Dark Cover (The DARK Files #2) (10 page)

“The sale of this—” he indicated the house with a sweep of his arm “—and everything that was his, including the ten-million-dollar trophy, will go into a charity fund. I want no part of his damn money.”

She started reinserting the transaction records into the envelope, but she looked up. “Whatever you find may not be yours to keep anyway. DARK won’t care, but U.S. Customs might. And the IRS definitely will.”

His eyes narrowed as the implication hit him. “Customs won’t fine me for what my brother did, and the IRS doesn’t matter if the money goes into a charity fund. Alexei’s tainted money will help atone for the lives he ruined.”

He sat beside her and enfolded her hands in his. Her luminous green eyes invited him to trust her. For this request, he had little choice. “Will you help me search the house for the money?”

***

Vanessa shimmied the opalescent white satin down her body. Danielle had selected the dress for her from her own closet, saying she adored it but the style needed a wearer with cleavage. More cleavage than was fashionable. Smoothing it over her hips, she examined the look in the pier glass.

Despite the woman’s spiteful comment, Vanessa had to admit the garment suited her. And her one feminine asset, fashionable or not. She grinned.

The cocktail dress, by a designer named Alba, was perfection — sleeveless, with a plunging neckline in a faux wrap bodice, and a softly draped skirt with delicate cutwork around the calf-length scalloped hem. She had sandals and a necklace with a single pearl to set it off. Janine had helped her pin up her hair so the curls didn’t tumble at random, but cascaded in an elegant flow.

Elegant.

Ye gods. Her?

She gave an unladylike snort and sat at the dressing table to finish her makeup. They were to leave for the museum reception in a few minutes.

They’d spent all of Thursday and most of today in the library looking for something that might be worth ten million dollars. They checked through every book for hidden packages, tapped and wiggled every shelf and examined every painting and antique doodad.

She and Nick chatted comfortably during the dusty search. He related stories about growing up in different ports and his early attempts at business — selling sandwiches on the New York and London docks. She told him about her family, about growing up in Queens with her rowdy family. The togetherness was easy, too easy, the kind of personal connecting that sucked her into caring about people.

In this situation, it was riskier than usual — for her.

But they barely made a dent in their search. So Nick had arranged for three of the Markos Imports staff to come on Monday to appraise and match furniture and art objects with Alexei’s meticulous legitimate inventory. The house’s contents would be eliminated from their hunt and ready for auction.

Helping him search for the stashed fortune meant spending days and nights together. Close together. Just the intimacy she’d sworn to avoid. Yet DARK did want her to keep an eye on him.

Last night she’d accessed his laptop and read his e-mails. She found only legitimate business correspondence. Guilt at spying on him and her sense of duty sliced at her with opposing sharp blades.

As a DARK officer, she was obligated to be skeptical. He was already rich and influential by any standards. Did he need the ten million? He wanted the ordeal finished. Desperately. Would he return the money to New Dawn and scotch DARK’s trap?
And yet Nick’s avowal to fund a charity with his brother’s money validated her sense of him as an honest man caught in a juggernaut.

Honest and more honorable than most. Fair and kind. And in his rare, lighter moments, witty and funny. Besides being attracted to him, she liked him too much for her own good, and for that of the mission. Dammit.

And tonight she’d be presented to Washington society as his fiancée. As Danielle Le Bec.

Another trouble with undercover roles was separating her inner self from the role. Pretending to be cool and glamorous she could manage easily if it weren’t for Nick.

And her attraction to him.
He
made this her biggest challenge.

Tonight Nick would be attentive and affectionate and too sexy for words. But not for her. For show. For
Danielle
.
She had to remember that.

She stood, satisfied with the final touch of mascara and pink lip gloss.
Okay, kid, you’re ready to fake it.

The listening device in her earring seemed hidden by curls at her ears. She clipped the mic to her demi-bra. Snagging her tiny evening purse, she headed out the door.

When she was halfway down the stairs to the foyer, a wolf whistle pierced her ears.

NICK WINKED AT her. If she’d thought him sexy and rugged in a casual sweater with the sleeves pushed up or imposing and commanding in a business suit, in a tuxedo this man was devastating.

How could mush that used to be legs carry her the rest of the way downstairs?

The jet-black formal suit had surely been custom tailored for him. Nothing off the rack could fit those broad shoulders so perfectly, so… so. Against his olive complexion, the white shirt was blinding. An onyx stud pinned the formal crossed collar. Smaller onyx studs ran down the shirt front and gleamed at the cuffs.

He
gleamed.

His white smile and his blue, blue eyes held her in thrall — until she blinked. Somehow she’d arrived at the foot of the stairs.

“No tie,” she said inanely, focusing on anything but how gorgeous he was. And how tongue-tied she was. “I’ve never seen a tux without a tie.”

“I don’t wear ties. Don’t own one.” He took her hand and guided her to pirouette.

She felt the approval of his gaze deep inside her. She swallowed. “You don’t?”

“I didn’t want to forget the blue-collar start of what became N.D.M. International. I didn’t want to put myself above my employees. And now it’s become a point of pride.”

Nearly dizzy from his nearness and her slow turn, she stopped before him. “Commendable attitude. Even in sweats, no one would mistake you for the intern or the shipping clerk.”

Nick would stand head and shoulders above anyone who might work for him. No matter what he wore, his inner presence proclaimed him the one in charge.

He tipped his head in thanks. His hair, still wet, shone like a midnight sea. “And tonight, honey, no one would mistake you for the cute pal or plain sister. Cinderella ready for the ball, with no ashes from the hearth.”

“Or dust from the bookshelves. Thanks, but I feel more like a kid playing dress-up. Not sexy or glamorous at all.” Someone was tying macramé knots inside her. She pressed a hand to her stomach.

“You are sexy and glamorous.” Moving so close she could feel his breath, he curled his hands on her shoulders, slid a roughened palm down her arm. “Where do you get such strange ideas?”

His heated touch made her shiver. “Guys made friends with me or asked me out just to get close to my sister or to her equally beautiful friend Candice. I can’t tell you how many times I was used that way.”

“Those bums were clueless. Their loss. Glamour’s over-rated.” He reached in his pocket. “But this’ll give you an attitude adjustment. Turn around.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

His hands fiddled with the catch on her pearl necklace. Electric awareness darted over her skin at every brush of his fingers. What was happening? Maybe she was under a spell, a Cinderella spell. She started to giggle.

Until the pearl necklace was whisked away.

And a pendant on a fine gold chain took its place, falling to the neckline’s V. Cool as ice against her skin, the gemstone winked at her. An elusive blue fire seemed to flicker within.

“It’s a fluorescent diamond,” he said. “Rare. Glamorous.”

As big as the Capitol Building. Three carats, or more. A marquis-cut, she thought it was called. Her heart raced.

“But I can’t wear this.” She faced him. “What if, what if something happens to it?” On its own her hand pressed the gem to her breastbone as though to imprint it there permanently.

“Nothing will happen to it. And it’s insured.” His gaze hot and heavy-lidded, he lowered his head.

He was going to kiss her.
Engaged, he’s engaged. Suspicion. Detachment
… But oh, how she longed to taste those sensual, sculpted lips again.

She had only a millisecond to breathe in his woodsy scent before his mouth seared her like a lightning bolt, all molten heat and glittering danger. He kissed her with possessive power, making the blood thunder in her head and her insides start to melt.

Ending the kiss, he trailed a finger from her collarbone down the high curve of her breast to the diamond pendant.

Light splintering off the stone’s facets fractured her thoughts. She swallowed.

Mouth quirked in satisfaction, he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Nothing is more glamorous than a diamond. When you start to feel like a kid, think of the rare stone in that privileged spot between your breasts. Wear it for me.”

***

When Snow deposited them at the Washington Cultural Museum, a throng of the formally dressed elite crowded the building’s entrance.

Nick let Vanessa precede him up the wide marble steps. He tried not to stare at her hips swaying beneath the shimmering white skirt. The dress was simple, the perfect showcase for the jewel inside — the woman, not the diamond.

At a landing, she paused and turned to him. Her hand darted to the pendant.

He smiled. Was she already feeling the pressure to be glamorous — something she believed she wasn’t? Touching the inner swell of her breasts, smooth and supple as a petal, and tasting her mouth was glamour enough for him.

But instead of clasping the blue-hearted stone, she snaked a finger inside her bodice. “We’re here. Going inside.”

The microphone. Relief flowed into him that she’d kept it off earlier. But it was turned on now.

And
they
were on.

He couldn’t prevent his smile from settling into a grim line. He took her arm, and they filed to the door.

Uniformed guards checked his pockets and her purse. They entered the high-ceilinged great hall. Enormous banners proclaiming the museum’s major exhibits adorned the walls. A string quartet beside the buffet and bar battled with the cacophony of voices.

“I’ve never been here at night” Vanessa peered up at the glass-beaded chandeliers. “The museum is stunning.”

In that slithery dress that hugged every luscious curve, she was stunning. And forgetful. Enjoying the freedom to touch her, he placed a hand at the warm small of her back. “I thought you’d never visited Washington before, Danielle.”

She pouted her lips, very Danielle-like. “But darling, surely I told you
Adorn
sent me here two years ago for a shoot at the Smithsonian. A fabulous piece comparing original fashions with retro ones.”

He tipped his head. “My apology.”

Not forgetful. Danielle had prepped her well. DARK had likely prepped her even better.

Snow had informed them that DARK security outnumbered official museum security. At least a dozen were scattered throughout the reception as guests and staff. Tiny ID buttons as in the airport, this time the silhouette of a wine bottle. Video cameras would monitor and record every movement, every face.

Vanessa should be safe, but most of the people in tuxes and cocktail dresses were strangers to him. New Dawn kidnappers could lurk in alcoves and shadowed corners and in the mock-ups of tombs and tribal dwellings.

The idea turned his gut to ice.

At the outset, DARK’s idea of setting Vanessa up as bait had seemed like a good idea, but no more. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight. He’d stifle the sizzle she ignited in his blood. Maybe his discarded military instincts would kick in, and he’d spot trouble in advance.

A thin-faced man scowled past them as he leaned against a marble column. Nondescript, fit but not too tall, the type not to be suspected or noticed. The man shifted on his feet. He was sweating. A bulge in his tux jacket raised Nick’s hackles.

The guards had missed this one.
Nick looked around for a likely DARK operative.

“Sweetie, the line took forever. I’m sorry.” A brunette rushed up to the nervous man. She carried two glasses.

He slipped a clutch purse from beneath his jacket and traded it for his drink. Guzzling the whiskey or bourbon, he nearly drained the glass. No terrorist. Only a harried drinker embarrassed to hold his wife’s purse.

Vanessa hooked her arm in Nick’s. “I saw him too. Relax.”

He rubbed his nape. Maybe he was overanxious. Had he lost the battle-proofing his SF training had instilled in him?

Her razzle-dazzle appearance wasn’t her only change for the evening. The cool alertness in her eyes reminded him she was an experienced government operative. She surveyed, scanned, scrutinized the room. A look he knew.

That of a soldier on patrol.

He recognized as a DARK operative the waiter who approached with a tray of champagne cocktails. They were to accept drinks only from his tray.

Nick appropriated two glasses. He managed not to curl his nose in distaste. “Scotch next time if you can manage it.” Although watered wine wouldn’t dull his edge.

He handed Vanessa a glass. “Time to mingle. I see Dwight Wickham back there by the statue of the two-headed god. He’s being two-headed about buying Markos Imports. Maybe your lovely smile will convince him. Ready to dazzle?”

“I’ll do my best.” Bobbling her diamond pendant at him, she enveloped him in her warm smile.

Wickham would be dazzled.
He
sure as hell was.

Polite chitchat, a little politics and some horse-trading zigzagged them around the room for the next hour. He garnered more prospects for buying the shop, nibbles but no bites. Men ogled the woman on his arm, but none attacked her.

What would New Dawn try?
What were they waiting for?

He worked his jaw as Vanessa herded him into the adjacent gallery to view the Yamari exhibit.

The tiny kingdom of Yamar had spawned the isolationist, extremist New Dawn Warriors. The former king and his son, both Western-educated, and the new regime embraced an open policy. But that didn’t mean the government didn’t contain New Dawn moles, even among the Yamari diplomats on hand tonight.