Ace in the Hole

by Ava Drake

  Maybe he was just feeling antisocial tonight, but the aggressive interest of a huge crowd of people all eager to steal a minute of his time went against every minute of training he’d ever had at covert operations, avoiding detection, and above all, not being recognized.

  And the women. Apparently this event had been declared some sort of open season on politicians within their ranks. At least every two minutes, some beautiful woman came sashaying his way, inviting him silently to look down her dress or feel up her thigh.

  Truth be told, it was more than a little creepy. There was something desperate and needy in the false sex appeal these women presented. He didn’t for a minute think any of them were genuinely attracted to him personally. How in the hell did Jack Lacey mistake any of this for real desire? Or maybe the guy was so desperate and needy himself that he couldn’t see the calculation lurking in these women’s cold eyes.

  Stone painted on a fake smile and politely rebuffed them all, doing his damnedest not to show his faint revulsion at the lot of them.

  A number of people asked about the previous day’s attack, but he refused to talk about it, in concert with Christian’s press release to that effect. People seemed taken aback that he would decline to make political hay from the incident. Was the real Jack that morally bankrupt, then?

  A man approached, greeting him loudly. “Jack, old buddy. How the hell are you? I can see that Florida agrees with you. You look great. How’ve you been since the hunting trip?”

  Fuck. Someone who knew Jack. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He had no idea who the dude was, and worse, he’d sent Christian away. He leaned over to murmur to Tucker, “Get Christian ASAP.”

  “Right, sir.”

  Stone turned to face the backslapper. “I’m great. How the hell are you?” He resorted to asking about the guy’s latest hunting exploits, and when that topic petered out, he shifted to asking about how the job was going. Apparently the guy was the CEO of some sort of paper manufacturing company. Unbelievably, the man didn’t seem to realize he wasn’t the real Jack Lacey. Obviously the loudmouth knew Jack a great deal less well than he was pretending to. Thank God.

  Christian strolled up, a smile on his face but his eyes grim. He said smoothly, “Henry Spencer! What a nice surprise.”

  God bless him. He’d diagnosed correctly that Stone had no idea who this man was and that there was a grave risk of their ruse being exposed.

  Christian continued pleasantly, “I didn’t realize you were on the guest list. How’s Millie? I haven’t seen her tonight.”

  Lord, the guy was smooth at this social stuff. Stone was mesmerized by Christian’s effortless charm. Apparently Jack had it to some degree, as well. But Stone was completely at sea with all this small talk and name-dropping. Spencer spied someone in the crowd and declared that Jack had to meet him.

  The man moved off to fetch the “must-meet,” and Stone muttered to Christian, “I retract my previous order to stay away. I can’t do this without you.”

  Christian’s eyes registered surprise. And then a slow smile spread across his face. “Stick with me, kid. You’re on my turf now.”

  “And for the love of God, please run interference with some of the female sharks cruising this event.”

  “Not a chance. You’re on your own in that department.”

  However, a fair share of the women did veer toward Christian, particularly after Stone politely ignored their come-hither antics. It was gratifying not being the only man in the joint uncomfortably pasting on a fake smile and pretending to be complimented by the come-ons.

  The chicken was, indeed, rubber, and the emotional prostitution real as people vied for a piece of him in return for cold, hard cash. Thankfully Christian handled most of the delicate negotiation of pimping out Jack’s soul.

  During a momentary break from the sleeve tugging, Stone murmured to Christian, “How do you stand doing this for a living? Don’t you feel like a flesh peddler?”

  “I keep my eyes on the prize. Someday I’ll be free of this rat race. And in the meantime, I’ll know this world as an insider. It can’t help but give me a better perspective on how to nail these bastards.”

  Stone’s jaw tightened. There had to be a way to break Christian loose from the prison he’d locked himself in.

  “Excuse me, Senator Lacey. The charity auction is about to begin, and we’ve had a wonderful idea. We’d like to auction off drinks and a dance with you.”

  Alarm sluiced through him, and he glanced over at Christian in panic. But the big jerk smiled broadly and replied for him, “The senator would love to auction off his body for the cause.”

  The woman moved off, chirping happily as Stone glared at Christian. “What the fuck?”

  “You’re here to play nice and make them money for their hospital.” He added under his breath, “And girls don’t actually have cooties.”

  He told Christian what he thought of that in no uncertain terms, and Christian merely laughed. The auction ensued, and the bidding commenced for a “date” with Senator Lacey. He was hauled up on stage and paraded across it like a piece of meat. Of course, the real Jack would have eaten this up, so he was forced to flash a come-hither smile and flirt outrageously with the crowd in general. It was horrifying.

  A number of well-maintained divorcees battled against a bevy of bodacious twentysomethings for him. Everyone seemed to think they were buying more than drinks and a dance based on the shouted comments flying across the crowd. Jack’s reputation preceded him, apparently.

  The price climbed quickly to five thousand dollars and started to slow. He called out, “C’mon, ladies. I’m prepared to give my all for the new children’s wing of the hospital. Surely you are too.”

  He seemed to have signaled that sex was, indeed, the actual item for sale, and the bidding leaped past ten thousand dollars in the blink of an eye. He moved to the side of the stage where Christian stood and muttered, “Jeez. I had no idea Jack was such a stud.”

  “It’s the power. It’s an aphrodisiac.”

  “If you say so. I’ll take a great mind, a sense of humor, and a heaping helping of class any day and twice on Sunday.”

  Christian’s gaze snapped to his, and Stone let the truth of his words shine naked in his gaze. Christian looked away hastily, but a hint of color climbed his cheeks.

  Rattled himself, Stone moved back out to the center of the stage. “Who wants this hunk o’ burning love? I promise you a dance you’ll never forget.”

  A new voice called out from a dark corner near the front of the room. “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  A hush fell across the crowd. Stone looked out over the turned heads and was stunned to see an elderly woman with snow-white hair holding her hand up. Christian gasped. Stone looked back and forth between the woman and Christian, who were staring at each other fixedly. What was he missing?

  The auctioneer quickly dropped the gavel, and Stone jogged down the stage steps toward the winner. He couldn’t wait to find out who she was and why she’d made Christian go pale.

  He arrived at the table and bowed gallantly over the woman’s hand, kissing it. “Shall we dance?” he asked.

  “I’d rather go for a walk.”

  “Your wish is my command. You have me at a disadvantage, though. I don’t know your name, darlin’.” He helped her up from her seat and offered her his arm.

  She took it, chuckling a little. “Oh, you’re good. I’m Marielle Chatsworth.”

  “Chatsworth? As in Christian Chatsworth-Brandeis?” he blurted.

  “He’s my grandson.”

  “Then it’s doubly a pleasure to meet you. He’s an extraordinary man. Tremendous at his job.”

  “Indeed. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well…. Jack.”

  His gaze locked on hers. Definite humor laced her voice when she said his name. He led her away from the auction a little ways to a sprawling fountain feature that dominated one side of the plaza.

  “Who are you?” she asked curiously
.

  Alarm tightened his gut. “I beg your pardon?”

  She leaned close and murmured conspiratorially, “I know my grandson, and he despises Jack Lacey. But a few minutes ago, he looked at you like you’re practically the second coming of Christ. The resemblance really is striking, but you do look at least ten years younger than the senator, even after the nip-and-tuck I heard he had last year.”

  “Florida’s relaxing. High humidity. New moisture regimen…,” he mumbled lamely.

  She laughed gaily and patted his arm. “Save it for someone who’ll believe you.”

  “What gave me away?” he asked low.

  “Christian. Had he not looked at you like that, I’d have had no idea.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “It depends on why you’re impersonating Jack Lacey.”

  Crap. “There’s a security threat,” he explained evasively. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anyone about our little switcheroo. We’re hoping to draw out the individual and apprehend him or her.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me, young man. On one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “Tell me your intentions toward my grandson are honorable.”

  He stopped walking and turned to face her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m going to take it amiss if you break his heart.”

  Stone started. “Mrs. Chatsworth, I don’t understand—”

  “Yes, you do. Christian was a good boy. He has become an exceptional man. His parents have not been kind to him over the years, and he deserves better. Don’t you hurt him.”

  Her words were a dagger to his gut. Hell, he’d already hurt Christian by forcing him out of his comfort zone and pressing him mercilessly to give up control in the relationship. Shit. He’d insisted on everything being a one-way road where he called all the shots. He’d already run roughshod over the guy. What an asshole he’d been.

  His attention jerked back to his companion. He said soberly, “Christian is a remarkable man. I’m lucky to know him. I can’t promise what will happen over the long term, but I can promise you that I will always respect him.”

  She looked at him keenly and then nodded. “Fair enough. We have a deal.”

  Stone commented ruefully, “I see where he gets his negotiating skills from.”

  “Never underestimate a Chatsworth, Jack. Or whatever your name is.”

  “Stone. Stone Jackson. And thank you for rescuing me from the barracudas.”

  She smiled up at him. “They aren’t exactly your type, now are they?”

  Damn, this woman was perceptive. She must be where Christian got his mad skills at reading people.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Stone Jackson. And good luck.”

  Although with what, he wasn’t exactly sure.

  Chapter Ten

  CHRISTIAN wasted no time closing in on Stone when he and his granny returned to the gala. “What was that all about?”

  “Impressive lady, your grandmother. You should go say hello to her. She thinks very highly of you.”

  “That woman doesn’t think highly of anyone. She rules the Chatsworth clan with an iron fist and doesn’t even bother with the velvet glove.”

  “She said you’re an exceptional man.”

  Christian stared, nonplussed. “Shut the front door. She did not.”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “Mr. Chatsworth-Brandeis. Such language!”

  Christian grinned crookedly and started to say something, but a man in a tuxedo that had fit fifty pounds ago approached, wanting his minute in the spotlight with Stone before he opened his checkbook. “Seriously, Christian. Go talk with her. She’d appreciate it. I’ll be okay for a few minutes on my own.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Go.”

  He studied Stone thoughtfully. What was that new tone in his voice? He would almost call it gentleness were it not coming from Stone… a man who was every bit as hard as his name suggested. Perplexed, he headed toward his grandmother.

  She’d always refused to speak about his sexual orientation and had never publicly acknowledged that he was gay. She had paid for his college education when his father had refused to do so unless he agreed to therapy to fix him. But he’d always thought that had been mostly about tweaking his old man’s nose. Had he misjudged her?

  “It’s lovely to see you, Granny. You’re looking wonderful.”

  “I’m looking old,” she replied tartly. “You, however, are positively glowing.”

  “It’s the humidity—”

  “Jack said it was his new moisture regimen.”

  Jesus H. Christ. She knew. “Gran, I really need your help with this—”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Never fear. We came to an understanding, Jack and I.”

  Oh dear Lord. “Dare I ask—”

  A tremendous explosion of sound and light made him duck violently. A huge burst of fireworks erupted, making hearing, let alone conversation, impossible. His grandmother squeezed his hand and waved him back toward Stone.

  Good grief. Stone and Tucker were going to lose their shit over these fireworks. They were exploding way too low and close to be safe. Another burst of noise and light made him throw his arm over his grandmother’s shoulders protectively. Jeez Louise, that was loud. What idiot thought it would be a good idea to launch the fireworks display from inside the same plaza as the viewers?

  The thought had no sooner crossed his mind when a whistling noise passed very, very close overhead at a shallow angle. Surely that wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Someone screamed, and then everyone was pointing up, screaming and running every which way. A news helicopter was spinning around and descending toward the plaza in a slow-motion corkscrew.

  Horror roared through him, stripping away fear and leaving behind a stop-action time distension that had everything around him happening at a fraction of normal speed.

  His grandmother very slowly threw both arms up in front of her face and turned to flee. Pieces of burning something, maybe bits of the firework charge itself, flew through the air, leaving comet trails of sparks in their wake. People rose up from the tables, mouths opening on screams he couldn’t hear, and chairs tipped over in slow motion.

  And the helicopter everyone was pointing at… a great, billowing plume of smoke boiled out of it from where the rotors attached to the roof of the fuselage. He thought he spied a large black hole angling through the tail section, as well. Very slowly the aircraft spun around, the broken tail flailing for purchase against the air.

  Had a firework gone astray and hit it? Regardless, it was coming down. Soon.

  Where’s Stone?

  And with that thought, time snapped back to full speed like a painful rubber band against his skin, and noise and chaos and panic erupted around him in all their ugly insanity.

  “Gran, can you get to that building over there on your own?”

  “I’m not in my dotage, boy. I still do Pilates three days a week.”

  An image of her in tight yoga pants and a tank top flashed into his head. He mentally recoiled. “Thanks. I need to go find Jack.”

  “Go. I’ll be fine.”

  People ran every which way. Overturned tables and chairs made a jungle of the middle of the plaza. And somewhere in this disaster, the man he loved was no doubt risking his life to do something heroic and suicidal, because that was who Stone was.

  He dashed forward into the carnage of the gala, searching frantically. As the main wave of partygoers fled the center of the square, he abruptly had no trouble spotting the tall, muscular silhouette. Stone, followed closely by Tucker, was rushing toward the area where the helicopter was coming down, herding people away from the danger. Of course he was.

  Christian could only stare, aghast, too far away to reach him, as the aircraft abruptly spun very fast, spiraling down toward the ground without any apparent
means of support to break the fall. With a tremendous crunching sound of collapsing metal, the helicopter slammed into the middle of the plaza. Pieces of metal and furniture and who knew what else went flying, propelled by the force of the impact and likely the turning rotor blades.

  Stone threw up his arms and ducked as Christian reached out helplessly. Too far away. He could do nothing to protect Stone.

  The helicopter rolled onto its side. Rotor blade tips hit the ground and bounced violently, departing the aircraft and flying wildly in every direction. By a minor miracle, all the blades flew over the heads of the now flat on the ground and screaming crowd.

  Frantic, Christian took off running toward the mess and spied Stone and Tucker head for the demolished copter, then climb up onto it to rescue the occupants. Thank God. Stone was alive.

  Women attempting to climb back to their feet and run in high heels and ball gowns were falling all over the place, and he stopped to help a half dozen of them to their feet before he finally reached the smoking hull of the dead helicopter.

  “What can I do to help?” he called up.

  Stone yelled down from his perch straddling the top of the wreckage, “We need something long and hard to use as a crowbar!”

  Christian looked around and found some sort of tubular metal pipe from off the helicopter that seemed to fit the bill. He hoisted it up to Tucker and Stone. They used the pipe to jimmy open the door. Then the pair bodily hauled out a young man who was a reporter, if the digital movie camera still clutched in his fist was any indication. The guy was bloodied and battered but ambulatory.

  And then Stone disappeared. He’d jumped down into the helicopter! “What’s he doing?” Christian called up to Tucker. “This thing could explode!”

  “Looks like the pilot has busted both legs!” Tucker called back. “We’ll need help handing him down.”

  The rescued reporter behind him yelled, “There’s a wire in the tail throwing sparks into a puddle of fluid on the ground!”

  He’d be damned if he would leave Stone behind to fry if this thing blew up. Grimly, Christian held his ground, waiting to help with the pilot. Somebody cried out in pain from inside the helicopter, and then Tucker leaned down inside the wrecked cockpit, grunting and straining.