Bait (8 page)

 

Chapter Eight

C
H
RISTINA
FORCED
HERSE
LF
to remain still while the dressmaker pinned and sewed the satin gown. She gripped the speech she would give the following day at the joint Austrian-­Concordian caucus on equality of women's pay, practicing it aloud in English while Deni and the seamstress chatted. This polyglot event conveniently made sense of her rehearsing in English—­and negated the need to join their conversation in French.

Dinner the previous evening had been strained. The camaraderie she'd been developing with the team withered under Gabe's disapproval. He continued to believe she'd deliberately withheld the van incident from him, but it had never occurred to her that it and her mission here might be related. How could they be? Only a select few ­people even knew she was here. Her call to Jay Spicer had yielded no new information. This morning, she'd eaten breakfast in her bedroom, unable to face Gabe's censure.

Princess Véronique's ball gown needed to be altered slightly to fit Christina, taken in slightly to account for her smaller breasts and longer waist. The dress was a gorgeous burgundy wine color, and Christina had fallen in love with it on sight. The halter neckline was embroidered with a silver thread design. A crystal spray decorated her stomach. The full skirt started just below her navel, and was gathered at various points with crystal clips.

The seamstress had taken one look at her scar and tut-­tutted, then whipped out a sheer silk material in the same color and had sewn, on the spot, a scarf-­like drape for her shoulders that concealed her upper arm.

The fitting and alterations took two hours. At the end of it, Christina looked at herself in the full-­length mirror. “
Très bien
,” she murmured, touching the seamstress's shoulder with genuine appreciation. “
Merci beaucoup
.”

If the woman noted anything odd about her accent or was surprised by the scar, she did not show it. Discretion was part and parcel of working with the royal family, Deni had told her.

Christina gave a regal nod as Deni escorted the woman from the apartment. When she was alone, she slipped out of the dress and hung it up carefully, then pulled on a pair of yoga pants, a sports bra, and a loose, drawstring top over it—­and felt like herself again. She spent the next half an hour in the gym stretching, thought about changing, and decided she deserved to be comfortable for some part of this mission.

By the time she entered the dining room, the Italian cook had laid out lunch and vanished. One by one, the operators drifted into the room behind her. The lunch menu consisted of clam chowder, lasagna, a grilled vegetable salad. Red wine. And—­what on earth was that?

“Red wine marinated escargot over bowtie pasta,” Deni said, seating herself. She laid her napkin across her lap. “Apparently, it is one of Lorenza's specialties.”

Christina sniffed at it. It smelled wonderful. “All right. I'll bite.”

The rest of the team filled their plates and sat down.

“Comms check at thirteen hundred hours,” Gabe said. “We don't want any surprises at the hospital. Departure at thirteen-­thirty.”

There were nods all around. The teammates shoveled food into their mouths at incredible speed.

“It's actually good,” Alex said, swallowing the escargot pasta. “I mean, I've eaten snails before. They didn't taste like this.”

Christina simply shook her head. “Maybe if you took the time to taste it?”

“So,” Mace said briskly, rubbing his hands together. He smiled at Christina. “I'm bored of Alex going on and on about farming equipment, or Tag talking about his horses. Tell me an interesting story.”

“What?”

Gavin speared a slice of squash from his salad and waved it at her. “Tell us about yourself.”

She frowned. What could she tell?

“How did you come to work for the CIA?” Gabe asked. His tone was casual, but she saw the hard look in his eyes.

She cleared her throat. Was she really going to do this? Give Gabe more ammunition to use against her?

“Well, I was recruited right out of high school, so I haven't known anything else.”

“They recruited you? Isn't that unusual?” Mace looked genuinely interested.

“Yeah, it is.” Christina closed her eyes, remembering her initial conversation with the recruiter. “The normal application process is long and drawn out. Background checks and polygraphs, interviews and exams. They only recruit when someone has a specialized skill. A talent they need. In my case, it's complicated.”

“I like complicated,” Alex said. He threw a snail at Mace, who caught it one-­handed and popped it into his mouth. “Like the machinery parts on my thresher.”

“All right.” How could she sanitize the story? “My parents got involved with some . . . stuff. I got them out of trouble, but just after we . . . moved to a new city, a CIA recruiter visited me.”

The interview had been bizarre from the start.

“I hear you're brilliant. Are you?”

“Um, no. Not really.”

“Do realize what you did? The degree of difficulty, especially at your age?”

“I know what I did.”

“Was it merely a fluke? An act of desperation? Did it excite you? Thrill you? Bore you?”

“It was kinda cool.”

“Could you do the same thing again, if your parents' lives weren't at stake?”

“Sure, would be a lot easier that way.”

“Do you realize how much danger you were in? I want to make it very clear. What I'm suggesting would be just as dangerous, and you couldn't tell your parents anything at all about what you're doing. You game?”

“The case officer who visited me sent me into a rough high school in a mostly minority neighborhood. His daughter's school. He knew major narco-­trafficking was going through the school. He gave me the starting players, then told me I had six months to tell him how the trafficking worked. No one could know what I was doing. I had no official cover. He gave me his contact data, but the CIA can't operate inside US borders. I was on my own.”

“If you pull this off, I'll do three things for you,” the case officer promised her. “One, your parents will win the lottery and earn $50,000 from a ticket you will buy. Two, I'll offer you a full-­ride scholarship to college, to study whatever you want, provided that three, at the end of getting your education, you come to work for us for a minimum of five years.”

“What if I fail?”

“I walk away and you never see me again. Most likely if you fail, you'll be dead. Your parents will get $10,000, and I'll put roses on your headstone.”

“I managed to fit in. It's my chameleon thing,” she told them. She tucked a leg under her.

“Chameleon?” Alex asked, forehead wrinkling.

Tag sniffed the wine in his glass and put it down. “It's a lizard, numbskull.”

Alex lobbed another snail, this time at Tag. It bounced off his chest and rolled onto the floor. Tag didn't react. “I know what a chameleon is, asshole.”

“But you asked—­”

“You've fooled everyone around you so far.” Mace said, ignoring them. “You're a good actress.”

“Thanks. But I took acting in high school, and I bombed at it. What I'm doing here, it's not an act. When I'm in a role, I am that role. I fit into my surroundings, like a chameleon.” She couldn't help the glance toward Gabe, who watched her without expression.

“So you were the marshmallow in the hot chocolate,” Mace prompted. “Did you figure out who the dealers were?”

She scooped up the last of the pasta, chewing to give herself time to frame her words. “I did. It took me four months. I went back to the case officer with my information. The D.C. police raided both the school and their homes the very next day. I was arrested along with the dealers, because no one knew me from Adam. My father bailed me out, I got a huge lecture, and then the charges against me were dropped. I've always assumed the case officer pulled some strings.

“From there, it was exactly as the case officer promised. My parents retired after the money showed up. The Company sent me to college. I studied political science and international economics. When I graduated, I went to work for them.”

“Any regrets?” Surprisingly, the question came from Gabe.

She could lie, but what would be the point? “Only that I screwed up in Baghdad last year. I took a life. I could have cost a teammate's life.”

Silence surrounded the table.

Discouraged, Christina dropped her gaze to her empty plate.

“You failed to rescue your birds.” Gabe's voice sounded surprisingly benign. He squinted at her, as though he could pull the truth straight from her brain. “Okay, maybe you made a mistake. Depends on how you were made as an operative. But things happen on missions. Things go FUBAR—­fucked up beyond all recognition—­and plans get chucked. You adapt and survive.”

“Sounds to me like you're not the only one who screwed up,” Mace added. At her surprised look, he grinned. “Gabe filled us in, obviously. We only work as a team if we all have the same info. We're so tight, if Tag gets indigestion, Alex farts for 'im. Sorry, ma'am.” He nodded to Deni, his cheeks reddening.

“Your team leader abandoned you.” Tag sent Mace a chiding look. “There was no contingency plan if it all went sideways. Sounds like you did the best you could under bad circumstances.”

Christina felt her mouth drop open. Everyone around her had blamed her exclusively for the mission flop. At some level, despite not being able to see where she went wrong, she had accepted that, as the junior operative, the mistake must have been hers.

Gabe quirked a small smile at her. “Hey, now,” he said, voice almost teasing, “we finally found out how to shut you up. Give you a compliment.”

A shaky laugh surprised Christina, but it felt good. “Those weren't exactly compliments, but I'll take it.” She suddenly felt lighter, as though some of the guilt she carried with her daily sloughed away. “You're the first ­people to say that.”

“So I gather.”

“We heard a different story in Azakistan,” Tag said. “Sorry, but when you stepped in to help, we wanted to know who you were.”

“Of course.” Her cheeks heated. To hide her reaction, she drained her water glass. Wine with lunch was the norm in this country, but to her it felt unnecessary.

Alex pushed back from the table. “Excellent grub. I'll go lay out the Bluetooth. Bluetooths? Blueteeth?”

“Knucklehead.” Mace rolled his eyes.

Deni excused herself as well, and the rest of the team drifted out one by one, until only Gabe remained. Christina rose, anxious to leave as well.

“That was a carefully sanitized story you just told,” he said just as she reached the doorway. “I'm more curious about the parts you conveniently left out.”

 

Chapter Nine

C
HRIS
TINA
TURNED
HER
head, but he noticed she didn't bother to deny it. “What I left out was irrelevant.”

His voice dropped as his temper rose. “I'm your team leader, however temporary this arrangement is. I decide what's relevant.”

Anger flashed through her eyes. “So what about you, hotshot? Did it ever occur to you that I might also want to know who the hell I'm trusting with my life? What's your story, huh? Where did you grow up? What made you decide to join the Army? Did
you
ever mess up on a mission?”

His head reared back. What?

She laughed her fury. “No, I can see it never even occurred to you. It's all about you, isn't it? As long as Gabe Morgan gets his way, everything's fine.”

She turned to stalk out, and slammed headlong into Gavin. He steadied her with his hands on her arms, a carefully neutral expression on his face. Christina took a step back.

“What?” Gabe snapped.

Gavin actually had the nerve to shoot him a grin. So much for keeping his emotions to himself. “Time to rock and roll, boss. Unless we're scrubbing the hospital visit?”

Christina hurried through the door. “No. I can be ready in ten minutes.”

He didn't even know what to say about her accusations. If he was being honest with himself, the criticism had validity. Sure, he liked control. What operator didn't?

Christina had changed into her princess clothes by the time the team was done with their communications checks. This time, she made no protest as they exited the back way and climbed into an unmarked car. Apparently, she realized how close the toss-­up had been about allowing her this visit.

They wove through narrow streets, taking lesser-­known roads and doubling back several times to see if they were being followed. Their destination was public knowledge, but a tail would give them more data to work with. Possibly even a look at their enemy. Christina spent the time staring out the window, commenting on the architecture and the variety and beauty of flowers blooming in window boxes. He muttered something about the town being pretty. Clean and well-­kept, despite its age.

She surprised him again when she obeyed his command to stay in the car until his men were in place. Mace settled into the overwatch position they'd identified, and the rest of them cleared a path through the journalists and cameras.

Once he was satisfied, he held her door open and offered her his hand. Before his eyes, she transformed into Princess Véronique de Savoie. She placed the tips of her fingers in his palm, swinging her sleek legs out and rising with regal presence. Constantly scanning the small group, he urged her forward even as she smiled for the cameras.

She swept through the automatic doors. He and his team stepped far enough back to give her room, but close enough to react should anything happen. A tall man with classically Italian features stepped forward and bowed.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said, eyes bright. “I'm Elia Magnoli, hospital administrator. We are honored by your visit. Um, I was assured by the Private Secretary's Office that we could speak in English? I don't speak French and Felicity is Welsh.”

“Yes, of course.” Christina offered a graceful hand. “I 'ave been looking forward to spending time with the children.”

The bureaucrat shook it gently, then turned to the other two ­people in the foyer. “May I introduce our Chief of Medicine, Francois d'Ammet, and Chief of Oncology, Felicity Bevan?”

Christina shook each hand in turn, smiling warmly at them. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am very interested to see what you 'ave created here.”

The oncology wing of the hospital had opened only three months before. His team had compiled detailed bios of the three standing in front of him, but Gabe still did not relax as they walked toward the elevators.

Christina lifted a hand in his direction. “This is my bodyguard, Gabriel Morgan.”

The administrator's face creased in concern. “I was distressed to hear about the attack. It's terrible. Just terrible.”

“But I am unhurt,” Christina said, laying a hand along Magnoli's forearm. “And Gabriel, 'e shall ensure that I stay that way, yes?”

Over the next two hours, she toured the facility, making the appropriate approving noises. When it came to the wards of children fighting various cancers, she moved among them, taking the time to get to know them. Sitting down with a group in a common area, she read stories to them and answered questions about the life of a royal, even fabricating a story about a dancing tree that had the children giggling. In the end, she distributed the plastic crowns the chief of oncology provided, declaring each and every one a prince or princess. They departed among beams and hugs and kisses.

If she was playing a role, she was the best damned actress in history. Gabe staked his reputation he was seeing the real Christina. Which worried him, because she'd shown herself this afternoon to be sensitive, kind, and caring. He could like this side of her, if he let himself. Maybe she was different?

His inner laugh felt bitter on his tongue. Yeah, right.

It wasn't until she was safely back in the limousine that she lost her smile.

She stared out the window at the hospital until it faded from view. Even then, she kept her face turned away from Gabe. A finger discreetly dabbed the corner of her eye.

“Sad, huh?”

She nodded, finally turning to look at him. Her face was solemn. “It's heartbreaking. If I came back next year, a third of those sweet children wouldn't be there anymore.”

What could he say? She was right. Cancer devastated the body, and watching children fighting for their lives caused a churn in his gut. There had been moments during the afternoon when his heart had clenched and tugged, as well. “They're getting great care, though, and medicine makes advances all the time. There could be a breakthrough.”

It was inadequate, but she nodded anyway. Before he could think about what he was doing, Gabe reached out and drew her into his arms. She tensed. He started to pull back, but then she relaxed against him.

Gavin, in the driver's seat, met Gabe's eyes, then pushed the button that raised a dark window between them. He simply held her, not speaking. Anyway, he doubted could have croaked out anything meaningful in that moment. Her softness snuggled against his hard chest felt unbelievably good.

But that changed nothing. Preternaturally strong Samson of biblical fame had two weaknesses. Sure, his hair. But he also had the misfortune to be attracted to untrustworthy women. Both his first and second loves had betrayed him. Gabe had thought Leanne loved him, but she'd sold him down the river. He wasn't giving Christina the chance. Liking children didn't mean he could rely on her.

Still, he stroked her hair, careful not to muss it. It felt soft and silky in his hand. She rested against his chest for another moment, then pulled back far enough to look at him. The troubled look in her eyes nearly undid him.

He used a thumb to tuck a strand of hair behind her ears. So subtly he almost missed it, she leaned into his touch. His fingers stilled.

Her lips parted as she looked at him. What was going through her head? He couldn't tell. Expecting her to pull free of his arms at any moment, he waited, fingers resting beside her ear. Was he supposed to say something?

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. The air left his lungs with a whoosh; he was too experienced a man to mistake this new expression. Her sadness caused her to seek other comfort. Would it help her? Knowing her, she would no doubt blame him and castigate herself later. Though it pained him to do it, he forced himself to push her back gently and let go. “It's okay, Christina . . .”

The air between them electrified. He forgot what he was saying as her body softened and his mouth dried out like the Gobi. Her breath came in small pants as she dropped her stare to her lap, hands twisting together. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be . . .”

Cursing himself for every kind of fool, Gabe slipped a finger under her chin, raising it until she looked into his eyes. Then, lowering his head, he kissed her.

A
LL
RATIONAL
THOUGHT
fled. Christina's head dropped back onto his shoulder as his lips, warm and soft, brushed across hers. When no second kiss came, she peeped up at him. He stared at her, frozen, conflict written all over his face. Without thinking about anything but the fragility of life, she nipped his chin. His breath blew warm on her face as his mouth parted.

She slipped a hand around the back of his neck, her fingers shaking. His eyes closed on a groan as their lips met, urgent and scorching, his heart hammering triple time in her ear as he enticed her to open for him. She did, and his tongue immediately stroked into her mouth.

He tugged her onto his lap. Her bottom nestled against him, where she could feel the very large proof of his desire. His hands came up to frame her face, tangled into her hair, and angled her mouth so he could plunder it more thoroughly. He licked along the roof of her mouth and she shuddered at the intense sensation. She traced his shoulders and flattened her palms on his chest. What the hell was she doing? He lumped her in with the rest of the CIA as an adversary. But her traitorous body shook with the need to get closer to him. His hands slid down her arms and pressed her hands into his chest.

“God, Christina, you are so damned sexy,” he groaned.

Before she could respond, the car slowed. They must have arrived back at the palace. Horrified, Christina wriggled back to her side of the car, ignoring his hiss as she dragged her bottom across his erection. Frantically, she smoothed her hair and clothes, praying no one would be able to tell.

Gavin seemed slow to come around to her door. Did he know what they had been doing? Heat rose in her cheeks. When Gavin finally opened the door, Gabe slid out the other side. Tourists and journalists hovered around the limousine. She forced herself to slow down, to behave as Ronnie would. This time, though, she could not force herself to acknowledge the crowd's applause. Walking with what dignity she could muster, she did not stop until the House Guard opened the princess's apartment door for her. She sailed inside and made a beeline to her bedroom, where she shut the door and locked it.

What the hell had she just done?

She'd made some boneheaded moves in her day, but kissing Gabe Morgan had to take the cake. He would use it against her, no doubt. But he'd kissed her back. Why had he? To comfort her, maybe. Seeing her upset, he'd been moved to offer solace.

She plopped down on the sofa and curled her legs under her, heedless of the expensive outfit she wore. And then she tore it off and threw it onto the bed. The underwear followed. Stepping into Ronnie's shower, she scrubbed herself to within an inch of her life, but it did very little to alter her sour mood. Changing into her own casual clothing helped.

She was tempted to ignore the knock when it came. The person at the other end of the door persisted, and she finally yanked it open.

“What?”

Deni Van Praet actually took a step back. “I'm sorry to disturb you,” she said stiffly. “I need to pack your wardrobe for our trip to Grasvlakten.”

“I'm so sorry,” Christina mumbled, grabbing the older woman's hand and almost yanking her into the room. “I didn't mean to snap at you.”

Deni disengaged her hand and straightened her suit jacket. “Did something go awry at the hospital?”

Tempted to say yes, to blame the hospital administration, the children, anything, she instead shook her head. “No, the children were fantastic,” she said, her innate honesty coming to the fore. “Upbeat, optimistic, no matter how bad the prognosis or how much pain they were in. It was humbling, and I'm so glad I went. It seemed to mean a lot to them.”

Deni's face relaxed. “I'm so pleased. The cause is dear to Ronnie's heart.”

Overwhelmed with the need to confide what she'd done, she collapsed onto the sofa. “I kissed Gabe.”

If Deni was surprised, it didn't show. She came to sit next to Christina. “You regret it?”

“Hell, yes! He doesn't like me. Deni, I don't know how I'm supposed to work with this team,” she admitted. “Gabe makes his dislike plain. I was making headway to being accepted as one of them, but . . .”

Deni made no comment about Christina's casual sweat pants and camisole, nor about the heap of Véronique's clothes on the bed. “He watches you all the time.”

“He's just doing his job.”

Deni chuckled. “I do not mean he follows you. I mean, his eyes are on you. Constantly.”

That brought her up short. What? “Maybe he's checking to make sure I don't mess this up.”

Deni patted her hand and stood. “I have no reservations whatsoever about your ability to accomplish this ruse as the princess. You have her kind heart, her grace, her intelligence. You have adopted her mannerisms as your own. Your bodyguards have devised a plan to, 'ow you say, smoke out the bad guys?”

It was ridiculous the amount of relief she felt at this affirmation. “Really?”

“Yes, truly.”

Christina blew out a breath. “I'm in this for however long it takes, I promise.”

“And I will aid you in whatever way I can. Together we are formidable, eh?”

Christina beamed at the secretary. “Well, then. Let's get packed for Phase Two. Operation Nabourg.”

For the next hour, Deni helped her pick and choose the outfits she would bring. One for the journey to Grasvlakten. One for dinner that evening, another for the next day. The crowning jewel, her gown for the anniversary party. Then there were handbags, shoes, makeup, and jewelry. By the end of it, Christina was exhausted.

“Being a freaking princess is a full-­time job,” she said, sinking with a tired sigh onto the bed. Three large cases and a small jewelry box sat near the door.