Clarity (The Admiral's Elite Book 3) (27 page)

“Who’s the reporter?” Gabrielle asked.

“Jed Allen.”

“Do we have an address for him?”

“It’s not gonna do any good, Gabs. The source might lead you back to him but you aren’t gonna be able to get names from him. These guys protect their sources and there’s gonna be too much attention on him to do anything drastic to scare it out of him.”

“I don’t need to scare him, I’ve got Touchy Feely with me. I just have to find him and ask a question, Kenneth will do the rest, right Kenneth?”

“Sure.” Kenneth’s response was bored, like Gabs asked him to loan her a pen.

“Perfect.”

“Cell phone has our guy in a neighborhood in Georgetown.” He rattled off the address.

“Thanks.”

“Careful, Gabs.”

“What did I tell you, Ryan? I’ll come back.” Tense, there was a hint of smoke under her reply.

Ryan’s shoulders eased. They weren’t in imminent danger. Not yet. That would come later as their trail heated up. “You better.”

“So will I, if anyone cares.”

“If she doesn’t you’d better not,” Ryan growled.

Kenneth muttered something rude.

Not wanting the half mad bloodsucker with his woman’s back to get pissed, Ryan let it go.

He flicked the communication line closed.

***

Michael stepped out of the town car and gravel crunched under Italian leather. He turned and reached for hers. “Gotta love the accessibility of this town. Always a dinner or party going on when they’re in session, the movers and shakers hit three or four a night. Good thing I brought a tux.” Michael smoothed a long fingered hand down the front of his black coat and held out an elbow.

Becca smiled and slid her small hand through the opening he presented to rest on his forearm. “Lucky for me I thought to bring something presentable.”

“Presentable” was a black dress from a retro shop in Los Angeles Gabrielle took her to on a slow Saturday, insisting she needed to stock up on “girlie” clothes for their evening ops. This one was a black version of the one Marilyn used in combination with a heat grate to welcome a generation of men into the modern sexual age.

One of the security staff at the gates of the Belgian embassy gate met her eyes and smiled. She smiled back, making a mental note to give Gabrielle a fruit basket or something.

Michael lowered his face to brush his lips to her ear. “Lucky m
eI
get to make you less presentable later.”

“Gross guys.”

“Sorry, Kyle.” Becca ducked her face, feeling her cheeks redden. “I forgot we were live.”

“Just please remember big brother is listening? I’ll be right back, I have to wash my ears out with bleach.”

“Shut up, Kyle,” Becca muttered.

“Behave yourselves now, I don’t want to get a call I need to bail you out of jail,” Kyle teased.

No need to answer, they were too close to an audience now.

“Good evening.” The plainclothes did nothing to disguise the soldier’s build or thorough visual inspection he gave them both, especially Becca’s plunging neckline. “Bon nuit.”

“Good evening,” Michael answered, outwardly unruffled by the Belgian’s bold man’s gaze.

“Invitations and identification please.”

The pair of uniformed guards with rifles resting across their chests watched closely while appearing to barely have an interest in their surroundings.

As though he were invited weeks ago, not finagled an invitation by means of a few phone calls less than an hour ago, he slid a hand into his pocket and drew out his passport. “My love?”

“Of course.” Becca withdrew her passport and their hastily printed invitation from her matching black clutch.

The guard cross checked their papers with his list, finally looking up after an interminably long time, he offered them a reserved smile. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Merci,” Becca took back their papers and shut them in her clutch with a quiet click.

The guards on the door didn’t acknowledge them as they passed through the open oversized Georgian doors. A short walk through the grand entry, her heels clicking on marble, his leather soles soundless, and a formally attired gentleman opened the smaller steel doors. The gentle sound of strings welcomed them inside.

The doors closed behind them and together they moved aside. Best to survey the crowd from a better vantage point than remaining exposed on the steps where enemies and prey alike could identify them. A face to face meeting with the man intent upon their unit’s destruction was their goal for the evening. Considering they had no clue what he knew of them or if he would recognize any of them, subtlety was their best course of action.

“Over there, by the big brass,” Michael pointed with his chin.

Sure enough, after his bold declaration of war on domestic terrorists and on his own military, Senator Reese had the top generals’ full attention.

“If there’s someone inside who’s misusing our military might, Senator Reese will be joining Senator Jordan in Arlington far too soon.”

“That’s horrible,” Becca inhaled sharply and bit her lip.

“And true,” Michael stroked her shoulder. “Champagne?” He took two from a tray making its way around the room.

“Thank you.” A test sip and Becca’s tongue sang its gratitude. Even an occasional drinker such as she could appreciate good champagne when she was so fortunate. “Mmm.” Taking another slow sip she closed her eyes, savoring one of the few sips she would afford herself this evening. They were on the job and she was weak, she couldn’t wobble tonight. Not with so much riding on this. If Reese knew who they were he sure as hell couldn’t see them as less than one hundred percent effective and necessary.

When her eyes opened again Michael was staring at her. Eyes gone from blue to black, she recognized his hunger. “Did you not eat before we left?”

“Of course I did.
”
Not enough, apparently.

Mothers and wives had intuition, Becca had intuition at the pro level. Sighted, clairvoyant, a witch, whatever you want to call it, it wasn’t easy to fool her. Even with several decades’ head start. Her eyes narrowed. Michael actually looked guilty.

She took in a breath, opened her mouth.

“Not here.” The extent of her ability was not lost on her mate.

Anger simmered beneath her skin but she kept it wrapped up. Like she used to. Realization hit her. “I’m not a raging hormone or emotional basket case, Michael. What are you keeping from me?”

“Hey, not that I don’t want to hear about your barely controlled female urges, Bec, but I’m getting some cell traffic that might concern your party.”

Eye contact helped maintain their facade of speaking to her date instead of the man on the other side of the comm, Becca also didn’t want to let Michael off the hook either. “You know, it would make a girl feel better if you had the decency to squirm when you’re in trouble.” She squinted at him.

“Would it make you feel better to know I’m not looking forward to later anymore?”

“Not really.”

“If anyone cares we’ve got a potential assassination attempt.”

“What?”

“Come again?”

“Thought you might be interested in that little factoid.”

“Are you sure it’s not from this morning’s?” Michael stepped closer, touched Becca’s hair.

“Nope, this is fresh. We’ve got a cell call between two males speaking English saying they’re silencing an outspoken senator tonight. I’m waiting for identities, Black’s network is crazy. Remind me never to piss him off, there’d be no hiding from the guy.”

Michael, laying on asphalt, blood leaking from his ears flashed through Becca’s memory and her eyes pricked with tears. No, you did not want to piss Black off. Ever. Whatever Michael was keeping from her she reminded herself this was their reality, she had to let it go. Laying a hand softly on his chest she lifted her eyes to his and smiled gently, letting him see her decision. “Are they saying anything more specific? Are you catching an accent at all from either male?”

Michael’s entire countenance relaxed, he let his hand trail down her back to rest on the small of her back; a public display that he loved her and claimed her as his. Completely primitive. She loved it. “Do we have a method? Shooter? Poison? Bomb?”

Kyle made a frustrated sound. “Shit, I can’t tell. This is all real time, folks. Wait. Hold on, one of them is outside. There’s background noise. Give me a minute, I’m gonna try to filter it.”

Strings vibrated softly. A waltz. Blue eyes warmed. “We haven’t danced in a while.”

“Next time, maybe.”

“What’s wrong with now?”

A few glances in either direction and Becca laughed. “We’re supposed to be under the radar. A couple dancing in the corner doesn’t say, ‘nothing to see here,’ people might watch.”

“We’re on the edge of the dance floor, people are beginning to fill the floor. Reese isn’t expecting to see us here, dressed like this. We can have one dance.”

His cool hand touched her shoulder, sliding slow down her arm, capturing her hand. He raised it. Another waiter in a golden waistcoat, another tray, their glasses were deposited. Her hand found his shoulder, his her waist and slid over. Not a large waltz, smaller steps, bodies scant inches apart she found herself stepping with him, accepting the chill of his palm on her lower back as he floated her around their corner of the dance floor. Michael’s instincts were correct, bodies quickly filled the empty space behind them as other couples of varying degrees of talent stepped out.

No conversation would be private so none was had. Not verbally. Michael’s plea for her forgiveness for his silence was in every step, each touch of her back, a gentle wrap of the fingertips around her side; curling her into him. Lightly, asking.

Becca’s acceptance of his good intentions, her trust in his judgement lay in each slide of her foot as she allowed him to direct her, keep her safe from harm. Trust, forgiveness; they were in every breath, catching at his very beauty as he focused on her. Knowing him the way she did, Becca was certain he heard her heart beating for him, her breath catch when he leaned in to touch lips to her temple. For her it was him, only ever him no matter where this took her she would face it by his side.

“Okay, got something.”

Kyle’s interruption, jarring, felt like an assault on their most private of moments. Blinking, she let her eyes drift beyond Michael’s shoulder.

“Talk to me,” Michael rumbled. He too sounded unappreciative.

“Am I interrupting? Cause I can always come back later, you know, when you’re done with your thing. This can wait.”

“Kyle.” Nearly a whine, Becca grimaced.

“Sure Bec.” His brotherly satisfaction at having ticked off his sister tangible in his smiling tone. “Voice recognition says one of the callers is Colonel Samuel Jones. He’s calling the order to shoot, our shooter is unidentified but has a mixed accent. Might be some French, maybe some Dutch. Probably Belgian since they’re a mix of those and German and you’re, you know, in their embassy.”

“Stay with me, Kyle.” Michael calmed their ears and eyes as he fretted off track. The stress of talking them through an op was still new enough Kyle wasn’t always as easy to keep on target.

“I don’t have an identity on our guy.” Frustration pinched his voice. “And I don’t have exactly what he’s got planned, just that he’s supposed to neutralize Senator Reese tonight right after the Ambassador speaks.”