by J. D. Tyler
“Christ. Whose idea was it to hang all this glass?” Luke Edgars whispered as he took Abigail Whitson’s arm to escort her into the throng.
As always, a heated rush skittered over her body as he moved in beside her. They’d been together as a couple since he’d helped rescue her best friend and shut down the sex-slave ring holding her. Even so, her body still reacted like a hormonal teenager just with his presence.
“Not the security detail, you can bet your sweet ass on that.” The deep rumble of U.S. Marshal, Frank Castello, sounded in the earbud secured in Abigail’s left ear.
She glanced up to see the older man across the room near one of the ice sculptures that sat on the dessert tables. Even dressed in a custom-tailored tuxedo, he still wore his usual scowl which, given the women eyeing him, only enhanced his lone-wolf appeal.
“You be careful out there. We have no idea when or where the deal is supposed to go down.” Another voice, belonging to Luke’s brother-in-law, FBI Special Agent Jake Carlisle, sounded in Abigail’s ear.
“Hell, we don’t even know who sent us the tip-off in the first place,” Castello mumbled.
“We know from the files we hacked the contact is on the up and up,” Luke muttered back, scanning the room.
She fought hard to hide a smile. For as self-assured as Luke was in the field, put him with members of his family—even the adopted member, Castello—and he was suddenly the little brother who bristled if any of the others questioned his skills or knowledge. Of course, he was the first one they called on when they needed some file or computer hacked.
“Until we’re sure who all the players are, let’s take this easy,” Jake said. “We don’t need anyone getting an itchy trigger finger with all these people and all this glass.”
Thanks to an anonymous tip, Luke and Abigail, both Treasury agents now under Homeland Security, discovered a money trail linking several of the attendees of tonight’s ball to a jet-setting playboy womanizer, who also happened to be an illegal arms merchant. Luke’s brother-in-law, FBI Special Agent Jake Carlisle brought in all their troops to try and trap the merchant before a cargo of Strategic Air Missiles or SAMS could be sold. Complicating the whole mess, the suspected merchant was also a major contributor to several well-placed congressmen, senators and political lobbyists.
The decision was made to bring her and Luke in undercover. For the past four months, she’d been attending many high-profile fundraiser events as Abigail Strickland, the ward of Senator Strickland, a new sitting member of the Committee on Homeland Security and whose permission to use him as a cover story had been given freely. To make her more high-profile in the media, she’d also been doing some modeling work—a perfect fit for her nearly six-foot-tall frame. Luke was always on her arm as her bodyguard, even at photo shoots. Her profile as a jet-setter with high contacts to an influential senator was meant to attract their arms dealer’s attention tonight.
Which is why Abigail was dressed in a black, floor-length, silk evening gown, complete with a slit up the right leg. They’d tried strapping a small handgun to her left leg in hopes she wouldn’t be defenseless at the ball. Since she’d never had to wear one before, she’d spent the past two weeks with one strapped to her thigh. She’d literally been walking around town armed, or was it legged?
A small giggle escaped her.
Luke turned one of his dazzling playboy smiles on her. “You find this funny, sweetheart?”
“No.” She smiled at him, finally almost equal to his height thanks to her heels. “I was just thinking how hard a time I’ve had learning to walk with that gun strapped between my legs. I’m glad this dress was so thin it nixed the idea of me wearing it tonight. I’d probably shoot myself when we dance.”
He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his long, lean, tuxedoed body. The masculine scent of him and the slight spice of his aftershave filled her senses. “Trust me, when we’re dancing this close, a gun going off is the least of our worries.”
Groans from other members of the team filled Abigail’s ears.
“TMI, Romeo,” said one of the FBI agents carrying a tray of canapés past them.
“Boy’s got it bad,” quipped another.
“Focus on the mission, Luke,” Castello mumbled.
Abigail couldn’t help either the laughter that bubbled out again or the flush that filled her face.
“Y’all are just jealous you don’t have this gorgeous woman on your arm,” he said before capturing her lips with his.
“Luke,” Jake commanded through the mics. “Don’t draw attention to yourselves until the mark gets in the room. Low profile, remember?”
Luke slowly lifted his lips from Abigail’s, grabbed her hand and pulled her into the shadows near one of the pillars, flanked by more crystal-covered trees.
“Have you had time to catalogue the room?” he asked her.
She knew what he meant. One of the reasons she was in on this op was her photographic memory. Since they were virtually working blind on who their arms dealer might be meeting tonight, part of her job was to study everyone in the room in her own unique way. Her brain worked like a high-resolution camera. It took snapshots of whatever she saw, logging them into her memory for retrieval whenever she concentrated on an event or a person. Part of her assignment was to get as many images logged in what she liked to think of as her “filing cabinet” so they could compare the images with anyone interested in buying illegal arms, like known terrorists or anyone with a felony background, after the ball.
“Give me a few more minutes. The wait staff keeps streaming in and out. Kind of hard to get a read on if I’ve seen them all.”
“Try thinking of the room as a clock.” Luke held her close, one hand warm against her bare back where the dress dipped dangerously low. He nodded to the left. “Nine o’clock is there. Work slowly. Clockwise until you’ve covered the room. We’re not expecting you to capture everyone. Just relax and do what you do.”
Taking a deep breath, she followed his suggestion. Slowly, she worked the room as if she were looking for someone special. She didn’t try to focus on anyone in particular, just let her eyes and mind take the mental photos of anyone in the room—partygoers and wait staff alike. Her mind also captured the room layout and significant landmarks like the stage, bars and catering tables. She’d seen the blueprints of the room and table plans before the op, so the room felt familiar to her, as if she’d already been here before. Though a pencil sketch couldn’t compare to her mental 3-D images.
As she scanned the room, the occasional dignitary she’d previously studied before tonight stood out. The gala was part of the Stand Together movement to celebrate women’s achievements, so it wasn’t surprising to see so many of the powerful females in one place, such as the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and her spouse. General Margaret Mitchum & Dr. Donald Smythe had entered and were currently speaking to Secretary of the Navy, Dr. Henrietta M. Hatcher, and Vice Commandant of the Coast Guard Academy, Vice Admiral Petra Neunswanger. Between the military officials and a few cabinet members, such as Secretary of the Treasury, Ms. Madeline Arrsworthy, who currently stood in the section of the room at three o’clock talking with the Minority Whip, Alan Trammelstone, the new administration was heavily female in design.
Just as Abigail finished her sweep of the room a click sounded in her ear.
“Heads up. Our man’s car just arrived,” Jake said.
A shiver ran through Abigail. She sucked in a breath, then slowly let it out.
Luke pulled her in tight once more, leaning in to whisper in her free ear. “You can do this, sweetheart.”
“First, I have to get him to notice me,” she said, her natural insecurity sneaking forward once more.
Luke leaned back and slowly slid his gaze over her, warming her from head to toe with wolfish male appreciation. “Even if he weren’t looking to get his hooks into the ward of Senator Strickland, trust me, you’ll have his attention. Hell, probably every man in the
room is drooling over you.”
Despite his belief in her abilities to not only dazzle their mark but follow through in her mission, she knew that beneath all this glitzy makeup, chic hairdo and uber-sexy dress was the same desk accountant she’d been before the day Luke found her standing in a bloody crime scene. Now she was here, in her first undercover assignment, and those self-doubts bubbled up from deep inside.
“Look at me, Abby,” Luke said, all teasing gone from his voice, his hazel-colored eyes focused on her with steely strength and confidence. “All you have to do is dance one dance with him, slip the mic in place and come back to my side. Nothing else is going to happen.”
* * * * *
The entourage stepped inside the ballroom. Two men moved out to flank the doors. Bodyguards. Behind them came a tall man dressed in a black tux, complete with white shirt, black cummerbund and tie. His dark hair was slicked back in a Euro-chic style and his dark tan spoke of days lying about on a yacht just off the shore of some tropical or Mediterranean island. Adrian Bricker. Billionaire entrepreneur.
Luke disliked him on sheer principle.
“Man likes to make an entrance,” Castello mumbled in his ear.
“He’s easy on the eyes,” Abby whispered beside him.
Luke turned to see her staring at the man like half the women in the room. Now, he really hated the guy.
“Remember, you have one job to do,” he muttered, pulling her in close, the sudden urge to take her out of the ball and show her that he was the only man she should ever look at like that filling him. “One dance with the man. That’s all.”
She turned to stare into his eyes with her green ones, a soft smile on her lips as she stroked her hand down the side of his face. “Don’t worry. Tall, sexy, devastatingly handsome billionaire-arms-merchants-who-kill-millions-with-their-greedy-deals aren’t my cup of tea, big boy.” She pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss, then pulled back and winked at him. “I like my arrogant men more on the good-guys side of things.”
That got them several chuckles from the team in their ears.
“Just remember who brought you to the dance, sweetheart,” he said, letting the warmth of her gaze ease some of the tension in his chest.
“The limo driver?” Her eyes sparkled with mirth as she teased him.
He laughed.
“Holy shit. Would you look at the guy’s eye candy,” one of the undercover agent/waiters murmured.
Turning back to the entrance, Luke focused once more on Bricker. Then his gut knotted.
On their target’s arm was his worst nightmare.
Zoe.
Tall—not as tall as Abby, but tall for a woman—her usually blonde hair was dyed a dark ebony and cut into some sort of spiky ’do. She was dressed in a skintight, sparkling dress that cut so low in front, one good turn and all her assets would be visible to anyone paying attention. And everyone was paying attention.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“What?” Abby asked next to him.
“Trouble,” was all he managed to get out from between clenched teeth. And the woman on Bricker’s arm was trouble with a capital T. “We’re going to have to nix this op.”
Protests hit him immediately from all directions.
“Are you crazy, Edgars?”
“What the hell for?”
“Kid, this is our only chance,” Castello said.
“Who is she?” Abby said, cutting right to the core question.
“Someone from my past.” He felt Abby staring at him, her beautiful mind full of questions, but he couldn’t answer them now. His attention was locked onto the couple across the way from him and how screwed up his simple op had just become. Dammit. How the hell was he going to get close to Bricker with Zoe here? They hadn’t seen each other in nearly ten years, but there was no way she wouldn’t blow his cover.
“We can’t stop the operation, Luke,” Jake sounded in his ear. “Castello’s right. This might be our only chance to stop the sale and shipment of the SAMS. We need to identify Bricker’s contact. We can’t let those missiles get away. If we do—”
“Yeah, I know. They could take down airplanes like it was duck season.”
Maybe Zoe wouldn’t want her new beau to know who he was. She liked to keep secrets. Always had. One of the reasons he’d never really trusted her. Was the mission worth the risk? Hell yes. He and Abby had been tracing the money behind the sales of illegal arms for months. To get a fix on the groups wanting this kind of firepower was worth the risk.
Perhaps if he got Zoe alone a moment on the dance floor, he could convince her not to give up his identity—get her to cooperate. Yeah, like Zoe had ever cooperated with anyone about anything. But he had to take the chance.
“Okay, here’s what we do,” he said, drawing Abby into his arms once more in a slow sway to the music, so anyone close by would think he was whispering sexy words into her ear. “A slight change in the plans. We’ll circle in on them as a couple. Abby will still get Bricker’s attention. I’ll take the woman.”
He edged Abby forward into the room, dodging groups of people dancing or standing around, mingling over drinks. “Any chance we can get them out of this crowd? Maybe his contact will follow them and we can take them both out.”
“Out the exit to the left are two ballrooms,” Jake said in his ear, checking the hotel’s layout. “The Michelangelo room and the Renaissance room. Out the exit to the right is the Titan, Caravaggio and Raphael rooms. The Michelangelo is the smaller one, being used as an extra coat-check room.”
“The Caravaggio room is no good,” Abby said. “It’s full of press people.”
“She’s right,” Castello said. “Last thing you want is some damn photographer filming this meet.”
Luke swallowed a laugh. Castello hated photographers and news reporters. He’d spent too many years escorting witnesses and fugitives into courthouses, trying to dodge the media. He’d once told Luke and his brothers that instead of dumping all the lawyers into the deepest part of the ocean, someone should dump the photographers there. With the invention of smartphones, if Castello had his way, half the world’s population would be treading water in the Atlantic.
“Besides, the Michelangelo has two exits. Quick way to get them out and down the hall away from the crowd in this room,” Abby said.
“Okay, we’ll try to maneuver the pair towards the Michelangelo room. I need a few minutes alone with the woman. If she blows my cover, we’ll need to get Bricker into custody and out of here.”
“If she doesn’t?” Castello asked.
“We proceed as planned. Abby bugs the man and we wait for him to make his meet with the supplier. We use that to help us get those weapons back before Bricker can take possession and sell them to the highest bidder.”
Abby shifted in his arms, so she faced his open ear away from his earbud. “Tell me about her.”
“I can’t. It’s too complicated,” he whispered for only her to hear as he stared into her green eyes.
“I need to know who she is and what she might do to compromise this op tonight. You’ve been with a lot of women, I know.”
“Trust me, she was never one of my women.”
“Let’s not let this one blindside our job tonight, Luke.”
Honesty filled her voice, but the undercurrent of hurt was there, too. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt Abby. She was right, there were a lot of women in his past. That was all they were now. In his past. Since she’d come back into his life, there was no other woman who interested him—or ever would.
With her pressed so close to him, the diamond ring in his trouser pocket dug into his thigh, reminding him he’d had much different plans for the night. Hell, he’d even reserved a room in the hotel for them once their little mission of bugging Bricker had been completed.
“I promise to tell you all about her when we’re done here, sweetheart.” He shifted again so his mouth was next to Abby’s earbud. “Castello?”
“Alre
ady headed towards the exit nearest Michelangelo, rookie,” the older man said. “I’ll be checking out the little shrimp crackers on the buffet.”
“Jake, I’ll need two men to run interference on the bodyguards if we have to take Bricker out tonight.”
“Smith and Jones,” Jake named the two FBI special agents he had working as waiters. “They’re yours.”
Both men acknowledged the change in their assignments.
“Let’s get this on the move then,” Luke said and released his hold on Abby. Just as she turned to walk by his side, she caught the edge of a tray carried by one of the hotel wait staff.
The guy managed to capture it, but not before some of it splashed up and onto the cuff of Luke’s white dress shirt. Cursing, the man glared at Abby as wine poured down his own hand and arm.
“Oh, my gosh!” she said, trying to help the man catch the tray before the toppled glasses crashed to the floor.
Luke pulled Abby away. “Sorry,” he said to the man, trying to laugh it off before it became a bigger scene. “She’s already had one too many.”
“Yeah, might want to watch her,” the guy growled as he turned and left the ballroom.
Luke watched him a moment. This guy wasn’t a usual waiter. Given his build, he’d think military training. Probably extra security brought on for the night. Problem was, besides the guys helping them with their operation, other agencies had people on board to prevent anyone getting too close to the dignitaries tonight, even a few contract security people were roaming around.
Even so, something about the guy had the hairs on Luke’s neck itching.
He wasn’t the only one watching the man’s retreat. Abby was, too. More importantly, she had that look on her face. The one that said she was flipping through the images in her brain to place where she’d possibly seen the man before, and under what circumstances.
Before he could ask her about what had her spooked, a gruff throat-clearing from Castello sounded in his ear.
