The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

by Stephanie Queen

  David walked them into the lounge, but none of them took a seat. She followed Grace and David over to the window and looked at her wrist. No watch. Chauncey was taking forever to get there. David assured her he’d come to see them off—that he’d get inside using his official badge, but maybe he changed his mind. Oscar had already disappeared for parts unknown.

  “There’s the reprobate now,” David said as he walked in Chauncey’s direction with Grace following.

  She turned and spotted Chauncey walking through the lounge door. She took a breath of relief and her heart kicked up to racing speed at the same time. Sophia walked to him as if a magnet pulled her, slowly. While David engaged Chauncey in some kind of serious discussion, Grace pulled her into the circle and put an arm around Pixie’s shoulders. Her friend knew without being told that this departure would be tough for her.

  Chauncey avoided her eyes. You’d think they’d never shared that night in the fabulous hotel, never sat on the saddle bar stools and laughed and drank together, then fell into bed. She studied the silly heels she’d bought at Grace’s insistence. She was still a foot shorter and a world apart from her Chauncey no matter what get-up she put on. She’d have to stop thinking of him as hers. Soon. Sometime. She consoled herself with the certainty that he wouldn’t likely belong to anyone else anytime soon. She sniffled.

  Chauncey surveyed the small crowd, his eyes moving like a search beacon on the lookout for an anomaly—even in the VIP lounge. She knew this was automatic for him, but she craved his complete attention one more time, now. It felt momentous to her and she needed to feel it was momentous to him too. So far she didn’t get that vibe at all. There wasn’t going to be any teary-eyed promise to call and visit sometime. She sniffled one last time, then she threw her shoulders back, which had the double advantage of making her taller and emphasizing her number one and number two assets. Her eyes bored into his with the persistence of a power drill, forcing him to look at her.

  He turned his head and met her stare. The once-over he gave her left no doubt he appreciated her body. She felt the pink of excitement and embarassment at her transparency. But this was no time to be guarded, was it? This was their big departing scene.

  “You must be excited about your television show,” he said. The smile didn’t crinkle his eyes and he seemed distracted, still looking around. David excused himself and returned to the window with Grace. Then Chauncey reached out his hand as if he was going to muss her hair, that big brother gesture he hadn’t dared since their first day together.

  She slapped his hand down and said, “Don’t.” Her voice wavered when she meant to sound sharp. What had she come to?

  He picked his hand back up, no smile left, and caressed her cheek. This time she felt she was the only person in the room. She felt like she did that night in their room at the hotel. “I will miss you, my Pixie. But I know you will be a star in your world. I could only hope to be as successful as you…”

  “What? Are you kidding? You just rid the world of a notorious hateful evil man. James Bond would be jealous of what you’ve done in the past two weeks.” She felt anger, simultaneous with a swell of pride in her man.

  He chuckled softly and caressed her face again. “That’s what I love about you. No halfway. You throw yourself in unreservedly—once you throw yourself in.” The smile disappeared and he seemed to disappear with it. His cool reserve blanketed him again and whatever feelings he had were banked, trussed tight, strapped in and locked up.

  She tore herself away from his orbit of attraction and swore whatever pull he had wouldn’t reach her back in Boston. She’d be in another world, like he said. She said, “Yeah? Well, you know what they say.” She put her hands on her hips.

  He folded his arms and didn’t rise to her bait. She went on anyway, feeling her bravado slip. She fisted her hands and scrunched her eyes at him. “They say easy all-in, easy all-out.”

  He laughed an all-the-way laugh as she meant him to.

  “If I can throw myself in, I can surely jump out just as easily.” She didn’t know why she explained further. Maybe he’d argue her point if she shoved it at him again.

  His humor faded and he spoke softly. “I’m sure you can, butternut.”

  “That’s buttercup.” So much for him arguing her point. She was out of her element with this reverse psychology. Plus, he couldn’t even master a simple term of endearment. What kind of leading man was he anyway? The worst. She refisted her hands and turned from him.

  She walked over to where Grace and David stood pretending not to notice her exchange with Chauncey. Her heels clicked unnaturally on the tile and she concentrated on the sound to keep her mind from dwelling.

  Grace said, “Are you ready, honey?” in a meaningful whisper. She felt Chauncey step up behind her.

  He answered for her. “She still has a good-bye kiss to give.”

  The words spun her around and smack into his arms. She swore to herself he’d trapped her in his diabolically clever play, that she was no match for him and his machinations after all. She was a toy, like Silly Putty. She told herself she wouldn’t have ever actually let him do this to her unless she’d been outmaneuvered. He lowered his mouth to hers and wrapped her in a fierce embrace that closed around her like a dark night and made her feel she was instantly in a dream world. His lips and tongue assaulted her and soothed her and excited her all at once, translating his need like nothing else. She felt what he felt even if he never said a word and the thrill went through her like a bolt.

  But the shock of excitement his kiss caused was nothing compared to the shock of abandonment when he ended it and stepped back from her. She felt dizzy looking up into his put-on smile. He was back to the distant, above-the-mundane-because-his-mission-was-to-save-the-world man he was when she’d met him. She hoped his father was proud of him. Maybe Chauncey didn’t realize his father’s approval was at least as important as capturing the villains, but she knew it.

  The thought made her heart crack and her voice cracked too when she spoke. “I’ll rest easy knowing you’re on the job fighting the evildoers.” She put on a grin and turned away quickly. He laughed behind her as she walked toward the boarding counter and the door that opened to a blackened walkway. Grace hurried to catch her and clamped herself to her side. Pixie heard David telling Chauncey that he was welcome to join his Exchange Program back in Boston any time. The words whirled her insides like a hurricane. She slowed her purposeful steps and strained to hear his response. She didn’t hear him say anything and willed herself not to turn.

  Grace said, “I bet he’ll be back. I’m good at predicting these things.”

  Pixie turned toward her friend in spite of trying to hide her teary eyes and sure enough, Grace beamed with a confident smile and tightened her arm around Pixie’s shoulders. The reassuring hug worked like magic. At least on the surface. Pixie sniffled one more last time, blinked and swiped away a few tears and let herself be consoled and warmed by her friend.

  “Right now you need to be thinking about your audition filming! I’m so excited for you.” Grace bubbled on throughout the flight until Pixie had no choice but to be drawn into the excitement of fulfilling her career dream, even if the dream lacked the same luster it had only two short weeks ago.

  Chauncey watched her walk with that slight wobble from the silly, yet strangely sexy high heels. Brave as ever. If he ever was in the market for a Bond girl sidekick, he would consider no one but Pixie. Maybe if he were ever in the market for a wife and mother to his children…but no use going there. He wouldn’t saddle a family with his career. Not the way his father had. It would be beyond irresponsible.

  Saving the world from villains, as she put it, was his calling. Maybe he would visit her though.

  As he stared off at her proud back with her friend at her side, he’d hardly paid attention to what David was saying, but the man’s clap on his back jolted him back.

  Chauncey nodded and said, “I can’t hope to repay your for saving the
day. You deserve your reputation as an ace and more. I hope to someday do as well as you.”

  “You’re well on your way to exceeding me—professionally that is,” David said to him and winked as he took a glance in the direction of his lovely wife Grace.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I’ll have to satisfy myself with aiming to ace my career. No sense muddying the waters with wishes for the impossible luck you’ve had on the home front. I don’t know how you’ve managed both. But you deserve it.”

  “Yes, I do—and so do you. There’s still time for you. You’re a young buck yet. Do take me up on the offer of coming back to the program in Boston. Sooner than later.” With that David shook his hand and walked away to join his wife and Pixie.

  He must have missed something. Had David offered him the post in Boston with the Scotland Yard Exchange Program there? And what if he did? He controlled the spike in his heart rate at the thought of returning to Boston and dismissed the notion. He was wedded to the Yard here—and to caring for his father.

  Back in Westminster at Scotland Yard, Chauncey paced around the office of the Chief Inspector of the Counterterrorism Command—his boss’s office. His father, the assistant commissioner and a few others sat and watched him stride for stride. They were all waiting for the commissioner to arrive. Then he would give his report. Sir Miller had suggested it was best not to write anything down just yet and the man had a lot of sway. Chauncey had already repeated his report word for word to everyone in this room several times. Mary had been the mole, albeit under duress. He refrained from using the nickname Pixie had given her—Mary the Mole. She’d been compromised once Azzam’s men kidnapped her daughter Bonnie. In the end, Mary had stood up and given them all the information they wanted, and after backup had arrived at the warehouse, she went back to HQ with Bonnie and Mauve in tow—and their captors, thug one and thug two. He gave only a moment’s thought about what HQ would do with her. Chauncey had a feeling her career in law enforcement was behind her, though he doubted they’d prosecute her for her part considering the circumstances. Right at that moment, he knew somewhere in a room, some lucky detective was grilling Azzam’s remaining live accomplices and hired guns to make sure they had them all in hand. Chauncey swiped a hand through his hair, wishing they’d captured Azzam alive. At the same time, he felt damn glad the madman was dead, never to threaten Pixie again. His chest tightened at the thought.

  “Settle down, boy. You’re like a first year outside the headmaster’s office,” his boss said.

  Chauncey stopped and looked at the man. He considered the words but found he didn’t care. After all, he hadn’t been thinking about the commissioner at all. He’d been thinking about Pixie. Far more unsettling. She was preparing this moment for her big chance to have her own television show about decorating—apparently people watched such things in droves. He felt pride, though he had no right to. He knew she’d capture their hearts at the audition. She’d already intrigued them with her adventurous tale. According to David, she’d been the star of the press conference when they’d returned to Boston. David’s lovely wife Grace might have had something to do with that. Chauncey grinned, and although he was looking at the chief inspector of the Counterterrorism Command at Scotland Yard, his grin had nothing to do with the man.

  “Let him pace,” his father piped in. “Chauncey has every right to be pent up, after all.”

  Those words spun Chauncey around. He’d never heard his father come to anyone’s defense before. He never made excuses for anyone—ever.

  Chauncey said, “You went through a worse ordeal than I, Sir. And much to my blame, I’m afraid.” He stared at his father, who stared back with warm, if bloodshot, eyes. His father nodded and he nodded back. He realized it was his family’s equivalent of the hearty hugs he’d received from Oscar a.k.a Antonio, or David’s slap on the back, or most warmly of all, an embrace from Sophia.

  It was a mistake to allow his mind to return to thoughts of Pixie, but she was there around every corner. He resumed his pacing.

  At the town house in Charlestown with TV cameras all around, the director, a couple of grips and a production assistant, Pixie paced and tugged at the red wig she was reduced to wearing until her hair grew back. The wig felt like her scarlet letter reminding her of her London folly. Fingering her notes, she glanced at the prompter as she passed by it for the fourth time. Someone finished up dusting the table and another person finished placing her marks on the carpeting.

  She looked around the room with a detached assessment and realized the place looked gorgeous. All these people assembled were looking to her with anticipation, yet she could not feel less excited than if she were standing at a corner waiting for a bus to church on a Sunday morning.

  She took a last guilty look at Grace. Grace looked anxious, but not with excitement. Grace was concerned, because Grace knew her.

  Enough was enough. Sophia stepped out of the set area, waving off the director who opened his mouth to bark at her. She walked over to Grace, took her by the arm and led her toward the relative privacy of the entry hall.

  She said, “I’m not going to fall apart. I’m tough as nails and I have everything to be happy for, don’t I?” She stared at the wide open eyes of her best friend, who looked like she was holding her breath. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” Pixie blurted.

  “Oh, Pixie—it’s worse than I thought. You’ve been reduced to spouting horrible old-fashioned cliches.”

  She felt the heat rush up her neck to her face and her mouth fell open. “Oh…no…I’ve turned into …”

  “Yes. You’ve turned into me!”

  Pixie blinked. How could this be?

  “Into the me I was a year ago, that is.” Grace patted her on the back and led her down the hall away from the curious glances of crew members. She watched her feet move in front of her as if they belonged to someone else.

  “What now, Grace? What will I do? Should I buy him a puppy? Or maybe a kitten—I think he’s more the kitten type.” She noticed her voice was a raspy whisper. Then she hiccupped.

  Before Grace answered, the director barreled down the hall after them, catching up before they could escape into the nearest bedroom.

  “Where the hell are you going? I’ve got an 8K-an-hour crew going here—we need to get started now.” He clapped his hands.

  She spun around at the sharp retort. Her head spun. What was she thinking? She couldn’t sink into the abyss of pining for some man who was in love with his stupid career. So what if it was a very, very important career. So what if he was practically the second coming of James Bond? She was no Bond girl—he’d made that perfectly clear. She snorted.

  “What? What’s that? What are you thinking? You have a look I’m not sure I like,” the director said.

  “She’s thinking, that’s right—she has a real brainstorm of an idea…” Grace improvised and Pixie looked at her friend, unsure but grateful for the opening. Then she did what she always did in a tough spot.

  She stood tall, braced herself with her hands on her hips and looked up into the director’s expectant face. What the hell was she going to tell him? Anything except that she’d almost had a meltdown over pseudo-Bond.

  She cleared her throat and spoke with spirit. “That’s right. I have an idea. We’re trying to capitalize on the whole thriller episode of my role in capturing a terrorist and saving the world, right?”

  “Yeah…” Hesitation spoke loud and clear.

  “We’ve got all the suave ’60s retro furnishings updated with the latest tech materials into the coolest decor imaginable, including the crazy special gadgetry for 007 kitsch, don’t we?”

  “Yes—look what are you getting at? Out with it.”

  “We have everything but 007 himself.” She stopped short. She couldn’t believe she’d said the words out loud. At least she’d hadn’t begged the director to call her man and get him here to appear on her show. She felt Grace squeeze her arm and heard her stifle a squeal that sounded suspic
iously like giddy excitement.

  “Hmmm… I see your point now,” he said and narrowed his eyes.

  Her nerves jacked up to perspiration levels that had her worried about her makeup. He saw right through her…

  He spun around and clapped his hands again. “Brilliant! Sonny, hold the shoot!” He turned back to Sophia and slipped his phone from its holster with a wide grin. He reached out and almost patted the top of her head. She jumped back in a reflex action. No one did that to her—except her Chauncey.

  The director’s smile turned to a frown. “You’re finicky, aren’t you? But brilliant.” He punched some numbers into his phone and his smile returned. “I’m getting that guy here—what’s his name?”

  “Chauncey Miller.”

  “Not exactly James Bond, but as I recall from the news spots, handsome enough in a dangerous way—Carl? Listen, you’ve got to do me a favor pronto…” The director walked away from them as he spoke in that “I have the best, most important, urgent idea in the world” tone of voice.

  She spun around and gripped Grace by the arms. No way to hold back her grin.

  “I can’t believe you suggested that he get Chauncey on the show!” Grace said and started bouncing up and down.

  “I can’t believe I had the nerve—and I can’t believe he went for it!” She took up the bouncing with Grace.

  “You really are brilliant! How did you come up with it?

  “It just popped out. I’ve been trained to think on my feet.”

  “Unbelievable!”

  “Chauncey is going to kill me.” They stopped bouncing.

  Chapter 16

  Three days later, Sophia felt the deja vu slip over her as she glanced at the decorating show set from outside on the deck. Except this time, instead of the numbing coma of indifference, the nausea of unbearable excitement crippled her and her gulping in the so-called fresh air. She watched through the glass door as the director stormed toward her. He flung the door open and stomped the two steps to where she sat at the small table, about to drink down the last of the glass of ice cold water, wishing it were a tumbler of scotch.