“Actually,” Chen spoke up, “it’s just a really cute guy. I don’t see squat.”
Sienna couldn’t tell if she was joking or not and decided she’d be more comfortable if she assumed Chen was just ogling a cute guy.
“At nine o’clock, Jankowski—”
“Damn, but French babes slay me,” he grinned at her and went back to chatting with Chen, but looking elsewhere as if idly enjoying the day.
“Okay, okay,” Sienna held up her hands to stop Roy before he could continue. “You made your point.”
“With multiple agents, especially undercover as we are today, we can observe a wide field for potential threats without attracting any attention.”
Sienna glanced around and they were indeed being ignored. The attention she’d temporarily attracted as she’d turned her circle pointing at all the sights of Paris like a hick from Reims had drifted away. Not a single person had marked their conversation among the general hubbub of tourists eager for a “French” experience on the Seine. She wondered if French people ever rode these dinner boats and somehow doubted it, except perhaps when escorting foreign guests. Roy and his team had attracted no attention because they didn’t act in any way out of the ordinary. Even their tone was lightly conversational, blending easily into the background.
“You missed one,” she didn’t know if she hoped Roy would pick up on the tease or not.
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“I’ll bet you’d still miss this one. Go ahead, tell me about everyone you’re watching. But you’re missing one, really obvious person.” She wasn’t going to give him the hint that it was someone who couldn’t stop watching him for even a moment. No man had ever made her feel so safe. She was safe in his arms and under his protection.
He didn’t fall for it and look about. Instead he squinted at her and used his brain. She could hear Chen snort and cover a laugh when she got it.
Roy’s head quirked in Chen’s direction, but he still didn’t figure out Sienna’s riddle.
Jankowski actually found an excuse to turn a slow and careful circle, but he too missed it. Which had Chen snorting again.
Then it clicked in for Roy and he offered that slow smile of his. His lips curved up until she could imagine how his smile would taste. That was the other real gift he gave her. Against all odds she’d found a man who actually saw her. Not just the National Security Advisor, but also the woman who Sienna herself had barely known about before Roy.
“Perhaps I did. Won’t happen again,” he whispered for her ears alone.
Or tried to.
Chen punched him solidly in the ribs, again, and he grunted at the blow.
Then he leaned down and kissed her.
Was it any wonder that she loved this man.
Chapter 11
Roy helped Sienna down the stone steps onto the river boat. Not that she needed the help, she was an incredibly capable woman. But he liked the feeling of taking care of her—a way to pay her even a little of the respect she deserved.
He’d been watching the long boats slide quietly by for several hours, disgorging and reloading their passengers. There were tour boats that probably carried several hundred in closely packed quarters as tour operators called out the sights over too-loud sound systems. The dinner boats were filled instead with comfortable tables, each set for one or two couples. Fine linen tablecloths, cloth napkins, shining silverware—it was fine dining for a hundred. Thirty feet wide, over a hundred long, deep enough for a galley below yet still low enough to slip beneath all of Paris’ bridges. When they approached, the dockhand had taken a surprising amount of money to pay for the four tickets, but the maître d’ escorted them like guests of honor to the very bow. They’d been waiting for a no-show on the dinner reservations—another suggestion from General Dumont. Roy made a mental note to ship the man a couple quarts of Vermont maple syrup in thanks.
Sienna had been following his inspection as he noticed exits, the height of railings if jumping overboard was the best option, and so on. He could see her learning what he did minute-by-minute. He could only imagine how his 101-level lesson in observation was now being integrated into national security methodologies and strategy shifts. Sienna’s mind worked like that. It scooped up little facts and used them in strange ways.
He’d had his tirade at the start of the Paris meetings and after that managed to mostly keep his mouth shut. Of course—because Roy’s luck was running so consistently terrible lately—it turned out that the US Ambassador to France had been in the room. He’d reported the tirade to his boss in horror, who in turn had told the Director of the Secret Service to tromp one Roy Beaumont. It had then come full circle as a seventeen-word e-mail from Adams.
Hear you kicked their asses. They must have needed it bad. But, Brother, you do like living dangerously.
No judgment. No correction. No signature. But he’d left the e-mail thread all of the way back to the US Ambassador to France for him to read. And because Adams did nothing by accident, the message had been clear, “You’re on the front line, it’s your call. But next time you may want to think a bit first.”
That more than anything else demonstrated what had happened to him this last week. He was now head of a protection detail, a politically sensitive one. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked himself why the hell he’d ever come down off the roof.
But if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t be the man escorting Sienna Arnson to her dinner table in the very bow of a boat on the Seine.
“Totally worth the price of admission.”
“What are you talking about?” She sat as he held her chair for her.
“You.”
“What price?”
“The hundred changes you’ve already caused in my life.”
“And the thousand to come, Beaumont,” Jankowski dropped down beside him without any ceremony, leaving his “date” Chen to take care of her own chair beside Sienna. “Trust me, voice of experience here. Spend five or ten years with a woman and you won’t recognize yourself ever again. Hell, one year.”
“Yeah, your socks match now. Why else do you think I introduced you two?”
“You’re a Philistine, Chen.”
“You were a slob, Jankowski.”
“I was,” he spoke to Sienna. “But it wasn’t my wife who cleaned me up.”
Roy exchanged glances with Sienna. She was being amused by the fact that they were taking his and Sienna having a lasting relationship as a given. He slid his foot forward until their ankles brushed. She continued watching their dinner companions, but returned the pressure. Her smile was lit by the soft candlelight. He liked it for several reasons.
First, she looked incredible in the warm glow, maybe he should get some candles for his bedroom. He was fairly sure women liked that sort of thing, though he’d be damned if he was buying any of those stinky, scented ones.
Second, he liked it strategically. The light was low, little shades on the candle lanterns kept the light aimed down at the table. It made for better nighttime viewing of the Paris buildings and monuments along the Seine. It also made one individual versus another indistinguishable more than a few tables away.
“So, if your wife didn’t clean you up, who did?” Sienna inquired nicely enough that she might even have been sincere.
“I did. First time I saw her I knew I had to do something if I wanted to catch her.”
“What about you, Yankee Boy?” Chen rocked her chair back on two legs. “What are you going to change to win this lady?”
“He already did it,” Sienna answered for him.
“I did?”
“You did,” she looked at him with those deep eyes of hers. “You came out of your precious sky to walk by my side.”
“Don’t know as I’d have done it for anyone else.” Couldn’t imagine how she understood the scale of that change, bu
t she did. His Sienna understood even that.
“I know,” she mouthed silently across the table.
As least that’s what he thought at first. Then he thought back. There had been an extra syllable on the end.
You.
I know you. It didn’t fit. Her mouth shape wasn’t right for “know.”
Then it clicked and he stared hard at her.
She’d said, I love you.
Oh crap! It was one of those moments where if you didn’t know what to say, you were totally screwed.
But…he did know what to say. Much to his own surprise.
Sienna was watching him carefully, awaiting his response to her throwing her heart out on the table.
He sipped at the glass of ice tea the waiter had barely deigned to serve him when there was perfectly good French wine available.
He did love her, but he couldn’t let her have all the fun.
She’d started changing him the moment she walked up the White House path fifteen days ago. Not even knowing her, she’d made him think there was more to life, more to him than he’d found so far. By the time they met, he was already smitten. And now—god help him—he knew he’d never find another woman like Sienna. He’d never told a woman he loved her. He was afraid it would somehow come out wrong, or choke him or something.
So he made a different choice.
“About time,” he whispered back to her.
Her laugh of delight lit up the evening. And for once Chen was seated too far away to give him one of her “Atta Boy” thwacks.
“Yow!” a sharp pain lanced up from his shin where it had just been kicked.
Chen’s grin was appropriately evil.
And for once, Jankowski hadn’t missed a thing.
Chapter 12
Sienna had obviously entered some sort of a dream state.
Four weeks ago, she’d been in a Fort Bragg think tank, analyzing the communication architecture of worldwide political information by the US Commands. Then with no explanation as to why, she’d been flown to D.C. and interviewed for three straight days by the outgoing NSA, the White House Chief of Staff, the President, and a laundry list of others. One week spent with the outgoing NSA and she’d landed in the chair.
Now, at the end of her second week as National Security Advisor, she’d consulted with the powers of France and been listened to most attentively. Even without Roy’s “icebreaker” they had been open to suggestion; after it they had been truly respectful. By the end they were asking her if she’d like to come work for the French government instead—and she didn’t think they were merely being polite.
Best of all—also absolutely the most surprising—she was sailing through Paris with the man she loved. And he loved her back.
They had nibbled on crostini with Brie and slivered fresh basil while opposite Notre-Dame. Eaten an exquisite French onion soup as they floated by the Passerelle des Arts. Dined on steak au poivre as they passed between the Musée du Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay. A strawberry crème brûlée was soon to be served along the packed tables of holiday merrymakers. They were a very happy and content crowd.
The evening was so warm that she’d have been fine, even without the gray-and-gold woven shawl Roy had insisted on buying her. It was beautiful work though, and she wrapped it as tightly around her as a hug.
“Sienna on the Seine. They should make a movie about me.”
“You’ve got the best damn luck I’ve ever seen, Yankee Boy,” Chen shook her head in obvious disgust. “Or perhaps Ms. Arnson does—with the exception of being stuck with yourself.”
“Why?”
“We get to watch the Eiffel Tower blow up from a boat on the Seine!” Jankowski practically crowed.
“Damn good show,” Chen offered in her Midwest declarative style.
“They’re blowing it up?” Roy blinked in surprise and all three of them burst out laughing. Roy took it well, as he did everything except challenges to her safety.
“Fireworks show, Yankee Boy,” Chen was the first to recover enough to explain. “Bastille Day, it’s the best show of the year and Ms. Arnson lucked into a spot on one the boats that will be floating by the tower for the show.”
“Remind me not to make reservations in the future,” was Roy’s only comment. The wait in line had been a long one—those willing to wait to take the spots of no-show reservations. And he’d done it for her without knowing how huge the payoff was.
“There are days I love this job,” Jankowski said, then grimaced. “But the wife will kill me when she hears.”
“So, don’t tell her. You can trust me to keep your secrets,” Chen’s tone implied absolutely not.
Sienna looked at Roy. Still he scanned the distance, ever reliable, ever vigilant. What secrets would he keep for her? Anything. And what would he tell her? Anything she asked. He might not think to volunteer something, but he’d answer any question truthfully.
“Roy?”
“Uh-huh.” But she knew she didn’t have his attention.
“Roy?” She tried it a little louder.
It wasn’t until Chen glanced at Roy and then twisted around to see where he was looking, that she felt the first prickle of chill. She pulled her shawl closer and turned as well.
Over her shoulder, the Eiffel Tower soared above the river bank. It was still well ahead of them, but they were crawling slowly toward it along with the clutter of boats jamming the waterway. She glanced at her watch—11:20. The show should start in minutes. Parisians dined late and celebrated even later.
“What is it?” Chen whispered.
“It’s called the Eiffel Tower, Mabel.”
But she didn’t smile or even respond. That’s when Sienna identified the look on Roy’s face. He was no longer scanning. It was that moment of recognition in the Air and Space Museum, the moment before his eyes had bugged out in surprise.
Target acquisition.
He pulled out the pack that he’d shoved under his chair and dug out a pair of binoculars. They weren’t little tourist binoculars; he’d been carrying high-powered sniper binocs with him all through Paris. He always had the backpack, and she’d never given it a second thought.
“Jankowski. Is the Tower opened or closed for a fireworks show?”
“Closed. They clear the people off early for safety during the show.”
“The riggers should be long since done.”
“Mid-afternoon,” Chen confirmed.
Sienna looked at the angle of Roy’s inspection, then tried to follow the line up to the Eiffel Tower. At first she thought they were spots in her eyes from staring so hard. Then she remembered what Roy had said about exactly that. “You see more with a relaxed open eye.”
She tried relaxing and the spots didn’t go away. “Those are moving lights on the—”
“Keep your voice down. Steady and conversational.” And in just that tone, he asked, “Which of you is a better spotter?”
“Jank,” Chen said. “And don’t think that doesn’t piss me off.”
Roy passed the glasses to Jankowski.
Then Roy rose from his seat, taking his pack with him, and moved around to the narrow space between her and Chen’s backs and the ship’s bow. The tour company hadn’t left a lot of space there, but somehow Roy fit in despite being a big man. It also was an unlit space and made him nearly invisible to the other passengers.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Roy pull out something else.
A rifle scope. What else did he have in that bag?
She decided she’d rather not know.
Using only the scope, he began to inspect the tower.
“Damn it,” his curse was soft. “I make four, no, five.”
“Five,” Jankowski confirmed. “Range in the dark? Four hundred meters. First-level restaurant is at fifty meters up. I p
lace them at almost a hundred meters.”
“Last minute check of the fireworks?” Chen offered.
“Too last minute,” Roy countered.
“Daredevil climbers. Like extreme base jumpers or something. Want the thrill?”
“Nope, next.”
Sienna saw what they were doing. Trying to find some rational explanation for five guys up on the Eiffel Tower just minutes before the fireworks show.
“Reporters?” she offered. “They’re always doing the stupidest things.”
“Security at the base is pretty serious,” Chen decided. “At least enough to keep stupid tourists and reporters at bay. They had to plan to make it inside.”
“Sienna,” Roy slipped a laminated card into her hand. It had a list of phone numbers. “Start with Paris SWAT. If they don’t respond the way you want, call your buddy Dumont.”
Sienna pulled out her phone, “What am I telling them?”
“Two things. Chen, I need all the napkins.”
She started collecting them.
“First, don’t shoot at the guy in the boat on the Seine.”
Chen had collected the four napkins. He folded them in half, laid them together, and wrapped them around something she couldn’t quite see. There was the distinct tearing sound of duct tape that had several other table’s guests turning. As there was nothing to see, they soon went back to their own conversations.
Then Roy shifted position enough for a lick of candlelight to shine on the barrel of a rifle. He’d taped the napkins around the tip of the barrel. Poor man’s silencer. No, a sniper rifle probably already had that. It was a flash suppressor so that he didn’t draw any attention.
“Second, tell them they’ve got at least five suicide bombers up on the Tower.”
She heard the soft click as the rifle was assembled and a snap that she was fairly sure was a magazine locking into place.
Sienna had no room for doubt. This was Roy.
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