he come up with an effective antidote?”
He pulled her a fraction closer. “Finding that is on my to-do list. But right now your safety is item one. A.J.’s long gone. You covered great. Now let’s go.”
“Cole—” She splayed her hand across the left side of his chest, stalling his retreat.
It was one of those tentative touches of hers, the real kind that had nothing to do with public appearances and everything to do with twisting him up inside.
“I’m serious about meeting this guy. I know Lukasiewicz’s reputation. He’d have the means to fence something like The Divine Horseman. He might be able to connect us to Lancelot. I’ve got to check him out. You’d do it.”
Cole considered her argument. He listened to the pleading in her eyes and the clutch of her fingertips, kneading in their ceaseless rhythm against him. The cop in him knew what the agent in her did. This was a potential lead. If a suspect like Lukasiewicz fell into his lap, he’d be asking questions, too.
But the man in him wouldn’t surrender easily. He reached up and covered her hand with his, spreading it flat and holding it over the steady beat of his heart, imparting his warmth, imbuing his reluctant trust. He touched his forehead to hers.
“Five minutes,” he whispered. “Any longer than that and I’m coming back in here for you. Capisce?”
Her upturned eyes searched his and she smiled. Cole bent down to taste the sweet curve of those lips.
But the smile vanished and she gave his chin a gentle nudge. “Capisce.”
Maybe he’d imagined the trembling in her fingers, but she gave him no chance to press her on what it was about his kisses that she kept trying to avoid. Spinning around, she grabbed her purse and headed inside to Chad’s table.
Cole kept a covert eye on the polite exchange of introductions and conversation at Chad’s table while he checked the tab and tossed a couple of bills down by Tori’s salad.
The spying waiter hovered in the archway leading onto the terrace. His eyes darted back and forth, settling once on Lukasiewicz, who, with a curt movement of his hand, waved aside the young man’s interest without acknowledging him. The kid couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty, and the beads of sweat on his top lip were a dead giveaway that he was nervous about something. His fingers clenched and fidgeted around the tray he held.
Cole looked straight into his dark little eyes.
Something was up.
Without changing his casual posture, Cole’s senses went on hyper-alert. The lunch crowd was emptying out and the stream of traffic was thinning, too. He caught snatches of conversations from passersby on the other side of the terrace railing. Business deals, tourist questions, shopping debates. The zesty smells of herbs and olive oils and warm, crusty breads wafted through the restaurant in a tantalizing advertisement for the food cooking in the kitchen. Images snapped by in slow motion. Martín Lukasiewicz shaking Tori’s hand. The waiter hugging his empty tray to his chest.
The white truck slowing down as it passed by a third time.
Cole didn’t see the driver’s face. The only thing that registered was the semiautomatic handgun, extended to an unnatural length by a silencer and pointed out the passenger side window.
“Tori!” Cole was already charging, zigzagging, dodging the pings and splats of flying bullets and shattering debris. “Get down!”
“Gun!” She saw it, too. She shoved Chad to the floor. She flipped the table to create a shield and pushed another woman behind it. Lukasiewicz was already down.
Cole dove, coiled his arms around her and slammed to the floor, twisting his body over hers to shield her from the deadly spray of fire. Ignoring the sharp pain that scorched his left forearm, he palmed the crown of her head and tucked it beneath his chin to ride out the man-made storm.
A window exploded and rained glass across his back and shoulders. Chairs crashed as customers scrambled for shelter. Screams sliced through the air. Horns blared and tires squealed against the pavement.
And then it was done.
The smells of gunpowder and fear hung in the air. After a beat of silence came the whimpers and foul words and prayers.
Tori stirred beneath him and Cole breathed a sigh of relief. She was alive. “Are you okay?” he whispered into the clean, normal scent of her hair.
She nodded. Her hands clutched at his chest, skimmed his flanks, reached beneath his jacket and swept back and forth. Her quick inspection mimicked the body search from the night before, but with a very different purpose in mind. “You?”
The pain in his arm had receded to a dull throb. “One piece.”
“Thank God.” She stilled with her arms wound tight around his waist, holding him. She buried her nose in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and clenched handfuls of the back of his shirt.
People were moving now. Good Samaritans from outside rushing in to help, panic-stricken patrons calling for loved ones and checking on strangers.
In those moments, marked by the delicate balance between life and death, Cole held on just as tightly, needing her touch and her caring more than he needed his next breath. “I know, babe. I know.”
He’d have kissed her then if he hadn’t sensed the immediate shift in her mood. Babe. Hell. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right.” She was pushing against him now, withdrawing from the impromptu intimacy of celebrated life and galvanizing into the agent she’d been trained to be. “We’d better figure out what’s going on before the cops get here.”
Reluctant to leave the reassurance of her warm body, Cole slowly rolled to his side and sat up, pulling Tori up into his lap. Broken glass cascaded off his hair and jacket and pooled around his hips.
She snatched at his arm. “You’re hurt.”
Cole shook his head at the irony of dodging a hail of tiny bullets yet landing in someone’s lunch. He plucked two long, stringy noodles from his sleeve. “It’s just spaghetti.”
But the skin around her lips was pinched and pale, and her cheeks were splotched with color. Seeing, hearing—feeling—her compassion for his perceived pain touched something inside him so unfamiliar that he felt like a recluse rediscovering his own humanity. He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and let his fingers rest against the soft warmth of her cheek. It had been so long since he’d been this close to anybody who gave a damn about him. So long sin
ce he gave a damn about anything beyond bringing down the Meades.
“I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
It was a silly little turn of phrase. A husky question. A deep response. And Tori breathed easier. His word. She believed in his word.
Cole found that belief in him every bit as irresistible as the creamy velvet of her skin.
But the shadows in her eyes scuttled out of sight and a new energy possessed her. The tender moments passed as if they had never happened and Cole resigned himself to the reality at hand.
“Then we’d better get to work.” She braced her hands against his shoulders. “White truck?” she asked.
“White truck,” he confirmed. Smart lady didn’t miss a trick.
“We have to help these people.” When she curled her legs beneath her to stand, he gripped her waist and gave her a gentle push to her feet. She was out on the terrace by the time he shook the dusting of debris off his coat and rose to follow her.
The rest of the world intruded back on theirs. Cole followed her outside and took the opposite point, scanning up and down the street for the truck, its escape route and any collateral damage. “Looks like the shooting was confined to the restaurant itself.” He pulled back the front of his jacket and splayed his hands on his hips. Cole narrowed his gaze on her pretty secret agent face. “That means the target was someone inside. Chad? Lukasiewicz? You?”
Tori was looking just as hard at him. “Better put yourself on that list, big guy. Informers make enemies too.”
She crunched through a carpet of shattered flowerpots and plates to pick up her purse and retrieve her cell phone. “I’m calling it in. Looks like he turned up Broadway. He’ll dump that truck in someone’s driveway or St. Luke’s parking garage before the squad cars get here to take a description.”
Three quick steps and Cole was at her side. He grabbed her hand and pulled the phone from her ear. “Don’t sound too official,” he reminded her.
She understood the warning to maintain her undercover persona. She nodded toward his chest and dropped her gaze to his right ankle. “You’d better lose your guns or get out of here.”