by Misty Evans
With him, Brigit’s dad, all the way from Ireland, was also smiling. Tears filled his eyes and he winked at Michael.
“Okay, Brigit.” Michael squeezed her hand. “Open your eyes.”
Her brows went up and her mouth dropped open when she saw her father. The two embraced, and she squealed. “Oh, Da!”
People clapped and when she let go of him, she clasped her arms around Truman, hugging him tight as well. They talked and laughed, the third man in the group fading back and catching Michael’s eye.
Michael nodded to assure him they were still on.
Delighted and laughing, Brigit rushed to him again, the others murmuring softly in the background. “I can’t believe it! You’re a miracle worker.” She grabbed him by his sweater and tugged his lips down to hers. “I love you, Michael.”
“I love you, too.” He drew her in close, wrapping his arms around her. “That’s why I invited Father Muhlahy here.”
Her forehead creased. “Who?”
Then understanding must have dawned. She twisted her head to look over at the man, her gaze dropping to the priest’s collar around his neck. “You’re kidding! Tonight? Right now?”
Some of their guests began to catch on and more cheers rang out. “Do it!”
“A Christmas wedding!”
“How romantic!”
Flynn caught Michael’s eye. This time he gave him a thumbs-up.
Michael tapped the ring on Brigit’s finger. “You already said you’d marry me. You’re not backing out, are you?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
The next several minutes were filled with getting him, Brigit, her dad, and the priest in a semi-circle. Brigit announced that all the women present were bridesmaids and matrons, and all the men were part of Michael’s retinue. He swallowed his reaction when Ace came to stand near him. “You need a best man,” he told Michael.
Flynn snatched the hat off Ace’s head, much like he’d done earlier. “That distinction goes to me.”
Michael eyed him with equal parts appreciation and trepidation. They were friends, and yet, with their history, it was tough to let his guard down.
Brigit pinched his side. “Time to let bygones be bygones,” she said softly.
Ace cranked up Bing Crosby and Father Muhlahy asked, “Ready?”
“Yes,” Michael said to both him and his bride. It was time to start a new chapter in his life. He wanted all those here to be as happy as he was. “I couldn’t be more ready.”
Brigit smiled and Michael lost himself in the beauty of her eyes, lit from the tree lights and the love she carried for him.
An hour later, Conrad was downing another plate of appetizers when he saw Stone break from the guests and head for his den. “We’re up,” he said to Julia.
She tagged after him and they discovered the deputy director waiting for them.
He handed her a manila envelope. “Your first mission starts Monday. You report directly to me, not Flynn. If he gives you any grief, you come to me. Technically, you’ll outrank him, if you sign the agreement inside. We clear?”
Her eyes darted between them. “Not at all. What are you talking about?”
Conrad shook his head. “Sorry, you lost me, too.”
Stone ignored him, keeping focused on Julia. “We need you back. The Cuba incident confirms it. Your talents are being wasted at the Bureau, and your boss agrees.”
Julia blinked. Conrad leaned in. He was of the same opinion, but still… What the hell?
Michael went to his desk, grabbed a pen. “If you return to the Agency, you’ll still have chances to hunt fugitives on occasion, but also a more…expanded, shall we say…position of employment. There are certain sensitive operations on my plate right now that call for a female operative who can handle situations like Marguerite and her baby. Zara is on leave and will be for several months. Your tradecraft is second to none, and if you’re in the field as one of mine, you’ll have certain discretionary liberties with your husband and his top-secret work.”
Conrad was liking this more and more. “We can discuss cases.”
A nod. He returned, holding out the pen. “Flynn can stop worrying about you so much and you’ll have more insight into his responsibilities.”
Happy wife, happy life. Conrad wanted to hug him for a brief second. Stone was actually human under his hardass exterior.
Julia stared at him with no expression, poker face in fine form. Conrad could see the wheels spinning. He wanted to say what he was thinking, but knew better. There was no pushing her. He’d learned that the hard way years ago at The Farm when he’d been her trainer.
The pen hovered between them. Julia narrowed her eyes. “How long have you been working on this?”
“Does it matter? Personally, I think you’re the best agent we ever had.”
Conrad scoffed.
Michael went on. “Better than this bastard, even.” He jabbed a thumb in Conrad’s direction. “But you’re a woman in a predominately male job, so you haven’t received all the breaks you should have, nor had all the opportunities. I want to rectify that.”
Still as the cold, quiet snow outside, she continued to ruminate. “Tell me you didn’t plan that whole elaborate exfiltration.”
Stone kept silent.
Son-of-a-bitch. “You sent me on a fake assignment?”
“Real mission, real consequences, but I wanted to see what Julia would do when she found out what was going down.”
“I walked right into it, didn’t I?”
He smiled. “Because you’re a natural. It’s in your blood.”
In the living room, laughter went up. Michael handed Flynn the pen. “I need to get back to my new bride and our guests. I expect to find that employment agreement signed and on my desk before you two leave.”
He patted Julia on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”
She studied Conrad as he disappeared and Con kept his face neutral. “What do you think? Hell of a promotion.”
“You knew nothing about this?”
“Not a thing. Pretty sly for Stone.”
Leaving him standing there, she went to a cushy chair and sank into it. “This has been one hell of a holiday.” She crossed one leg over the other and he tipped his head to admire the gorgeous, black nylon-clad limb. She really did have the sexiest legs he’d ever seen. “And I’m going to kill Ryan.”
Smitty probably deserved it. Conrad coasted toward the desk and leaned on it. “You’ve always wanted to be in charge.”
She didn’t argue. “I do miss the work.”
Trying not to get distracted by her legs, he toyed with the pen. “You never said so, but I kinda figured.”
One finger tapped at the envelope. He could see she was dying to read the contract inside.
He motioned to it. “Can’t hurt to look it over, right?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I suppose not.”
But she didn’t open it.
Torture. He wanted to rip it out of her hands and sign it for her. “It’s totally up to you, and you can tell Stone you want more than five minutes to think about it. Total bullshit he wants you to start Monday.”
She nodded. “Right? I need a week to recover from our trip.”
“You should probably negotiate whatever paltry salary he put in there, too. If he really wants you back, he’ll pay it.”
Sitting forward, she finally opened the envelope and withdrew a sheath of papers. Her eyes scanned quickly, stopped, then repeated the process. They rose to meet his. “It’s actually twice as much as I anticipated.”
Wait. “More than I make?”
Her nod was slow, a smile growing on her lips. “There’s even a bonus package.” She flipped through the pages, reading faster now. “A very sweet one.”
“Hmm.” Con had to admit he was impressed.
He handed her the pen. “What do you say, Sheba? Want to return? Be my partner again?”
Accepting the pen, she twirled
it between her fingers and thumb. “We do make a good team.”
“The best.”
Instead of signing, she stood and dropped all of it on Stone’s desk. “I’ll think about it.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid between his legs. “But I’m going to need a few addendums added first.”
He ran his hands over her hips. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“Time off for a real vacation with my husband, for one.”
Kissing her softly, he chuckled. “That can be arranged.”
“Let’s get out of here and go home.”
He brushed a strand of hair over her shoulder. “Thought we were flying to Eric’s?”
“Tomorrow.” Moving away, she took his hand and led him to the door. “Tonight, you’re going to do everything in your power to get me to agree to that contract. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is called Operation Makeup with Julia. You game, Navy boy?”
He was up for that challenge any day. Or night. “Well, ho, ho, ho, and Merry Christmas to me.”
Twelve
Operation Makeup with Julia was in full swing all weekend.
This was why she loved him so much. Conrad somehow managed to do a very dangerous job, and still make her happy in the end.
They spent Christmas night in bed, enjoying each other. He made her breakfast the next morning, drew a warm bath for her, and took her to see her brother and his kids.
When they returned later that evening, he sat her in front of the tree. She had yet to unwrap her gifts. His eyes danced with amusement as he handed her a small red envelope. “You’re booked for a complete package at the West Village Radiance Spa with Zara tomorrow. It’s not a massage on the beach, but it’s the best I could do under the circumstances. We’ll do the couples version on our vacation, and whatever else you want.”
Hmm. Not bad. He was good at this making-up stuff.
She stood and stretched, all the excitement of the past few days catching up with her. She could barely keep her eyes open and wanted to cuddle with him and watch a favorite movie. “I’m going to take a shower.”
The amusement left his eyes. His brows dipped. “Um, okay. What about your gifts?” He gave her another sly grin and waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to open them first?”
“What I want…” Julia held out her hand to him. “Is for you to come scrub my back. Then you can make me hot cocoa and popcorn. I want to watch White Christmas and for you to sing along with Bing.”
He made a face, but covered it quickly. “Whatever you want, Jules.”
“I like it when you say that.”
Accepting her proffered hand, he drew her close. His voice was husky as he gazed down into her eyes with obvious love. “And after we do all that?”
“And then,”—she teased a curl of hair at the corner of his forehead. “I have a present for you.”
He smiled and she went up on her toes and kissed him. He returned it, holding her in a firm embrace for a long moment. They stayed there, exploring each other, running their hands and lips over the other’s body. Fitting together perfectly.
Con finally broke away. “Merry Christmas, Sheba.”
“Merry Christmas, Solomon. Sometimes I can’t believe we’re married.”
He followed her to the bathroom, where he turned on the water, brushed a soft kiss across her lips, and started undoing her buttons. “I always get my man…or woman, in this case.”
She laughed. “I love you even when I want to kill you, you know.”
Her shirt hit the floor, followed by her bra. His fingers went to the snap at the waistband of her jeans. “A Christmas miracle, right there.”
Yes, indeed. “One of many,” she said, kissing him and hoping for a bright New Year.
Hopefully without any fireworks.
As if that would ever happen when you loved a spy…
Con finished undressing her and led her into the warmth of the shower. As he soaped her body from head to toe, she heard him murmur, “Mission accomplished.”
She grinned. Silly boy. His Christmas Makeup with Julia Mission was just getting started.
Josh and Naomi coming soon!
Enjoy this excerpt from Operation Sleeping With the Enemy, Super Agent Series, Book 7, coming in 2021!
Chapter One
On a hot summer night in D.C., the funeral was in full swing.
Josh Devons swore under his breath, and then took the backstairs to his apartment, avoiding the gathering in the front parking lot of bereaved mourners. After ten days in D.C., he was itching to get out of the States. Get back to the life of a spy in a foreign country. He needed the adrenaline rush, the change of scenery.
He needed to get away from the Grim Reaper.
Instead, he was stuck in a political crag-mire in the nation’s capital, and renting a room from Ace. Ace’s funeral home had experienced an uptick in clients during the heat wave, further aggravating Josh’s itch. All this death and dying shit…how did Ace keep his sanity running a fucking funeral parlor?
Organ music drifted through the open windows as the wooden stairs creaked under Josh’s feet. His keys jangled softly on his Red Sox key ring. He rubbed the logo between his thumb and finger. Ball games, hotdogs, pretty girls in Daisy Duke’s and bikini tops. That’s what summer was all about. When was the last time he’d made it to Boston for a game? He couldn’t remember.
Josh made it to the top of the stairs and jammed his key in the door lock. The outside light was broken; the whole backside of the building, with its dumpsters and peeling paint, looked like a seedy, low-income housing project.
The organ music drifted away and a male voice began speaking. Someone started crying.
Great. Another evening of listening to women cry. Just what he needed after eight grueling hours with Senator I-Have-A-Bug-Up-My-Ass McIntyre and his Project Disruption oversight committee buddies.
Beats getting shot in the ass, Flynn had said. And ending up in a Tibetan prison.
True enough. Both things had happened to Josh in the past ten days. The hole in his left buttock where the bullet had lodged, and the various bruises, stitches, and healing wounds, he'd received in prison before Flynn pulled some big strings, attested to the fact he'd come close to never setting foot on US soil again.
Which was why the director of spies had yanked him out of the field and put him on the top secret cyber taskforce designing a weapon of mass disruption.
Disruption. As Josh unlocked the apartment’s door, the crying down below swelled. An image of his mother crying at the kitchen table surfaced in his mind. The echo of gunfire rang in his ears.
Could have been my funeral.
Letting himself into the apartment, he closed the door and slumped against it. The Grim Reaper had gotten close this time. Closer than ever.
Fucker didn’t scare him. His body was sore, and yeah, he’d had nightmares since the shit went down, but that was the life of an undercover operative. Particularly one who specialized in weapons. Dealing with terrorists and criminals in the market for guns, bombs, and missiles wasn't for pansies.
The room was dark, the security system light glowing softly. The funeral home was made out of cheap materials, and sounds filtered up through the registers. Josh reset the security system, tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, and grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. Before he took a drink, he rolled the cold bottle across his forehead. At least McIntyre's meeting room had air conditioning. Unfortunately, the man's local economic development plan had not extended to Ace's downtown neighborhood.
But it was Friday night. He should go out, find some trouble to get into. Preferably the kind that came with high heels and long hair. And no guns. Definitely no guns.
Josh strode into the bathroom, stripped bare, and jumped into the shower, taking his beer with him. He needed to clear his head and hanging out in the rundown apartment, listening to the funeral below, would only clog his brain more. After he cleaned up, he'd ambush Ace downstairs, call up his Mari
ne buddy, CJ, and the three of them could hit the local bars.
On the other side of the shower curtain, his cell phone rang. Wiping water from its face, he drew back the curtain, and glanced at the phone. ID showed a blocked number. Only a handful of people knew his private number. His boss and a few friends. The only one who used a blocked number was Conrad Flynn.
The bathroom was small enough Josh could reach the phone without stepping out of the shower. He toyed with the idea of ignoring Flynn. Decided he was in enough hot water as it was. “So much for a night on the town,” he murmured to himself, taking a deep breath, and punching the answer button. “Yo. What’s up, boss man?”
The voice that answered was distinctly female. “I am outside your apartment and would like to come in.”
Whoa. Not Flynn, unless the former spy was even better at disguise than the legends claimed. “How did you get this number?”
“I can leave if you do not wish to see me.”
Israeli accent. Breathy voice. Direct assault on his senses. Might still be my funeral. “I’m in the shower. Give me a minute.”
The line went dead.
And what do you know? That breathy voice and sex-on-a-stick accent made Mr. Happy very happy. Yep, every time Josh heard Naomi’s voice, his body responded with a knee-jerk reaction in his lower extremities. Her voice, her body, those big brown eyes…
No need to find trouble tonight. Trouble had found him.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stood in front of the mirror over the sink, and counted to twenty as his mind raced. What was she doing here? How had she found him? Was this a booty call, or something more dangerous?
Naomi was an expert in both. The ex-Mossad agent had a thing for bad boys. Bad American boys. Josh had made her top ten list. She’d used and abused him before.
And while Mr. Happy couldn’t get enough of that shit, Naomi was seriously bad news. He didn’t know where her loyalties lay. Didn’t know if he could trust her. Scratch that. He couldn’t trust her. Once a Mossad agent, always a Mossad agent. Behind Naomi’s innocent-looking brown eyes lay the heart of a killer.