Mommy Midwife (13 page)

In the early evening dusk, garden spotlights illuminated the yard. As Troy drove their Range Rover into a line of cars proceeding around the circular drive, she peered through the windshield. “How many gardeners do you think it takes to keep the grounds looking so lush and gorgeous? All the flowers are blooming. The grass is perfect.”

“It’s nice,” Troy said.

“‘Nice’ doesn’t begin to describe it.” She pointed to a grouping of dwarf apple trees with fruit hanging from the boughs. “There’s proof. This garden is Eden.”

“Does that make us Adam and Eve?”

“And Kruger is the snake in the grass.”

“When you meet him—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “I’m not supposed to mouth off. Mom told me to smile and look innocent.”

“You’re not the one I’m worried about.”

“Then who? Surely not my parents.”

“Bianca’s got her feathers ruffled. She’s seeing Matthew Clark’s undercover identity as a personal betrayal.” A muscle in his jaw tensed. “Bianca needs to be cautious.”

He’d been on edge since his last conversation with Sergeant Nelson. On the way to his brother’s house to borrow a suit, Troy had barely said a word.

She reached over and touched his forearm. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like the way this is playing out. There are too many people involved, too many different agencies. Somebody is going to drop the ball.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Kruger won’t be here.”

“He’d better show,” he said. “A forensic team is going to be searching his condo while he’s here.”

“Is that legal? Don’t they need warrants?”

“We’re talking about CIA and homeland security.”

She knew what was wrong. “You don’t like this because you’re not in charge.”

“I wouldn’t mind if I knew who was actually giving the orders.” He craned his neck to see around the line of cars. “Using the valet doesn’t work for me. We might need to make a quick escape.”

He cranked the steering wheel and exited the line of cars. Opposite the front door, their Range Rover was stopped by a teenager in a valet vest.

Troy lowered the driver’s side window. “I’d rather park it myself.”

“Sorry, sir,” the valet said. “We’re supposed to take care of all the vehicles.”

“I have a special circumstance.” Troy jabbed a thumb in her direction. “My fiancée is nine months pregnant. We might need to leave in a hurry.”

The kid in the red vest stared through the window at her belly. He swallowed repeatedly, causing his Adam’s apple to bounce up and down like a yo-yo. “You can park on the side by the catering trucks.”

“And I’ll hang on to my car keys.” Troy turned to her. “Should I let you out here?”

“Yes, please.” Though she was fully capable of walking, her sister had talked her into wearing high heels that made every step precarious. “I’ll see you inside.”

She stepped across the flagstones at the entryway and entered through double doors that were opened wide. Watching these attractive people in designer cocktail dresses and suits reminded her of the soirees and galas she’d attended while growing up as the daughter of Washington, D.C., diplomats. Her mother’s connections in the art world got them invited to tons of cultural events. Her parents knew everybody, and people loved to have the supercharming Laughtons in attendance.

Moving stiffly in her heels, she made her way into a vast room with an inlaid parquet floor. There must have been over two hundred people there, but the house didn’t seem crowded. French doors opened onto an outdoor patio where small groups had gathered. There were three buffet stations, several bars and circulating waiters in white shirts and black bow ties. A gentle undercurrent of music came from the grand piano in a library-type room.

She spotted her parents. They blended perfectly into this crowd. Her white-haired father was dignified, and her mom was sheer elegance in a slim column of peach-colored silk. The skirt was too short for her ankle holster, and Olivia wondered where Mom had hidden her weapon. They were chatting with one of the senior partners in Bianca’s law firm, a man Olivia had met but couldn’t recall his name. A lapse of memory like that would never be tolerated in a spy. Apparently, she hadn’t inherited her parents’ ability for espionage.

Bianca stood beside them, shifting her feet and looking nervous. Troy was right to think she might be the loose cannon. Her sister seemed to be laughing too loud and drinking too freely. Would she be the one to drop the ball?

Olivia turned and found herself face-to-face with the chiseled cheekbones and dark eyes of an extremely handsome Saudi man. He introduced himself.

“Prince Amir,” she said as she inclined her head. “My name is Olivia. I’m Bianca Laughton’s sister.”

“I see the resemblance,” he said. “You are both quite stunning women.”

“Thank you.” Her lavender gown with the deep vee neckline draped elegantly over her baby bump. The swirling yards of fabric made her feel beautiful, even sexy. A high slit on the right side showed off her legs and the perilous high heel shoes.

“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your mother and father,” he said. “Your mother helped coordinate a modern art exhibit in my country.”

She had to wonder why Amir had singled her out. When it came to status, she had to be the least important person in attendance at this event. Was there another motive? Olivia didn’t have the subtlety of her parents. The only way she knew to get at the truth was to ask directly.

Before she could blurt out an inappropriate question about kidnapping and terrorists, she saw Troy coming toward them, and she was totally distracted. The charcoal suit his brother had loaned him fit perfectly across the wide span of his shoulders. He’d opted not to wear a necktie, and the collar of his light blue shirt set off his tanned complexion. She loved to watch him move. Striding toward her, he was smooth and confident. An intriguing balance of masculinity and sophistication, he looked like he belonged here.

Proudly, she said, “I’d like to introduce my fiancé.”

The word rolled easily off her tongue.
Fiancé. Betrothed. The man I will one day marry.
She hadn’t expected to make that claim or to have it feel so good.

As if Troy couldn’t get any cooler, he greeted Amir in his native language. They exchanged comments and a laugh. And she felt the aura of tension fade away. She wasn’t a spy and didn’t have to act like one. If Amir was up to something, she’d leave it to Troy to figure out the angles.

Her parents and Bianca joined them and the prince. Her mother responded to Amir in Arabic—one of the seven languages she spoke fluently. With Mom and Troy and the prince enjoying each other’s company, her dad leaned close and whispered, “I saw you come in alone. Where was Troy?”

“He parked the car so we can leave quickly if we need to.”

“Avoiding the valet,” her dad said. “Smart move.”

Though he was talking to her, Olivia realized that her dad’s gaze was riveted to her sister. Bianca stood at the fringe of the Arabic conversation with Troy, her mom and the prince. The indecisive expression on her sister’s face reminded Olivia of someone on the edge of a cold swimming pool deciding whether or not to jump.

“We are being rude,” the prince said as he turned and focused on Bianca. “We should speak English so these lovely ladies can add their opinions.”

When her sister smiled back at him, Olivia noticed the spark between them. They were an unlikely couple whose professional relationship would make any personal connection difficult, but their chemistry was obvious. No wonder Bianca was nervous.

From across the room, Olivia felt someone watching her. She scanned the faces of the crowd; no one seemed to be staring in her direction. In any other situation, she would have dismissed this prickly sensation, but it wouldn’t go away. She was reminded of how she’d felt outside the hospital in Dillon.
Someone watching. Waiting to make their move.
This wasn’t her imagination.

She should have been better prepared, should have listened more carefully when her parents and Troy talked about Kruger. Olivia had seen the fuzzy photograph from long ago, but she didn’t know what Matthew Clark looked like.

A man with shaggy, steel-gray hair wearing a beige suit and yellow necktie caught her gaze. Was he Matthew Clark? She gave him a polite smile and a nod. Instead of responding, he looked away. Was this man the focus of the investigation? Was he aware that a forensic team was searching his condo at this very moment? Did he feel the danger?

Her father nudged her shoulder. “Don’t stare.”

Though she wanted to ask if that man was Matthew Clark, she had no desire to be more deeply involved in espionage.
This is not my job.
She linked arms with Troy. “At the risk of sounding like a cliché of a pregnant woman,” she said, “I’m starving. Can we hit the buffet?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he said.

As they crossed the room, she whispered, “The guy in the yellow necktie has been watching me.”

“That’s Clark.”

A knot of fear tightened inside her chest. Her heart skipped. “Should I be worried?”

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised. “Stay close to me. I’ll keep you safe.”

She trusted that he would.

T
ROY WASN’T CUT
out for this type of espionage. He was uncomfortable at large social gatherings where every comment twisted into double and triple meanings. Allegiances shifted as easily as the direction of the wind. No one could be trusted. His type of intelligence mission was to go forward with a clear objective, with guns blazing if necessary.

His assignment at this party was supposed to be simple. When Matthew Clark left, Troy would send a text message to the team that was searching Clark’s condo. His message would be their signal to get the hell out.

It should have been simple. But Troy had reasons for concern. For one thing, Clark appeared unduly nervous. His behavior was furtive, as though he knew he’d been identified.

Earlier, while Troy was parking their vehicle near the service entrance, he had noticed one delivery van that was unlike the others. The logo for a cake baker on the side of that van had been applied in a rush, which made Troy wonder if somebody had used that van to get inside the house.

There was virtually no security at this event. With the exception of the prince’s entourage—three of those guys were armed—there were no bodyguards. Nor had the guests been checked off an approved list. Dozens of anonymous waiters, waitresses and bartenders were circulating. All of them wore white shirts and black bowties, a simple disguise.

Troy’s gut told him that Kruger, alias Matthew Clark, was in danger. After twenty-two years undercover, he must have been involved in a lot of nefarious plots. He had to know secrets that others would kill for, which would explain his nerves.

Though Troy had passed on his observations to Nelson, he’d heard nothing back. His apprehension heightened as he observed Olivia’s CIA parents and her obviously frazzled sister milling through the room.

Beside him, Olivia downed another pastry puff and sighed. “This food is delicious. Have you tried the crab cakes?”

“How could I? You cleaned the platter.”

“The waiter said he’d bring more.” She looked through the crowd. “He’s over there by the fireplace. You think he’s avoiding me?”

Looking down at her, he couldn’t help smiling. In her purple dress with her long, blond hair curling around her face, she was beautiful in a different way than usual. She was elegant. And he liked the way his ring shimmered on her finger.

Maybe he was overreacting to the Clark situation. Maybe she’d been right when she’d said the real problem was that he hated any situation where he wasn’t in control.

“Should we go after the waiter with the crab cakes?” he asked.

“Let’s track him down.”

Their path was blocked by Matthew Clark. For a man who’d had extensive reconstructive surgery on his face, he looked natural. Clark had avoided the temptation to change himself into the sexiest man alive. His appearance was average, nondescript. His shaggy, gray hair mostly covered his ears, which made Troy wonder how Olivia’s mother had gotten a close enough look to identify him.

Clark introduced himself to Olivia. “I’ve been watching you,” he admitted. “You’re Bianca’s sister, right?”

“Right.” She gestured with her plate. “I would shake hands, but I’m kind of occupied.”

“Have we met before?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.”

She introduced Troy, who shook hands and realized immediately that Clark had no special interest in him, which seemed strange. Even if Clark hadn’t made the connection to Hatari, he had to know that Troy had been driving the car that his men had chased into town.

Clark turned back toward Olivia. “I seem to remember meeting your charming parents at another company function.”

“I wouldn’t know.” She deftly deflected his question. “How do you like working with my sister?”

“She’s a promising young lawyer. I appreciate her stands on environmental issues, even if I don’t always agree with them.”

“I live in Dillon, so I worry about oil exploration in the mountains. You know, like fracking.”

He scowled. “I don’t know why people get up in arms about fracking. The process is effective and efficient.”

“Except for destroying the environment and polluting the water table,” she shot back. “Not to mention the possibility of earthquakes.”

Clark launched into a lecture that rang true for a somewhat condescending executive of an energy company. His speech was more than a performance. After his years undercover, he had taken on the characteristics of his profession. Troy had to wonder how long it had been since Clark, alias Kruger, had been involved in espionage that involved anything more complicated than the transfer of funds.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Olivia said sweetly. “My sister wouldn’t represent CRG Energy unless you were a responsible company. You’re one of the good guys.”

“Of course,” he said. “Tell me your parents’ opinion. Have they ever mentioned me? Or CRG?”

“Not that I recall.”

“I think you know a great deal more than you’re willing to admit.”