by Cat Johnson
“I happen to have a weapons room right here in the office. We’ll pick you out a nice small pistol to fit beneath your pants leg.”
Glancing down I eyed the leg of my pants now. When I’d been fitted for my newest purchase of custom-made suits in Italy, the tailor hadn’t taken into account room for a leg holster and gun.
Zane continued, “Luckily for me you’re compulsive about keeping your paperwork in order. I know you have a full carry permit valid in New York State.”
I didn’t even want to ask exactly how Zane knew all that. Was it a matter of public record or was he hacking into the national gun registry? I didn’t know but at this point I believed anything was possible.
But maybe having a weapon in the Hamptons with me wouldn’t be such a horrible thing, given I’d be alone on the inside guarding this Russian guy who Zane claimed had a target on his back.
I sighed and gave in to the fact that he knew more about this shit than I did. “Okay.”
When I glanced up, Zane’s smile was visibly victorious. I hated when he looked like that. It meant he’d gotten his way, even though I sure as hell hadn’t wanted him to. Not in this case anyway.
Me, spying for GAPS, the company full of Navy SEALs and God only knew who else. It was insane. And I felt completely powerless to do anything about it.
But how could I say no? What if I was wrong about my theory and this guy’s life really was in danger. If I backed out and something did happen—
Given the current tense climate of international relations, I could only imagine what would happen if the richest man in Russia was assassinated while in New York.
It could lead to World War III. The scenario was enough to make me think that maybe I should take some of my money and build a bunker.
So fine. I’d do it. I’d do exactly what Zane wanted. Still, I felt like I needed to have some control over this situation. Especially now since I’d be carrying a borrowed gun, making it feel as if my life could be in danger as well as Mordashov’s.
I drew in a breath. “I’ll do this for you, but I want to know who the client is.”
Zane shook his head. “No can do.”
I scowled even though I’d been expecting him to say that. I scrambled to regain some semblance of control over my own life.
“Fine. But I’m paying for my own damn ticket. And I’ll be taking the allowed tax deduction for the charitable contribution.”
Zane laughed. “All right. If that’ll make you happy, go for it.” He stood and moved to a cabinet against one wall. “Now, let’s get you set up with communications.”
That settled, I felt moderately better, as the little boy who lived inside me and loved his tech toys wondered what sort of Super SEAL, hi-tech communications device I’d be getting.
FIVE
“Brent, you copy? Can you hear me?” Zane’s questions came through the minuscule device surprisingly well.
I stuck my finger in my ear canal and adjusted the position of the communicator Zane had given me. “Loud and clear.”
Wait. Was it too loud? If someone were standing near me, would they be able to hear him too? I wasn’t certain and I had no one with me I could ask.
I’d just have to be careful and not get too close to anyone inside the party.
Moving on, I had to get prepared for this assignment. “So what’s my code name?” I asked him.
“You don’t need a code name.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t have one,” I grumbled.
“Fine. You can have a code name. What do you want it to be?”
I thought for a moment before coming up blank. “I don’t know. You have any ideas?”
“No.” Zane was not only no fun, he was being no help.
I sighed and glanced around Uncle Bunky’s Bridgehampton cottage, looking for inspiration.
I was surrounded by a lifetime of his prized mementos. A handwritten copy of the Hearst family tree. Photos of my great grandfather. And the strangest artifact of all—the sled named Rosebud, an exact replica of the one from the movie Citizen Kane.
The place was as interesting as the man himself . . . and that was saying something. He’d been wheelchair-bound for decades but he still loved this ocean front cottage, even though it was modest by Hampton standards.
My gaze remained on the sled and I said, “I’ll be Rosebud.”
“Rosebud? What the fuck?”
“You know. Orson Welles. Citizen Kane. Rosebud.”
“You’re weird.”
“I’m too rich to be weird. If anything, I’m eccentric.” I walked to the window and took in the view of the clear blue sky that met the Atlantic Ocean on the horizon.
If Zane thought I was eccentric, he should meet some of the others in my family. But I had to admit my Uncle Bunky got it right when he chose this spot. It was a hell of a view.
“Whatever, Rosebud. Are we done now? This was supposed to be a simple comms test. It should have taken like five seconds.”
Maybe in the SEALs it would have. Zane needed to remember whom he was working with here.
I snorted. “Hey, you get what you pay for.”
Why was he in such a hurry anyway? We didn’t have to rush. The charity event didn’t start for an hour.
If everything was running according to the schedule Zane had gone over with me, the Russian’s private plane had just touched down. The GAPS guy who’d replaced the regular driver should be meeting him now.
I’d already decided that was going to be Alexey Mordashov’s code name tonight—the Russian.
His real name was too much of a tongue twister to be using it on the radio. Or rather the comm as Zane kept calling the little flesh colored piece of plastic shoved deep in my ear.
“And to answer your question, no, we’re not done,” I said.
I heard him sigh. “What else?”
“What do I call you?” I asked.
“Base. If you need to call me anything, just call me Base,” Zane spat out.
He was probably afraid I’d come up with a name for him too. Though the big bad SEAL should have a kickass code name already from his years in the teams, I would think. They usually did in the movies and on TV.
But if that’s what he wanted, Base it would be. I could work with that.
“All right. And where are you, Base?”
“I’m parked. I’ve got eyes on the location.”
“You mean the house where the party’s being held?”
“Yes.”
Was he crazy? He might know guns and comms, but I knew the Hamptons and the people who lived here, and they were very territorial when it came to their privacy.
“You’d better watch out. They’re pretty strict about people parking around there,” I warned.
Zane snorted. “Yeah, I know. The rich folks don’t want any riff raff enjoying their beach.”
“Hey, kill the attitude. The Alexanders aren’t exactly middle class, you know,” I pointed out.
“Don’t remind me. But anyway, I should be fine parked here. I’m in a landscaping truck.”
My eyes widened at the information. “That’s brilliant.”
There were so many lawn guys in these neighborhoods, working sun up to sun down seven days a week to keep up with the demand of the sweeping lawns that needed tending in summer, no one would look twice at the truck.
“Thank you. About time you appreciated my brilliance,” he said.
“Don’t push it.” I could make witty banter all afternoon, but the reality of my impending assignment was beginning to descend upon me.
I felt the gun strapped to my leg.
Would I be able to actually use it if I needed to? Could I really shoot a person?
I turned back toward the room, suddenly dry mouthed, and grabbed the bottle of water I’d left on the table. I swallowed, the tightness in my throat making it difficult.
“Are you armed?” I asked. I needed confirmation I wasn’t alone in this thing. Yes, the driver would be right o
utside, but I didn’t know him. I knew Zane.
“Yes,” he replied.
“But you don’t think we’re going to need them though, right? The guns.”
“It’s just for insurance,” he confirmed.
“Okay.” I nodded even though he couldn’t see the motion and drew in a breath to try to steady my pounding heart.
I was seriously getting nervous. I’d tried to joke my way through this assignment I’d fallen into but this was serious shit. If Zane were telling the truth, I was there to protect a man’s life. I was the last line of defense between him and death.
Holy fuck. I wasn’t prepared for this.
“Brent.”
“Yeah?”
“Get out of your own head before you psych yourself out.”
How did he know?
“You sure you want me to do this?” I asked.
“Do what? Attend a party? Mingle? Smile pretty for the pictures and report back to me? Yeah. I’m sure. You can do this.”
It sounded so simple when he said it like that. Like it was just another charity event.
I’d attended hundreds of those in my lifetime. One was pretty much just like another, except this time I happened to have a hi-tech communicator in my ear and a freaking gun strapped to my calf.
Not to mention a former member of SEAL Team Six staking out the party from a landscaping truck while another member of his team played chauffeur to a Russian billionaire.
Yup. Tonight was just like any other event.
Sure.
SIX
I left my Land Rover running and slid out of the driver’s seat as the valet handed me a claim ticket.
For the first time in my life, I took a good look at the guy about to park my vehicle. I really studied him, wondering if he was who he appeared to be.
Had he too been planted here by some organization?
And what if he had been? Another concern bombarded me. Was he a good guy or a bad guy? Security or spy?
I swept my gaze down his body and wondered if there was a communicator in his ear or a gun hidden somewhere on him.
Since I didn’t know if I could actually use the weapon on me in an emergency, my newest theory about the valet was particularly disturbing.
Zane was right. I needed to get out of my own head. My overactive imagination was spitting out ideas faster than editors at a pitch meeting. I was psyching myself out just when I had to remain cool, calm and collected.
The valet was probably exactly who he appeared to be, a fresh-faced kid looking to make some cash over his summer break from college by parking cars in the Hamptons . . . and I needed to start acting like who I actually was—Brent Hearst supporting a good cause while enjoying the beach for the weekend.
It shouldn’t be hard.
It shouldn’t be, but it was.
I waited for the valet to pull away in my vehicle and crossed the driveway toward the home’s entrance.
There was a small, tasteful table set up in front for the volunteers to check people into the party.
I stepped up to the two women and forced a smile I could only hope looked natural.
“Brent Hearst. I was a last minute addition to the guest list. I believe there’s a ticket being held here in my name. And I still need to pay.” I slid the envelope containing a corporate check out of the inside breast pocket of my navy blue jacket.
Luckily the party wasn’t formal, so a tuxedo wasn’t required—just a leg holster.
“Welcome, Mr. Hearst. We have your ticket right here.” The older of the two women treated me to a smile as she took my payment.
She should be happy to see me. There was ten thousand dollars in that envelope the organization didn’t have a minute ago.
“Alexandra, Mr. Hearst’s ticket is in the box.”
As the younger woman looked for the envelope with my name on it in the box I took a second look at her. Not because I suspected her as I had the valet, but because she and her fresh faced, girl-next-door good looks was well worth spending some time looking at.
The pretty twenty-something volunteer was almost enough to make me forget my real reason for being here.
Almost . . .
“Mr. Hearst.” She held out the ticket she’d located with a brilliant smile.
I forced myself to smile back. “Thank you, Alexandra.”
She nodded her acceptance of my thanks as her green gaze met mine. “The silent auction is set up on the front porch if you’d like to take a look.”
“Thank you. Anything good I should bid on?” I asked.
No, I wasn’t flirting.
Okay, maybe I was flirting a little bit, but the real reason I was stalling was because I knew the Russian’s car hadn’t arrived yet. I thought it would be better if I were outside when it did. That way he’d go right from the driver’s protection to mine—God help us both.
Not that I was planning to do anything to protect him except keep an eye on him and call for backup if anything looked off. But if Zane thought that was enough, I couldn’t argue.
“That depends on what interests you,” the young brunette said, drawing me away from my racing thoughts and back to a much more pleasant subject—her.
She was all business as she spoke. I didn’t know if she was being on her best behavior because of the presence of the older woman seated next to her, or because I wasn’t as charming as I thought.
“The week in Aspen looks incredible,” the other woman chimed in.
“Thank you. I’ll check it out.” Running out of things to say, which was unlike me, I glanced over my shoulder, looking for the Russian’s arrival.
Where was that damn town car? Zane’s man needed to drive faster.
There must be traffic. It wouldn’t be a surprise. A sunny summer weekend meant guaranteed traffic on Long Island.
As my mind raced I noticed Alexandra watching me with interest. And not the kind of interest a man wanted from a hot woman. More like she was wondering what I was doing hanging around the check-in table in the driveway when there was no doubt incredible food and drinks being served just yards away.
I scrambled for an excuse.
Leaning lower, I feigned confiding in her as I whispered none too quietly, “I hate attending these things alone.”
It wasn’t true. I usually knew most of the guests and enjoyed networking with those I didn’t know, but she didn’t know that.
She lifted one well-shaped dark brow. “It’s for a good cause.”
I felt the censure. I needed to move on. “Yes. You’re right.”
I straightened and glanced behind me at the drive again—and let out a breath of relief as a black sedan pulled up.
Hoping against hope it was the Russian, I held my breath as the driver’s door opened and a man much too muscular to look like he sat on his ass behind the wheel all day got out.
That had to be Zane’s guy. The driver glanced quickly in my direction then moved to the passenger door, swinging it open.
The man I recognized as the Russian from the pictures Zane had showed me stepped out. The driver slammed the door behind him then got back behind the wheel.
He pulled away, hopefully to park somewhere nearby since he was my backup.
The Russian moved toward the table, and that was my cue to make myself scarce. I wanted to keep an eye on the guy, but I certainly didn’t want to talk to him. He might ask me a question I wasn’t prepared to answer.
My nerves were about to get the best of me already, without making direct contact with the mark or the target or whatever the hell term I should be using for the Russian. Zane hadn’t briefed me on that detail.
I wondered what else we’d forgotten to go over as I glanced back at Alexandra. “Guess I’ll be getting inside.”
As her focus remained honed in on my face, she said, “Enjoy.”
“I’ll try.” I nodded then moved past her.
I climbed the stairs onto the covered porch and walked around toward the side of the house, f
ollowing the sound of the party.
The porch overlooked the gardens of the gorgeous home. I remained on the corner. There I’d be able to see the Russian as he followed the path I’d taken, and I could report in to Zane before I was surrounded by guests and had to socialize.
“Base. I’m in,” I said softly, hoping Zane would hear.
“Good. Now stop talking to me before someone sees you.”
He was right. I would look like a crazy person speaking to no one.
I caught myself touching my ear, afraid the communicator had worked its way out as I walked and become visible. I forced my hand down even as I worried that it might fall out and I’d lose my only connection to Zane.
“Okay,” I said, the need to talk to him strong in spite of his warning.
“Go get yourself a drink and calm the fuck down, Rosebud.” Zane stressed my name, which did sound ridiculous now in the midst of this thing.
“Fuck off,” I said.
I heard him laugh but couldn’t worry about him more because the Russian was now on the porch as well and heading my way.
A drink sounded good. Not just to calm my nerves but because I’d already spotted the bar and it would be a good place to observe the Russian and the other guests.
No one would question the authenticity of my standing there waiting to get a drink.
As I marveled at how even the most routine, mundane actions seemed beyond me now that I had a subversive reason for being here, I strode toward the bar.
I had a new appreciation for how Zane had survived all those years in the SEALs, keeping his cool under fire when I couldn’t seem to keep mine at a cocktail party.
“Enjoying yourself yet, Mr. Hearst?”
I turned at the question to find Alexandra beside me. “Working on it. And please, call me Brent. Are you off duty for the night?”
“Not quite. I’ve been sent on an errand.”
“Ah.” I nodded, wishing I were here to enjoy myself because I would definitely enjoy getting to know the lovely Alexandra under other circumstances.
“And what if I were off duty for the night?” She let the question hang suggestively in the air.
