by Debra Webb
“Accuse me of kidnapping and plead for help.”
“But you—”
“Make a scene,” he suggested as she had earlier. “Consider it good practice. This won’t be the first tough choice you make in ops,” he said. “Ditching me is an easy call. Trust me, I’m used to it.”
Chapter Nine
Cecelia knew she would never just ditch him. She might not entirely understand what he was up to, but she didn’t believe he was out to hurt her or that he was really working against Thomas. If she’d had any doubts, they had vanished almost completely when he’d risked himself to protect her from those men. She made the call to her friend on the police force.
When she put the phone away, her nerves were evident from her rapid, foggy vapor-cloud breaths in the cold night air. It was obvious enough that Emmett quietly instructed her to cover her mouth and nose with her scarf. It made her feel a bit like a train robber from the Wild West, but it worked. She appreciated the pointer.
She studied the way he moved, his effective blending of confidence and caution, and tried to emulate it as they slipped away from the marina. The flashing lights and distressed voices of partygoers faded behind them as they walked down to meet the cab.
When they were once more in the relative safety of the cab, she pulled down her scarf and grinned up at him. This kind of thing probably wasn’t supposed to feel like fun, but it was so much better than sitting at her desk watching her life tick by.
The part of her that rebelled at the thought of ditching him was positively giddy that it hadn’t come to that. She understood the logic of his plan, but it was the flash of grief in his eyes when he’d admitted he was used to it that bothered her. Whoever had left him somewhere in his past had scarred him in the process.
It made her angry on his behalf, made her want to let him know some people could be trusted to do the right thing. That was a concept he should know from working with her brother’s covert team, but she knew from William that a sense of isolation was a frequent result of long-term undercover operations.
The man was a loner. Most spies were, for obvious reasons, but she got the sense that he’d been that way long before her brother had recruited him to Mission Recovery.
“How did you land such a great job?”
She knew from the hard line of his mouth and cocked eyebrow he understood exactly what she meant. She could also see he didn’t want to tell her.
“Standard first-date question,” she teased, catching the smile on the driver’s face reflected in the rearview mirror. He wanted her to sell one picture to anyone the cops might find and question, but after he’d saved her—twice—she was determined to sell another version of their story.
He’d behaved admirably all night—the perfect gentleman and valiant defender. However he’d managed to raise Thomas’s suspicions, she knew it wasn’t as simple as Thomas might believe.
“Fair enough.” He rubbed his hands together, blowing on them as if he was chilled. “I’d finished a rather delicate piece of work during an internship in New York City. It caught some attention and a recruiter arrived. It took some convincing, but eventually I made the change.”
She knew how to read between the lines, to sort fact from necessary fiction, but usually she had a frame of reference. With Emmett, she only had the online dating profile and the knowledge that he’d been trained to lie, to adapt to the cover story when necessary and make it believable.
One day soon, assuming she survived whatever this was, she’d be doing the same thing.
She’d seen many resumes cross her desk at the office, and she understood the natural language that bolstered rather average accomplishments. With Emmett, she sensed the reverse was true. His self-reliance and swagger wasn’t all show. It was a direct result of practice becoming a string of successes.
She’d married William so young. It gave her the unique perspective of watching him change through the course of his career, especially in the early years. Those had been some rough days, being a wife and stay-at-home mother while learning how to read a husband who couldn’t discuss his day without breaking security protocols.
“A delicate piece of work” could mean anything, which meant New York might be the kernel of truth. Or the whole story might be completely false.
Emmett surprised her by taking her hand in his. “I like my job and I’ve enjoyed my time with the company. It’s been good work.”
Said like a man who didn’t think he’d be at it much longer. Already he was putting Mission Recovery in the past tense.
Indirectly, her husband and daughter had taught her more than she realized, including the inherent risks of working with an agent with a fatalistic attitude.
She shouldn’t be thinking about snooping into his past. As much as she tried, she couldn’t even come up with a good reason to do so. The kiss—as stunning as it was—didn’t count. Her friends from the grief-counseling group would probably say she was transferring her feelings for William to Emmett. Except she’d never confessed to them she didn’t have the capacity for that depth of feeling anymore.
Logically, the feelings she was experiencing tonight were most likely due to her innate need to nurture and fix. And to show her appreciation for his protection, of course.
As the cab pulled up to the hotel, she wondered if her motives really mattered. Her brother said she was a target and Emmett had proved his determination to keep her safe. She had to consider the possibility his effort was a ruse to get her to lower her guard, but she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. For tonight, anyway.
“Go on and give your statement,” he said, nudging her to the front door. “I’ll be upstairs. You know how to find me.”
She didn’t watch him go, didn’t need the distraction of his body right now. She was smart enough to know setups happened, but through her years as a wife and mother she’d learned to trust her intuition.
There was more to Emmett Holt than he showed, and her instincts said if he didn’t open up to someone about his real mission, he was headed for a downfall. Cecelia pulled the cap from her head and ran her fingers through her hair as she crossed the lobby to meet the detective leaning against the front desk, a paper cup of coffee from the complimentary service in his hand.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” she said. “It’s been a busy evening.”
Detective Jerry Gadsden had been a friend of their family for years. As she approached, he drew her into a friendly hug. “It’s good to see you, though I wish it was purely social. Do you want coffee?”
“No, thank you.” She stepped to the open cooler and plucked a bottle of water from the shelf. Her palms were damp, but her throat was dry. She was about to lie to a friend and essentially file a false report.
“Why aren’t you at home?” He gestured for her to take a seat on the small sofa, while he settled in the closest chair.
“The gala is tomorrow.” She waved a hand in the direction of the wide staircase curving around the atrium and up toward the second level ballrooms. “It’s easier to stage the details from here.”
He nodded. “You should have waited for the police at the marina.”
“I know.” Cecelia hesitated. Not because she didn’t know how to answer, but because she felt someone watching her. She didn’t dare give in to the urge and reveal Emmett’s presence. “I was so scared. Those men just burst into the bathroom.” She twisted the cap and took a sip of the water. “Is Heather all right?”
“Heather is the young woman you rescued?”
Cecelia nodded.
“She’s shaky, but she’ll be fine. Her father said he’d like to thank you.”
“I believe he’s on the guest list for tomorrow night.” Did they think those men had been after Heather? Could she be that lucky?
Detective Gadsden smiled. “You might w
ant to suggest an extra donation for being a hero.”
“A hero?” Cecelia laughed that off. “I wouldn’t go that far. I only did what any woman would do in my place.”
“With great skill, if I might say so.”
“You know William insisted on self-defense training for Casey and me.”
“Bet you hoped you never had to use it.”
She nodded.
“So walk me through what happened.”
Cecelia told him the story, minus Emmett’s involvement and the previous encounter in the alley.
“Pardon me for saying so, but did you change clothes? Most of the guests at the marina were dressed a bit more for a party than you are now.”
She leaned forward, rolled the bottle of water between her palms. “I had a date and we decided to stop by the party on a whim.”
“I see.”
And she could see the judgment stamped on his face. She wanted to scream but managed a smile, biting back the sharp reminder that it had been over a year since she’d buried her husband. She’d reconciled herself to losing him for more than a year before that. Her counselor had explained that disengaging emotionally was normal under the circumstances. She’d tried to stop it but had failed. William had made her promise she would get on with her life, for heaven’s sake.
“How did you meet?”
She sat back, startled by the question. “You can’t think my date had anything to do with this?”
“Just gathering information,” he said. “We’ve had an increase in personal thefts. Happens this time of year. And people are more vulnerable to scams during the holidays.”
The irony. Emmett was a scammer of an entirely different nature than her friend could comprehend.
“We met online,” she said, knowing she had to cooperate. Fighting him would only cast more unwanted suspicion on Emmett. “Three weeks ago.”
“Where is he now?” He glanced around the lobby. “I’d like to talk with him.”
“You know, I’m not sure.” She should have anticipated that question. Her façade was about to crumble. Why did she ever believe she could do this? “I ran out the back and left him there. At the marina. I guess I wasn’t such a good date for him. He’s probably regretting that expensive dinner he sprang for.”
While her friend scrambled to find the proper response, she brushed her bangs off her forehead. “So much for Bachelor Number One.” She thought of the kiss, hoping it would make her blush. “I can give you his office number if you’d like to call him tomorrow.”
“No home number? No cell?”
She squirmed in her seat. “Guess we hadn’t made it to that stage yet. Tonight was our first date in person.”
Detective Gadsden picked up on her embarrassment and gave her a sympathetic look. “Dating stinks. When Jen divorced me, it took a while until I felt human again. I know your loss is different, but it will get better.”
She appreciated his compassion, and though she should feel bad for misleading him, she didn’t. “I’ll have to take your word.”
“Please do. Now, I still have to give this new friend of yours a call.”
“Right.” She fished her cell phone out of her purse and read off Emmett’s office number.
“Cecelia, do you want me to check him out for you?”
“No. Thank you.” She shook her head. “I doubt he’ll want to see me again after tonight, anyway.”
“If a little random trouble scares him off, he’s not good enough for you,” Detective Gadsden said.
He had no idea how much she agreed with him. If only she could convince Emmett. “Thanks for the support. Are we done? I’m exhausted.”
When he nodded, she stood up, ignoring her wobbling knees. She just wanted to get up to her room before her body collapsed from the post-adrenaline rush.
“You’ll be here through the weekend? In case I have other questions,” he explained.
“Yes. Tomorrow will go late and it seemed best to crash right here.”
“All right.” He hugged her again. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
Detective Gadsden had hardly cleared the lobby before her thoughts turned back to Emmett. She knew he would be close and she made a mental note to ask him where he’d been hiding while she’d talked with the detective. There was no way he’d gone upstairs without her.
He didn’t join her in the elevator, and he wasn’t waiting in the hallway by her suite door. Worry began to gnaw at her. His absence couldn’t be a good thing. She took a step back, ready to go look for him when the door opened.
He filled the doorway with his dark scowl. “What are you waiting for?” He reached out and drew her inside, throwing the deadbolt as soon as the door was closed behind her.
“I thought... Weren’t you—”
“I estimated you could make it upstairs on your own.”
“Well, of course.” She glanced around, noticing a laptop and a garment bag that hadn’t been there before she’d left hours ago for the wine bar. His leather jacket was on a hanger in the small closet and he’d stripped off his sweater and rolled back the cuffs of his shirt. She’d never known she could be so attracted to a man’s forearms.
She really was in way over her head here. She cleared her throat. “You were serious about sticking close.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll bunk on the couch.”
“Surely you’d be more comfortable in your own room. I’m safe here.” She still had the handgun. A new fear niggled at her. What if the gun had been used to murder someone? She should have mentioned to Gadsden that she’d gotten it from one of those thugs at the marina. Even though that was not quite right, the ones from the alley were likely friends of the two who’d come after her at the marina. But if she’d told him about the gun, he would have wanted to confiscate it. She wasn’t ready to turn it over...yet. She might need it.
“And I intend to make sure you stay safe.” He used his foot to push the small duffel bag he’d brought from his boat into the space between the chair and sofa. “You told your detective buddy I was protective detail?”
“No. I told him you were my date. A protective detail would have followed me into the lobby.” And he knew as well as she did that a protective detail wouldn’t have danced with her. Or kissed her senseless.
“A detail might just as easily have kept an eye on you from a distance.”
“Which is what you did.”
He shrugged.
She changed the subject. “Did you get some ice for your hand?”
“It’s fine.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Get some rest. We can work out a plan for tomorrow in the morning.”
She didn’t dignify that with a response, too busy studying the contrast his strong, masculine presence made against the filmy tulle of the gift baskets she’d prepared for her planning committee. The entire room was filled to bursting with gala details in a riot of greens, reds and plaids. Folders on the desk were stacked alongside a box of thank-you cards she’d planned to work on after her date. She wasn’t up to the task anymore. Two bank boxes of silent auction bid sheets and photos of items too big or too valuable to display were on the counter. Rolls of raffle tickets were stacked next to the boxes. They’d be lucky to find enough space to make coffee in the morning.
The weight of the evening settled heavily onto her. What the hell was she doing? Maybe she’d overestimated her ability. Maybe she was trying to prove something she couldn’t manage.
With those daunting thoughts echoing in her head, she fell back on what she knew best. “I should attend to your injuries. Would you like me to brew a cup of coffee?”
“I’m fine, Cecelia. You don’t have to be the perfect society hostess here.”
If he only knew that she wasn’t thinking hostess th
oughts at all as she gazed at him. No, her thoughts were sliding down an altogether different path. Maybe she needed the escape. It was the only reasonable explanation for her inability to find her balance in his presence.
When they’d first made plans to meet, she’d indulged in more than a few fantasies of how tonight might go, of what might come next.
She’d never planned to jump straight into bed with him—though he had the body and the face to tempt a saint. But desperate hormones and brotherly warnings aside, she was happy to discover that she had enough self-respect not to be stupid.
She had, however, played out a number of possible good-night scenarios. None of which involved a not-safe-for-work public display of affection on a crowded dance floor. She didn’t regret it, other than knowing how much it altered her expectation of any kisses in her future.
Startling and bold as it was, she found herself contemplating how to get him to kiss her again. “Thanks for saving me tonight. I didn’t expect the extracurricular, um, fun. I’m glad you were there.”
“Just part of the service.”
She was immediately irritated by his cavalier attitude until she realized he did it on purpose. He was pushing her away. Unfortunately for him, it only made her more determined to understand why.
“Don’t do that,” she said, folding her arms over her chest as she faced off with him.
“Do what? We should call it a night. We’re both tired.”
“Yes, I’m sure we both are. But that’s no reason to push away someone who’s trying to show a little gratitude.”
“You’re reading more into this than there is, Cecelia.”
“I respectfully disagree.” She’d scanned a few of the brief, ambiguous text messages on those phones. As a concerned former wife of an agent and mother of another, she recognized the signs of an agent weary from the task.
“Of course you do.” His lip curled in a sneer and he turned his back on her.
If she didn’t know better, she’d blame his surly demeanor on the job. But she had experience with others in his field and recognized there was more lurking under the surface.
