Cold Light of Day (2 page)

The American held the other man’s gaze so long Scarlett began to feel uncomfortable. Then he turned to her and held out his elbow in a courteous move. “Sure, let me escort you. We can get lost together.”

“I know who I’d like to get lost,” she muttered quietly, cutting a glance at Raminski as they walked away.

The sailor flashed her a grin. The last thing she wanted was an escort, especially the kind people noticed with good looks and glittering medals, but she needed to get out of here and making a fuss would garner too much attention. Scarlett Stone might run away and hide, but the congressman’s daughters had been raised in wealth and privilege. They expected to be treated like society princesses. Outside, in the hallway, a waiter directed them down a long stretch of dimly lit corridor. According to the blueprints she’d studied, this was where she needed to go.

Her heels clicked off the parquet flooring, her footsteps echoing loudly in the relative quiet of the empty hallway. He moved silently, but she was very aware of the man at her side—his size, his looks, and warm body next to hers. They stopped when they reached the men’s room and she quickly disengaged her arm. “I’m really sorry about the champagne.”

“Accidents happen.” He shrugged easily and held out his hand. “Matt Lazlo.”

She shook his hand, his skin warm and dry; grip, strong but not crushing. Her mouth formed her real name for a split-second before she remembered who she was supposed to be. “Sarah LeMay. I’m here with my…sister, Angel.” She couldn’t hold his gaze, but she could hardly confess the truth just because he had pretty eyes and looked good in uniform. Some secret agent she’d make. She resisted rolling her eyes at herself.

His lips tightened and his expression turned serious. “I’m sorry they made you uncomfortable back there.”

Her gaze flashed to his in surprise. She’d spent a lifetime being uncomfortable and few people noticed. She rubbed her bare arms where goose bumps raced over her skin. “It’s okay. It was my fault for knocking champagne all over you. I tend to be clumsy unless I’m working.” Then her hands were steady as lasers and they needed to be.

“So what is it you do?”

Crap. “Oh, nothing very important,” she said vaguely. Sarah worked for an advertising agency but Scarlett didn’t want to expand on the lies she’d already told and, under the circumstances, she could hardly tell him she was an expert in solid-state physics.

“Pretty earrings.” He tapped one of the sparkling danglies Angel had lent her. Scarlett touched it self-consciously, not used to wearing anything flashy.

She pointed to his medals. “That’s some impressive silverware you have there yourself. Thank you for your service.” The words made her uncomfortable—not because she wasn’t sincere, but because if he knew who she really was, he wouldn’t want her thanks. She hunched her shoulders at the thought, folded up a little on herself. America thought her family was the ultimate in treacherous backstabbers and betrayers. Unless she could prove otherwise, they always would.

She noticed a pair of tiny holes in the material where a pin must have sat on his uniform jacket. She reached out and brushed her fingers over the rough edge of the material. “What did you have there?” She raised her eyes to his and watched his pupils flare in surprise.

“Nothing.”

She withdrew her hand. “So why’d you take it off?”

One side of his lips kicked up. God, he was pretty. “Take what off?” Sharp intelligence spiked those hazel depths, making them a million times more attractive, sending a jolt right through her system. The timing was a death knell to any possible relationship—and wasn’t that the story of her life. She took a step back.

The thought of what she was about to do crowded out the pleasure of meeting a guy who had gorgeous eyes and a keen sense of humor. “I suppose I better hurry up and get back to Angel.”

He pulled a face, obviously as keen to return to the party as she was.

“Why did you come tonight?” Scarlett asked, suddenly curious.

“A direct order from my boss. What about you?” He stood with his legs braced apart, watching her as if he had all the time in the world.

She didn’t have all the time in the world—she had this one brief moment to try and right a terrible wrong. Even then it might not be enough. “My parents made me,” she told him.

It wasn’t a lie.

They stood there staring into each other’s eyes, and Scarlett forgot to breathe. It was one of those rare moments when you met someone and wanted to spend the whole night getting to know them better. She finally broke the connection. It could never be. She turned and walked to the entrance of the ladies’ room, and when she glanced back, Matt Lazlo had disappeared.

Matt Lazlo was not the man for her, no matter how much she might want him to be. His uniform should have served as warning enough.

Scarlett’s father’s favorite quote had been, “The price of freedom is eternal vigilance,” but he’d still ended up in a supermax prison serving multiple life sentences for treason. Now Scarlett was about to take the concept of vigilance to a whole new level and God help her if she got caught.

Inside the restroom, she held the door for a woman who was just leaving. From her position half-hidden behind the large oak door, she spotted the Russian Ambassador coming out of a room across the hall, a room her research suggested was his office. She recognized his face from official photographs—shaggy blond hair and craggy forehead. Short, stocky, but good looking in a blunt, powerful way. Fourteen years ago he’d been the diplomatic attaché here in Washington. He’d returned to Moscow shortly before her father had been arrested.

Coincidence? Scarlett didn’t think so.

Her father had always been suspicious of Andrei Dorokhov, but he hadn’t found any concrete evidence of espionage. He must have gotten too close, and somehow the Russian had figured out a way to frame him—Scarlett was hoping to discover exactly how and exonerate her father.

The ambassador straightened his fancy white jacket and strode along the hallway in firm strides. Another man left after him, moving in the opposite direction. Scarlett eyed the slowly closing door to the office. Her plan had been to plant her device inside a cleaning supply closet around the corner that shared an inner wall with Dorokhov’s office. The technology should be good enough to pick up conversations, but it wasn’t ideal. Taking a chance, she dashed across the hall, caught the door just before it latched and darted into the office, closing it gently behind her.

It was dark and she flicked on the overhead light to make sure no one else was in the room. Easier to plead ignorance at the start than to snoop around and find someone sitting in the dark, watching her commit a crime. The room was beautiful in its old-fashioned opulence. A marble fireplace with a large gold-framed mirror above it formed the focal point of the room, and heavy red, velvet curtains shut out the rest of the world. A massive desk made of some dark wood with a satin finish sat to her right.

If she was caught here she didn’t know what they’d do to her, but it wouldn’t be good.

An ornate brass lamp on the desk was perfect for her needs. She hitched up her skirt and reached inside her panties, removed a small plastic bag. Carefully she laid the lamp on the desk and removed her tiny expandable screwdriver from the bag. It was fiddly, but after only a few seconds she’d removed the base of the lamp and peered inside.

A wave of icy horror swept over her bare shoulders and down her spine. Inside the lamp was another electronic listening device. A sophisticated one. Not a remnant of the Cold War.
Crappity crap.
She wanted to scream but clamped her lips shut. Sweat bloomed on her skin and her palms grew damp. Someone was already spying on Andrei Dorokhov, or his predecessor. And that someone might right now have her under surveillance.

This isn’t happening.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Then pulled herself together. It was happening and she needed to get out of there. Fast.

Quickly, she reassembled the lamp and wiped off her prints. There was every chance whoever was spying on the Russians had just witnessed her attempting to do the same thing. Or maybe they only had audio…
Please, only have audio
.

She stuffed the small plastic bag of equipment down her bodice, turned off the light before opening the door a few millimeters. No one was in the corridor so she slipped quickly across the hall into the bathroom. She flushed the transmitter down the toilet and dropped the screwdriver in the garbage.

Her chance was gone. Maybe it had never truly existed—just another fragile hope to keep the illusion alive. She leaned her forehead against the wooden stall door as her heart slammed into her ribs. Adrenaline made her dizzy. Skin clammy. Her body alternated between hot then cold as her reaction shifted from panic to despair. She needed to get out of here. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid and naïve as to think she could pull this off, but maybe that’s how her father had been framed in the first place. Stupid and naïve must run in the family, along with gullible and unlucky.

*     *     *

FBI Special Agent
Matt Lazlo watched Sarah LeMay hightail it across the plush carpet back to her sister. She intrigued him. Less confident than her sister. Not as obviously beautiful, but certainly more attractive—to him, anyway. Deep thoughts lurking beneath the surface—thoughts he’d like to explore and, come to think of it, a surface he wouldn’t mind exploring either. She even smelled good—tangy lemon that was both sweet and fresh.

She wasn’t his usual type, all big dark eyes and waif-like figure. He liked lush curves, long hair and a good time smile.

The sister had curves but for some reason it was Sarah who held his attention. They’d shared a connection earlier. He’d have had to be dead not to notice it, and despite many close calls, he wasn’t dead yet. He was tempted to ask for her number, though the idea of taking a politician’s daughter out for a night on the town did not mesh with his tight budget.

Everyone had to live a little, right?

“A friend of yours?” the Russian Ambassador’s wife asked.

Damn
. He shouldn’t have let his attention wander. She’d cornered him when he walked back into the reception and Matt’s survival instincts had kicked in. FBI agents should not hang with beautiful women from the Russian Embassy. If anyone other than Assistant Special Agent in Charge Lincoln Frazer had asked him to do this he’d have wondered about the guy. But Frazer was the rock star of the FBI—he could probably form his own division if he wanted. The guy had received an unexpected invitation to dinner with the President of the United States and had asked Matt to step in at the last minute. Matt would rather be back on his boat drinking beer, but it was hard to refuse Frazer, especially on the day they’d buried the Vice President. The latter had died from a heart-attack at his home in Kentucky. It had followed a series of events that had gotten one of Matt’s best friends shot, and the president almost killed. Attending a Christmas reception in Frazer’s stead seemed like a small favor under the circumstances.

Matt had joined the FBI for peace and quiet, and a more regular work schedule. The last six weeks had been anything but. He was looking forward to a little R&R over Christmas.

The Ambassador’s wife was looking at him expectantly.

“No, ma’am. I only met her earlier when she spilled champagne down my shirt.”

Natalie Dorokhov had inky-black hair and ruby-red lips—more Wicked Witch than Snow White. The woman sipped her champagne and eyed him thoughtfully. “She looks about fifteen.” Her eyes were pale blue and looked a hell of a lot older than fifteen.

Matt smiled politely. Sarah LeMay was not a little girl. She just had that youthful wholesomeness that defied years. Pointing that out to this woman would go down like a case of VD so he changed the subject. “Are you enjoying Washington, ma’am?”

Natalie smiled smugly. “I enjoy meeting new people. My husband was stationed here years ago, before we met, so he knows the city and has friends here.” Her bare shoulders rose and fell. “Though I do dislike being treated like an agent for the Kremlin every time I go to ‘tea’.”

“Comes with the territory, I guess.” No way was he talking Russian security with her, ever.

Sarah was whispering urgently into her sister’s ear before she began physically dragging her toward the door. Sergio Raminski looked pissed. Matt didn’t trust the guy and was glad the LeMay women were putting some distance between them and him. Matt had wanted to talk to Sarah again, but she didn’t even glance in his direction. So much for the connection he’d imagined.

Too bad. He turned his attention back to Natalie. “Your English is excellent, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Her smile grew wider, as if she was hiding a secret. “I had some very good teachers.” Her expression changed. “Ah, my husband is trying to get my attention.” She put her hand on his bicep and squeezed. It sent a bolt of
get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here
straight through him. “It was nice to meet you, Matthew.” Because he introduced himself as Matt, people made assumptions he rarely bothered to correct. “I hope we will meet again sometime soon.”

He hoped not.

“Natalie.” He inclined his head. First name terms with the Russian Ambassador’s wife…? His old buddies on the teams would laugh their asses off, not to mention his colleagues at the FBI. God help him.

Matt checked his watch, figured he’d fulfilled his duty, and handed his glass off to the nearest waiter. He was dog-tired after pulling a series of fifteen-hour days trying to help get monsters off the streets.

Sarah LeMay and her sister were nowhere to be seen. He gave a mental shrug. Not the sort of woman he should be pursuing anyway. Sarah didn’t seem like the no-strings, fling type and he was too busy with work and figuring out his mother’s care regime to fit in a relationship. He texted Frazer’s driver and headed downstairs. The limo was just pulling along the curb when he stepped onto the sidewalk of 16th Street.

There stood Angel and Sarah LeMay arguing on the pavement. Angel was obviously not happy with her sister. He couldn’t hear exactly what was being said but she was shaking her finger in Sarah’s face and cursing like a senior chief. The urge to step in and protect the slighter woman was almost overwhelming.