by Elle James
Charlie shifted her gaze from one news station to another. “I thought I heard something about an altercation at the Russian embassy earlier today. They had a lockdown. Surely they’ll say something about it on the evening news.”
“The lockdown must have happened after Emily left,” Declan noted.
“I have contacts at a couple of the news stations and local newspapers,” Charlie said. “I could call around and get the scoop.”
“Wait.” Grace pointed to a screen. “Turn that one up.”
Mack grabbed the remote and adjusted the volume louder.
A reporter stood in front of large building in downtown DC. Behind him were at least a dozen police cars, SWAT vehicles and fire trucks. He glanced behind him and back at the camera. “Today, at approximately three forty-five in the afternoon, the Russian embassy locked its gates and refused to let anyone in or out. So far, no one inside is talking to explain why they’ve instituted a lockdown. The State Department has reached out to Russia for answers, but so far no one knows why the Russian embassy has been shut down or who might still be inside.”
“What are they saying?” a voice said from behind Mustang. “The Russian embassy is in lockdown?”
Mustang turned to face Emily. Her long blond hair lay in damp strands around her shoulders and her face was scrubbed clean of any makeup. The clothes she wore hung loose on her frame, just some sweatpants and a T-shirt, and she stood barefooted on the Persian rug.
Grace went to her friend, slipped an arm around her shoulders and led her toward the television monitors. “They had a lockdown around three forty-five this afternoon.”
“That was right after I left.” Emily shook her head. “What happened?”
“No one knows,” Charlie said. “No one is getting in or out of the embassy at this time.”
“And no one is talking,” Declan added. “Did you see or hear anything on your way in or out?”
Emily shook her head. “No.”
“Can you share what you translated while inside the embassy?” Mack asked.
Again Emily shook her head, shifting from one foot to the other, her discomfort apparent. “I signed nondisclosure statements. But I can tell you, it was more of a personal nature than political. I wouldn’t think it would cause a lockdown.”
“Well, something did,” Charlie said. “And I wonder who is still inside and why.”
Emily looked back at the monitors. “Did they say anything about a Mr. Phillips? He was the man whose report I translated. He was still there when I left the embassy.”
Grace responded. “No, nothing.”
Mustang stepped up beside Emily and cupped her elbow. He leaned close and whispered, “Are you all right?”
She glanced up into his eyes, a small, grateful smile curling her lips. She gave him a silent nod and leaned into his arm. Together they faced the wall of monitors.
Several of the newscasts displayed various reporters standing in front of the Russian embassy, all reporting on the lockdown. As if on cue, they cut to commercials, all except one station that flashed a still image of a young man on the screen. The man held a microphone, a strand of his dark hair falling over his forehead like an unintentional fashion statement.
Emily gave a small gasp and stiffened against Mustang.
He stared down at her. “What’s wrong?”
“I saw that man.”
“Where?” Grace asked.
“At the embassy before I left,” Emily said. Her brow furrowed. “What are they saying about him?”
“Turn it up,” Mustang commanded.
Mack adjusted the volume.
The picture was replaced by a female news anchor. “So far, we have received no word from Tyler Blunt. He was supposed to report in yesterday evening with the station manager, but he hasn’t. He hasn’t been to his apartment in two days and he isn’t answering his phone. If anyone has any information about Tyler Blunt’s whereabouts, please notify this station.”
“He was in the embassy,” Emily said.
“Are you sure?”
Emily nodded. “He was on his way in as I was on my way out.”
“Was he going willingly?” Mustang asked.
Emily frowned. “I wasn’t sure. They were hustling me out at that time. The young man was flanked by a couple of men.”
Grace gripped her arms. “Emily, a reporter is missing. One you saw at the Russian embassy. Then you were attacked after leaving the embassy. Doesn’t that sound too coincidental?”
Mustang’s jaw tightened. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”
Emily looked over Grace’s shoulder into Mustang’s eyes, her own widening. “Neither do I. But what do I have to do with the reporter?”
Chapter Five
Mustang shook his head. “Maybe your attack and Tyler Blunt’s disappearance have nothing to do with each other. But my gut is telling me otherwise.”
A chill rippled down the back of Emily’s neck. “I’ve never even met Tyler Blunt. Sure, I’ve seen him on television news reports, but I’ve never actually had words with him. Why would he and I have anything in common? Other than being in the Russian embassy at the same time, we’ve never been anywhere closer. There has to be another reason for the attack on me.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Well, we won’t know unless we start asking questions.” She glanced across the room at Declan.
Declan nodded. “We’re on it.” He nodded toward Gus who had been busy clicking away on the mouse and the keyboard of the computer he’d been working for as long as Emily had been in the conference room. “We have Gus searching for anything that might raise red flags.”
Mustang’s eyes narrowed. “Cross-check anything related to the Russian ambassador and Tyler Blunt.”
“Already have,” Cole confirmed. “Nothing is coming up tying Blunt with the ambassador, Nikolai Kozlov. But I’m not finished digging. It could take some time.”
“We might have to get out on the street and ask questions,” Mustang said.
“In the meantime, I still have a job to do,” Emily said. “I’m supposed to teach a class in Russian literature tomorrow.”
“Can’t you call in sick?” Charlie asked.
She shook her head. “No. We have a major test coming up. I’m going over everything we’ve covered for the first half of the semester. Then I’m adminstering the test. I have to be there.”
“Once you step foot off Charlie’s estate, you could become a target all over again.” Mustang said. “Could you pass your notes to someone else and let them perform the review?”
Emily crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t bail on my students.”
Mustang frowned heavily. “Their grades mean more to you than your life?”
“They’ve all worked hard,” she said. “If it were any other day in the semester, I might consider skipping. But it’s the only class day they have left before midterms. I owe it to them to be there.”
“And how will they respond to having a stranger in their classroom?” Mustang stood taller, his shoulders back, his chin held high.
Emily studied the man. Her reaction was probably not a good indication of how the other young men and women would react to the big marine standing or sitting among them. He was far too handsome and built like a tank. Every red-blooded cell in her veins stood up and applauded at the determined man, standing with his shoulders back and head held high.
Her heart pounded and her voice came out as a squeak. “They’ll...” She cleared her throat and started again. “They’ll have to deal with it, I suppose.” Emily pushed her shoulders back and stood as tall as her five feet, four inches could manage against Mustang’s much larger stance. “I have to be there.”
Mustang’s lips twitched. “So be it. We’ll be there.” He turned to Declan. “And then we’ll come right back here.�
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Before he finished the last word, she was shaking her head. “I want to go by my apartment and gather some of my clothing and toiletries.” She shot a glance at Grace. “No offense, but I like wearing my own things.”
Grace smiled. “None taken. I prefer my own stuff, myself.”
Mustang nodded. “Okay, but then we’re heading right back to this estate.”
Again Emily shook her head. “While we’re out, I’d like to stop by the office of the organization that hired me as an interpreter. Maybe they will know something about what happened today.”
“I know you signed a nondisclosure agreement,” Mustang said. “But can you tell us who was involved in the meeting where you translated Russian?”
Emily chewed on her bottom lip. She was not at liberty to tell them what was said, but nowhere in that agreement had it stipulated she couldn’t talk about who else was involved. “I was interpreting for an American private investigator. Jay Phillips.”
“We’ll look him up,” Declan said. “And it wouldn’t hurt to pay him a visit.”
Emily frowned. “My nondisclosure didn’t specifically say I couldn’t talk about who was in the meeting. But telling you the investigator’s name might be construed as crossing the line.”
Declan nodded. “Fair enough. We’ll tread lightly when we confront him. Mostly, we want to find out if he’s suffering some of the same problems as you are. And if so, we might conclude that whatever was discussed at the meeting could have something to do with whoever is trying to kill you.”
Declan’s Defenders dug into the buffet, while they went over and over the events leading up to Emily being run off the road. They considered every detail, every angle, as they ate. By the time they finished, Emily was certain she’d have nightmares for the rest of her life.
After everyone had eaten, Emily helped carry plates to the massive kitchen, eager to escape the inquisition. She placed her dishes on the counter beside the sink. When she turned, she almost ran into Mustang.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I was following too close.”
Standing so near to Mustang caused a ripple of awareness to shoot across her skin and make her shiver. Emily spun back to the sink, put the stopper in the drain, and started filling it with water and soap.
“My staff will take care of the cleanup,” Charlie said.
“If it’s all the same to you, Charlie,” Emily said, “I need something to keep myself busy. So much has happened that if I don’t have anything to do, I’ll just dwell on the bad.”
Charlie brought her plate to the sink, laid it on the counter and then pressed a hand to Emily’s arm. “I understand. I need to keep busy, as well. When my husband died, I went through the entire house cleaning.”
“But you have a staff to do all that,” Emily pointed out.
Charlie snorted. “Tell me about it. I confused the hell out of them.” She chuckled softly. “And you know how big this house is.”
Emily glanced her way. “That must have taken you days.”
“I called it vacuum therapy. I made a lot of noise with the vacuum, so I could yell when I was mad and nobody would care or hear me. And when I was done, I had a clean house. The added bonus was that I was worn out and finally able to sleep.” She waved at the sink. “So have at it.”
“Thank you,” Emily said.
Charlie smiled and left the kitchen.
Emily slipped her hands into the warm, soapy water as if reaching for some level of normalcy.
Mustang moved up beside her and handed her a plate. “You wash, I’ll dry.”
“I can do this by myself,” she said, not at all certain she wanted the added complication of standing next to a man who made her body hum.
“I know you can do this by yourself,” he said. “That was a lot of excitement for one day. I can use the work, as well.”
Emily settled into washing each dish carefully before handing it to Mustang to rinse and dry. She felt a sense of safety and comfort with the big marine standing beside her. But every time her hand touched his, a shock of electricity slipped up her arm and spread warmth across her chest. What was it about the man that made her so aware of him? Other than the fact that he stood a head taller than her, and his shoulders were as broad as a door frame. Something about his rugged countenance and his take-charge attitude sent shivers across her skin.
Grace entered the kitchen carrying a stack of plates. “Need help in here?”
Emily almost said yes. Not that she needed help washing dishes. What she needed was help understanding what was going on inside her head and body. Before she could open her mouth to tell Grace yes, she needed help, Mustang answered for her.
“No, thank you, we’ve got this covered,” he said.
“Okay then,” Grace said. “If you get a chance, check out the garden. Charlie has the most wonderful roses and a fountain that can be very soothing to sit in front of. And at night everything smells divine.”
“I’ll do that,” Emily promised.
Once all the dishes were deposited in the kitchen, the rest of the team retired to the living area, leaving Mustang and Emily alone to wash.
For a long time they worked in silence, washing and drying one plate, one glass, one fork at a time. Finally, feeling a little out of breath and rattled, Emily handed the last dish to Mustang. While he dried, she wiped her hands on a towel and hung the towel to dry. Despite the mind-numbing work of washing dishes, she still felt nervous and punchy. Perhaps it was from having been shot at, or maybe it was the big marine who had been standing next to her bumping shoulders with her for the last thirty minutes. But Emily had to move, had to leave the room. Needed to get out, needed some fresh air.
“Thank you for helping by drying.” She turned and started for the door leading out of the kitchen.
“Hey, wait,” Mustang called out.
Emily turned.
Mustang quickly dried the last dish and put it in the cabinet along with the rest. He laid the towel across the oven rail and rubbed his hands along the sides of his jeans. “I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not necessary,” Emily said. “I’m just going to wander around the house. I shouldn’t run into any problems inside the Halverson estate.”
Mustang’s brow dipped. “Well, I guess that’s okay. But if you decide to go outside for any reason, let me know and I’ll go with you.”
“Deal.” Emily turned and walked away. She wanted to put distance between her and the marine. Following the sound of voices, she entered the living area where the others had congregated.
Grace glanced up from where she was perched on the arm of a sofa next to Declan and smiled. “Thank you for doing dishes.”
Emily nodded. “No problem. It helped me work through some of my nerves.”
Grace chuckled. “I can think of much better ways to burn off some steam. But whatever works for you, I’m glad it did.”
Declan waved toward the other end of the sofa. “Won’t you join us?”
Emily shook her head. “Thank you, no. I don’t feel much like sitting.” She glanced at Charlie. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to explore the house.”
Charlie smiled. “Go right ahead. Make yourself at home.”
“Do you need someone to show you around?” Grace asked.
Emily gave her half a smile. “No, thank you. I’d like to do it on my own. I need some time to think.”
Emily left the living room and walked to the next door down the hallway and entered. Inside this room were some more feminine-looking sofas and a white baby grand piano. Drawn to the musical instrument, she entered the room, crossed to the piano and ran her fingers across the keys.
The cool, white ivories against her fingertips brought back memories she thought she’d forgotten. She hadn’
t touched a piano since she’d left home almost a decade before. Emily couldn’t remember a time as a child when she hadn’t been taking piano lessons or going to recitals. Her parents had made absolutely sure that she, as their only child, would have some musical skills as well as learning a foreign language.
Teaching Russian at the university seemed so natural. Her musical skills were adequate but not sufficient to take to the stage. Quietly, so as not to draw attention away from the conversations in the other room, she played one of her favorite tunes that she had committed to memory.
Even after ten years her fingers found the keys. The music was a liltingly sad tune that suited her mood. Soon she was lost in time and the sound of the keys hitting against the chords. When the song came to an end she lifted her fingers from the keys and sat for a moment staring at the instrument.
Until she had sat at Charlie’s piano, she hadn’t realized just how much she missed playing. And how cathartic the music was to her soul.
“That was beautiful.”
Jerked back to the present, Emily shot a glance to the door where Mustang leaned against the doorjamb, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked, heat rising up her neck.
Mustang straightened and walked toward her. “Since you sat down and started playing.” He closed the distance and leaned against the grand piano. “I didn’t have the heart to interrupt. In fact, I didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t want you to know I was there because you looked so at peace and so engrossed in what you were doing. And, call me selfish, but I liked listening. I didn’t want you to stop.”
Warmth burned up into her cheeks. Emily glanced down at her fingers on the piano keys. “I haven’t played in ten years. It must have sounded awful.”
Mustang chuckled.
The deep, resonant sound made her shiver all over.
“If that was awful, then I am tone deaf.” His smile disappeared. “Don’t stop on my account. If you want, I’ll leave the room.”