Delta Force Defender

by Carol Ericson

  Like she was doing now.

  When they’d come in from their walk, the cold had reddened Cam’s cheeks and the breeze had ruffled his light brown hair, giving him the appearance of a model for a men’s magazine on the great outdoors. She had a hard time reconciling his Adonis good looks with the insecurities he’d shared about his dyslexia.

  Her heart ached for that part of him, while her body ached for the other part. She couldn’t have ordered a more perfect hero than if he’d come special delivery from central casting.

  As he removed his coat, he said, “No more of this eating in. We’ll go to out to dinner on our way to the Insider—and I’m paying. You’ve had to put up with me hanging around all day.”

  The only negative to having him hang around all day was that he was in a different room from her.

  She shrugged out of her coat and dropped it on the sofa. “That works for me. I’m going to shower and change. Do we need to stop by your hotel on the way so that you can do the same?”

  He brushed his hands over his faded jeans and stomped his work-style boots. “Yeah, I definitely need to clean up.”

  “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” She waved her hand in the general direction. “And you can carry on with...whatever you were working on before.”

  “Reading.”

  “What?”

  “I was working with a reading program. I try to keep at it whenever I’m on leave. If I’d had this program when I was younger, it would’ve helped a lot.”

  “That’s admirable.”

  He ducked his head and his cheeks got redder. “I wasn’t fishing for praise.”

  “I know that.” She spun around not wanting to embarrass him anymore. “Well, get to work then, and I’ll get ready for dinner.”

  Several minutes later as Martha stepped into the shower, a smile played about her lips. She hadn’t felt this connected to a man ever.

  She stepped beneath the warm spray and by the time she emerged, she’d lost the smile. What she and Cam had didn’t come close to real life. She felt close to him because he’d become her protector, her lifeline in a crazy sequence of events that had just spun out of control. He felt close to her because he liked playing the protector.

  If he hadn’t come on the scene and all this stuff had gone down, she’d probably be sitting in a police station right now confessing everything. He’d naturally assumed she wouldn’t go to the police, and she’d gone along with him on this roller-coaster ride—just like she’d gone along with her father even though she’d discovered his crimes long before the FBI had come knocking on their door.

  She ended her shower far from the dreamy state she’d been in at the time she cranked on the water. She yanked her towel from the rack and gave her skin a harsh rubbing. She’d fallen into her old patterns. Some hot guy with a boyish grin crooked his finger at her, and she’d been ready to do his bidding.

  But it wasn’t exactly his bidding. Cam had saved her, had been there for her, protected her. That all made this a different experience completely.

  Buoyed by her renewed justification of events, Martha leaned close to the mirror and popped in her contact lenses, blinking rapidly after she inserted each lens. Nothing out of the ordinary about wearing contacts. She usually chucked the glasses when she went on dates.

  She finished getting ready, and then slipped out of the bathroom into the connecting bedroom. She’d already laid out a pair of black skinny jeans and some tall black boots. Pulling a teal sweater over her head, she tugged it into place and resisted the urge to pull at the shoulders to bring up the V-neck. She patted the neckline, which was a long way from plunging.

  She put on the finishing touches with a blow-out of her hair and a heavier than usual application of makeup. She wanted to present a different appearance from the one plastered all over the news—at least that was her story and she was sticking to it.

  She rested her hand on the bannister as she took one step at a time in her high-heeled boots. By the time she reached the bottom, Cam was there to meet her, his eyes as wide as his grin.

  “You look...great.” He held out his hand to help her off the last step.

  “Thanks.” She fluffed the ends of her wavy hair. “I figured I should disguise myself a little just to keep a low profile.”

  “Uh-huh.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Good idea, but I’d hardly call that look low profile. You’re gonna have all eyes on you in that getup.”

  “Too much?” She placed a hand flat against her tummy.

  “For a night out in Georgetown? Nope. For me? Not at all.”

  She moistened her lip-sticked mouth. She hadn’t fooled Cam at all with this supposed disguise. She’d dressed for him and had gotten exactly the reaction she’d craved—and she didn’t feel silly or nervous or uncertain at all.

  She felt beautiful because he made her feel that way.

  “Are you ready?” She held up a small black bag. “I’m just going to switch purses.”

  “I’m ready. My laptop is all packed up.” He pointed to the front door. “I took the liberty of making sure everything was locked up down here. How come that security system wasn’t engaged when we got here?”

  “Mom’s housekeeper leaves it off because she keeps forgetting the code.”

  “Do you know it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Engage it tonight and leave it activated for as long as you’re staying here. You can always call the housekeeper and give her the code.”

  She looked up from shuffling things from one purse to another. “Is that why you stayed all day? You’re afraid I’m vulnerable here?”

  “The guy, or guys, killed a congressman and his mistress. I’m not taking that lightly even though we still don’t know what he wants from you.”

  “I agree. Give me two minutes.”

  While Cam waited by the door, Martha set the alarm system for the house. When she joined him, she said, “All done.”

  “Better safe than, well...you know.”

  When they got to his hotel, she insisted on waiting at the bar while he went up and changed to spare them both the awkwardness of having her watch over him while he showered and changed.

  “I need a glass of wine anyway.”

  “Okay, I won’t be long.” He wagged a finger at her. “Don’t talk to strangers.”

  His warning gave her a little chill, but she laughed it off. “I’ll be here when you come back down.”

  She slid onto a stool at the bar and barely glanced at the scattered couples at the tables. She ordered a glass of red wine from the bartender and took a deep sip, closing her eyes as the warmth spread to her muscles.

  “Long day?”

  Her eyelids flew open, and she turned her head in the direction of the male voice beside her. “You could say that.”

  “Same for me.” He raised his glass of whiskey. “Travel day. Those are the worst.”

  “Let’s see.” She held up her hand and ticked off her fingers. “Lobbyist, congressman back from a home district visit, attorney. Shall I keep guessing?”

  “You do know this town.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Lobbyist.”

  She laughed and fluttered her eyelashes, which seemed to act as some kind of invitation to the stranger. They spent the next half hour exchanging witty repartee. She didn’t even know where half the stuff out of her mouth was coming from.

  “You know, Martha, you’ve already made my travel day one hundred percent better. Can I buy you dinner?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” And just like that she’d led someone on even though she hadn’t meant to. “I’m meeting a...friend for dinner. In fact, here he is. Nice talking to you, Alan. Have a good week.”

  Alan cranked his head over his shoulder in time to see Cam making his way through the bar and muttered, “Lucky bastard. Have a nice dinner,
Martha.”

  She met Cam halfway through the bar and nodded. “You clean up nicely.”

  Cam jutted his chin and glared over her head. “Was that guy trying to pick you up?”

  “Just passing time.” She took his hand. “Until the main event.”

  “I don’t blame him.” Cam interlaced his fingers with hers and did a U-turn to exit the bar. “I figured you wouldn’t be flying under the radar looking like a million bucks.”

  Martha lengthened her stride to keep up with him, noticing a few other admiring glances thrown her way. She flipped back her hair and straightened her spine. Cam could go on about her looks all night, but she understood the difference.

  Cam’s attentions had given her confidence, and even the plainest girl in the room could command the spotlight exuding confidence.

  Even with her newfound assurance, Martha rejected a trendy Georgetown restaurant for a quieter place serving Italian food in a homey atmosphere.

  Once they each had a glass of red wine and a basket of bread between them, Cam hunched forward, crossing his arms on the table. “What’s our strategy with Tony? Have you ever met him?”

  “He’s probably the one guy Casey didn’t bring home, not that I saw much of the others. I swear, running into Congressman Wentworth that night was a rare occurrence.” She tapped a fingernail against her glass. “But if Tony’s some kind of confidante of Casey’s, I’m sure he knows about me or at least knows my name. Why would she blab secrets to a bartender?”

  “Are you kidding? Most bartenders probably hear more of people’s problems than therapists do.” He tore off a piece of garlic bread and pointed it at her. “You’re just going to march in and introduce yourself?”

  “I’ll start slowly and then hit him with the note I found. Who knows? Maybe he’s expecting it because Casey told him she’d be calling him out as some kind of witness if anything happened to her.”

  “I hope he doesn’t plead the Fifth. If it’s not crowded in the bar, maybe we’ll have a chance to talk to him while he’s on the job, or at least make arrangements to talk to him later.”

  When the waitress arrived with their food, Cam pointed to Martha’s glass. “Do you want another?”

  “No. I want to have my wits about me tonight, and I already had half a glass at the hotel. That first night after the incident on the Metro platform? Those two glasses of wine were my limit. You wouldn’t want to see me after a third.”

  “Wanna bet? Don’t get me wrong. I admire your...restraint, but I can’t help wondering what an out-of-control Martha would look like.”

  “I don’t—” she cut off a corner of her spinach lasagna “—let myself go.”

  “You should try it sometime. It’s good for the soul.” He broke off another piece of garlic bread. “You should also try some of this bread before I eat it all.”

  She watched his fingers as he brushed them together, dislodging crumbs into the napkin on his lap and wondered what it would be like to let go with Cam. She was no virgin, but all of her sexual encounters had been very measured and controlled. Probably her fault.

  For the rest of the meal they didn’t talk any more about losing control or Tony or Casey or the congressman. It was as if this dinner represented a deep breath, a chance to step away from the crazy before plunging back into it headfirst.

  They finished their food and, true to his word, Cam picked up the check. As he placed some bills on the tray, he said, “Are you okay to drive?”

  “I think so, although I usually don’t drive at all after I’ve imbibed.”

  “When it comes to drinking and driving, you can never be too careful.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take the wheel.”

  “You’ve had a glass of wine, too.”

  “I’m twice your size and drank half as much.”

  “You have a point.” She fished her keys from her purse and dropped them into his cupped palm. “You know where you’re going?”

  “It’s not far from here, right? You can be my navigator.”

  When they reached the bar, Cam pulled up to the valet parking attendant and left him the keys. As they walked in, Cam ducked to whisper in her ear, “Do you have any idea what Tony looks like?”

  She nodded to the bar where a man and a woman were mixing and pouring drinks. “Easy. He’s the man.”

  “At least it’s not crowded.” He tipped his head toward one of the TVs over the bar displaying photos of Wentworth and Casey. “I wonder how Tony feels about that playing 24-7 in here.”

  “I guess we’re going to find out soon enough.”

  They claimed two empty seats at the bar, the nearest customer three stools down.

  The female bartender got to them first. “What would you like?”

  “I’ll have one of these.” Cam held up a cardboard coaster printed with the name of a bottled beer.

  “Club soda with lime for me, please.”

  Martha tilted her head back and followed the muted images parading across the TV screen. Even without the sound she could piece together the story—or maybe that was just because it was her story.

  When the bartender set their drinks in front of them, Cam handed her a folded ten and asked, “Is that Tony Battaglia?”

  The bartender’s gaze flicked from Cam to Martha, two small lines forming between her eyebrows. “Yes. Do you have business with him?”

  “Business?” Cam’s hand jerked and a dab of foam leaped over the edge of his mug and rolled down the side. “We have mutual friends.”

  The woman’s scowl deepened.

  Martha added, “Just when he has a minute.”

  “I’ll let him know.” She snatched up Cam’s bill and spun away.

  Cam lifted one shoulder. “Weird.”

  “Okay, so that wasn’t just me?”

  “Definitely an odd reaction. Maybe the media made the connection between Casey and Tony and have already swooped in for a comment or reaction.”

  “That’s probably it.” Martha swirled the straw in her glass, clinking the ice against the sides.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the bartender say something to Tony. He glanced their way, but his face didn’t change expression. They waited another ten minutes and three customers before Tony meandered over to them.

  He whipped a towel from his waistband and wiped the clean counter next to them. “We have a mutual friend?”

  “Casey Jessup. She was my roommate.”

  Tony choked and bunched up the towel in his fist. Whatever he’d been expecting from them—that was not it.

  “You’re Martha?”

  Martha’s heart fluttered in her chest. “Yes. Casey mentioned me?”

  “Uh-huh.” He swept his head from side to side, and then he focused on Cam. “Who’s he? The po-po?”

  “I’m not the police. I’m Martha’s friend.” Cam narrowed his eyes. “Why are you worried about the police?”

  “They don’t know about me, do they?”

  Martha shrugged. “Not that I know of. I didn’t tell them anything about you. Why do you care? Shouldn’t one of Casey’s friends want to talk to the police about her suicide?”

  “Friend? Yeah, I guess we were friends. I told her.” He stopped and shook his head.

  “Told her what? If you two weren’t friends, how did you know her?”

  “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you.”

  “Casey was a paid girlfriend. You know, an escort.”

  Chapter Nine

  She gaped at him like an idiot and then snapped her jaw closed.

  Folding his hands around his glass, Cam leaned in. “She wasn’t an intern for some congresswoman?”

  “Oh, yeah. She was all that, but she made the big money working as an escort—a professional girlfriend.” Tony crank
ed his head to the side to take in two men in suits talking at the end of the bar. “And I was her facilitator.”

  “Her pimp, you mean.” Cam’s voice had roughened around the edges.

  “That’s a harsh word for what I did. This is an upscale place, and when I ran into someone who was looking for that special girl, I referred that person to Casey. Sure, I got a cut of the action, but Casey was her own boss. She’d tried working for an agency, didn’t like it and struck out on her own. She just felt safe having me on her side, and man—” Tony wiped the corner of his eye with his towel “—I loved that girl.”

  “Tony!” The other bartender called out to her coworker and then held up one hand. “Never mind. You can take a break. It’s slowing down.”

  “Do you want to join us at a table?” Cam jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind. Better you than the police. God, I hope they don’t get suspicious about the suicide story and start digging into Casey’s finances.”

  “Suicide story?” Cam lifted one eyebrow.

  “C’mon. We all know it was murder. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  Martha’s eyes met Cam’s as Tony tossed his towel on the edge of the sink. He met them on the other side of the bar, and they crowded around a small cocktail table.

  “Before we get started, I want you to know why we’re here.” Martha dragged the slip of paper with Casey’s handwriting from her purse and flattened it in front of Tony. “Casey left this for me where we kept our extra key.”

  Tony smoothed his thumb over the words. “Inside the chair cover.”

  “She told you about that?”

  “Casey told me everything.” He picked up the note and pressed his lips against the paper. “That’s why she left this for you.”

  Having left his beer on the bar, Cam took a sip of Martha’s club soda. “Start from the beginning. Are you the one who set her up with Congressman Wentworth?”

  “I am, but the setup was a setup.” Tony’s gaze darted around the room, and he rubbed his upper lip. “Some guy who already knew about Casey’s line of work approached me. Wentworth had been in here a few times—they all make it to this bar eventually.”