Baby Battalion

by Cassie Miles

  “Not here,” she whispered. “There’s no privacy in this house.”

  “Come back to the hotel with me.”

  “Oh, that sounds good.” She licked her lips. “But I should stay here tonight in case Joey wakes up. I need a good sleep. The big event is tomorrow.”

  Since he’d promised not to push, he backed off. But he wasn’t ready to leave her. “How about if we go downstairs and have a cup of tea?”

  “Is this like a date?”

  “It’s whatever you want to call it.”

  They descended the back staircase that opened into the kitchen. Of course, there were other people around. This was a big place, but the governor and her entourage had filled every available area.

  While they made their tea, he engaged in standard conversation, but his focus was Tess. With their tea in mugs, they wandered down the hallway and ended up in the office, again. This time, she didn’t dodge him and hide behind the desk. They sat side by side on the sofa.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “I want you to be very cautious. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

  “The Smithsonian ought to be safe.”

  “It should be. But I got another piece of information from Omar that worries me. It’s about the break-in at your house. The CIA forensics people found a fingerprint.”

  “I’d almost forgotten about the intruder and having all my things pawed through. I guess that says something about how much has been happening over the past few days.” She stared into her teacup and frowned. “Who was it?”

  “The print belonged to Victor.”

  “I don’t understand.” She looked up at him. “Is Victor working with Greenaway?”

  He didn’t have a thorough explanation. He’d been turning this information over in his mind ever since Omar told him. “Victor and Greenaway have had dealings in the past. Victor might have come to D.C. as part of a weapons deal, but it’s doubtful that they’re currently working together.”

  “Why not?”

  “Bart is Greenaway’s enemy. And it’s pretty clear that Victor is taking care of his father. He doesn’t intend to turn Bart over to Greenaway.”

  She set her teacup on the coffee table and leaned against the back. “I’ve never met Victor. What could he possibly have against me?”

  “I don’t know.” He’d really tried to make sense of it. Why ransack Tess’s house? “If Elliot can be believed, Victor is on some kind of revenge mission. Your only connection to him is through Bart. Is there something Bart might have given you that he was after?”

  “I didn’t really have time to look around and see if anything was missing, and I can’t think of what he might take. Bart has given me a couple of very nice presents, but I doubt that Victor would go after my industrial-strength juicer. I don’t keep valuables in the house.”

  She hesitated, and he guessed that she had something more to say. “No valuables at all?”

  “They aren’t related to Bart.”

  “You’re holding back.” He turned her face toward him. “Don’t make me guess.”

  “My engagement ring and your Purple Heart. I keep them in my bedside table.”

  A gentle warmth spread through him. Her two most precious things were from him—one signified their life together, the other came from his death. He loved this woman so much.

  He took her hand and squeezed. He wanted to kiss her, but he feared that if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop. “Tomorrow, I’ll check with Omar and make sure those things are still there.”

  “It doesn’t make sense for him to touch those things.”

  “Here’s the problem with Victor.” He remembered his conversation with Dr. Leigh. “It’s likely that he’s suffered from bipolar disorder for most of his life, and he hasn’t received treatment.”

  “How could a serious illness like that go undiagnosed?”

  Several incidents should have acted as signposts, starting with the cruel pranks Victor played when he was only a kid. In high school, his Recluse Gang burned down a building. He and Elliot attacked Roxanne. In Iraq, he nearly beat a man to death and was well on his way to a dishonorable discharge. “Someone should have noticed.”

  “But they didn’t.”

  “At this point, the CIA profilers suggest that he’s having a psychotic break that makes him hard to read, as complicated as a Chinese puzzle box. His logic won’t make sense to you or me.”

  “It’s very sad. I almost feel sorry for Victor.”

  Her voice was soft and sweet as a spring breeze. The whole time they’d been apart, he had imagined her voice, but his fantasies were nowhere near as pleasing as hearing her speak. He could listen to her for hours.

  There was only one other voice that echoed in his mind—a voice he’d heard long ago. He would never forget Greenaway and the threats he’d made in the still Afghan night and at the moment when Nolan should have died. That audio memory was branded into his mind. The voice of a devil.

  And Tess was an angel.

  “Whether or not you pity Victor,” he said, “he’s dangerous. I want you to be alert. He’s got a grudge against you.”

  “Understood.”

  “There’s something else I want to do. To keep you and Joey safe,” he said. “Tomorrow after the event, I want you to come back to Texas with me.”

  “You’ve got to be joking. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. It’s going to be impossible to get plane reservations.”

  “Not if you’re flying on Lila Lockhart’s private jet.”

  Her eyes widened, and then she grinned. “If I turned down a ride on a private jet, my son would kill me. Yes, Nolan, we’ll fly away with you.”

  He couldn’t have been happier.

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Tess left early to oversee final preparations. Nolan felt safe enough to drive the Mercedes; the bulletproof Hummer would be needed later to transport the kids. At the rear of the building, they waited to clear security with the Smithsonian guards. Then he drove into the underground parking reserved for dignitaries and special deliveries. The catering trucks would also use this area for unloading. Instead of parking, Nolan drove around the perimeter.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I want to see if the reality matches the blueprints. There’s another floor under this one that’s used to store exhibits that aren’t on display. Any doors connecting with that level are locked.” He switched his dark glasses for his horn rims and pointed to a dark metal door in the shadowy corner. “Like that one.”

  “And why is this information important?”

  “Basic security,” he said. “In case of emergency, we need to know all the possible exits and entrances. The only access between floors is the freight elevator and the doors that connect with the lower level café.”

  “You know, it’s a shame this parking lot isn’t open to the public.”

  “Too risky. The artifacts in this building make it a potential target.”

  “For what? Terrorists who want to steal the ball gowns that belonged to the first ladies?”

  “You’d be surprised.” He drove back toward the freight elevator.

  Her adrenaline was pumping. She was feeling antsy and couldn’t wait to get started. “This is my favorite part of event planning.”

  “Why is that?” he asked.

  “For weeks, I’ve been putting together all these details and now I get to see the end result. It makes me think of a symphony when the instruments finish warming up and join together.” A thought popped into her head. “Which reminds me, I need to make sure the string quartet knows how to play ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas.’”

  He found a parking space near the stairwell. “Let me know if I can help.”

  The last thing she needed was big, muscular Nolan messing with her centerpieces. “You just make sure the security is in place. The event coordinator told me that they wouldn’t have as many guards as usual because of the holiday.”

  “CSaI is on it.” He reached into his suit coat pocket and took
out a small plastic object with a clip on the back. “I want you to wear this so I can stay in contact.”

  She turned the bit of plastic over in her hand. “Does this let me hear everything you say and vice versa?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sorry, that doesn’t work for me. I have my own headset that I’ll be using to communicate with Trudy and Stacy. If I hear too many voices in my head, I’ll go crazy.”

  He took the piece and adjusted it. “Now it’s just one-way. I can hear you, but you won’t hear me.”

  “The stuff I’m doing is going to bore you,” she warned. “Detailed discussions about flowers and folding napkins.”

  “My darling,” he said with a grin, “you’ll never bore me. Just clip it onto your bra strap and forget about it.”

  “Why do you need to hear me?”

  “There’s going to be a lot going on. I won’t be able to keep an eye on you all the time and that worries me. I can’t do my job if I’m obsessing about you.”

  In a weird way, his obsession was a compliment. She attached the device to her bra. “Happy?”

  “I would have been happier if you’d let me put it on.”

  As she got out of the car, she grabbed the garment bag with her gown. They took the basement staircase beside the freight elevator to the second floor. The museum had just closed, and the last visitors were being herded toward the exit.

  Tess left her gown in the office of the event coordinator—a brisk, business-oriented woman who told her that she’d be here in her office if she was needed.

  “I’ll let you know,” Tess said.

  “We’re shorthanded,” she said. “I wanted to let as many people as possible go home for Christmas Eve. Tomorrow is the only day of the year that we’re closed.”

  “I understand.”

  Outside the office, she and Nolan parted ways. He had security concerns, and she had a high-class dinner for over three hundred people. Though she carried an electronic notebook filled with information, the details were embedded in her head. She positioned herself in the second floor Flag Hall where a soaring ceiling rose above the huge metallic abstract of the Star-Spangled Banner. The real thing—the actual flag from Fort McHenry that inspired Francis Scott Key—was housed in a temperature-controlled display case in an adjoining area.

  The tables and podium were quickly assembled and draped with red tablecloths. Trudy arrived with the florist who had worked with Tess before and did not disappoint. The festive centerpieces used yellow roses and white lilies highlighted with deep green pine branches and candles.

  For the next couple of hours, Tess hustled from place to place. She added signage downstairs at the front entrance where the museum had already done holiday displays appropriate to several cultures, including a Christmas tree, a menorah and Kwanzaa candles and drum. Back on the second floor, she checked the microphones. On the lower level, she helped the baker who delivered the spectacular four-foot-tall Alamo cake. The ice sculpture—a map of Texas with a cowboy and a longhorn—would come at the last minute.

  After Tess carefully placed the name cards on the tables, she checked her wristwatch. It was almost four-thirty. The caterers would be arriving. She didn’t want to get into her party clothes too early, but there wouldn’t be time later. She slipped into the office of the event coordinator where she’d hung her dress.

  Stacy greeted her. “Everything looks great, Tess.”

  “Especially you.” Stacy’s floor-length, sleeveless gold dress with a scoop neck set off the warm tones in her complexion. Her brown hair hung in graceful curls to her shoulders. “That’s a beautiful gown.”

  “This old thing?” Stacy twirled. “Actually, I’ve only worn it once before. I love the long skirt because I don’t feel bad about wearing comfortable shoes under it.”

  High-heeled shoes were the bane of Tess’s existence as an event planner. She never put them on until the last moment. Until then, it was ballet flats all the way. “I hate to make you mess up your hair, but I need you to wear a headset so we can communicate without yelling.”

  “Got it.” Stacy took the microphone headset. “Who else is on the line?”

  “Just you, me and Trudy.”

  “I’ll be at the front with the guest list. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “We’re on schedule,” Tess assured her. “I’m going to get dressed, and then check on the caterer.”

  As she dressed and used the private bathroom to touch up her makeup, she thought about Pierre. The last time she’d seen him, he’d made that odd comment about his broken heart. Did he really have a crush on her? Hard to believe but stranger things had happened. Tonight, she’d be sure to coddle him like a newborn chick. A negative mood from the chef could affect the whole event.

  She smoothed her hair into a sleek, high ponytail so it would look neat and not get in the way, then she put on her headset. After one more glance in the mirror, she decided that the emerald silk dress was nearly perfect. The bodice was similar to a long-sleeved shirt dress with a plunging neckline and ruffles. The matching belt made her waist look small. Her outfit was dressy without being over-the-top, and the color was appropriate for Christmas.

  As she left the office, she almost ran smack into Nolan. He caught her by the arms, holding her in one place. His gaze slowly caressed her body from head to toe.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  “Thanks.” She basked in his approval. It felt good to have a man notice how she looked. From the day they first met, he’d been attentive to those details. “And what are you doing here?”

  “Your mic was quiet. I got worried.”

  “I was getting dressed, but I remembered to put it back on.” She inclined her head toward her bra strap. “Can you hear me now?”

  “Loud and clear.” He grinned. “I have some good news. Omar called. The CIA is moving on Greenaway tonight. This could be over real soon.”

  It was too much to believe. She and Joey would no longer be under threat. The danger that had kept her husband away from her for five years might be eliminated. There would be no physical reason for them to live apart.

  Chapter Twenty

  Taking Greenaway out of the picture didn’t mean an end to all their relationship problems, but Tess considered it to be a very good start. If they didn’t have to ride around in bulletproof Hummers worrying about sniper attacks, she and Nolan could actually confront their personal issues.

  Now wasn’t the time to think about anything but the event. “Keep me posted.”

  “You really are beautiful,” he repeated. “I’m not just talking about the dress. You have a glow, an energy. You enjoy this work, don’t you?”

  “It suits me.”

  “I like seeing you in your element, doing a job that makes you happy. I’m guessing that you’re good at event planning.”

  “Well, I’d hold off on the praise until after I’ve dealt with Pierre and his crew.” She reached up and patted his cheek before she took off. “Wish me luck.”

  “Always.”

  She rode the elevator down to the lower level, where the catering staff was already unloading their trucks into the kitchen for final preparation. These caterers had worked other events at the Smithsonian so they didn’t require directions. Pierre stalked among them, issuing instructions and quick reprimands. Some items would go directly to the staging area near the service area on the second floor. Others needed to be cooked or reheated.

  Having worked as a caterer herself, Tess recognized a smooth, professional operation. She wouldn’t interrupt the flow of activity, but she wanted Pierre to be aware that she was available if he ran into any problems. Before she could catch up to him, he was in the service elevator.

  As the doors closed, she was fairly sure that he saw her and quickly looked away. Now what? Was he avoiding her? She tamped down her irritation and took the stairs.

  Over her headset, she heard Trudy arguing with the string quartet. Tess stopped in the Flag Hall
to put out the fire. By the time she got into the staging area for the food, Pierre was gone. Under her breath, she muttered, “I don’t have time to play cat and mouse.”

  Stacy responded, “What’s that about mice?”

  “It’s nothing,” Trudy answered for her. “Tess talks to herself sometimes. I try to ignore it.”

  Tess checked her wristwatch. There was less than an hour before the doors opened. “Would you ladies keep an eye on things for ten minutes? I need to catch Pierre. I’ll be out of communication until I find him.”

  She turned off her headset and hustled downstairs. In the kitchen, she spotted Pierre’s heavy shoulders in his white chef coat and made a beeline toward him. Before he could disappear again, she caught his arm.

  He whipped around and stared at her. His face was red, and he was sweating. “What do you want?”

  “I’m sure you have everything under control. I’m just checking to see if there’s anything I can do.” He looked like his head was about to explode. “Are you all right?”

  He gestured. “Come with me.”

  She followed him across the kitchen into the stairwell. The metal door closed. Pierre paced on the small landing. He banged his fist on the metal railing. “I can’t do it. I’ve worked too hard.”

  His eyes were red-rimmed as though he’d been sobbing. Unlike his usual tirades, these emotions seemed real and profound. Concerned, she said, “Tell me. I’ll help you.”

  “You have no idea.” He leaned his back against the concrete wall. With his left hand, he rubbed hard at his forehead as though trying to wipe off a deep stain.

  For the first time, she saw him without his expansive gold watch. On his left wrist was a small tattoo—a brown spider.

  The CIA analysts and Amelia had missed this connection. Pierre LeBrune was a member of the Recluse Gang. Tess touched the communication device fastened to her bra strap. She needed to say something that would alert him to this new threat. What would he tell her to do? If you see a spider tattoo, run.

  Easing backward a step, she reached for the doorknob.