by Cindy Dees
He stared at her a long time. And as he studied her searchingly, the fury slowly drained out of his eyes. “Do you seriously think that of me?”
Damn him. He still wasn’t letting down his guard! She looked him dead in the eye and lied. “Yes. I do.”
He pushed away from her. Turned his back to her, shoulders hunched with tension.
Thank God. That had been pure, unadulterated shock in his eyes before he turned away. Pain. Horror that she thought that of him. Nope, Tom Rowe absolutely couldn’t be the killer. Not with a reaction like that. Relief coursed through her.
But hard on its heels, something else occurred to her. She’d just insulted everything he stood for. Mortally offended him, no doubt. She’d taken the one part of his life that he took very seriously and very personally and had attacked the hell out of it.
How on Earth was he going to forgive her for that? Why should he? She’d made cruel and hurtful accusations against him. Sure, it might have been part and parcel of the job. But still. She got the distinct feeling she’d just crossed a line with him that he was not going to forgive her for any time soon.
The elevator finally dinged to announce its arrival on Tom’s floor. The door whooshed open. He started to step out, then put his hand against the open door to hold it and half turned to look at her. His gaze was as cold and distant as Neptune and his voice colder. “I thought you were better than that, Paige Ellis. I thought I might have finally found an honest woman. But I guess I was wrong.”
And with that parting shot, he stepped off the elevator. The door slid closed and the conveyance lurched as it rushed downward, away from Tom. Away from what could have been. Away from something she had a sneaking feeling she was going to regret losing someday.
Damn this job! Pushing him had been the right thing to do. But had there been another way? She’d taken the opportunity that had presented itself and made the most of it just like she’d been trained to do. She’d done no more and no less than what had to be done.
But, God, the cost of it. A keen sense of loss speared through her. No wonder all her teammates warned against mixing the job and pleasure. This was the pits.
Had he seriously expected her to reveal her real thoughts to him? When was the last time any man had asked that of her? Sure, her instructors demanded it of all the women training to be Medusas. But that was different. Those men were in the business of stripping away the layers of personalities, forcing her and her teammates to learn to trust each other implicitly. It was easy to trust those women. Easy to bare her soul to them. The Special Forces world operated by a different set of rules.
Had Tom expected that of her?
But how could he? This was the civilian world. Nobody wore their true self on their sleeve in a gathering like this. Reporters jockeyed for a great sound bite, politicians manipulated the media to suit their ends, the network execs chased after ratings, and somewhere in there, the truth took a backseat. It wasn’t that reporters and broadcasters didn’t want to tell the truth. Far from it. They had a burning desire to do so. But the reality was so much less idealistic than that. Tom knew the score. He’d been a private businessman plenty long enough to know the rules of engagement for this world.
Tom had to understand that she lived in both worlds. It was unrealistic of him to expect her to operate solely as a soldier in this environment. If that was the condition of a relationship with him, it was probably just as well she’d found that out now. She wasn’t about to let him inside her defenses like that.
It was too bad he wasn’t willing to straddle both worlds. To have been with a man who could accept her—every part of her—just the way she was…that might have been nice.
She’d never really given any great thought to how being a Medusa might affect her personal life going forward, and her dating life more specifically. She’d just assumed it would be one more secret she’d keep to herself. Something private she didn’t share with others. No big deal. It wasn’t like she could blithely confess to all her dates that she was now a trained killer who served at the pleasure of the U.S. government whenever and wherever she was needed, and that her personal life would have to take a backseat to that.
What she hadn’t counted on was being so very different, herself. On respecting something different. On wanting something—someone—different. Someone who could understand and embrace both sides of her. She swore under her breath. She had a sinking suspicion she’d just driven off a man who could’ve done exactly that—had he chosen to.
But there was more than one fish in the sea where Tom Rowe came from. There would be other men. Men who understood her and were like her. Right? She was an attractive, intelligent, interesting woman. Some great guy would want her enough to put up with the sudden absences and unanswered questions about what she did when she was gone.
Then why did it hurt so much that Tom had just walked out of this elevator and not looked back?
The elevator door opened, disgorging her into the lobby. Happy hour was in full swing, spilling out of the cocktail lounge into the main concourse. She dived into the crowd with a vengeance, flirting freely with all the reasonably young, non-trollish, apparently unmarried men she ran into.
And was bored out of her mind.
Granted, these guys were financial types, bankers and economists for the most part, but none of them…challenged her.
It didn’t matter, dammit. She didn’t have time for a man in her life, anyway.
To hell with Tom Rowe.
She ordered a martini, extra dry, and tossed it back with a flourish.
Her purse vibrated under her arm, and she briefly considered not answering it. But her innate sense of responsibility kicked in and she fished her cell phone out of her bag. The number on its face made her start. As she answered the phone, she made her way toward the edge of the crowd. She had faith this would need to be a private call.
Paige murmured, “Hi, Viper. What’s up?”
Vanessa Blake answered tersely, “I’ve got some information for you. And an assignment. Let me know when you can talk.”
All vestiges of the martini flew right out of Paige’s head. She pushed open a heavy glass door and stepped onto a relatively deserted veranda. “Okay. I’m in the clear.”
Vanessa got right to the point. “The guy who tried to shoot Thomas Rowe last night was, indeed, a security guard for the summit. Worst case, we have to assume he was not the only plant within the security team.”
Great. “So, you’re telling me the summit’s security is breached?”
“Yep. People at a higher pay grade than you and me are negotiating bringing in an American security contingent to take over.”
The logistics of an eleventh-hour handover of security on an event this big with so many world leaders present made her head spin. “Ouch,” she muttered.
Vanessa chuckled. “No kidding. Thankfully, that’s not the Medusas’ problem.”
“Amen, sister.”
“But, we do have a problem of our own to take care of. And I need you to get on it right away while I send a team to help you.”
A full-blown Medusa team was coming here? To back her up? Whoa. What the heck was going on to merit that?
“The President has asked me, as a personal favor, to see to the safety of Tom Rowe. And I said I’d do it.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. She saw where this was going. No way. Paige burst out in alarm, “Unsay it! I don’t want anything to do with that—”
“Lieutenant.”
Her boss didn’t need to say another word. She knew the score. She was in the military, now. Subject to orders. Not at liberty to turn down an assignment because it would force her to work with a man who’d just given her the coldest possible brush-off. She’d been given a job to do, and that was all there was to it. Still, she sighed.
“Understood, Viper. I’ll get right on it.”
“What’s the problem? Tom’s a pretty cool guy.”
Yeah. Too cool. Too attractive. Too sexy. To
o interesting. Too…everything, dammit. Paige answered wryly, “Let’s just say he and I have had several differences of opinion.”
Vanessa laughed. “Sparks are flying, eh? You gotta watch out for those sparks, Paige. They’ll burn you alive.”
Ha. Her boss didn’t know the half of it. Deeply uncomfortable with the subject at hand, Paige changed topics. “When can I expect backup to arrive?”
“Best case, two days. Worst case, upwards of a week. An autopsy team the locals were willing to roll with. A team of armed commandos on their turf may be more of a problem for them.”
“A week?” Seven days of round-the-clock contact with Tom Rowe? This was worse than a nightmare. It was hell on earth!
Vanessa was speaking. “—depends on how cooperative or uncooperative the local government decides to be.”
Paige rolled her eyes. “If my contact with the local police is any indication, don’t expect them to welcome the Medusas with open arms.”
“All right. Thanks for the heads-up.”
Paige asked, “Any word on the Ando autopsy? Cause of death? Time of death?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. He died of blunt force trauma to the back of his head, three, maybe four, days ago. The lab folks estimate that he was tortured for no more than twenty-four hours, then killed, dismembered and thrown into the sea. He was in the water roughly two days. The powers that be would love it if we had his murder solved before the summit begins.”
That would place Ando’s death on Monday. It was Friday morning, now. And the summit started in three days. Not long to solve the guy’s murder.
Paige asked, “What’s my first priority? Investigating Ando’s death or protecting Rowe?”
Vanessa didn’t hesitate. “Rowe.”
Drat. She’d been hoping for a loophole in her orders to distance herself from the guy. No such luck.
“And on that note, I’ll let you get to work. Get to his side and stick to him like glue.”
Desperate, Paige replied, “Have you considered the fact that Rowe may not want me guarding him?”
“Too bad. The President considers him a national asset and we’ve been assigned to protect him. He can get over it.”
“I doubt he’ll see it that way,” Paige responded doubtfully.
“So stalk him if you have to. Just stay on him and keep him safe.”
Lovely. And wasn’t trailing along behind Tom Rowe everywhere he went going to just do wonders for her reputation? People were already gossiping about the two of them after he made her dance with him last night and then they ran out together after the shooting attempt. Not to mention the “lovers’ quarrel” her coworkers had witnessed earlier today. Her return to the newsroom would be wrecked before her career barely got moving again. And it was all his fault!
At least she’d get the satisfaction of knowing that this security arrangement would bother him at least as much as it bothered her. Heck, if she was lucky, it would drive the guy completely nuts.
Chapter 8
When even Gretchen retreated and took cover, Tom knew he was in a truly foul mood. He managed to hold it together through his first afternoon meeting with a doddering old fool from a tiny Baltic bank with visions of grandeur. Tom barely resisted an urge to remind the guy sharply that his little blip on the map was no longer part of a mighty, and long defunct, Soviet empire and nobody gave a damn about his bank.
But when the fellow tottered out of the hotel suite, leaving Tom blessedly alone, an urge to pick up something heavy and breakable and heave it through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows persisted.
She’d really had him going there, for a while. That whole roaring to his defense business, and her sassy mouth and combat moves…he’d thought he might have found a one-of-a-kind woman.
And then she had to go and accuse him of killing Ando. Of all the nerve.
Him? He had a whole lot more medals for valor and honor and service to his country than she’d ever dream of pinning on. And she questioned his ethics? His morals? Hell, his basic integrity?
His jaw clenched so hard it ached until he loosed it enough to mutter a few choice words for Miss High-and-Mighty. Who the hell was she to take some morally superior stand with him? She was the one who stuffed Ando in her refrigerator and called neither the police nor her news network! Sure, he understood the security reasons behind her decision, and they were sound. But it wasn’t like her hands were entirely clean here, either. They were both in the business of doing the right thing, not necessarily the legal thing or the socially acceptable thing.
His mental tirade screeched to a halt when a quiet knock sounded on the door to his suite. Gretchen would get that—oh, wait, he’d chased Gretchen out of here, snarling over nothing at her earlier.
He swore under his breath and headed for the door. Wasn’t the concierge supposed to ring the room and announce anyone before they came up here? Must be housekeeping.
He flung the door open for the maid—
—and stopped in his tracks, staring. “What are you doing here?” he burst out, throwing his hands up in disgust.
Paige had the strangest look on her face. Strange enough that he did a double take. He expected contrition. Preparedness, maybe even determination, to beg. But what he saw was…reluctance? What the hell was that about?
“We…I…need to speak with you,” she said.
“Well, I don’t need to speak with you. How’d you get a key card to get up here, anyway?”
“Gretchen.”
“Ahh.”
He started to close the door, but she stuck her hand out and stopped the panel from slamming shut in her face. “I’m sorry, Tom. But it’s business.”
Dammit! He swore long and hard under his breath. He hadn’t for a second missed the implication of how she’d said that word. Business. Not journalism and economic summits or financial transactions. Nope, she meant another business. The secret one they both were involved in. That business.
It was a dirty, rotten trick to invoke it. She knew darned well that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—say no to that.
He spun away from the gaping door and stormed across the room. “Make it fast.”
The door clicked shut quietly behind him. “I got a call from my boss a little while ago. It seems that the President of the United States has decided that you need a bodyguard. And, uh, well—”
Tom frowned and looked up at her. “Spit it out, woman.”
Her spine stiffened. “He’s appointed me to the job.” What the—
She continued in a rush, “Well, not me exactly, but the Medusas, and they can’t get here for a couple of days. So, Viper has assigned me to the job until the rest of them arrive.”
“Son of—” he exploded. Paige was supposed to be his bodyguard? No. Way.
Paige smiled weakly. “I thought you might feel that way. I did my best to talk her out of it, but no go. I was hoping you might call your, uh, contacts to see if you have any better luck talking them out of this plan.”
He jammed a hand through his hair. “Hell, I’d have to call the President himself to get this one overturned.”
Paige’s eyes widened. “Can you do that?”
He replied grimly, “Only one way to find out.”
He picked up the telephone receiver on the desk in the corner and punched a button. “Gretchen, get me the White House. Tell the operator I’d like to speak to the President.”
“Directly to him or to one of his aides?” Gretchen replied. How she managed not to sound surprised, he had no idea. The woman was made of steel.
“To the man himself. As soon as possible.”
“I’ll get to work on it, sir.”
Tom put down the receiver with more force than was strictly necessary. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? Twiddle his thumbs while he waited for the President to call back and unground him like some contrite teenager who’d done his time without the car keys?
Paige, across the room, was drawing thin gauze blinds over the window
s.
“What are you doing?” he snapped irritably. “I happen to like the view.”
“Until you pull your fancy strings, I’m your bodyguard, and you and I both know these giant windows are a sniper’s dream.”
“This is such a load of bull,” he burst out. “How many favors did you have to call in to arrange this farce? I have to give you credit, I didn’t see this one coming.”
Paige whirled and stared at him in shock that quickly morphed to fury. “You think I want to spend time with you? That I’d volunteer to spend a single second more than absolutely necessary in the same room with you?”
He arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Don’t you?”
“Hell, no!” she all but shouted.
His own fury spiraled upward in response to hers. He was the injured party, here. Why were her knickers in such an all-fired twist?
She spoke more calmly. “Look, Tom. Neither of us is happy about this situation. But we don’t have any choice in the matter. The guy who shot at you last night was a member of the summit security team, as we originally suspected. Which means the conference’s security is breached. We have no way of knowing if any more infiltrators have managed to get hired on for the conference. The American delegation has its own security guys, but they already have their hands full and you’re a private citizen. For better or worse, the President determined that you are a national asset in need of protection.”
“Hence, you.”
“Hence, the Medusas,” she retorted. “And I happen to be the only one here at the moment. When my teammates arrive, I’ll be happy to go as far away as possible from you and never darken your doorstep again.”
And for some reason, that statement sent him over the edge. She’d be happy never to see him again? He stalked toward her in a towering rage. “Happy?” he ground out. “Never to see me again?”
She took an alarmed step backward. Another. But he kept on moving forward. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
He grabbed her by both shoulders and shoved her against the wall at her back none too gently. “I swear, if you ever lie to me again, I’ll rip your head off.”
