“I’m fine,” she assured her fiancé. “Just tired. You know how I don’t sleep well on planes.”
If Percy didn’t quite believe her explanation, he was too polite to disagree with her. Sometimes his very proper Englishness could come off as coldness or aloofness, but right now she was grateful for it.
“Don’t forget about the party tonight. The car will be there at five to pick you up.”
“You aren’t coming home to change?”
“I brought my tux with me.”
“I’ll be ready.” She wasn’t looking forward to a formal party tonight, but she knew it was part of her duties as the soon-to-be Mrs. Ambassador.
They’d met while she was briefing him on a joint US/UK operation. There had been some pushback from both sides about security issues when they’d started dating, but because she was a counterterrorism analyst and not a field agent (aka a spook), they had only been asked to give an occasional report on their dates.
Marriage was more problematic. A CIA agent marrying a foreign national—even from our closest ally country—was frowned upon, which is why she hadn’t formally told her superiors yet. They could try to revoke her security clearances, although she thought it unlikely since she didn’t do clandestine work. Percy intended to retire from the diplomatic service when his posting was up. She knew he wanted to return to England, but they hadn’t really talked about that. They hadn’t talked about a lot of things. She paused. “I was hoping we might have time to talk along the way.”
“About what?”
“Have you had a chance to look over the information I gave you?”
He paused for long enough to let her know that he wasn’t keen on the conversation. “Not yet. I thought it was agreed that we would discuss a possible adoption after my posting was complete. I’d like you to spend some time with Poppy and George first.”
Percy’s kids lived with their mother in England. Kate had met them only once.
She knew what he was hoping. That she would fall in love with his children and not feel the need for her own. But she wanted both. She loved that Percy had kids, and she couldn’t wait to get to know them better, but they were in their teens already. She wanted a baby or a young child to raise.
“I don’t think I want to wait,” she said quietly, remembering how it had felt to have the baby pulled out of her arms yesterday. She hadn’t wanted to let go.
“What brought this on, Katherine? Does it have something to do with seeing your ex-husband?”
It was not said unkindly. Percy could be abrupt and standoffish at times, but he was a genuinely nice man. And he cared for her. She did not doubt that. He just liked their life, and a child would disrupt that.
“It has nothing to do with Colt. I gave you that material weeks ago.” Although Colt and what happened yesterday had brought it to the forefront. “I’m almost thirty-five.”
“You have plenty of years left to be a mother. There is no need to rush.”
Kate let it go for now. She didn’t want to press him. But it had become blatantly clear that she could not wait a few years. She wanted a child now. Today. Yesterday.
Three years ago.
Don’t go there. . . .
She said good-bye, telling him she would see him later, and hung up. She spent most of the morning and early afternoon trying to figure out more about Natalie Andersson—the woman Scott had been involved with whom she wasn’t supposed to be investigating. Scott would be pissed when he found out.
Natalie had been killed shortly after warning Scott of the danger to the platoon, and he didn’t think it was a coincidence.
Neither did Kate, which was why she was pursuing it. If she could find out who killed Natalie, it could presumably lead her to who set up the platoon.
Given what had happened to Natalie, Scott thought it was too dangerous. He was probably right, but it was also their best lead. Kate would be careful not to leave any trace of her snooping.
Scott had left out some rather pertinent information about the woman he wasn’t supposed to be seeing (members of Team Nine weren’t supposed to have any ties), such as the fact that she worked at the Pentagon as an executive assistant to the Deputy Secretary of Defense. Talk about having a girlfriend in high places. The commanding officers of Team Nine wouldn’t have been the only ones objecting to their seeing each other. With her security clearances, fraternization with a SEAL, or anyone in the military, would have been frowned upon.
Jeez, Scott, nothing like making your life even more complicated.
But she knew better than anyone that the heart didn’t always follow the path you wanted it to.
Understatement.
Kate had finally accessed Natalie’s personnel folder—which had been difficult even for her to get to—when she looked at the clock and realized she’d better get ready. Percy wouldn’t be happy if she was late.
She’d just stepped out of the shower when her cell phone rang. Seeing the “unknown” caller, her heart jammed in her chest. Was it Colt? She didn’t think she was ready to talk to him.
But what if it was Scott?
Tentatively, she picked it up and answered. She sighed with relief at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line.
“How did it go?”
It was a simple question, but she could hear the concern in Scott’s voice. He knew how hard it would be for her to see Colt. She knew he would never have asked her if there had been any other way.
“Fine.” She gave a brief overview of their meeting with the rear admiral and the accident that had followed. She didn’t mention Colt’s cruel dig or the fact that he’d managed to get to her.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Wesson always did have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“It was the right place for the little boy,” Kate said quietly.
Maybe too quietly. Scott had heard something. He swore. “I never should have asked you to do this. He did something, didn’t he? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Seriously, I’m fine. I can handle him.”
That was a flat-out lie. No one could handle Colt Wesson, least of all her. God knew she’d tried.
But Scott chose not to call her on it—at least right now. “What did you think? Was there anything to Morrison’s gambling?”
“I’m not sure. Colt did his job and made the rear admiral furious, but so far Morrison hasn’t made any calls or logged into his computer.”
She could practically hear Scott frowning. “That’s odd—even for someone who isn’t guilty.”
Kate agreed. But she’d double-checked her equipment and programs, and everything seemed to be in order.
“Something else came up,” Scott said. “I was hoping you could run it down for me and see what you can find out. It’s about Blake’s sister—the reporter who is causing a lot of problems. She apparently has a source high up in the DoD.”
Scott passed on what John Donovan had told him, and Kate agreed to see what she could find out.
“You know how to reach me,” he said, and then paused. “Are you sure you are okay?”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, this time more forcefully. “Really. You worry too much.”
“It comes with the job, Katie. And when it’s about Wesson, I worry a lot. I know what he’s capable of.”
“Well, he’s not going to be happy with either of us when he finds out the truth.”
“What else is new?”
They both laughed, but it wasn’t really funny. It was true.
She hung up and finished getting ready. When the doorbell rang at a quarter to five, she assumed it was her driver—which was why she was totally unprepared to see Colt standing there.
She gasped, and just for a moment she forgot how much she hated him. Her heart lurched the way it
had always done when he’d shown up unexpectedly on her doorstep. It was always right about that time that she’d convinced herself she could do fine without him.
He took in her formfitting, slightly sexy gown with a long, cool look. “Sorry to interrupt, but this won’t take long. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“You should have called first.”
“I did. You didn’t answer. I left a message.”
She pulled out her phone from her evening bag and saw the voice-mail indicator. He must have called when she was in the shower or on the phone with Scott.
“You could have waited for me to call you back.”
“I wasn’t sure you would, and like I said, it’s important.”
She waved him into the vestibule and closed the door. “Say what you want. There is no one else here.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Morrison was found at his desk this morning with a bullet through his head. Looks like the rear admiral killed himself.”
Fifteen
Brittany’s resolve to get some work done lasted through breakfast. She was lured away by a boat ride. An exhilarating, wild, open-it-up-full-throttle RIB boat ride to be specific.
But admittedly, after what had happened last night, it wouldn’t have taken much to tempt her. Though John seemed to have no recollection of what had occurred, she remembered every minute. He’d turned to her and revealed a part of himself, even if he didn’t realize it.
She was worried about him, but her attempts to broach the subject with him at breakfast had been brushed aside. When she’d mentioned his restlessness, he’d said he’d had a nightmare. Everyone had them. “It’s no big deal.”
She might have believed him if she hadn’t felt the tension in him last night so viscerally. That had been no ordinary nightmare.
Once they boarded the boat, there wasn’t much opportunity for talking. She was holding on for her life, trying to not fly out of her seat as they slammed over the waves, laughing until the tears blended into the dampness of the sea spray on her face. She was glad for the dry suits the boat company had given them—she would have been soaked without one. She’d tied her hair back in a ponytail, but it was still flying all over.
But the tangles were worth it. The scenery was take-your-breath-away stunning.
Once the boat had taxied out of the harbor, the group of twelve had passed a couple of tiny islands on the way out to sea. It was a sunny day, and the varying shades of blue were almost unreal. This was where descriptive words like “cerulean” and “sapphire” came from.
John appeared to be enjoying himself, too, but he was watching her more than the scenery. She wished she was a mind reader. His expression—at least when he looked at her—didn’t reveal much. Every now and then, when he wasn’t watching her, she would catch him glancing at the captain of the boat. It wasn’t too difficult to guess what he was thinking then—he wanted to be at the helm. If what she’d read about SEALs was true, she suspected John would be the far more skilled of the two.
She was still smiling as they got rid of the dry suits, which looked more like puffy coveralls, and walked away from the dock. The boats left from the canal area of Nyhavn, where they’d had dinner last night, which was probably how he’d gotten the idea.
“I take it you had fun?” he asked.
If she’d had dimples, they would have been dimpling. “That was a blast. Well, except for the nearly-flying-out-of-the-boat parts.” He gave her a sidelong glance with a very skeptical lift of one eyebrow. “Oh, all right, those parts were fun, too. Although I noticed that you didn’t seem to have as much problem keeping your seat.”
“Age and experience, little one.”
She rolled her eyes at his tone. “More like body mass again.”
He grinned back at her. “Maybe a little. But you haven’t ridden in an RIB with your brother. He can take one of those things sideways and almost flip it. . . .”
His voice fell off, and a shadow crossed his features as he realized what he’d said. Can. Present tense.
She put her hand on his arm, experiencing that same overwhelming desire to comfort him she’d felt last night. Her heart had never felt this big before. “I miss him, too,” she said.
He held her gaze for a minute before turning away.
That was the only acknowledgment she got before he started to walk again. He took the narrow set of stairs to the street level and held his hand out to help her up. She took it even though she didn’t need it.
But she wasn’t ready to let the moment go. “Maybe you could show me how he did it sometime,” she said. He glanced in her direction again, his expression neutral. She was feeling a little silly. A little like she’d ventured out too far into the future. “I saw the way you were eyeing the wheel. I was surprised you didn’t offer to take it from him.”
Apparently relieved that she hadn’t been talking about at home—which she had been—he smiled. “I did. I offered to pay him the kroner equivalent of a hundred bucks if he let me take it for a spin, but he said he’d be fired if anyone found out.” He shrugged. “It was worth a try.”
They’d reached the building where they’d met the group for the RIB tour. It was a restaurant, which hadn’t been open earlier. It was now.
She turned on him with an exaggerated groan. “I’m sure this isn’t a coincidence?”
A flash of very white teeth appeared in a very wide grin. “You mean lunch? I hope you are hungry.”
She had been. “Only you would find Mexican food in Denmark.”
“The world’s greatest cuisine is everywhere, Brit,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder to lead her inside. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up too high though. This place is supposed to be the best in Copenhagen, but Europe and Mexican food don’t always mix right.”
She groaned again in case he hadn’t heard her the first time. “Then why are we going here?”
“One thing you need to learn about me is that I’m an eternal optimist when it comes to Mexican food.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “You sure it isn’t more like an addict needing a fix no matter how bad the crack?”
He laughed, pulling her in a little closer. “Yeah, well, maybe that, too.”
She liked the feeling of his arm around her a little too much. It felt right. It felt strong and protective, as if it could stay there forever.
She heaved a dramatic sigh. It wasn’t capitulation, she told herself. “All right. But this time you aren’t ordering for me. What was that nasty soup you got me last time?”
“Menudo. And you liked it at first.”
She made a face. “Until you told me what it was, and then I nearly threw up. I’m not eating cow stomach again—or whatever nice word you called it by.”
“Tripe. Duly noted, but I didn’t realize you were so pedestrian.”
She knew he was baiting her, and it was kind of working. “Only when it comes to food.”
She hadn’t meant it provocatively, but when their eyes met she knew that’s how he’d taken it.
Normally that would have guaranteed some kind of naughty, suggestive response from him. But surprisingly, he let it go. She wasn’t sure whether she should ascribe any meaning to that, but for some reason it felt significant. As if maybe she wasn’t the only one feeling that what was between them wasn’t normal.
It was different.
* * *
• • •
By the time they finished their late lunch, it was nearly time for an early dinner.
“Admit it,” John said as they were walking back toward the hotel along the canal. “You liked it.”
Looking down, he saw her nose wrinkle under the faded edge of her Bulldogs baseball cap. He probably should have told her to ditch the hat. It wasn’t that it practically shouted American—which it did, even if you didn’t know the Georgetown m
ascot; it was also sexy as hell.
Which he knew was ridiculous. There was nothing that should be sexy about a ponytail, ball cap, T-shirt, and jeans, but all he had to do was look at her and he was thinking about sex.
Fuck.
Exactly.
“I don’t know whether I liked it. After three margaritas anything is going to taste pretty good.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. “I’m onto your ploy—or should I say ply.”
He chuckled. She didn’t like to admit defeat. Which was a personality flaw he could get behind, as he was guilty of it himself. “I didn’t order you that third one—that’s on you. And I saw you chowing down those tacos well before the second foo-foo drink arrived.”
She shot him an angry glare. “Strawberry margaritas are not ‘foo-foo,’ and for someone who is reportedly so good with women, you would think you would know better than to use the term ‘chowing down’ when it comes to the way we eat. You make me sound like a frat boy at a chili-dog-eating contest.”
He shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”
She gasped with outrage and slugged him in the arm. Hard. He was laughing even as he grabbed his arm. “Ouch, that hurt.”
She batted her eyes, doing her best Southern belle—which was surprisingly good. “Why, a little ol’ girl like me hurt a big, strong man like you? What would all the other guys say?”
“They’d say you throw a mean punch,” he said dryly.
She laughed. “Don’t be such a baby, Johnny. You’re gonna lose your alpha card.”
He puffed up at that. “Glad to see you finally recognize your place in the natural order around here.”
She groaned, realizing she’d walked right into that one. “You’re incorrigible, and I’ve had too much tequila to match wits with you right now.”
“I’ll have to remember that the next time you’re irritating me.”
She looked up at him, her big blue eyes wide and guileless behind the sultry haze. “Do I irritate you?”
Off the Grid Page 19