Bulletproof Princess (16 page)

Sleepy blue eyes went wide and she snatched the towel from his grip as she bolted from the bed. “Are you serious? Now? Holy God, what are we gonna do?”

Another amazingly astute question. Mack took a deep breath to collect himself and center his mind. “Okay, you’re gonna go and get dressed. I’m gonna clean up in here and meet them downstairs to run some interference. Come down when you’re ready.”

Still clutching the towel in front of her like she was trying to repair the scraps of her modesty, she began to ease her way toward the bathroom door. “Is that gonna work?”

He’d already thrown on some jeans and was fishing through his suitcase for a clean shirt. “I sure as hell hope so. Ange is a freakin’ Jedi and will probably sense a disturbance in the Force, so hopefully I can distract her somehow, and Eli…” he paused to sigh as he thought about it. “He can sense clandestine sex from the driveway, so hopefully his lovely wife will be enough of a diversion to keep him off the scent.”

She nodded, but still looked unsure. “If you’re sure…”

“We got this.” He was by her side as she opened the bathroom door. Taking her by the shoulders, he pressed her against the door and kissed her like she was leaving for Mars, never to be seen again. Mack couldn’t get over the way she melted under his touch. When breathing became a necessity, he pulled back, but only far enough to rest his forehead on hers. “Just because they’re here doesn’t mean I regret anything, okay?”

She nodded and licked her lips before disappearing into the bathroom. Watching her perfect little behind scurry into her room was damn distracting, but only for a moment. A spritz of cologne and a wintergreen mint from his suitcase helped him get his game face together as he left his room and headed downstairs to greet his guests.

* * *

Grambling’s phone buzzed on his desk as he was putting on his suit jacket to leave. He picked it up as he locked his office for the night. “You have something for me?” he asked by way of a greeting. Daviess knew better than to come to him with anything other than results.

“Email!” The way the young man said it, it sounded like he’d split the atom. “At first, I was like, ‘oh, random email to the assistant. Anonymous, whatever.’ Then there was a reply, and then a response after that, and then I traced back the IP—”

“At some point reasonably soon,” he interrupted smoothly while stepping into the elevator and pushing the button for his floor, “I expect this to be relevant to me. I have dinner reservations.”

“Cassie just emailed her assistant, and I have her location.” The triumph in Daviess’s voice was unmistakable.

And for once, Austin grudgingly admitted, it was deserved. “Now you have my attention.”

It took longer than Cassie expected—or wanted, frankly—to make her appearance downstairs, but it damn near took a miracle to wrangle her hair into submission. Not that she minded, she mused with a cheesy grin as she quickly tamped it down. She was still processing what had happened between her and Mack that afternoon, but every memory she had sent tiny aftershocks through her, and she figured now was not the time.

Once she’d untangled her hair and braided it, she tossed on the nearest pair of cutoff shorts and a button down she could tie around her waist, just something comfy and casual, and not at all like she’d just had the most incredible sex in her life. No, not at all.

The last thing she did before she headed down to face the Marshals was to check her email. Trista had responded while she’d been in the shower, bless her, and it felt like her life was a little bit closer to whole again. She’d fired off a quick reply to let her know that everything was still okay there and she had much to tell her when she had more time. It wasn’t a novel by any means, but enough to reconnect with her friend while still making it downstairs in a reasonable amount of time. The nice thing was she knew Trista had her back, regardless of the situation, and would never do anything to jeopardize Cassie’s safety, even inadvertently.

When she arrived on the ground floor, there was no one to be found, but music was coming from the pool area so she migrated that way. The scene she found was less ‘War Room’ and more ‘Margaritaville’. Mack had a beer and was sitting under the umbrella at the patio table with a thinner, dark-haired man who also had a beer, and Ange who had a dark amber drink over ice which was, most likely, much stronger than beer. Kicked back in a chaise with a martini nearby was a lanky redheaded woman in a hunter green halter and a pair of shorts that made the ones she currently sported look downright matronly.

Mack rose from the table as soon as he saw her, with Eli immediately following suit. “How was your nap? Feeling any better?”

If she hadn’t seen the slight twitch in his lips, she would have thought he was serious and not being completely absurd. Playing along with the ruse was the only way out that she could see so she shrugged. “Yeah, I think I just got too much sun today. I’m better now.”

His smile felt like a hug. “I’m glad, I was worried.”

Ange in her airy khaki shorts and crème moiré sleeveless shirt gave her a huge hug and winked at her before snarling over her shoulder, “You can’t go killing witnesses, Mackenzie. Dragging them through the desert like they live here, mmm.” She fought to keep her frown before breaking into giggles and leading Cassie over to the table. “This is Eli, he’s been helping with your situation.”

“Lovely to meet you. I’m really grateful for all you’ve done.” She grinned as she shook the hand of the tall man in the Oscar the Grouch t-shirt. He looked like he’d been carved from sandstone himself, slightly tan with lots of sharp angles. His added height and rangy build only added to the statue-like impression, despite the lived-in-looking jeans and amusing shirt.

He nodded earnestly. “Of course, happy to be of service. The lush on the chaise is my beautiful wife, Bex.”

The redhead smiled and raised her glass. “Ignore him, he can’t help that he’s whipped. Good to meet you.”

Cassie laughed as the woman killed her martini and gracefully rose to get another, not appearing drunk in the slightest. “You, as well.” Turning to Mack, she inquired, “Where’s Conchita?”

Mack’s shoulders hunched as he ducked his head, and Ange laughed at him outright. She punched her partner in the shoulder as she answered with a straight face, “
Someone
,” she drew the word out while looking at the clouds, “I won’t say who,
Mackenzie
, forgot to tell his
mamita
that we were coming.”

She could feel her eyeballs attempting an escape as they widened in aghast surprise. “Oh dear.”

His partner snorted and plucked his empty beer bottle from his hand before replacing it with a new one. “Right? After she got done wearing him out, she said she’d hit the grocery store and be back to make dinner.”

“I just forgot,” Mack grumbled as he twisted off the cap and pinched it in half before stuffing it in his pocket.

Ange’s pursed lips and pointed expression telegraphed her disbelief in his veracity, but she let it drop, thankfully. Cassie was pretty sure she’d burst into flames at the slightest insinuation of…well, anything. As accustomed as she was to the constant prying and speculation from the tabloids, this felt so much more personal. The thing between her and Mack, the connection, the pull, it was all too fresh, too intimate to just throw it around with witty banter. A strategic exit seemed like the wisest course. “Anybody else need a beer?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before heading inside and into the kitchen. Normally, she enjoyed social situations. Every new person she met had a story to tell her, and as an artist, she believed it was her duty to hear and appreciate them. The scene outside, however convivial, struck her as one step above an inquisition, of the Torquemada variety. Somehow her opened beer managed to drain itself halfway while she was still standing at the breakfast nook.

A hand on her back startled her. “You okay?” Mack’s green eyes were warm with affectionate concern. “I wondered if maybe you preferred the company of Betsy to a buncha cops.”

“No, your friends are nice.” It was a platitude, she knew, but having the game changed up so quickly and thoroughly had thrown her, and slipping back into her equilibrium wasn’t happening as quickly as she’d like. “I just feel a little out of place right now.”

His hand slid from her shoulder down her back to pull her into his side, sending a flare of gooseflesh all over her body. The way he smelled made her want to climb all over him, which only fed her discomfort with the situation. “I’m sorry. Can I do anything for you?”

Cassie smiled shyly, fully aware from the heat in her cheeks that her face was aflame as she toed the ground with her sandal. She gently extricated herself from his embrace, moving to the other side of the breakfast nook. Maybe
he
didn’t care what his friends saw between them, but
she
wasn’t going to be responsible for any consequences he may incur.

“Thank you, but no. Right now I just need to—” Her thought was interrupted by the door at the far end of the kitchen swinging wide and the tiny silver-haired form that bustled through it laden with canvas bags. “Help Conchita make dinner. Go out, be with your friends. I got this.” She didn’t give him an answer as she ran to the older woman’s side and began relieving her of her burdens. It was easier doing this than talking where they had the chance to be overheard. Cassie figured she just wasn’t built for clandestine liaisons, and tempting fate always had a way of catching up to her. It was better this way.

* * *

Mack fancied himself knowledgeable in the ways of women, with more than his share of experience to back up the assertion, but Cassie’s lightning quick shift in mood left him a little confused. Maybe it was the sudden influx of people in the house, or the fact that they were his friends from work when she’d gotten used to it being just the two of them, but either way, he didn’t know how to make her more comfortable, and that concerned him.

She helped Conchita in the kitchen with the groceries and dinner, playing the hostess as she kept him and their guests in fresh drinks and, after a short bit, some chips and incredible homemade salsa, but she never stuck around for any longer than she had to.

“I can’t believe you never told us you lived here!” Bex sighed as she killed another chip. “I mean, yeah, you gave off this whole ‘wealthy, womanizing playboy’ vibe when you were in Vegas, but Jesus! I didn’t think it was really true!” She kicked back in a wrought iron chair at the patio table with her legs thrown over an arm and her feet in her husband’s lap.

Mack rubbed the back of his neck and slid a sidelong glance at Ange, who simply smiled and shook her head. “Yeah, I don’t actually live here. It’s my parents’ place.”

The redhead narrowed her eyes, leaning forward to whisper, “Are you, like, a secret Vanderbilt or something?”

He snorted and sipped his beer, not missing the way Eli rolled his eyes at his wife. “Something like that.”

Seemingly appeased by his answer, she leaned back and drained her bottle. “Is that why you have the pop princess running around like a French maid without the uniform?”

His mind seized on the provocative image for a moment before he could catch himself, and unfortunately, Ange caught his lapse, kicking him under the table. “She’s just feeling a little out of place right now,” he answered quickly, trying to surreptitiously rub his now-pained shin. “This has been hard on her.”

Ange rolled her lips at his choice of phrasing, but thankfully let it go. “Have you told Conchita what we’re working with?”

Mack nodded. “Yeah, she’s clear on the situation, but I’m not too worried. I’m pretty sure she still packs a .380 in her purse. She always did when I was little.”

Bex giggled. “That’s a hell of an image. She doesn’t look like she’s big enough to stomp an ant, much less shoot someone.” She and Eli both reached for the last chip, and she gracefully withdrew her hand to allow him to retrieve his bounty.

“She raised me,” Mack offered in defense of his
mamita
. He could attest to the steel in her soul, because he’d seen it many, many a time.

Eli tapped his beer bottle against Mack’s. “And for that, she has my sympathies.”

Dinner was enchiladas with all the fixings, and proceeded in the same way with the teasing and the light conversation, though it seemed the reason for the gathering loomed over them like the encroaching nightfall. Conchita stayed until the meal was finished, warmly welcomed by his friends, which he appreciated since he didn’t get to share as much of his life with her as he’d like. Cassie, however, remained uncharacteristically quiet, watching the interactions, but keeping to herself unless spoken to, a complete change from what he’d come to think of as normal, and a reversion to before they’d come to the house.

She was the first one up when it came time to clear the table, and she shooed Conchita back to the table to do the work herself. Mack loved that she treated his
mamita
like family instead of the ‘hired help’. That had been a huge point of contention between him and the rest of his family, though it wasn’t spoken of out loud, like most unpleasant things.

With the meal concluded, everyone retired to the formal sitting room with the leather furniture and the oaken tables. Considering that it was kept as clean as if the family were expecting the Pope and Queen at any given moment, it pleased him to use it just to spite his parents. He really
was
a repressed twelve-year-old kid, he laughed to himself.

Conchita excused herself from the festivities, claiming an early morning at the rectory helping Fr. Augustin with his weekly shopping and cleaning due to his recently broken foot sustained while rock climbing, of all things. Once she retired to her rooms, the conversation quickly came around to the business at hand.

“She gonna be okay with this?” Bex asked as she looked over her shoulder after the small, retreating form. Cradling her beer, she curled up on one corner of the leather couch and Eli took the opposite. It always struck him as odd that when they were in work mode, they kept a professional distance between one another, even though everyone knew they were married.

Before Mack could reply, Ange supplied, “Oh, yeah. She may look little, but she’s tough as nails. Whatever we need to do, she’ll stay out of the way and keep quiet about it. I have no doubts.”

Mack appreciated the support, but grew concerned as Cassie wandered in from the kitchen and took a seat on the far side of the table from him, a physical distance to match the emotional one. “She’s not the one we need to keep track of. Where are we with Chuy?”

Eli shook his head. “We have people monitoring his car, and the GPS on his phone hasn’t moved in over twenty-four hours. He can’t leave the hotel without us knowing about it. It’s all sewn up.”

“So then why haven’t you gotten him?” Cassie asked as she rose to pace. “I mean, isn’t he wanted in about a bajillion countries? Can’t you just go kick in the door and get him?”

Seeing her agitation had him actively fighting the urge to get up and go to her, but he could already feel Ange’s eyes on him. “It’s more complicated than that, Cass. He’s in a public place, and the potential for collateral damage is inordinately high.”