The Boss

by Melissa Schroeder

  They wound their way through the crowd, trying their best to fit in with the people there but stay apart from them. Tonight was a simple event, by diplomatic standards. Some dancing, some eating and drinking, some information being exchanged. Mac was sure more than one little liaison would be had tonight.

  “So, where is Sir Simon?”

  He always used that title, and she knew he did it to irritate her. “He doesn’t have a title.”

  “Oh, I do apologize. I thought all of you Brits had a title you liked to throw around.”

  She dismissed his mood. Vic could get antsy right before everything went down. Having her ex-lover in the mix didn’t help his disposition, she was sure. It was best to just let him have his way and ignore him. He’d work it out of his system, and all would be well.

  She spotted Simon across the room about the same time he saw them. As Simon started walking their way, she noted the years were starting to show on him. He was a handsome man, though not ruggedly handsome like Vic. Tall and slender, with more of a swimmer’s build, Simon St. John could play an extra on Downton Abbey. He epitomized the idea of the perfect English gentleman that the American TV and movie industry fostered.

  His blond hair was now lighter, peppered with light gray strands at his temples. His jaw had begun to sag, and he had put on a few pounds. While he wore the extra weight well, it definitely made her think. Simon had always been very particular about his weight. He had acted like a teenaged girl, weighing himself daily and always worrying how he looked on camera. She understood it. A life in diplomacy meant his looks did matter. If he appeared slovenly, he wouldn’t get offered the good posts. Still, even if he was what Rock called persnickety, Simon was one of the very few people from her life in England whom she kept up with.

  “Oh, great.”

  She squelched her irritation. They would just end up bickering, and that wouldn’t help them at all. “We’re here to talk to him.”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch him because he knows what you look like naked.”

  She didn’t roll her eyes, but it was close. “I’ve seen him naked.”

  A grunt was her only answer. To give the air of civility, she grabbed a glass of champagne as a waiter walked by. Taking a little sip, she noted Simon looked even older up close.

  “Simon,” she said, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. “How nice to see you again.”

  “Yes, love, so wonderful to see you.” He eyed Vic, then turned his attention solely to Mac. “I see you brought your lesser half.”

  She glanced at Vic, who looked bored. That was a bad sign. It was usually the same expression he wore before he beat the bloody hell out of someone.

  “I thought maybe we could have a chat?” she asked, smiling.

  He nodded. “We can use my office.”

  She turned to Vic. “I’ll be back in a minute, love.”

  He narrowed his eyes, but she gave him a warning frown. He knew this was part of the job, and she knew he could be professional. But with Simon, Vic had always skated close to the edge. There was a part of Vic that understood Simon was a useful source. The other part of him spent hours devising ways of making Simon bleed.

  “Sure. Just don’t take too long.”

  …

  Vic watched Mac and Simon walk away. Fifteen. That was the number of ways he had come up with to make the smug English bastard bleed. He had spent years devising ways to make the bastard cry, and seeing him again just brought that all back. When he realized he was clenching his hand so tightly around the champagne glass he might break it, he ordered himself to calm down. He was letting his emotions cloud the job, and that wasn’t good. Ever.

  He looked out over the crowd, then down the hall again to watch the pair disappear around the corner. Mac could handle herself, but he didn’t like her being with Simon. They both had ex-lovers they used from time to time. It was the way of the game, but Simon was different. Mac and Simon went back to childhood together.

  “Good evening,” a heavily-accented female voice said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Dammit. He hadn’t been paying attention.

  Bad sign, Walker. Get your shit together, man.

  He turned to face the woman in question.

  “Good evening,” he said, as he took in her appearance. Average height, but she looked taller thanks to the four-inch fuck-me stilettos she was sporting. Golden hair, alabaster skin, and a voluptuous body drew attention from several of the men surrounding them. Her accent wasn’t exactly Russian, but definitely something Slavic.

  “I noticed you across the room.”

  He couldn’t fight the twitch of his lips. “Come now, you should be better with your lines than that.”

  Her blue eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  He would laugh if it wasn’t so sad. The woman was definitely overplaying the sweet and innocent thing. Too bad she was wearing enough perfume for ten women, not to mention the heavy hand she’d used with her makeup. Vic didn’t recognize her, so she had to be new to the game. Apparently, her handler hadn’t trained her all that well.

  He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Who do you work for? Russians?”

  He pulled back and looked at her. She wasn’t happy, that was for sure. She was still smiling, but there was a faint edge to it now. The soft, dreamy look that had dominated her expression dissolved. Her eyes hardened as she glanced away to look around the room. Vic waited. He had no need to reveal himself to her, or even converse with her. She had come across the room looking for something from him. He had the upper hand.

  She finally made eye contact with him again.

  “What makes you think that?” she asked in a tone that wasn’t as saccharine as before.

  “No woman who is known in diplomatic circles would approach a man like me. I have nothing to offer a person who likes to play the games. So I believe you might just have something you want to tell me. Or maybe you have something you want to ask me?”

  He sipped his champagne and immediately regretted it. He hated the crap, and this wasn’t even the good stuff. Glancing at the bar, he realized there would be no way to get through that line. Plus, he didn’t want to really drink. He needed to keep his head in the game, especially with Mac off with Sir Simon.

  “You are very forward for an event like this.”

  He studied the woman. She might not be a spy in the trade, but she worked with them or for them. He viewed everyone in the diplomatic corps that way. It was part of the job. Intrigue marched hand-in-hand with diplomacy.

  “I tend not to beat about the bush.”

  She smiled. “That makes you highly unusual for this gathering.”

  He nodded and sipped the champagne again. Fuck. He had to fight the need to gag. Not only was it shitty champagne, but it was now warm.

  A waiter was passing by. It was then that he noticed a few bruisers heading in their direction. They weren’t being overt about their movements, but it didn’t take much to alarm Vic.

  “Do you have friends with you tonight?”

  She looked a bit startled and then shook her head. “I came over to meet you.”

  “Just to meet me? I doubt that.”

  “It’s true. Any man who is a companion to MacKenzie Donovan has a certain kind of reputation.”

  He took her hand as he set his glass on a table beside the wall. “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes. Where are we going?”

  “I love a good dance, don’t you, Countess?”

  “I am not a countess.”

  This woman was not part of the diplomatic corps. More than likely, she was someone’s bored wife or paramour, and he had been her choice of a tasty treat for the night.

  He swung her into his arms and started to dance around. Unfortunately, his friends were waiting at the edges of the dance floor. Damn if they didn’t know how to corner a guy without a corner. They wouldn’t try anything in public, but they definitely were eyeing him. The truth was it could be be
cause of what they were working on now, or it could be something from his past. There were a lot of people who would like to see him dead.

  “Wait. You said MacKenzie?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been around the block a few times. We all recognize her.”

  “Because of her connection to Sir Simon.”

  “Who?”

  “The deputy ambassador.”

  “Yes. But also because of her family.”

  “Of course.”

  Damn. He often forgot just how well connected her family was. While they weren’t royalty, they were a stone’s throw away—or that is how she had always described it. They played in diplomacy for years, and many times, she used those contacts to help her.

  “See, Countess, I need a favor. Do you think you could help me lose some Russians?”

  “You mean the four Neanderthals who have you surrounded.”

  “Are they with you?”

  She laughed. “No, they are not.”

  “But you knew they were following me?”

  She nodded. “Hard to miss. A woman in my situation can never be too careful.”

  “True.”

  “Can you tell me something about Ms. Donovan?”

  “Depends on what you want to know.”

  “Fair enough. Is she back with Simon again, or is she here with you?”

  “She’s with me.”

  “Good. I wasn’t sure, because word on the street is that Simon never really recovered when she turned down his marriage proposal.”

  “Never recovered?” Then the words sunk in. “Wait, marriage proposal?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but the band ended the song. He knew he had scant seconds to escape.

  “Do you know a way out of this ballroom?”

  She smiled. “Yes. Come.”

  She made her way through the crowded floor, her hand in his. He knew the Russians were trying to reach them, but as soon as the music had stopped, people started leaving the floor. Someone in charge was trying to clear the dance floor for some reason and was ushering everyone off.

  Easily, she led him through the crowd and behind the stage.

  “Christ, that was horrible,” he said.

  She smiled at him. “They are having a quartet perform or something. Now, go down this hallway, then to the left. It should lead you to the offices.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “You are very welcome. I might just need help in the future.”

  “You got it. What is your name?”

  “Don’t worry. I might have a new one by the time I need your help.”

  Then she vanished, and he realized he had been played. She definitely was a spy, but she had a different objective tonight that he wasn’t part of. Not anymore.

  He knew he had to hurry and get them both out of there. Hopefully, Mac had gotten more information about their mission than he had. Either way, he was ready to get the hell out of there.

  Chapter Nine

  Men always assume a woman’s interest in them is sexual when more than likely it is mercenary.

  —Mac Donovan

  As they neared Simon’s office, Mac breathed a sigh of relief. The number of people who stopped them on the way there had her senses on high alert. It really meant nothing, as all of the guests had wanted to bend Simon’s ear about something. But the longer it took her to get down the hall, the longer it would be before they were out of there. She had that itch that told her she and Vic were going to run out of luck soon.

  “I take it Felicity isn’t here?” she asked, knowing his wife would be glued by his side if she were there. While Mac’s relationship with Simon was from before their marriage, she knew he hadn’t been the most faithful of husbands. For some reason, Felicity always thought Mac had designs on Simon. Worse, without Felicity in attendance, the people they ran into would probably be only too happy to tell his wife about it. She might be here under an assumed name, but one description of her to Felicity, and his wife would assume the worst. She did not need that complication in her life.

  “No. She’s visiting her sister in Spain right now. Should be back at the end of the week.”

  He held the door of his office open for her. She stepped in and waited for him to close it. This was bigger than the one he had in France the last time she saw him, but then he hadn’t been the ambassador.

  “So, you want to tell me why you just popped up at a British Embassy function?”

  Always right to the point. He never used his legendary charm with her. Not when she was asking him a favor—which was the only reason she contacted him now.

  “We’ve got an issue.”

  “When I see you with Vic, it’s always trouble.” The feeling between the two men was definitely mutual. If Vic knew that Simon had proposed to her years ago, he would be worse about it. It didn’t matter that she turned him down. Twice.

  “Don’t bust my bullocks, Simon.”

  He shook his head. “And stop avoiding the question.”

  She sighed. “Did you hear anything about Russians and selling information?”

  “The rising tensions between the Russian government and the U.S. and their allies would make it feasible for both sides to look for a digital solution. Hacking will take them so far, and the Russians do more of it than the U.S., from what I’ve heard.”

  “But did you hear anything specifically?” she asked, pressing the issue. This was one of the many reasons she could never be married to the man. He put a diplomatic spin on everything. Of course, the main reason for not marrying him was that he wasn’t Vic.

  “There have been rumors. Something about a programmer who can hack into anything. And she can hide anything. But there is always a rumor about that. Pie-in-the-sky kind of thing. Every generation has some kind of urban legend like that.”

  “Yes, like the Soviet spy who was raised American, but this is different. People are disappearing or getting killed. Throw in the fact that some Russians were after me, well, that doesn’t make me too happy.”

  He shook his head as he approached her. “I told you not to get tangled up with that American again.”

  She knew Simon didn’t like Vic, but there was a different edge to his anger tonight. Simon thought Vic was the reason she had refused to marry him two years ago. He was the main reason, but not all of it. Truth was, Simon was fun. Lots of fun, until you found yourself with a knife in your back. That diplomatic polish only went so far. Beneath it was a very determined man who would do anything to get ahead. She might have slept with Simon, but she could never trust him.

  There was only one man she had ever trusted.

  “Actually, Vic wasn’t in on this one. I went to him for help. So give it up.”

  He hesitated. “There’s rumors that Blake has been selling secrets, and not just little secrets. And not just the last few years he’s been retired. That’s why people think he had an accident, if you get my drift.”

  “While he was on active duty?”

  He nodded. “From the sound of it, the Rosenbergs have nothing on him.”

  The implications of the situation worsened with each revelation. If the bastard had been doing this as an active duty general, there was a good chance his tentacles and connections reached through the Pentagon and government.

  “What about his boss?”

  “Walter George? Sure. The thought is that he and Blake had worked together for a while. Both being former military made their working relationship understandable.”

  And now Ken Blake was dead. That left Walter George, who had more connections than even Simon. Add in all his years in the military and working for private military contractors, and he could call on just about anyone for help.

  The implications were staggering. “Well, hell. He could have anyone in his pocket.”

  “True. The one time I met George, he was in a deep conference with a couple of Russians,” he said, as he stepped closer and laid a hand on her waist.

  Alarm bells soun
ded in Mac’s head as her attention slipped away from the job. Bloody hell. She did not need this right now.

  Their relationship had always been easy, familiar. Definitely not the tumultuous insanity she had with Vic, that was for certain. The problem was that it had been boring, for the most part. In the end, the sex had even been boring, but that had been after she met Vic.

  She stepped away, trying her best to think of the problem at hand. “You said Felicity is returning next week?”

  Even though she wasn’t looking at Simon, she could feel him stiffen at the sound of his wife’s name. She glanced back over her shoulder.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  He shook his head. “It’s just odd that you would mention her name.”

  Confused, she turned to face him. “Why is that odd? I said it earlier.”

  “Because you are my lover.”

  “Ex-lover.”

  His eyes widened. “What do you mean by that?”

  Before she could answer, the office door opened without a knock. It was Vic. His face was grim.

  “We have to go.”

  She didn’t question. When he used that tone, she knew there was a reason behind it, and it was never good. Seconds were ticking by.

  “Hold on,” Simon said as he reached for her. She evaded his grasp.

  “We don’t have time,” Vic said.

  “MacKenzie, really? You’re just going to leave with him?”

  She didn’t hesitate to answer. “Yes.”

  “He’ll get you killed one of these days.”

  She shook her head and opened her mouth to argue with him, but Vic stopped her.

  “No time.” He looked at Simon. “Back way out of here?”

  Simon glanced at her, then back to Vic. She knew that mulish expression, but again, Vic didn’t waste time.

  “Listen, you can wait to tell us and then explain to Mac’s parents why she disappeared or is dead. Or you can tell us, and we can get out of here.”

  Simon muttered something under his breath and then said, “Go down the corridor, take the first left. There’s a door at the end of the hallway. Use code 4457. That will get you to the street.”

  Vic said nothing as he moved out of the room.