Bait (18 page)

He stomped next door and banged it open without knocking. Christina and Brumley were sitting side by side on the couch, heads close together as they talked. Christina had her head thrown back as she laughed. Gabe's heart nearly stopped at the beauty of the sound.

They both looked up in surprise. Christina rose to her feet. “Gabe, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he bit out. He hefted his duffel onto a shoulder, feeling his biceps expand as he twisted the heavy bag and scooped his sleeping bag into the other hand. Without another word, he stalked out.

In a thoroughly pissed-­off mood, he returned to the team room and dropped his gear. He stripped off his tux. The attack left it covered in dirt and some leaves. He draped it over the back of a chair. With any luck, he wouldn't need it again.

“I'm going for a run,” he announced. Maybe that would calm him.

“I'll go with you,” Tag said.

“Me, too.” Gavin changed into shorts and a T-­shirt.

“Under no circumstances is she to leave this house,” he said, pointing a finger at first Alex, then Mace. They nodded assent.

The police were gone. A few guests still milled around, both in the ballroom and outside, chattering about the evening's excitement. Gabe bypassed them and hit the road hard. After two miles, the tension in his neck started to relax. At four, his blood calmed.

Gabe pushed himself faster. He'd screwed up earlier, disparaging Christina's decision. They'd started to understand each other, even trust each other. And then he'd cut her down in front of the entire team.

He owed her an apology. She'd been right to trust Brumley. Instead of shouting at her, he needed to listen to her. Plain old green jealousy had reared its ugly head when he'd seen them dancing so closely together. He'd wanted to be the one holding her. And the strength of that wanting scared the hell out of him.

His men seemed to know this wasn't the time to talk. They kept pace, letting him gather his thoughts. At six miles, he turned them around and started back. When they hit the last mile, he stretched his legs, and it became a race between the three of them. However childish, the impulse to win was so strongly ingrained in them that it never occurred to any of them to lose. Gabe and Tag crossed into the driveway neck and neck, with Gavin a step behind. Slowing to a trot to cool down, they circled the villa. By now, it was deserted and quiet.

Quelling the impulse to seek her out and apologize at once, he paced the hallway while the others showered. Mace, on guard duty outside Christina's door, finally shook his head.

“You're not gettin' in there tonight, buddy.”

Gabe finally stopped and leaned against the wall. “I know. I'll fix it.”

“If you can.” Mace gave him no slack. He didn't deserve any. “I thought—­we all thought—­you were just sniffin' 'round her skirts. But Christ, Gabe. Are you in love with her?”

Gabe stiffened and began pacing again. “No. Hell, no. I don't do love.”

“Not since Leanne. She fucked you over good, no denying it. That was four years ago, though. When are you going to get back up on the horse?”

“Never.” But Christina's beautiful face swam through his mind. “And for fuck's sake not with another fucking CIA agent.”

Tag stuck his head out the open door. “Your turn, man.”

He scrubbed his sweat-­slicked skin as though he could slough off every mistake he'd made since he first met her. He'd been too harsh, too cutting. And his men had it right. She'd performed admirably, up to and including her decision to trust fucking Brumley with the truth.

The others had already chosen sleeping spots in the bed and on the couch and floor. He moved his things into an unoccupied corner, cursing under his breath the whole time.

 

Chapter Seventeen

C
H
RISTINA
SPOKE
FIRST
. “I'm sorry for the deception.”

Julian spread his hands apart. “It's Ronnie's deception as much as yours.”

“Are you . . . please don't be upset with her. Even Trevor agreed it was best to keep you apart until we get this figured out. If you'd known . . .”

“I would have insisted you tell me where she was staying so I could join her,” Julian finished for her. “Yes, I realize that now. Until this is sorted, I agree to stay away from Ronnie.” He surveyed her, peering closely. “It's an amazing resemblance. I knew as soon as I touched your arm, but in the dim lightning, even I might have been fooled for a few seconds.”

“My arm?” Christina twisted her head and grabbed the T-­shirt's sleeve, pulling it up to peer at her scar. “I should have been wearing long sleeves, but Ronnie's dress was custom made for her. So how did you and Ronnie meet?”

“At a symposium two years ago. She is very passionate about her causes. Children's welfare, adequate care for war veterans, things like that. We were arguing before the European Union's Environmental Policy Council about oil exploration in Concordia. On opposite sides, no less, and I found her arguments so persuasive that I asked her out that very day.”

“She changed your mind?” Christina wondered what that would feel like.

“Not in this case. She believes it's necessary for Concordia's economic growth. I voted against her proposal. But her passion intrigued me.” His face softened. “We've been on the same side ever since, though. She's truly one of the kindest-­hearted women I've ever met.”

Christina felt a slow bump of envy. Ronnie and Julian found something together that she could never hope to have. “From everything I've seen, I agree. I guess I'm not exactly what you'd call gentle.”

Julian cocked his head at her, much as Trevor used to do. They did resemble one another, though one was fair and the other dark-­haired. Julian had the same short curly hair, which probably had the same soft consistency as Trevor's, and the strong jawline. He'd been a good friend when she needed one.

The SpecOps community was a small one. Everyone who'd been at Prince Nasser Hospital in Azakistan's capital city seven months ago knew she'd shown up wearing Trevor's clothes. Never mind that her own had been filthy by the time Trevor paid her fine and sprung her from jail, where she'd ended up because a conservative imam didn't like her not wearing a hijab. Never mind that his apartment stood miles closer than hers. Everyone'd taken one look at her and assumed.

The political counselor, Shelby Gibson, had gone white as a sheet when she'd seen Christina. She'd assumed, too. And then broke things off with Trevor.

“I disagree,” Julian said now. “I see a strong woman in front of me, yes, but an intelligent and empathetic one as well. You're concerned about Ronnie's feelings, that's clear enough. It's her reputation you're wearing, after all.”

Christina hadn't thought of it in those terms. Butterflies started in her stomach.

“Relax,” Julian said, surprised. “I didn't mean to worry you. It was inevitable that I would know you weren't my fiancée.” He shot her an unrepentant grin. “After all, I've counted the freckles on her back.”

Christina relaxed even as her cheeks reddened. “I see.”

“Which brings me to a rather delicate subject.” Julian cleared his throat. “Our sleeping arrangements. Will you be comfortable with me on the sofa instead of one of your bodyguards?”

“Yeah, I'm fine with it. We're safe for tonight. We were attacked on the way here. Two in as many days. I'm confident they won't be able to pull together a third so fast.”

He frowned, clearly unhappy. “I'd rather I were the target.”

“I know. Trevor's investigating everyone either of you knows. We'll have something concrete soon.”

He sighed, hands clasped loosely between his knees. “I can never express my gratitude for the risk you're taking.”

“Uh, all in a day's work?”

“No. Above and beyond. I'll see you get a medal for this.”

She didn't know how to respond to that. Her goal was simply not to get fired.

Deni knocked as she and Gabe came through the door. It astounded Christina that after everything that had happened that evening, she still looked as polished and proper as a queen. “I wished to ensure you took no ill effects from tonight's drama,” she said. “I could not come any sooner. All the guests were detained and questioned. Many were upset at this, and required some feather-­soothing.”

“Their feathers got ruffled?” Christina rose from the sofa and put the width of the room between herself and Gabe. His eyes were laser-­sharp, his face an expressionless mask. His gaze followed her as she retreated.

“
Oui
. Gunfire is not customary at formal galas.” Though her voice and face remained bland, mirth lurked in her eyes.

“Oh, my God, Deni, did you just make a joke?”

A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Perhaps. Between the excitement of the drive here and tonight's drama, I find myself feeling peculiarly alive.”

Christina could relate. “I get that. It's normal. Surviving danger wakes up your senses.” She couldn't help a glance across the room. And then wished she hadn't, because the heat in Gabe's eyes nearly scalded her. Oh, yeah. His senses were awakened, all right. But he'd missed out on his chance with her. Whatever game he'd been playing last night, she wanted no part of it.

His eyes narrowed. She glared right back at him.

To Julian's surprise and Deni's amusement, Gabe stamped across the room and clamped a hand around Christina's upper arm. Without ceremony, he dragged her into the bedroom, kicking the door closed with his boot. He swung her around, slammed her up against his chest, and proceeded to kiss the living shit out of her.

This was no gentle seduction; this was full-­out war. He thrust his tongue past the seam of her lips, demanding entrance. Her body reacted of its own accord, curling into him and opening her mouth beneath his onslaught. Gabe excited her. She wanted him. Craved him. Running her hands up his shoulders, she angled her head to fuse their mouths together. His tongue dueled with hers, stroking urgently. His taste addicted her; hot and carnal, giving and receiving pleasure.

She wrapped a leg around his, her body roaring to life. His hands dropped to cup her rear, lifting her against him. Her hand tangled in his long hair. Taking two steps, he planted her against the wall and himself between her legs. He caressed the length of her thighs and up her ribs, then covered her breasts, kneading gently, still kissing her. Her nipples pebbled, and he growled into her mouth in satisfaction as his thumbs stroked across them. Little mewls burst from her at the incredible sensation. She rubbed herself against him, desperate to feel his skin against hers. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both panting feverishly. He glowered down at her, but his wrath had fizzled, and he looked somehow confused and lost.

“I was so worried about you,” he admitted, voice low and rough.

“Gabe, I'm so sorry I disobeyed you tonight. I know you're team lea . . .”

He placed a finger across her lips and closed his eyes. “You made the right call. I was wrong.”

Surprise rounded her eyes. He was apologizing? To her? “Gabe . . .”

“Don't worry. The showers run cold here,” he whispered. He let her slide to the floor and turned away. “I oughta know.”

 

Chapter Eighteen

B
Y
TEN
O
'
CLOCK
the next morning, Christina still hadn't put in an appearance. Gabe eyeballed the door more often than the food going down his gullet. Was she okay? She'd had quite a scare last night during the skirmish. He half heard his teammates discussing last night's attack compared to the ambush on the road to Grasvlakten. Damn it. He should be brainstorming with them, not worrying about Christina. She'd handled herself well the night before, both during and after the attack.

“The road ambush took coordination. Premeditation.” Gavin cut a piece of sausage and chewed it. “Last night felt rushed to me. Impulsive.”

“Multiple attackers versus one shooter changes the game entirely. What upped the ante for them?” Tag said. “Us?”

“Or maybe a deadline.” Frustration roiled through Gabe. They seemed no closer to answers. Meanwhile, their enemy remained one step ahead of them.

Brumley entered, smiling, with Christina a step behind. Gabe scrutinized her. Were those bags under eyes? Had she not slept well?

Was it his fault? He shouldn't have given in to the temptation to kiss her.

It wasn't until Mace snapped his fingers in front of his eyes that he realized someone was talking to him.

“We need to regroup,” Tag said, obviously not for the first time. “We should stay here while we figure out our next move.”

“Why here?” Gabe asked, forcing himself to focus. He valued his teammates' opinions. “My thought is to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. There's too much property and not enough overwatch for us to have positive control.”

“We should be able to control enough to lay a trap,” Mace said. “I can't position myself on that damned roof well enough, though. It pisses me off that I didn't know there was another shooter up there. If he'd been the assassin instead of a cop, Christina would be dead by now.”

“Christina what?” And there she was, standing by the table, smiling down at Mace. “My ears were burning.”

Mace stood, holding a chair for her. She smiled her thanks. Julian brought two plates from the sideboard buffet, and slid one of them in front of her. A maid was next to them in an instant, serving her coffee and orange juice.

Mace sat down again. “We're trying to figure out our next move.”

“Stay here,” she said at once. “If we go back to the palace, no one will be able to get to me. But if we stay here, we can corral the bad guys where we want them. Anywhere else we go, we won't know the terrain and layout.”

That was SpecOps thinking, and gutsy. He felt a swell of pride and respect. Despite the attacks, she remained calm and professional. His impulse to take Christina away from here had less to do with his actual mission, and more to do with his need to protect her. “What about the roof problem?”

“Two shooters? Or put Gavin somewhere where he can see both the access to the garage and access to the roof.”

Gavin fingered his earlobe thoughtfully. “I can do that, actually. Southeast corner of the driveway will give me a straight shot to both. Only issue is if someone tries to gain access by the back way.”

Mace slurped orange juice. “That must be what happened, I think. It's a damned maze up there, but I can move around to cover different fields of fire. I can lift and shift pretty fast.”

Brumley tasted his coffee, with his pinky out, no less. Gabe's lip curled. He'd never demean himself to be part of such a ridiculous lifestyle. He glanced at Christina. Her pinky, too, was arched as she sipped, looking every inch an upper-­crust woman. Or princess.

He looked over to find Mace laughing at him and making no secret of it as he said, “Well, we were very comfortable last night in the corridor.”

Christina looked up, startled. “What?”

Gabe laid it out for her. “Since no one was on hand to protect you in your suite, we took turns sitting in the hallway outside your door.” He wasn't being fair and he knew it. The only one displaced was him.

Christina's shoulders hunched, making him feel more of a shit. But before he could tell her they were pulling rotating guard shifts outside her door anyway, the viscountess made an entrance, followed by Deni and what looked like a footman in some sort of livery. Lady Nabourg fussed over Christina for a few minutes, then seated herself at the head of the table, ceasing all conversation. Deni ensconced herself next to the viscountess, across from Brumley. She and their hostess chatted amiably.

Christina tapped a boiled egg with a tiny spoon, adding just a sprinkle of salt.

Gabe peeled his egg with his fingers. “Lord Brumley, do you need a ride to the airport? Deni can call you a taxi.”

Brumley gave him a pleasant look. “I've ordered a car ser­vice. It will be here in an hour.”

Apparently, politicians didn't take taxis.

Gabe was no politician.

“Lady Nabourg, your home is as lovely as you,” Brumley said smoothly.

“How kind of you to say so,” she replied. “Your unexpected visit perked up my niece. She seemed rather withdrawn until your arrival.”

Gabe swallowed too much coffee and felt it burn its way down his throat, the pain a welcome relief. He needed the caffeine. Even when he wasn't on guard duty, he hadn't been able to sleep. His brain had been on a loop. His mother, Leanne, Christina, the CIA. Over and over, until he wanted to howl. Yeah, he'd been burned. He'd trusted where he shouldn't have. But at some point during the night, he'd come to realize that what he'd felt for Leanne paled to nothing beside his feelings for Christina. Christina, who was feisty and cool under pressure. Who stood up to him and told him when she thought he was wrong. Who had courage in spades.

Who had promised never to lie to him.

He wasn't exactly sure what to do about these newfound feelings. He certainly wasn't ready to run out and buy a ring. Still, maybe when this was all over, they could go somewhere. Just the two of them. See where things led.

A
FTER
B
RUMLEY
DEPARTED
, he pulled Tag and Mace outside with him. They quartered the landscape, searching in the daylight for any clues to last night's attack. Nothing. The local police had trampled the area. Pulling out his cell phone and the chief's card, he dialed and identified himself.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Morgan. What can I do for you?”

“I'd like to get an update. What have you found out about the attackers?”

The chief's voice grew amused. “Since last night? Not a thing. We have yet to identify the two dead men, and the live prisoner has said nothing. I know you Americans tend to be impatient, but even we cannot solve a case overnight.”

“Did the Federal cop tell you who assigned him to Princess Véronique?”

“I have yet to speak with him. He's due in my office later this afternoon.”

Gabe sighed. “Are you going to autopsy the dead men?”

“To what end? We know the cause of death. They were shot.”

Gabe ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Can you at least pull the slugs?”

“Slugs?”

“Bullets.”

“Ah, yes. Naturally, we will run a ballistics test. We do know how to investigate a wrongful death, Mr. Morgan.”

Gabe held on to his patience. “It wasn't a wrongful death. It was self-­defense, pure and simple. They were trying to grab Princess Véronique. Anything the prisoner can tell us would be more than the squat we know now.”

“Squat? Crouching?”

“Nothing. It means we know nothing at the moment. I need another favor, if you can spare the manpower. We were attacked on our way to Grasvlakten. The state limousine has bullet holes in the front quarter panel. Would you send someone to dig out those slugs—­bullets—­and run ballistics against them as well? It might lead us to who's responsible.”

“I am sorry to hear about the attack. Why didn't you report it?”

Gabe clenched his fingers around his cell phone until they turned white. “I should have,” he admitted. “Our protection plan for the princess relied on total secrecy, because we didn't—­and still don't—­know who is involved or why. It's crystal clear, though, that someone knows our movements anyway. I should have reached out to you. I'm sorry.”

The chief sighed down the phone line. “The case has our undivided attention. You must understand how beloved the crown princess is. Still, you must give me time to mount a proper investigation. As soon as I know something, you will know. Will this be sufficient?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

T
HAT
DAY
AND
the next tested Christina's patience. Neighbors and friends visited in an endless stream to check on the Nabourgs and their distinguished visitor, and to gossip about what had transpired. They were full of theories, even the ones who hadn't been there that night, or had been inside and not known anything was amiss until the police corralled them all.

Trevor checked in with them several times, going over Ronnie's list and telling them whom he'd cleared and who was still a suspect. The Delta Force team combed every inch of the house and grounds, laying out emergency egresses and discussing various places a trap could be laid.

At lunchtime, Christina found herself in front of her computer, dialing Heather.

“Hi,” the other woman said, her cheerful face filling the screen. Ever since she and Jace had gotten engaged, her happiness shone from her. It made Christina a little wistful.

“Hey,” she said. “Just a quick call to update you.”

“On the mission? Gabe calls in every evening to brief Jace.”

“Um, yeah, well . . .”

Heather relaxed into her chair. “Tell me.”

Christina sighed. Where to start? “We were attacked last night.”

“I know. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Your boys kept Julian and me safe.”

“Who? Oh, yeah. The fiancé.” Heather tapped the arm of her chair thoughtfully. “How are you getting along with the team? My boys, as you call them.”

She grimaced. “Great! With everyone except my team leader.”

Heather chuckled. “Remember what I said three weeks ago? Are you sure you're not butting heads because of some unresolved . . . issues?”

Christina made a rude sound.

“Well, all I can tell you is that he's made no complaints to Jace. If he's unhappy with your performance, he hasn't said anything.”

That surprised her. “He likes having a hundred percent control over things. I'm an unknown entity with a shitty reputation.”

Heather's shrug was noncommittal. “Opinions vary about that. But I'm more interested in your personal interaction. Is the electricity still there?”

She rested her chin on her hands. “I'm being honest here. Yes, on my end. I . . . well, I don't know what he wants. I don't think he knows, either. And I sure as hell don't know what I want. I mean, there's this spark between us, yeah. But what does it mean?”

“Everything. Nothing.”

“Well, that's useful.” She frowned at the computer screen. “I'm being serious here. Gabe makes me remember I'm a damned good operative, despite Baghdad. He pushes me, but he's always got my back.”

Heather grinned. “Take it for a test run after this mission is over. See where it goes.”

Tempting, but . . . “That's probably not a good idea.”

Heather leaned forward, staring at her with knowing eyes. “You're afraid of falling in love with him and getting your heart stomped on.”

She let her head fall back, staring up at the ceiling, not ready to admit anything. “He's an outstanding team leader. He listens to everyone's input. He's decisive and fearless. Even though he knows my background, he . . .”

“Yeah, yeah. Is he a good kisser?”

“What?” Christina jerked back, then sighed. “He's amazing,” she admitted softly. “He barely touches me and I go up in flames. But that's not the same as l—­” She couldn't even say the word. Could barely think it. She didn't know Gabe well enough to be in love with him. Half the time, he was biting her head off. When he wasn't trying to shove his tongue down her throat.

Out of sorts after her blunt conversation with Heather, she decided a warm shower might relax her. About to lock the door, she hesitated. She wouldn't have to worry about Gabe barging in, as he was wont to do. Why didn't she just lock the door?

Because she hoped he'd barge in.

She adjusted the water and stepped under the spray, feeling sorry for herself. The water pounded down onto her shoulders as she felt an emptiness in her heart.

Someone pounded on the bathroom door. “Christina!”

It was Gabe. “Go away,” she shouted. “I'm in the shower.”

“I know you're in the shower. Get out here. We have news.”

He'd used his command voice. Alarmed, she turned off the faucet and stepped from the shower enclosure. News was good, right? It had to be important for him to interrupt her. She threw on a pair of cutoff jeans, couldn't find her bra, and finally just yanked a T-­shirt over her head. Her hair lay damp and curly on her neck as she rushed into the main room.

“What's happened?” she asked. The entire team, including Deni, had assembled in the main living area.

Gabe glanced at her when she came through the door, then looked again, staring hard. He swallowed several times.

“Gabe?”

He shook himself like a dog shedding water, but still had that peculiarly intense look in his eyes as he told her the news.

“The police chief got back to me,” he said. “They ran ballistic tests on the rifle the cop, Jansens, was carrying. Obviously, the round in one of the tangos—­the attackers—­matched Mace's rifle, and Jansens's the other one. But you'll never guess what other ballistics result popped up.”