by Cindy Dees
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You cause havoc and then split. You move on and leave behind a mess for other people to clean up.”
“Is this about you and me?” Stone demanded under his breath, glancing cautiously at Tucker, who was across the room, staring out a big window at the marina.
“No.” A pause. “Yes.” Another pause. “Maybe.”
“Take pot shots at me later,” Stone bit out. “Right now, we need to find Jack.”
“That wasn’t a—”
The marina manager stepped out of his office.
“Later.”
CHRISTIAN WINCED. Stone had a point. The first priority was to find Jack Lacey. Not to mention that he wasn’t in the habit of dragging personal crap into the office either. His ambitious family had taught him that lesson at an early age—long before they realized their golden-haired scion was gay and the family name irrevocably disgraced.
The marina manager held out several sheets of paper, looking none too happy about it.
Christian said soothingly, “Thank you so much for your help. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it.”
The guy seemed to thaw a little, at least until the man glanced over at Stone and his gaze hardened once more.
Sigh. He’d tried to do damage control. But like Jack, Stone would have to stew in his own mess, he supposed. In some ways, the two men were a lot alike. Both stubborn and too damned good-looking for their own good.
Thankfully, that was where the similarities ended. Stone had a moral compass that Jack had no concept of.
“Oh, for the love of God. Check out your boss’s destination,” Stone blurted.
Christian took the float plan with grave trepidation and glanced through it. “Barbados?” he squawked. Crap, crap, crap. Totally not under US jurisdiction. “How long will it take them to sail down there?”
The marina manager supplied helpfully, “On the Wrastle Castle? Four or five days.”
“Four. Or five,” Christian repeated blankly.
“You okay?” Stone asked.
“Hell to the no, I’m not okay,” he burst out. “Jack Lacey has to make a campaign appearance in two days. Hell, the casino night is in five days! He’ll barely make it back in time if we’re lucky!”
Stone commented gently, “You’re assuming that they’ll go directly to Barbados and won’t stop at any other ports of call along the way. Or sail in circles for the hell of it.”
“I’m dead,” Christian announced, throwing up his hands. “Finished.”
“C’mon. It can’t be that bad,” Stone said sympathetically. “Let’s go back to the hotel. We’ll figure something out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out. Jack has finally managed to destroy his career, and he’s going to take me and a bunch of other people down with him.”
He was literally sick to his stomach. He knew Jack was a jerk, but he’d never realized how selfish a jerk the guy ultimately was. He’d been let down by so many people in his life. This one felt special, though, in a bad way. He wasn’t so much worried for himself as he was all the other people who depended on Jack. He had a law degree to fall back on, if push came to shove, and he had to give up his hopes for a job at the Department of Justice. He would land on his feet, but what about the other aides and staffers? Jack’s wife? Heck, his constituents?
A sense of having personally failed them all landed on him, weighing him down until he could hardly walk.
Stone and Tucker headed back to the SUV while Christian followed behind. He ought to be furious, but all he felt was numb. Jack had really gone and done it this time. Not only could he kiss reelection goodbye, but the bastard was going to end up in front of the Senate Ethics Committee over this stunt. His wife was going to be forced to divorce him. And the aide who let him slip so badly off the leash would be persona non grata in extremis in Washington, DC.
A plan. He had to come up with a plan. There had to be a way out of this crisis. But for the life of him, he didn’t see it. “Can we still send the Coast Guard after him? In a ship or something?”
“By now, the Wrastle Castle is in international waters. The US Coast Guard has no jurisdiction.”
“What about the Navy?”
“It’s not their job to scrape senators off party boats. And it would go public for sure. Naval vessels have big crews and Wi-Fi.”
He said softly, “Fuck.”
Stone stopped just outside the SUV and turned to stare at him with concern plain on his face. “Can you cancel the Chamber of Commerce thing?”
“You have no idea how hard I had to work to schedule the appearance in the first place. After last year’s vote on immigration, Jack’s been in the doghouse with every pro-immigration group in this hemisphere. He’s giving a speech day after tomorrow to announce his support for the newest round of immigration reform.”
“He’s flip-flopping on the issue?” Stone asked in surprise.
“Not exactly. It’s more like he’s moving ninety degrees. I finally convinced him he’s on the wrong side of the polling numbers and he has to move off his personal beliefs if he wants to get reelected.”
“It doesn’t look to me like the guy has much interest in keeping his job.”
He sighed. “Jill gets as much or more good work done than he does. She’s pushed him to run for reelection so she can keep doing her charity work.”
“Can’t she do that as the wife of a retired senator?”
“It’s all about power in Washington. She’s got power if Jack’s in office. She’s an afterthought once he loses.”
“Too bad he’s hosing her over too, with this little adventure of his,” Stone commented.
Christian slammed both palms down on the side of the vehicle. A satisfying sting exploded in his hands. “There has to be something I can do!”
“Mind if I offer a little advice?” Stone asked more gently than Christian would have expected out of a hardened soldier.
“I’m open to any suggestions.”
“It’s going to sound stupid, but breathe for a minute. Don’t think about anything else. Concentrate on your breath. In and out. Long and slow. Clears the mind.”
He took Stone’s advice, inhaling and exhaling in big, ultimately calming, breaths.
He nodded at Stone to indicate that he was better. More in control, if not thinking more clearly.
They climbed in the back of the SUV, and Tucker headed back to the hotel.
Stone murmured, “We’ll figure it out. There’s a solution to this mess.”
“But what?” Christian ground out.
“We’ll know it when we think of it. We just haven’t thought of it yet.”
He smiled a little at that logic. Stone reached across the back seat and surprised him by squeezing his hand. “You’re not alone, and this mess isn’t your fault. Keep repeating that until you believe it, okay?”
He nodded and gave a grateful squeeze back.
Oddly, it was the warmth and strength of Stone’s callused hand clasping his that steadied him more than anything. The man was smart, competent, and in his corner. That had to count for something.
Tucker parked the SUV in the hotel garage and they exited the vehicle.
Stone commented, “Short of coming up with a doppelgänger for Jack, the outcome of this episode is inevitable. Wild Cards, Inc. will do what it can to help you and Mrs. Lacey with damage control. You have my word on that.”
“Thanks.”
They entered the elevator in heavy silence. “Hell, I might even consider hiring a body double for the bastard if I could find—” He broke off, staring at Stone.
“What?”
He looked up at the camera mounted in the corner of the elevator and muttered without moving his lips, “In the room.”
Obviously aware of the sudden cloak-and-dagger turn of conversation, Stone did his full security he-man sweep of the hallway before he would let Christian or Tucker out. Which was actually kind of sweet. It
was nice for a change to feel like someone else was looking out for him.
The three men hustled down the hallway to Lacey’s suite, and Stone spun to face him the minute the door closed. “What’s up?”
“I need a body double for Jack Lacey, and you bear a more than passing resemblance to him.”
“Emphasis on passing,” Stone blurted in alarm. “I didn’t sign up to impersonate your boss.”
“But you said it yourself. You’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done.”
“My job is to find Jack Lacey and get his ass back here quietly.”
“I’m desperate, Stone.”
“There’s another solution—get him back.”
“And if we don’t? Surely you, of all people, understand my need to have a contingency plan in my back pocket.”
Stone huffed. “Yes. I do. But I couldn’t possibly—”
He cut Stone off before the guy could talk him out of the notion of impersonating Jack. “You owe me,” he blurted in desperation. He lowered his voice so Tucker, in the second bedroom, couldn’t hear him. “If we hadn’t been busy making love all night, we could’ve stopped Jack from taking off.”
“Doubtful. No way would he have let us stay in his suite while he screwed Chesty, and he was clear on the first day I arrived that he didn’t want a guard stationed outside his front door.”
“Please do this. For me. Because you give a damn about me.” The words were out of his mouth before Christian could stop them. He knew—he knew—that his night with Stone had been a onetime deal. He had no business invoking personal feelings between them and certainly not in the name of professional arm twisting.
Stone stared at him. The silence that stretched out between them was painful, damning him for going to that taboo and forbidden place of feelings.
But then Stone shocked him by mumbling, “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do. I’m not an actor.”
Hope flared like an arc welder in his chest. “I can teach you. Hell, I tell the man what to say all the time anyway. His clothes are here. I’m sure they’d fit you. Maybe a little alteration to make room for your biceps….” He continued in a rush, “For the love of God, say yes. I know I have no right to ask this of you. But you’d be saving my life and the jobs of everyone who works for Jack.”
Stone said low, “I would do this for you and nobody else.”
“Say you’ll do it for me. Everything I’ve worked for. My career. My reputation—” He broke off. His respectability. Proving to his family that he wasn’t a failure. He wasn’t exaggerating. Everything about his life hung in the balance.
He met Stone’s doubtful gaze. In the play of their expressions, an entire silent conversation took place rapidly. Awareness of what was on the line. His desperation. Stone’s awareness that this was going to take their relationship to a new and more personal level. His acceptance of everything that entailed. The fact that they were entering into a dangerous game together with only each other to rely on. A flare of attraction between them at the idea of being a team against the world.
Stone let out a long, unhappy sigh. “Look. I’m happy to do a favor—even this favor—for you. But I have a bad feeling about this.”
Christian threw his arms around Stone and laid a big, grateful kiss on his surprised mouth. Realizing belatedly what he’d done, he stumbled back abruptly. “Jesus. I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
“I dunno. I’m thinking you’re going to owe me some serious sexual favors for this.”
Christian stared. Stone said it straight-faced. He still was interested in a physical relationship? Really? Well, son of a bitch. “Sexual favors later. Right now we’ve got work to do.”
Chapter Seven
STONE LOOKED into the mirror in shock. His longish hair had been shorn off and trimmed into a short, conservative side part to match Jack Lacey’s. The barber who’d come up to the suite had close shaved him with a straight razor as well. Stone fingered his smooth cheeks, familiarizing himself with their foreign texture as the guy packed up and left.
He commented to Christian, who looked on, grinning, “I look younger than him.”
“I’ve got a stage makeup artist coming up in a few minutes. She’ll fix that.”
“Makeup?” Stone echoed in dismay.
Christian patted his cheek, crooning, “There, there, Stone. Your macho mojo will still be in place even if you have to wear a few cosmetics.”
Stone muttered sotto voce, “Payback’s a bitch.”
Christian grinned and let a sexy dare glint in his gaze for a moment. And answering heat flashed through Stone’s gut.
Christian commented, “I’m sure I’ll cause you enough headaches in the next two days to give you a few extra worry lines. Besides, everyone knows that television ages a person. People will be able to comment on how young and healthy you look in the flesh. Or you can tell them Miami has been good to you.”
“It was. Until you came up with this cockamamie idea.”
“Cockamamie? Wow. You really did grow up on a farm, didn’t you?”
“Screw you, preppie boy.”
“Anytime, cow pie.”
“Oh, you did not just go there—” Stone started, rising out of the chair threateningly.
Grinning, Christian interrupted. “Let’s go pick out a few suits for you.” He led the way to the senator’s bedroom to raid the closet.
“This feels weird,” Stone announced. “Like I’m stealing his life.”
“You’re not getting cold feet on me, are you, Mr. Big Bad Soldier? Do I have to double dog dare you to do this?”
His natural urge to accept a dare surged forward. The brilliant bastard was playing him, and they both knew it. He scowled back at Christian’s triumphant grin.
“Try this one.” Christian held out a conservative, charcoal summer-wool suit. “It’s one of the suits Jack wears when Tucker insists on a Kevlar vest.”
“Jack has to wear bulletproof vests? Are death threats that frequent for him? Is that why he wouldn’t take this one seriously?”
“To take your questions in order, Tucker orders them as a standard precaution when we’re touring high-crime areas. Death threats are common enough for high-profile politicians but not usually as persistent and psychotic as this one has been. And last, I have no idea why Jack refused to believe Tucker or you when you tried to tell him his life was in real danger.”
Stone stripped off his own shirt and dropped his pants, aware of Christian staring appreciatively at him. “Fantasizing about doing the senator?” he quipped.
“You do realize that’s twisted as fuck, right?”
Stone shrugged. “Who knows if you have daddy issues or something weird?”
“I’m sure I do have some daddy issues. My father doesn’t approve of my life choices,” he said, adding air quotes with his fingers, “but I emphatically don’t want to sleep with him.”
Stone threw up his hands in surrender. “I was making a joke. In a lame attempt to change the subject, let me ask you this. Do you find older men attractive?”
“I don’t know. How old are you?”
A laugh burst out of his chest. “Ouch. I’m thirty-five. Damn. You’re ready for the retirement home, old man.”
“How old are you? Law school plus a bit would make you, what? Thirty?”
“Thirty-one.”
Stone shrugged into a crisply starched white shirt and tucked it in. He gave the pants, which were rather too loose on his lean hips, an upward tug. “Do I look hot in this monkey suit?” he quipped.
“Do you seriously think I’m shallow enough to like a guy solely because of how he looks?” Christian retorted.
“I dunno.” He finished tying on one of Jack’s expensive silk ties. “Do I look like Jack?”
“Don’t be an asshole. Wild horses couldn’t drag me to Jack’s bed, assuming he even swung that way.”
“You really don’t like him, do you?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Do all his staffers feel that way about him?”
“Pretty much everyone who knows him hates him.”
“Except for Chesty, of course.”
Christian snorted. “Give her a week on that boat with him. She’ll be out to kill him too.”
Stone belted in the trousers to his hard, flat waist. “Not a terrible fit.”
Christian held the suit jacket for him, and Stone slipped his arms into it. Christian’s hands rested briefly on his broad shoulders and then fell away. But in that second of contact, heat had permeated the fabric and permeated his gut. His entire body felt hyperalert to the man standing behind him. Yeah, he was aware of Christian that way all the time too.
He flexed his arms and reached across his body. “A little tight across the shoulders.”
“The tailor should be able to let that out some. Jack’s suits are custom tailored, which means they have plenty of fabric left over in the seams for alterations.”
“Is it necessary to mess up the guy’s suits?”
“Do you want to be able to move your arms?”
Stone scowled. “What if the tailor and barber and makeup artist or whoever else you hire to pull off this makeover tell someone I’m not the senator?”
“It’s a chance we’re going to have to take.”
As if on cue, a knock at the door turned out to be the tailor. Stone spent the next hour being poked, prodded, felt up, and otherwise groped as the tailor marked several suits and a half-dozen dress shirts for tailoring. The shoulders and sleeves needed letting out to accommodate his more athletic build.
“While you’re at it,” Stone commented to the tailor, “I need you to let out the left side seams of the jackets to accommodate a sidearm in a shoulder holster.”
“You can’t wear a gun as a senator!” Christian exclaimed.
“Watch me.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Stone retorted. To the tailor he said tersely, “Do it.”
The tailor looked back and forth between the glaring combatants, grabbed the suit coats, and fled the suite.
