Sophia felt left out. She should be relieved that someone else was going to fill in for her as a target, but somehow she wasn’t so sure Azzam would buy into that. And then he’d come looking for her and who would be there to watch her?
“What about me? What do I do? Am I to be left on my own unprotected while this trap is being placed? What if this guy figures it out and comes for me?”
“Good questions,” Chauncey said. He surprised her with a smile. “I won’t be taking my eyes off you, as I mentioned before. You’ll be at the party, in disguise and well protected. Like last night. Only this time, we’ll be luring the man in, so there may be more action. Are you ready for that?” He looked at her as if she had an option and she wondered what that might be.
David spoke up. “We could relocate you to a distant safe house, Pixie, where you’ll be far removed from the action and the danger and under expert protection.” But that protection wouldn’t include the personal guarantee of her man Chauncey. And she’d be totally in the dark about what was going on. Surprising herself, she found she preferred to be near the action. The spurt of fear-induced adrenaline kicked in and made her voice a squeak.
“That’s all right. I’d rather stick close and know what’s going on.”
David mumbled something like, “That’s what I was afraid of.”
She looked up at Chauncey and he gave her a wink, but no smile. She thought she felt a miniscule squeeze of his hand on her shoulder, but it could have been her squirming with her newfound anxiety. The die was cast. Her dreams of excitement were now playing in real life in vivid color. Only they had nothing to do with being a glamorous decorating star or seduced by Italian movie actors. She glanced back up at Chauncey as he and the others fine-tuned the plans. She’d have to settle for a James Bond wannabe. He didn’t have David’s urbane presence, or the sharp-witted sense of humor of a Bond type, but he seemed to be dramatically noble. Maybe he took himself a bit too seriously. Maybe that’s why she constantly felt compelled to take him down a peg or two. Then she remembered her utter failure in that regard and sighed.
She’d keep trying.
Tuning back in to the discussion, she wondered about Chauncey’s father and who the leak could possibly be.
The governor spoke. “Call your father on his official line from my phone here. Since we’re setting up a sting and he’s family, identify yourself—don’t use a code name for when you return to London.” The governor looked at Sophia with a nod. “And give him the number for my private line. That ought to make it seem legitimate enough. Let him know you’re staying for a while and waiting it out to see what happens. I hope he doesn’t mind being used, but I don’t think we can tell him that without tipping someone off. We need to assume that the official phone lines at the Yard are compromised.”
“He may or may not deduce what’s going on,” Chauncey said. “He’s no reason to worry about my absence, given my profession. I’ll use his private line so there’s no doubt. He’ll make sure the test information gets to every department where a test needs to be made for leakage.”
She read between the lines that Chauncey didn’t talk to his father on a regular basis.
“You don’t think Azzam will have his private line covered?” David asked. “He’ll be monitoring your father. If he’s done his homework—and there’s no doubt he has at this point—then he knows who your father is.” David and her man exchanged one of those meaningful glances and she wondered again exactly how important the elder Miller was?
“We have a secure means of communication. Let’s leave it at that.”
The governor was about to speak again. She could tell he was used to being in charge and he also seemed to know what he was talking about. But Pixie admitted that impression could be all wrong because she had no clue. Chauncey cut him off.
“David, you contact the Chief of the Counterterrorism Command who arranged my transfer and tell them to set up a background for your new cover name to be in place before my return. Let them think that my return may be imminent. That’ll be another test.” Chauncey was back in charge.
David checked his watch. “Time to get to HQ. I’ll fill in Dan and make that call to get your new identity set up. I’m sure the media will be snooping about the shooting at Sophia’s show this morning. You have a disguise for her?”
Chauncey smiled. “I have an entire persona at the ready. It should fit perfectly.”
She was about to ask him to spill the details. Curiosity always won out over discretion. Maybe she wouldn’t be suited for this undercover spy stuff now that she thought of it. But Chauncey saved her from asking any embarrassingly curious questions with a directive.
“Let’s go, Sophia. We have to get you ready. And I need to ready myself for the press conference. Naturally you’ll be coming along since I can’t trust your safety by leaving you on your own.” He reached out his hand and lifted her from her settee. They said their good-byes until later and the meeting seemed to be adjourned.
She was about to speak again as they walked through the hall to the stairs, but he shushed her and took her hand, dragging her along as he took two stairs at a time. My, but he seemed anxious. What exactly did he have in mind anyway?
He dragged her into her room—or the room she’d stayed in the night before. She couldn’t exactly claim it as hers—yet. He slammed the door behind her and turned to her looking distraught.
“I owe you more than a mere apology, I’m afraid, but I am deeply sorry that your life has been so thrown off the rails. Whatever life you had going on before yesterday must be forgotten. At least for the foreseeable future. And I understand, based on this morning’s filming, that you definitely had something to lose. I’m sorry.” He stopped. His hands pushed through his hair. He watched her for her response.
She didn’t know what to say or think. This was totally unexpected. She fully expected to be berated for disobeying him and running away this morning, putting people in danger—such as herself. She melted.
“Oh. I know it couldn’t be helped. Who would have predicted? I promise—from now on I’ll be more mindful of the danger. My design show is hardly as important as, say, capturing a terrorist.” Or staying alive. She smiled at him and didn’t feel at all like herself. Why wasn’t she bullying him with sarcasm while she had him on the ropes and feeling vulnerable? She remembered herself and dropped the smile.
He nodded and a spark of something lit his eyes. Although it didn’t exactly translate into a smile or acknowledgement of interest or even hint of a flirtation. She felt the kick in her veins as if he’d touched her and branded her his. Where were these wild thoughts and feelings coming from? She needed to get a grip.
“I’m glad you feel that way. For my part, I promise you I will protect you. I put you in danger in the first place and I should know better. I should have been more cautious.” He had a moment where he looked uncomfortable, not himself at all. He pushed his fingers through his hair again. It was long and thick and wavy. Beautiful dark hair.
“Time for the disguise. Call Grace and have her bring you some things. Got some paper and a pen? Make a list.” He began pacing in a circle around her room.
She got a paper and pen. More because she couldn’t wait to hear what outrageous things he would come up with than because she was following his orders, of course.
“Dark hair dye, lots of makeup, hair pins, glasses, dark pants suit, flat-heeled shoes or—let’s make it boots—flat or work-type boots. And a loose sweater.” He spun on his heel after his third turn around and looked at her. “That should do it. Any problems?” He looked like he couldn’t wait to hear her problem. His chin was raised in a challenge and he had that gleam she was beginnning to recognize, subtle though it was.
“Should I have a problem? I’m certainly no expert at disguises. But wouldn’t it be better if I were old or something? Really off the mark?”
He laughed in his usual abrupt way and it left a dimple on his otherwise strained face.
/> “No. Your cover is that you’re an administrative wonk. Always in the background helping and along for the ride. An assistant of sorts—a secretary.”
“You mean executive assistant, don’t you?”
“Sure,” he said, smirking.
There was a knock on their door. He strode quickly over and flung it open.
Joe stood there holding a pile of clothing in his arms. “Here’s some things. You need to be ready within forty-five minutes so we can be there for the press conference close to the regularly scheduled time. The chief can stall them if you arrive a few minutes late. But that’s all the time we can buy. We need to move.” Joe finished, handed his bundle to Chauncey, and flicked her a gaze. An expressionless gaze.
“On it. Thanks,” Chauncey told him. Joe nodded and left.
“Grace will never be able to get me these things in time for the press conference—especially the hair dye. That takes at least ninety minutes to do—not that I would necessarily know from experience,” she added and squinted her eyes at him in a challenge.
“Right. Scratch the request for Grace’s help. Ask Mrs. Governor to help you out. See if she can come up with anything close to what we need.”
“I don’t know…where she is. She might be busy…”
There was another knock at the door, which had been left open by Joe. They both turned to find Madeline, also known as Mrs. Governor, standing there.
“Do you have this place bugged?” Sophia blurted out before thinking. Then she turned pink.
Lucky for her, the woman laughed. “No, but if it were up to my husband, he might try it. That’s why he married me. To help keep him from doing crazy things like that. Actually, Peter thought you’d need some help with your wardrobe?”
Chauncey gave Mrs. Governor the rundown on the look they were going for—nerdy office wonk. She graciously acquiesced.
“I’ll see what I can do, but it’s an ambitious plan to turn Pixie into an invisible assistant type.” The elegant woman, whom no one would dare turn into a wonk of any kind, nodded in her direction as she walked out and closed the bedroom door behind her.
“Don’t you think you should go to your own room and dress?” She asked him as he began pulling the shirt over his head. She felt the pink rise through her body like she was a human thermometer. She was fairly certain it wasn’t because of embarrassment. The guy was in shape. His abs rippled as his arms stretched over his head. She turned away.
“No time.” His predictable words were muffled.
She eyed the door to the bathroom and thought of retreating there, but it felt too much like cowardice. So she steeled herself for the onslaught of perfect-male-body-induced hormones and sat on the bed with her arms folded, her chin up and her eyes staring.
After tossing his shirt aside, he began unbuttoning his pants. He looked up in the middle of pulling down his zipper and gave her a smile. He’d known she was watching him all along, of course.
“Don’t you think you ought to close the door before you’re naked?” she hoped that would cool him off. Or maybe it would cool her off. One of them needed a verbal spray with a hose.
“Why don’t you be a love and get the door for me?” He didn’t flinch with embarrassment, drat it, and his voice had that intimate quality he could conjure up that went over and above the mere words of endearment.
“Certainly,” she said crisply. She popped off the bed, trying not to look hurried, and sauntered over to the door to swing it closed. She was looking at him and not the door and expected the thud of closure, but what she heard instead was a squelched expletive.
She turned and the door flew back open. Mrs. Governor stood on the threshold. At the same time she heard Chauncey’s pants hit the floor with the thud of his belt.
“Oh, I see I’m intruding,” Madeline said, although she didn’t blush or look embarrassed in the least. She looked like she was enjoying the view.
“No, you’re just in time,” Sophia said in a rush to say something. Ill advised.
“Oh? Yes, here are your clothes. I did the best I could on the size. They may be a little roomy, but I’m sure you’ll make do.” Mrs. Governor looked her up and down and smiled. Then she turned on her heel and left. “Good luck,” she called out to whomever needed it, without looking back.
Sophia held the clothes in her arms or she would have folded those arms in self-defense when she felt Chauncey close behind her. She felt the air burn with his heat and the scent of his maleness take over her space. She stiffened her spine against the onslaught, but her eyelids fluttered almost closed. She didn’t jump when he placed his warm hands on her shoulders and turned her around.
He was so tall, she stretched her chin upwards to look into his eyes, expecting his mock of the male conquerer look, but what she saw took her breath away. He looked serious and concerned.
“We have to lay out some ground rules between you and me. We haven’t had the luxury of time to think or talk since we made each other’s acquaintance.” He took a deep breath and she stared. “I will protect you with my life. I wouldn’t wish this situation on anyone, but I’m not going to ignore my duty and obligation. I’m good at what I do, if that’s reassurance at all to you.” He paused for a small smile. “But I require absolute and complete obedience from you. At all times. Think of yourself as my slave if you would. My wish is your command. You must trust me with your life. You must therefore trust to do everything I ask. No matter what. No questions asked.” He stopped and she felt him press ever slightly closer, caressing her shoulders ever slightly more tightly.
She gulped. “Are you serious?”
“I realize this is difficult for you. I’ve come to know you well enough to know that this goes against every grain in your body. That’s why I’m taking the time to impress upon you the importance and need for your obedience. For your complete subjugation…”
“All right already—stop saying that. And I’m not your slave. I have feelings, you know. I’m an independent woman. I…”
“I respect that about you. More than you realize.”
“Really? Well how about showing me some of that so I can realize it more.” She wrestled herself from his grasp and backed up. “And no more of these macho plays on my feminine sympathies either. Hands off when you start making crazy demands. How’s that for a rule?” She glared at him and realized this was a brilliant suggestion.
“Okay. You’re right. I can do that. I realize you’re not cut out to be a ‘Bond girl’ as you put it.” He smiled and returned to his dressing. “As long as you respect my intent and expertise in the matter of saving our skins, and defer to them, we should be fine.” He pulled on a natty wool jacket with suede patches on the elbows.
She decided, for once, not to rise to his bait with the Bond girl crack. She was okay with not being a Bond girl type, after all, wasn’t she?
“In other words, no more stunts like you pulled this morning. No running off against orders, especially unattended. Understood?”
“Capisce.” She took her pile of clothes and headed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
He walked through a door and into a room sparsely filled with a smattering of men and women, some very young, and a couple of very old men. A dazzling showing of the press corps for the governor on a Friday afternoon. He scanned their faces and committed them to memory. Chauncey was certain that none of them was Azzam in disguise. He had now developed a sixth sense for the man’s presence, however belatedly. Keeping his features passive, he walked into the room and took his place in a line of people behind the police chief and David Young, the man in charge of the Scotland Yard Exchange Program here in Boston. He was also the only Scotland Yard man he knew he could trust at this moment—besides his father. He felt the race of adrenaline start in his veins at the very thought of a traitor inside his ranks.
He felt his Pixie move in behind him, as ordered. That thought almost made the inner smile show on his face.
When David Young took th
e microphone, the reporters paid attention and they all looked his way. Showtime. He droned on with some official claptrap while watching the crowd. The pre-scripted, non-informative blather about his shared anti-terrorist mission with the Boston police and other area law enforcement agencies came from the governor. David provided the line about how the agencies were all learning from each other and were enjoying more success by working together.
Cameras clicked at a rate that seemingly exceeded the speed of the latest automatic weapons from the moment Chauncey was introduced. Questions about the shooting ensued. Chauncey was well practiced at keeping mum and giving evasive responses. It seemed to suffice.
The crowd of press hung on his every word. Maybe it was true what they said about Americans being in love with British accents and how they believed every word if it was spoken in Brit-speak. No matter, this press conference clearly wasn’t going to flush out Azzam. They’d have to hope for better at the reception later.
David ended the scintillating media event with his announcement, “You’re all invited to the welcome reception later this evening at the governor’s mansion. Media passes are available through the department’s PR office.”
If anyone thought it was odd that the Boston Police Department was having a reception for the new Scotland Yard guy at the governor’s mansion, they didn’t let on. Chauncey shook his head—on the inside. Americans were a puzzle.
They’d be monitoring those requests for media passes very closely indeed. But getting a bite there would be too much to hope for. Azzam was too professional for that. All they could do was hope that others from his local cell were not as savvy.
They all exited stage left, including the petite policewoman with the red wig parading around as Pixie—she was okay as long as one didn’t get a close look. The wildly colored avant-garde outfit helped. And the fact that she wasn’t introduced at all. The real Pixie stood two inches taller in her special shoes. That was a brilliant stroke on David’s part although he gave the credit to his wife Grace. She’d been trying to get Pixie to try the shoes forever and apparently this had been her opportunity.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 75
