Code Name: Fiancée

by Susan Vaughan

  She had a hard enough time reining in her emotional involvement as it was without impossible dreams.

  Vanessa shook her head. “It’s better if he thinks of Danielle. Nothing can happen. I won’t risk the mission. Especially not for a fling that can go nowhere.”

  Laura clucked her tongue. “Good-looking, principled, rich, sexy. You shouldn’t let him get away.”

  “You don’t understand, but I can’t explain.” Vanessa slipped her arm through her friend’s. “Let’s go to the ladies’ room before the men send out a search team. I haven’t seen you since your wedding. How’s your adorable little girl? Tell me everything.”

  After the women left, Nick schooled his emotions to withstand Stratton’s hostile scrutiny. The man’s pale blue eyes seemed to bore through blood and bone. His predatory demeanor and a pair of chalk-white scars belied the civility of his tailored tuxedo and polished black shoes.

  Stratton stared in silence.

  Nick stared back.

  Stratton’s eyes narrowed. He blinked. “You military?”

  Nick gave a sharp nod. “Special Forces. Third SFOD group out of Fort Bragg. You?”

  Now that the staring contest had ended, he spared a glance at the back of the room. Vanessa and Laura were just entering the rest room. The female ATSA operative followed. Damn straight.

  “Semper fi.” The former marine stood at ease, sliding his hand into a trouser pocket. “What was your AO?”

  His Area of Operations. By his appearance, Stratton was a few years younger. What would he know about those earlier SF days? But he saw no reason to conceal facts. “Kuwait as regular army. Special Forces in Somalia.”

  Stratton scrubbed his chin. In his eerie gaze, respect replaced suspicion. “Somalia. A meat grinder. You’re lucky to be in one piece.”

  Sometimes Nick wasn’t so sure. “Yeah, well, some others got chewed up.” And he hated this dicey situation forcing him in the zone, dredging up memories to be replayed in digital color and sound in his dreams. “Where were you deployed?”

  “Bosnia. Another U.N. Task Force op.”

  “A more successful one.” Hairs prickled Nick’s nape again. Having Vanessa out of his sight was shredding his nerve endings. “What’s taking those women so damn long?”

  What might’ve been humor twitched up one corner of Stratton’s mouth. “Making you nuts, is she? She can take care of herself. Take my word for it.”

  Both men turned.

  The rest-room door opened, spilling brightness into the softly lit reception area. Vanessa and Laura headed toward them, weaving past knots of guests.

  A smile on her lips, Laura lifted a hand to wave to her husband.

  Beside her, Vanessa scanned the crowd.

  As they approached the marble statue, Nick saw a shadowy figure slip between it and the wall.

  The god dipped his two heads. The statue was falling.

  Toward the two women.

  “Look out!” Nick shoved past Stratton on a run.

  Vanessa glanced up. She yanked Laura backward. Both women stumbled on their high heels and went down.

  The statue crashed in front of them. One head snapped off at the neck. It rolled before coming to rest in front of Nick’s feet. Marble eyes stared in sightless surprise.

  Nick’s gaze shot to the empty pedestal. Gone! No one lurked behind it. His heart setting a new Grand Prix record, he detoured to get to Vanessa.

  A nearby group scattered amid startled shrieks. Stemware shattered on the floor. Conversation hushed as if switched off. The string trio scraped to a squeaky halt.

  “That thing just fell over,” a voice shrilled into the pregnant silence.

  “It could’ve killed someone.”

  “I walked in front of it only a minute ago.”

  Nick scooped up Vanessa as Stratton was helping his wife to her feet.

  Museum personnel encircled the broken marble and dispersed the crowd that had gathered. Violins and voices once again vied for attention.

  When the statue had toppled toward Vanessa, Nick’s heart had leapt to his throat and the ricocheting in his skull had cranked up. Only now were his pulse and the ache ebbing.

  He patted her shoulders, her back. He ached to pull her close, but held her loosely in his arms, in case she was bruised. “Honey, are you hurt?”

  She drew a deep breath and sent him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Someone pushed the damned thing over. I caught only a glimpse. Did you see him?”

  Nick shook his head. He’d seen only a form. Whoever it was must’ve blended immediately with the crowd.

  The cameras would have the entire scene on tape.

  “What do you mean, the cameras didn’t pick it up?” Vanessa swung away from the computer monitor. Her eyes burned from replay after replay of the doomed god biting the dust.

  The two night-duty officers glanced up at the outburst, then returned to their monitors. Long after midnight, the glowing screens were the only lights in the command post. The other operatives slept peacefully elsewhere in the house.

  “You got it,” the ATSA control officer said with annoying good cheer. “Our guy knew the angles. Behind the statue was a dead spot for the cameras.”

  With perpetual two-day stubble and a diamond stud in his left earlobe, Simon Byrne looked more like the undercover DEA agent he used to be than the control officer for this mission. But the nonconformist also possessed a blade-sharp intellect and a staunch heart. He shoved back a shock of brown hair.

  Byrne and the surveillance unit had confiscated all the tapes from the Washington Cultural Museum. The techs were working to match frames of people with the guest list. But the two tapes the CO had brought over to show Vanessa offered no clue as to the identity of her attacker.

  “One camera above the statue aimed to the left. Another caught the posh noshers to the right and in front of it. None of them was aimed at the statue.”

  “Damn.” Vanessa slumped in the swivel chair. “I know there were New Dawn Warriors at that party. One of them pushed that statue, and we could’ve had him.”

  “Roger,” Byrne agreed with a grin. “All our leads have fizzled like wet firecrackers. Their cars have been stolen or had stolen plates. The SUV was rented with fake ID.”

  She waved an arm in the direction of the mansion next door. “Since we found the cut boards in the fence, no one’s been back. We need a break.”

  “Time’s short. Little over a week until November.”

  “Any progress on Husam Al-Din’s plot for Veterans Day?”

  “Slow. Another unit’s checking out all the ceremonies planned. The finish line looms.” Simon didn’t look worried. Vanessa knew he thrived under a deadline.

  “Pressure’s on in more ways than one. I see news stories every day about New Dawn. Congress wants to investigate. The press is hounding the president’s security advisor.” If he wasn’t worried, she sure was.

  “Hey, relax. We’re doing all we can. Stratton’s working with the CIA to uncover New Dawn’s big goal.”

  “I know, Simon, but Husam Al-Din has acquired a big international following. And he has more money than I can even imagine. The danger has increased exponentially.”

  “Yeah, but Al-Din is New Dawn. Other extremist groups are loose and splintered. Not New Dawn. Al-Din runs the show from the top. We get him and the whole house of cards collapses.”

  “I hope you’re right. Maybe I should stop reading the Post.” Concentrating on her job made more sense. On being the bait so New Dawn made a mistake and led ATSA to their leader.

  Leaning forward to view the Humpty-Dumpty fall again, he made kissing sounds. “Man, that was some fancy bash. You clean up good. Even falling on your ass you look hot, kid.”

  Kid. She winced inwardly. He might’ve as well said pal. It was long past midnight, and she’d removed her glass slippers. “Thanks, Simon. I’m glad to be off heels as skinny and high as stilts though.” She wiggled her toes in her sneakers.

  He picked up h
is paper coffee cup and glanced hopefully inside. With a shrug, he tossed it across the room into the wastebasket. “Two points.”

  “Nah. Free throw. One point.” Vanessa pushed to her feet. “I’m calling it a night.”

  Byrne accompanied her to the door that would lead across to the Markos house. “I see you’re still wearing his rock.”

  At Byrne’s critical tone, she glanced down at the paste engagement ring on her hand. No. He meant the real rock hanging around her neck. “I didn’t feel safe taking it off until I can return it. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Not as long as you don’t.” His cocky irreverence slid into stern disapproval. Byrne folded his arms. “You two looked cozy as hell in the videos, a regular pair of lovebirds. You’ll need a new code name. Fiancée instead of Confessor.”

  Vanessa’s stomach knotted. “Just part of the act.”

  “Make sure you remember that. He may be richer than my aunt Minnie’s cheesecake, but most of his money’s tied up in his and his brother’s businesses. Who knows what other connections he has? I don’t trust him. Watch your step, especially if you find that ten mil.”

  Heat climbed her neck. “You do your job. I’ll do mine.”

  She had to force herself not to slam the door behind her.

  But was she doing her job? Or had she already lost detachment by getting too involved with the assignment? She had to keep reminding herself of the threats they faced and that she shouldn’t trust Nick.

  Deep breaths of air perfumed by sere leaves and a tree-lined view of the star-spangled sky should’ve soothed her. But she felt no better.

  But she could act objective and professional. Dammit, she still had the detachment to do her job. In spite of how her heart twisted at having to continue with deceptions and subterfuge.

  Her stock in trade.

  Before she went upstairs, she slipped into the study and booted up Nick’s laptop to look for nonexistent treachery.

  Chapter 8

  Nick didn’t see Vanessa the next morning until it was time for them to leave for luncheon with one of the potential buyers of Markos Imports. Over the next couple of weeks, they had more luncheons and parties, including embassy receptions. He’d enjoy them only because she’d accompany him.

  She’d been spectacular last night, carrying out her role as Danielle and bewitching him as herself. But the woman was a puzzle. Self-doubt, warmth and sexy curves packaged with clandestine skills and smarts. Today she was a walking temptation in a knit dress and jacket that matched her eyes.

  He shouldn’t, but he had to know more about her. Much more.

  Or was that just self-defense, a way to distract himself from their nerve-racking masquerade? From the stress of being thrust into chaos, as they had been last night? From the potential hyper-reality sensations of combat? From situations he’d avoided thinking about for so long?

  If more chaos arose, so be it. He’d endure what he had to to help capture Husam Al-Din and recapture his honor.

  Logic told him protecting Vanessa wasn’t his job. ATSA covered their backs. But the thought of anything happening to this remarkable woman had him gnashing his teeth. Tension hummed in every muscle as they left the house’s protection.

  They were sitting ducks. No helmet. No flak vest. No M-16. The sense that he might need them knotted his shoulders.

  As soon as he saw the bruise-colored shadows beneath her eyes, he stifled questions about what the surveillance tapes had shown. She covered a yawn as he handed her into the car.

  He hadn’t slept much himself.

  ATSA had refused his help viewing the tapes. They didn’t trust him beyond his official role. And they shouldn’t. But damn it, bile crept up his throat every time he pictured that massive marble figure tilting toward Vanessa and Laura.

  He dug into his impressions of last night’s attack and came up empty.

  Grant Snow guided the powerful automobile through light traffic. Although the restaurant wasn’t far from the Washington Cultural Museum, the ATSA driver chose a different route from the previous evening.

  “Anyone back there?” Vanessa asked.

  “Only our official tail,” Snow replied.

  A half hour later, they entered the American Grille at L’Enfant Plaza Hotel. The contemporary Asian decor of Chinese-red banquettes and bonsai trees suited the topic of the coming negotiations.

  In the white-linen-and-crystal setting, Vanessa slid into her role as Nick’s loving fiancée and hostess. Seated between him and Dwight Wickham, she made the reluctant buyer comfortable.

  After the waiter had delivered menus, the sharp-featured businessman, his long graying hair held at his nape with a velvet ribbon, eyed her critically. “My dear Danielle, should you be here? Were you injured in that…incident last night?”

  Nick and Vanessa exchanged glances.

  “I’m fine, Dwight,” she answered. “The statue missed me. Did you see it fall?”

  He shook his head as he perused the menu. “Just caught a glimpse as the thing toppled over. Damned scary. You’d think the museum would take more care at securing those pieces.”

  Nick opened his menu, but scarcely focused on the seafood specialties. “The whole thing went, pedestal and all. Maybe someone leaned on it too hard. Did you happen to see anyone?”

  Wickham’s alert gray eyes held a shade of suspicion before he shrugged. “Sadly, no. There was such a crush.”

  “Pity,” Vanessa said. “The museum will want to know the cause of such an accident.”

  Lowering his menu, Nick said to Wickham, “Have you had a chance to look over the financial records I sent you?”

  As if he hadn’t spoken, the man turned to Vanessa. “My dear, you’ve been living abroad, so don’t miss this chance to enjoy the Grille’s Maryland crab cakes. You’ll forget all about boeuf bourguignon and other French fare.”

  “Crab cakes it is.” Vanessa winked at Nick.

  He flapped open his menu. Ginger-grilled shark. Might as well since he was swimming with sharks.

  It would be a long luncheon.

  When they exited beneath L’Enfant Plaza’s portico after two, Vanessa saw the stress tying Nick in knots. Her face hurt from smiling, and the cheesecake sat heavily on the crab.

  A deal with Wickham for the shop eluded Nick. The crafty bargainer had hedged by saying he needed more time to look over the records. He’d be in touch.

  Maybe what they both needed was a little fresh air.

  Mackerel clouds in the mostly blue sky portended rain, and the autumn air was balmy. There should be plenty of tourists around them as buffers.

  “Feel like stretching your legs?”

  Nick’s mouth curved in pure delight, the first sign today of anything but grim determination. “You read my mind.”

  Warmed and a little mesmerized, she forced her gaze away from his killer grin and the way his dove-gray suit conformed to his hard body. The natural way he wore the band-collar shirt made men in ties look fussy.

  She tapped on the driver window of the Mercedes. “Grant, we’re going to take a walk along the Mall. You can pick us up at the Capitol in an hour.”

  Slipping her arm into Nick’s, she savored the sage and cedar that stamped him. As they strolled up 9th Street toward the Mall, she heard Snow sputtering expletives into his radio.

  “He or Simon’ll tear a strip off my hide later, but we’ll be safe enough. We have our guardian angels—the other car and two guys scrambling to catch up to us on foot.”

  “Three guys.” He jerked a nod toward the other side of the street.

  “I stand corrected.” She gave his solid forearm a pat. “You still have your Special Forces instincts.”

  He scowled and clammed up, so she let the issue go. For now. She’d hit a wall in researching Nick’s misadventure in Somalia, but she wouldn’t give up.

  At Jefferson Drive, Vanessa glanced left toward the Washington Monument at the far end of the Mall. Too far, so she suggested they turn right towar
d the Capitol Building.

  Government staffers with briefcases shared the sidewalk with senior citizens in matching windbreakers and young families with baby strollers. The vendor on the next corner was tying balloon animals for laughing children.

  She said, “I love this Mall. It’s so friendly and open, a living demonstration of this country.”

  “Little Ms. Optimist, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t help it. Guess I’m giddy from this heady chance at freedom.” She covered a yawn.

  “Not giddy. Tired. Late-night sleuthing?”

  “For all the good it did.” She explained about the camera dead spot behind the statue.

  Disappointment pulled his brows together. “Damn. All those tapes, and nothing. It can’t be coincidence. The attacker must’ve scoped out the camera angles.”

  “That’s my conclusion, too. He visited the museum more than once in preparation. Matching the video clips with the guest list will take time.”

  “They planned ahead.” As if mulling that thought, he ran his tongue around his teeth. “Knew we’d attend the reception. The guest list was no secret, but not public knowledge.”

  “Who did you tell about the reception?”

  “Janine knew, of course. Emil Alfieris and Celia Chin at the import shop.” He threw up a hand. “Hell. Any number of people knew. I made sure to mention it to business contacts during the last week.”

  “No wonder Abdul Nadim wasn’t surprised to see you.”

  “Neither were the other three possible buyers. Too bad Wickham didn’t see something—or someone.”

  “Give me a list, and we’ll check out connections to New Dawn.” She flipped her hair off her shoulder and smiled. “Pretty smooth way you questioned him.”

  “Call me Agent Smart.” His tone darkened the light words.

  A block farther, at the Hirshhorn Museum, they followed the steps down to the sculpture garden. Their path took them in and out of the shade of the looming modern figures that surrounded the massive circular building.