Like everything else in the Leighton mansion, the dining room was beautiful, and antique. Not antique as in the lopsided 1930s table that had graced JB’s kitchen when he was growing up, but antique as in Art Deco and gleaming with polish. It seemed almost a sacrilege to risk dripping sauce on the table top, not to mention the faded but beautiful, no doubt very valuable, rug.
Walter Leighton pulled out his daughter’s chair before JB had a chance to. “There you go, pumpkin.”
He reached for the chair beside it, but didn’t sit. Instead he waved JB over. “Have a seat, Petty Officer Walton.”
JB opened his mouth to argue—he was a SEAL; wasn’t he supposed to get sandwiches in the kitchen?—but after looking at Walter, he closed it again. “Thank you, sir.”
Walter patted him on the shoulder. “It seems the least we can do, son.”
He walked away, toward an interior door JB surmised lead to the kitchen. Probably notifying the serving staff that they were ready to eat.
JB surveyed the plate setting. Napkin, a couple of different forks, knife...
“Salad,” Tansy said, putting her finger on the small fork. “Entree. Coffee.” That was the spoon, lying horizontally at the top of the plate.
JB gave her a look. “I know what utensils are, Ms. Leighton.”
Tansy flushed. “Sorry. You said you grew up modestly, so I thought maybe I’d give you a quick rundown. In case you didn’t know what to do.”
JB wanted to snort, but held it back. Snorting at the table was gauche, even in poor homes. But lord, ‘modestly’... If she’d ever visited the Appalachian Mountains, she’d know his upbringing hadn’t been modest. “I grew up dirt poor. On a good day, dinner was turnip stew. If we managed to wing a squirrel with a slingshot, we got meat.”
Tansy stared at him, her lips parted.
“But I’m not a complete savage. I do know about forks and spoons. I’m a fucking Navy SEAL. We have five course dinners with admirals. I even ate with the president once.”
She didn’t say anything, just kept looking at him, and he felt compelled to add, “It was a big room and he was on the other side of it. I didn’t make conversation with him or anything. But I can get through a fancy dinner without disgracing myself. Or the Navy.”
There was silence. It stretched. JB was just starting to think about apologizing for laying into her when she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re a savage.”
Her voice was small.
JB sighed. Looked like he’d hurt her feelings, too. Great. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. You were just trying to help. And you’re right. This...”
He looked around, at the fine china, the opulent dining room, and the whole damn estate, not to mention Tansy herself, “is all pretty intimidating to a poor boy from a mining town in West Virginia.”
She nodded, and actually looked sympathetic.
“I’ve visited fancy places before. You should see some of the hotels in Dubai.”
“I already have,” Tansy said.
Of course she had. “You get used to seeing how the other half lives. Or the tiny percentage that lives like this.”
She nodded.
“But you don’t ever feel like you belong. You can go through the motions, but the fit isn’t quite right. I’d be more comfortable having a sandwich in the kitchen with the other guys, if you want the truth.”
“It’s all right,” Tansy said. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. If you want to leave, you can. You don’t have to eat with us.”
“Your father would probably be upset if I didn’t,” JB told her, “and after he’s been so gracious to me—to all of us—I don’t want to be rude. It’s all right. I’ll eat your roast beef. With the proper fork.”
Tansy nodded. “Thank you. And you’re quite right. It would upset Daddy if you didn’t accept his hospitality. You’re here trying to protect me, and he wants to make you feel at home. He didn’t realize that this would make you uncomfortable.”
Not much he could say to that, so JB didn’t try. Instead he sat there, feeling like a heel. They were treating him like a welcome guest. Walter Leighton even called him son, and JB—because of his own prejudices, nothing they were doing—was making everything worse.
She lifted a hand to his cheek. “I’m sorry about this.”
“It was my own fault.” JB made a face. “If I hadn’t tried to impress you, I wouldn’t have been out there, hanging from the wall by my fingertips.” And she wouldn’t have been standing in the window like a silhouette in a shooting gallery.
“You told the others what you were doing,” Tansy reminded him. “Were you worried one of them would think you were an intruder, and shoot you?”
“The thought crossed my mind.” Not that any of the SEALs would have made a mistake like that. He was less sure about Mick’s guys, although he wasn’t about to tell Tansy that. “Lucky break for the guy, that I decided to play Spiderman and made you stand in the window.”
Tansy nodded. “I think he came closer to shooting you than me. Either his aim is really bad, or it was another warning shot.”
“It came close enough to qualify as a real threat.” Although she had a point. Anyone trained by SSG—like Mohammed el Saud—would be able to hit what they were aiming at. He would have thought a hunter, like James Cooper Senior was supposed to be, would have had better aim, too.
So maybe Tansy was right and the shot had been intended to miss.
The swinging butler door on the other end of the room opened, and Walter Leighton came in, back first. When he turned around, JB saw that he was carrying a big tray with a steaming roast, surrounded by potatoes and small, green peas.
No serving staff, it seemed.
He made to get up, but Walter shook his head. “I’ve got it. Stay where you are.”
He dropped the platter in the middle of the table, and pulled out the chair opposite from them. “Tansy? Would you do the honors?”
He seated himself, while Tansy reached for JB’s plate. “Roast beef, Petty Officer Walton?”
“Please,” JB said politely and settled in to pretend to be civilized for the remainder of the meal.
8
John acquitted himself well at the table, and Tansy felt ashamed for her concern about his manners. If he was telling the truth, he’d eaten with the president, and that was more than she had done.
At any rate, he handled the knife and fork beautifully, didn’t chew loudly, and didn’t speak with his mouth full. He also made polite conversation with her father between bites, and answered all of Walter’s questions. Her father seemed interested in everything about John, although most of the questions were about things Tansy already had the answers to. Where was he from, why had he chosen to join the Navy, why did he become a SEAL, and how did one become a SEAL in the first place?
Through it all, Tansy ate her food quietly, and filed the information she heard away. She had a sneaking suspicion that she was falling for him, although it was too soon to know whether it was in love or just in lust. The lust was pretty certain at this point. She looked at him, and her breath went. As for the love, she’d have to wait and see. But every minute she spent with him, she liked and admired him more. And every little scrap of information he shared was fuel for the fire.
At the end of the meal, when she stood, he stood, too, before her father could get to his feet. Someone had trained him well, and she had a feeling it wasn’t his family.
“I’ll get it,” she told him. “You stay here and talk to my dad.”
He smiled apologetically. “Sorry. If you go, I go.”
“But I’m only going to the kitchen!”
“I don’t mind,” John said, and lifted his plate. “I don’t want you walking around on your own. There are windows in there. Someone could take a shot at you through one of them.”
Her father nodded approval. “We’ll all go. Together.”
They went to the kitchen together. And togeth
er, filled the dishwasher and put away the leftovers. And then her father decided to go back to his study to get some work done.
“I’d like to go upstairs and take a bath,” Tansy said. To hell with frivolous. It had been a long, hard day, and she wanted to relax.
John nodded. “I’ll stay down here until Max and Rusty come back. You’ll be safe upstairs. Just stay away from the windows.”
Tansy promised she would, and headed up to her bedroom, where she poured a lot of bubble bath into the frothing water and lighted all the candles surrounding the tub. If she was going to indulge herself, she was going to indulge herself right. Defiantly, she turned her phone to an instrumental music station, and sank into the bubbles.
She hadn’t been there more than two minutes when the phone rang, the shrill tone cutting through the soft music.
For a second she thought about ignoring it. Five minutes by herself. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Just five minutes?
But with everything that was going on, if she didn’t answer, she wouldn’t put it past someone to rush upstairs and break down her door to make sure she was all right. And since she liked both the door, which was old and solid, and John, who might hurt himself trying to get through it, it was probably best to avoid that scenario.
No matter how exciting it might be to have him walk into her bathroom right now.
She wiped her hand and reached for the phone. “Hello?”
The number was local, but she didn’t recognize it. Just knew from the prefix that it came from somewhere in the area.
There was a second before anyone spoke. All she could hear was breathing. Then— “Tansy?” a hoarse voice whispered.
In spite of being covered by steamy water up to her neck, Tansy felt a cold trickle down her back. “Who’s this?”
“It’s me. Suzanne.”
Suzanne?
“From next door,” the raspy voice added.
Oh. That Suzanne. The former Olympian. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice.” Or your number.
“I’m whispering,” Suzanne explained.
Tansy could hear that. “Why?”
“Because there’s a man on my patio, and I don’t want him to hear me. He said his name is Max.”
“Then I’m sure it is,” Tansy said.
“What’s going on with all the overly muscled he-men, Tansy? Not that he isn’t nice to look at, but he’s a little scary.”
“They’re Navy SEALs,” Tansy said, and then wondered whether maybe she wasn’t allowed to mention that.
Then again, nobody had told her that she couldn’t. And she sort of agreed with Suzanne. Max was scary. Even if he was nice to look at.
“What are they doing here?”
Tansy explained why Uncle Sam’s finest were crawling all over the Leighton estate, and—it seemed—all over Suzanne’s property next door, as well. “Someone shot at the house this afternoon. They’re trying to figure out where the shot came from.”
If someone was out there with a gun, Suzanne had the right to know, after all. Just in case she found herself in the crosshairs.
“Well, it certainly didn’t come from here,” Suzanne said tartly. The need to whisper was apparently forgotten. Or maybe Max had walked away. “Although I did hear it.”
Everyone in the neighborhood had probably heard it.
Tansy tried to make herself comfortable in the slippery tub. The water sloshed around and threatened to go over the edge. She stopped. “I don’t suppose you looked outside and saw anyone?”
“Afraid not,” Suzanne said.
Of course not. That would be too easy.
“Although I did see someone this morning.”
Tansy sat up abruptly. The water cascaded off her breasts. “When this morning? Who?”
“I don’t know who,” Suzanne said. “As I told Max, it was a just a glimpse. But it was around ten-thirty, maybe. There was a loud noise then, too.”
There had been. It had spooked Nellie and caused John to get thrown from the horse.
“It came from the front of the house,” Suzanne added. “And it was close. So I went to the window to see.”
“And you saw someone? Was he in a car?” A red, double-cab truck, maybe?
“No car,” Suzanne said. “He was on foot. And as I said, I only caught a glimpse of him. A man in black. He was up the road some yards. I only saw him for a second before he disappeared into the trees.”
Tansy watched the soapy water bob just below her breasts. “Are you sure it wasn’t just Conrad? He was in the gatehouse this morning. And if you thought it was a backfire, maybe he did, too, and came out to investigate.”
Hadn’t he said something like that at the briefing this afternoon?
“I suppose,” Suzanne said doubtfully.
“Did you tell Max about it?”
He’d asked, so yes, Suzanne had told him.
“Then I’m sure he’s got it covered,” Tansy told her. “I’m sorry they’re bothering you.”
“Oh, it’s no bother at all,” Suzanne assured her, with a wheezy smoker’s cackle. “Been a long time since I saw so many good-looking men in one place. Not since I partied with the Russian gymnastics team back in seventy-four.”
She disconnected the call, still laughing. Tansy dropped her phone on the fuzzy rug next to the tub and sank back down into the bubbles.
* * *
Max told JB about Suzanne when the SEALs got back to the house after the reconnaissance mission. “She saw somebody. The description doesn’t match James Cooper, but it could match Mohammed el Saud. Trouble is, he was too far away for her to get a good look, and she only saw him for a second.”
JB nodded.
“She said he was dressed all in black, and had dark hair. Cooper’s gone gray, so it couldn’t be him.”
“Unless he was wearing something to cover his hair,” JB said, “and she was too far away to notice.”
Max nodded. “And she might have been. She said he was a football field up the road.”
From that distance, JB wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell the difference between a hat and a head of hair either.
“She said he moved quickly,” Max added. “That could mean he’s a younger man.”
Could. But not necessarily. “Have you ever seen Commander Baker move? He’s still got it.”
“Baker’s only in his forties,” Max said. “Cooper’s twenty years older. Unless Suzanne saw one of Mick’s guys, my money’s on el Saud.”
JB’s money, too. Not that he had a lot of it to spend on bets. “I don’t suppose we’re any closer to figuring out how el Saud got here, if he’s here? Or where he’s staying?”
Max shook his head. “The guys with the photos came up empty. If either el Saud or Cooper are nearby, they haven’t bought gas or supplies or rented a room in any of the places the guys checked.”
Of course not. That would be too easy.
Then again, if JB was stalking a woman he planned to murder, he’d make sure he wasn’t seen in the neighborhood where she lived, either.
Which meant they’d either gotten really lucky with Suzanne’s testimony, or she hadn’t seen what she thought she saw. “Did you show the neighbor the pictures?”
Max nodded. “She didn’t recognize either of them. Told me again that the guy had dark hair, so it was probably el Saud. But that’s not enough to go by. Several of Mick’s guys have dark hair. So do several of ours—including you and Andy.”
“We’re not skulking around the estate in head to toe black,” JB pointed out.
And wondered who the hell would be that stupid. el Saud’s commando training would have taught him that to be invisible, he’d have to blend with his environment. And James Cooper was a hunter. He was used to the concept of camouflage. Neither of them would have dressed in all black on a sunny morning on the Main Line.
“No,” Max agreed, “but Mick’s guys are.”
They were. Their shirts were white, but they wore black windbreake
rs over them.
If el Saud knew that, maybe head to toe black was just what he’d wear. Everyone around the Leighton estate probably knew that Mick liked to hire guys from the military. Mohammed el Saud would look like another soldier turned security. Which was exactly what he was.
Security for Omar Khan el Balushi. Not Walter Leighton.
That was if el Saud had been who Suzanne had seen, of course.
“It was probably Conrad,” JB said with disgust. “He made that crack about the car backfiring at the briefing this afternoon. And he was probably the only one of us who thought it might have been a car backfiring, so he came out on the road to check.”
Max hid a smile. “I get the feeling you don’t like Conrad.”
“What’s to like?”
“Not much,” Max admitted. “He’s the kind of fuckup who likes to stand around and look like hot shit, but if anything actually goes wrong, he’d be the first one taking cover.”
That was JB’s impression, too. “Mick had him protecting Tansy for the first couple of months after she came back from the Med.”
“Good thing nothing happened,” Max said. “Conrad would have shit his pants.”
No question. And while Conrad was busy doing that, Tansy might be dead.
“She thinks he’s good-looking.”
“That’s all right,” Max said. “She asked for you. All the way from Little Creek, Virginia.”
She had. “Maybe she knows he wouldn’t be worth shit if anything goes wrong.”
“She don’t seem stupid,” Max agreed, “so I’m sure she does. When it came down to it, she asked for the guy she knew she could count on to protect her. It don’t matter how good-looking the other guy is if she can’t trust him to keep her safe.”
No.
“She gets to me,” JB admitted. “I know better than to get involved with someone we’re protecting. But I like her.”
Max slapped him on the shoulder. “Then let’s find whoever’s trying to kill her. Once we do that, and take him out, the two of you can play hide the salami all night long if you want.”
JB could get behind that. However— “There’s a little more to it than that. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in her league.”
The Socialite and the SEAL Page 8
