Aftershocks

by Damschroder, Natalie J.

  They thanked her and flipped open the menus, pretending to look at them until she’d disappeared into the kitchen. Zoe dug into the bag scrunched between her and the wall and found the watch she’d tucked into it the night before. It was four a.m.

  Kell was watching her. “How did you have time to gather your things?”

  “They were already gathered.” She looked up to find Grant eying her with approval, Kell with surprise. “What? I’ve been doing that since I left home.” Their regard strengthened, and she huffed. “I’ve known for weeks that I was being watched. It’s not such a big thing that I’m ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Kind of cowardly, if you think about it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d have appreciated the advice,” Kell said wryly. “I got out with nothing.” He lifted the coffee cup to his mouth and winced at the heat or the taste. Zoe decided not to drink any. She’d get good stuff at the airport.

  “Why? What happened?” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “What were you doing in Grant’s room at that hour, anyway?”

  Kell glanced at Grant. He ignored them, perusing the menu.

  “We were strategizing.”

  Zoe scowled. “At three-thirty in the morning? About what?”

  “The benefit that William Carling will be attending.”

  “Without me.”

  “You needed your sleep.”

  She didn’t think he was telling the whole truth, but pushing it would probably go back into the romantic territory she’d gotten her own room to escape, so she let it go.

  “So what happened?”

  Grant flipped his menu closed. “Someone busted in the door to Stone’s room.”

  “I saw that.” She flattened her palm on the table and reined in her frustration. “How? They’re all reinforced and stuff to prevent that kind of thing.”

  He shrugged. “We didn’t see it. By the time I got to the hall, they’d apparently determined the room was empty and retreated. They made enough noise to get security up there.”

  “Why did we book it out so quickly if the threat was gone?”

  “Because retreated means backed off, not left. They could have been watching for us.”

  “And could be watching us now.”

  Grant shook his head. “The car that followed us kept going when we stopped here. They’ll probably pick us up again when we leave, just to make sure we’re going to the airport.”

  “So we have no idea who it was.” She leaned back as Fay approached again, pad at the ready.

  “What can I get you folks?” She eyed Zoe’s and Kell’s open menus. “Need a few more minutes?”

  “No, we’re ready,” Zoe told her. She ordered a short stack with bacon. Grant and Kell both got the special, a traditional platter loaded with fat and cholesterol. It surprised her, because Grant was the kind of fit that meant he ate healthy, and she knew for certain that Kell didn’t usually eat like this. But it was expedient, she supposed, and when you’d narrowly escaped an attack, it probably didn’t seem like such a big deal to eat real eggs cooked in bacon grease.

  “This’ll just take a few minutes.” Fay smiled again and moved away to greet a couple of trucker types who’d just entered and were settling at the counter.

  Zoe leaned forward again, keeping her voice low enough to make Kell and Grant lean in, too. “We don’t know who they are or what they want, but we can be sure that they’re targeting Kell.”

  Grant shook his head while Kell said, “No, we can’t.”

  “Why not? That’s twice now. Three if we count the truck.”

  “Can’t count the truck,” Grant said. “We were all in it.”

  “You’re a more likely target,” Kell argued. “You were only a few feet away at the airport, and this was your room, too.”

  “But not in my name. Why would they assume I was in your room and not Grant’s, or in a separate room under an alias, like I actually was?”

  “It depends how they got their information and who they are.”

  “And it doesn’t matter.” Grant’s statement effectively halted the debate. “We’re together and we have the same goal. No matter who the target is, we’re all equally vulnerable. We have to focus on getting the totems.”

  “And you guys have decided how to do that.”

  “Next step, anyway,” Kell said. “Grant did the research on Carling.”

  That Zoe had been planning to do but hadn’t gotten around to. “And?”

  “He’s not reclusive, exactly, but he is reserved.” Grant stopped to let Fay drop their food on the table. She offered ketchup, which Kell accepted, and quickly left.

  “He’s the top guy at a huge business money-wise, but small in every other way,” Kell explained. “They develop proprietary technology for a niche market. So approaching him at work would be difficult.”

  “High security?” She slid the butter across her pancakes and set the giant pat on the edge of her bacon plate before drizzling syrup over the stack.

  “We assume so.” Grant dipped toast into his egg yolks. “And finding his home is turning out to require less-than-legal means.”

  “Even if we found his address, showing up there would put him on edge.” Zoe watched the waitress steer a weary-looking couple to a booth on the other side of the building. She was good. Paid attention to her customers’ needs. They’d have to tip her well.

  “Right. Hence, the benefit. It’s definitely the best way to approach.”

  “When is it?” She bit into her crisp bacon, amazed at how hungry she was. It seemed like her body shouldn’t care about food, it had so much to dwell on. “How much time do we have?”

  Kell grimaced and stabbed a piece of sausage with his fork. “It’s tonight.”

  Chapter Eleven

  For all that San Francisco was unique on the outside, different from all the cities Zoe had visited on the East Coast and in the Midwest, everything in the ballroom was exactly the same.

  Tanicia, Kell’s super-assistant who never asked questions, had scored three tickets to the benefit and managed to get them rooms in the same hotel and clothes for tonight. They’d all split up to make phone calls and sleep a little. Then, while Kell worked with Tanicia to arrange what they needed—including some regular clothes and toiletries for him—and Grant settled things with the hotel and car rental they’d abandoned in Atlanta, Zoe’d been dealing with the FBI.

  She accepted a glass of champagne from a server and drifted through the ballroom, looking for people she knew and wondering if Carling was here yet. She’d left messages for both Grant and Kell that she was coming down here. They had probably been in the shower, as guys tended to wait until the last minute to get ready. Sitting in her room would have been hell on her nerves, so she’d decided to brave their annoyance at her for not waiting.

  A figure appeared in the wide entryway. Zoe paused and sipped her champagne as cover while she checked him out. He surveyed the crowd while he shot his cuffs, his stance wide and confident but not too arrogant. The five-button tux was blacker than black, with a white Euro-style tie and satin vest that fit the lean, muscled body like it had been tailor-made. Her eyes rose, noticing the slight skew of the tie at his neck and the smooth sweep of overlong hair that had been tamed without being slicked.

  Then she met his eyes.

  And realized it was Grant.

  And he was pissed.

  It didn’t show on his face, only in the eyes that had probably turned dark green. She was chagrined that she remembered they did that. But then, it was the color she’d stared into when she refused to marry him.

  He made his way to her with an elegant stride, hiding his purposefulness. Three people stopped him with greetings, and he paused, clasped hands and gave warm smiles, and moved on, probably leaving them trying to remember where they’d seen him before. More than a few women watched him walk away, and even a couple of gay men, one of whom couldn’t take his eyes off Grant’s ass. To Zoe’s amazement, when Grant caught him looking, he actu
ally winked at him!

  But her amusement was gone by the time he reached her side, and she could feel how tightly he was holding himself.

  “Don’t say it.”

  He looked down at her. “Say what?”

  “Don’t ask what the hell I think I’m doing.”

  “You shouldn’t have done something to make me ask it.”

  She sighed. “I waited until another couple was coming down. I wasn’t alone in the elevator. I stayed near groups until I handed off my invitation outside. Safe as houses.”

  He scowled. “What does that mean?”

  “No idea.”

  “Being part of a couple doesn’t make someone safe. Pat and Freddie are a couple.”

  She nodded toward the stage, where an elderly man and woman laughed at something a younger man was telling them. “That’s them. See? Harmless.”

  Grant’s eyebrows went up. “That’s him.”

  “Yes, and his wife. They like to stay in the hotel for these benefits so they don’t have to drive so far in the evenings. We chatted in the elevator.”

  “No, I mean him.”

  “Oh!” Zoe realized he meant that the younger man was Carling and started to turn and look. But two more men entering the ballroom caught her attention. Kell looked familiar and comforting in a traditional one-button tux with a dark blue bow tie and cummerbund. Tanicia was crafty, because the blue matched Zoe’s long, slinky satin gown and gloves. He spotted them and started across the room.

  Agent Henricksen followed him.

  “Shit.” It was under her breath, but Grant heard her and followed her gaze. “What? He looks good.” He flicked back to her, then zeroed in on Carling again. “You guys match.”

  Zoe kept quiet, too much roiling through her brain to trust what would come out. She’d expected to match Kell. Not in clothing, necessarily, but in demeanor or whatever. She’d assumed they’d take the lead together, with Grant like a…a bodyguard or something equally out of place, yet not. The way he always was. Yet here they stood, and it felt natural, and she hadn’t even been thinking about Kell until he walked in the door, equally as intrusive as the taller, wider, much-less-comfortable-looking agent behind him.

  Henricksen’s tux didn’t fit as well as Grant’s or Kell’s, even though they were all off the rack. The way the fabric reflected the light in places it shouldn’t told her it was cheaper than theirs. But then, the FBI probably didn’t have the budget of a top corporate attorney.

  Henricksen’s approach had destroyed all that natural comfort she’d been feeling, though. She hadn’t had a chance to explain to Grant and Kell why she called him. She’d slept on the plane all the way to San Francisco, and then there were always people around. Grant had been intent on making sure they weren’t followed, while Kell constantly texted Tanicia to tell her what they needed. Once they were in the hotel she had little time to put her plan in motion, and the guys needed their sleep. She’d gotten some last night and on the plane, while she was pretty sure neither of them had.

  But she hadn’t expected the agent to come here, and so quickly. She’d thought she had more time.

  Kell stopped next to them, already clued in to Grant’s target. “Excellent. Those two are moving away. He’ll be alone. Shall we approach him?”

  “Not just yet.” The smooth, deep voice came from behind Kell and surprised both men. Zoe couldn’t believe it. Grant had missed tagging a Fed?

  “Ms. Ardmore.” Henricksen inclined his head at her.

  “Agent Henricksen.” She warily introduced Kell and Grant. He shook both their hands, taking their measure as he did and being measured in return.

  “We need to do this now,” Grant murmured to Zoe, his hand on the small of her back. She almost heard Kell’s teeth grind.

  “I know. Shaun.” She used the agent’s first name instead of repeating his title, as the room was filling more rapidly now and they didn’t have as much space between them and other people. “Please excuse us for just a moment. I’ll explain everything. Just—trust me.”

  He didn’t look happy but nodded, surprising her. She nodded back, took a deep breath, and turned to approach the guy who held their future in his hands.

  * * *

  “What the hell are we doing?” Kell scowled across the empty table between him and the one where Zoe sat alone with Carling, who was apparently the funniest man in California.

  “Hell if I know.” Grant swallowed a mouthful of champagne. “My plan wasn’t to be useless tonight.”

  Shaun-the-agent-Zoe-hadn’t-told-them-about fiddled with an extra fork that had been left on the table. “She was supposed to be back in a few minutes. I shouldn’t let this go on.”

  Grant ignored the Fed. He had nothing against him, of course, he worked with federal agents all the time. But until Zoe explained why she’d called him in—which was what the agent claimed she’d done—Grant wasn’t giving him anything. The agent hadn’t been very forthcoming, either. Grant didn’t know how much Zoe had told him about their plan, and he didn’t want to answer questions while they were surrounded by several hundred unknown people.

  Carling had locked onto Zoe as soon as she approached him. Grant hadn’t been able to hear what they said, but it didn’t look like Zoe had needed to manufacture any pretext. They’d gone through the dessert line together, then sat to listen to the various speakers extol the virtues of the project they were raising money for. He, Stone, and Henricksen had been left to find their own table and watch, useless.

  The original plan had the three of them approaching Carling as a team from a high-end magazine and arranging a private interview about his art collection. But Zoe had glided off looking so little like a journalist that Grant had held Stone back, letting her take point. It was her gig, after all.

  But it had been two hours since Carling handed off a check to one of the runners. Half the crowd had gone, but the two of them sat, cozy and rapt—and holding hands, goddamn it.

  He wondered if Stone was as roilingly jealous as he was.

  “Why doesn’t she just ask him about the damned totems already?” Stone grumbled. He shifted in his seat for about the hundredth time, flinging his elbow over the back of the fancy-covered folding chair.

  “Looks like they hit it off,” Henricksen observed.

  Grant found that one difficult to ignore. His head jerked toward the agent, irritated words on his lips. Then he saw the twinkle in the guy’s eyes and stood down. Henricksen had read them and thought he had an idea of what was going on. And he was probably right. Grant wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of taking the bait.

  That he almost had was disconcerting. He was the mercenary, the tough guy, trained to be in control at all times. Stone knew it, too. He could feel him smirking on his left, smug that he’d seen through the agent’s ploy before Grant had. If he didn’t like the guy so much, he’d lock him in a utility closet.

  “I suppose you two know that Carling is one of the ten richest men in the state of California.”

  Henricksen must be bored, Grant thought. The big man eased back in his seat, faking relaxation, and kept talking casually.

  “When Ms. Ardmore called me, I did some research on him. I’d heard of him but hadn’t realized how much money he’s actually made with his little gizmo things. It’s amazing he’s avoided getting married. Probably tired of all the gold diggers clamoring after him. A guy like that, he’d have good radar for a woman with guile. So it looks like Zoe’s either hidden her intentions well, or she’s been honest with him.”

  Grant said nothing. Clocking a Fed was never a smart idea, even when deliberately provoked. Even for fun.

  Stone didn’t seem to be reading Henricksen the same way. “Zoe knows how to be captivating. She’s been to a hundred of these things.”

  Or maybe he was trying to make a point to Grant. He hid a grin and swallowed more—ugh, warm—champagne. He was getting somewhere if Stone felt threatened.

  Except now he wasn’t sure where it was he
wanted to get. He watched Zoe laugh yet again, her face practically glowing with her interest in the man. She had her arms draped on the table and her body angled toward Carling, who kept threading his fingers through hers. If Grant didn’t know better, he’d think they already knew each other. He kept imagining getting up, striding over there, and gently but easily drawing Zoe away from the guy in a way that left no uncertainty about whose she was.

  Of course, she wasn’t Grant’s. Deciding he was going to make her his was easier when he’d thought Stone was a Carling type, unworthy of her. But his expectations had been shredded almost as soon as he met him. It wasn’t his habit to make assumptions about people, and it galled him that he’d applied stereotypes to Stone just because he had money, was an attorney, and was born into high society. But he kept a cool head in a crisis. He put Zoe’s safety and happiness above anything else, but didn’t go alpha on her—which would have been to Grant’s advantage, because Zoe wouldn’t stand for someone else taking control.

  Stone even had good ideas, for someone not in the business. Despite his fatigue, Grant hadn’t been able to sleep last night. He’d worried about Zoe and patrolled the hallway several times, each time forcing himself not to knock on her door. On his third trip he’d caught Stone doing the same thing. They started talking about the situation and what Zoe should do, and next thing Grant knew, they were strategizing over tiny bottles of Scotch from the minibar.

  And Grant found himself wondering if fighting him for Zoe was right. Her happiness was the important thing. Which one of them could make her happier? He didn’t know anymore.

  The ballroom was nearly empty now, with only a few pockets of lingering attendees scattered around. The staff had started to clear tables and collect chairs. Zoe and Carling leaned in very close to each other, then stood and headed for the doorway. Zoe didn’t look back once.

  The three men rose to their feet simultaneously, all stepping forward, all used to being in the lead. Grant glowered at Stone, who gave him a mocking smile and stepped back. He didn’t bother to look at Henricksen. The agent was at a disadvantage, not knowing the plan. He’d defer to Grant.