Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (63 page)

April—Evening

Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas

R O X A N N E

“We have ninety-two
percent of the guests here and accounted for,” Rox reported to the team as she scanned the RSVP guest list on the tablet she’d used to check people’s IDs as they entered the gala while passing through the metal detectors. “Looks like Sam’s thrown the party to be at tonight.”

“Not a bad turn out,” Avi replied into her ear bud. “We should go ahead and close the doors. No one gets in from now on.”

Rox signaled to the security team, watching as they unobtrusively got into position to block the entrance to the museum. Since it was a private event, the Lennox Chase and Leviathan security teams were manning the main building while the FBI controlled the security on the broader grounds. Tonight Rox looked like a party planner in an understated black dress, her hair tucked under a nondescript brown wig that concealed her Bluetooth earpiece. She’d dressed to blend in but still look official, the eyeglasses she wore holding a tiny camera that allowed Avi and the guards in the control room to see what she saw.

“Team leaders, I want an official status,” she murmured, flipping through the camera feeds that she could see on her tablet.

“Blue Team Leader checking in,” Rush replied. “We’ve got all the entrances and exits covered.” He was in charge of a couple dozen Lennox Chase guards milling around the event, looking like everything from museum proctors to waiters in the crowd, their guns hidden carefully in holsters.

“Red Team Leader confirming; we’ve got coverage,” Talon responded from his perch high above the festivities where he, Henri, and a half a dozen other snipers were watching the gala like hawks, stationed indoors and outdoors, just to cover all the bases.

“Eyes in the sky—anything you’re seeing that I’ve missed?” Rox asked, walking toward the main hall with the brisk efficiency of a woman on a mission.

“Everything is as it should be,” Avi replied from the museum’s security room. The MFAH team hadn’t loved relinquishing control of the museum’s command center, but they’d done it eventually, letting Avi take control of the cameras with a couple other guards. Thankfully, the museum’s security was already top-notch, so they hadn’t needed to do much more than add a few complimentary bells and whistles, like facial recognition software. “Facial rec hasn’t come up with a match yet. I don’t think Lightner’s here.”

“Is the camera in my glasses working?” Rox asked.

“Yes,” Avi confirmed. “Facial rec is running against everyone you’ve looked at in the receiving line. Keep mingling.”

“Perfect.” Rox entered the main hall, her head turning slow and deliberate as she swept her gaze across the hall. “That leaves Green Team—check in?”

“Green Team, confirmed,” Simon Michaelson reported from his station outdoors. They couldn’t risk having any men Lightner might recognize from Leviathan, so Simon had volunteered to lead the special ops guys who were patrolling the attached gardens in the immediate vicinity.

“How’s the weather?” Rox asked.

“All clear,” Simon replied.

“Poor Cinderella, you’re missing one hell of a party in here,” Rush teased him.

“Christ, Michaelson’s the ugliest Cinderella anyone ever saw,” Talon chimed in.

“Permission to shoot my teammates, boss?” Simon retorted.

“Permission denied,” Rox replied. “Look sharp, boys,” she said as she caught Sam’s gaze from across the cavernous space. She looked perfect playing the part of dangling bait, wearing a
look-at-me
fire engine red dress, her gun holster carefully hidden on her inner thigh.

Rox nodded lightly, giving a visual thumbs up, and Sam inclined her head in response. Sam kept her hand looped loosely in the crook of Jack’s arm, leaning into him a little so she wouldn’t have to rely on a cane tonight. She had an earpiece to put in later that would enable her to keep abreast of everything, but while she greeted guests, she relied on Alejandro’s presence beside her to keep her apprised of anything important.

So far, nothing. And while that should have made Rox happy, it only set her a little more on edge, like waiting for the ax to fall.

The Wyatt Foundation gala was a Texas-sized event, with Texas-sized bravado. No expense had been spared. From the Beluga caviar and Krug Champagne served in Baccarat crystal glasses to the Emmy-nominated comedian acting as MC, Hannah had really outdone herself. Glorious and delicately fragrant peony blossoms adorned white linen-covered tables where gold-plated silverware gleamed in the soft white light designed to make anyone look flawless.

Rox and her teams had worked with Sam to plan the security down to a tee. They’d spent the day examining all points of entry, analyzing and discussing vulnerabilities, and setting up plans of action. They had game-planned scenarios until they felt confident enough to pull just about anything off. Even if Lightner didn’t come alone tonight, he’d be badly outnumbered—by Sam’s team, Jack’s additional Leviathan support, and the museum’s own security detail, not to mention the FBI and Houston PD support on the ground.

Rox took a deep breath and exhaled.

There was a faint switch in her ear, then Avi’s deep baritone filled the sound. “You look lovely tonight,
neshama
.”

“Avi—”

“I just switched channels on the comms,” he assured her. “Only you can hear me.”

“So you’re breaking protocol to flirt with me?”

“No, I’m breaking protocol to tell you everything will be fine. I know you’re worried. I know you want to catch him, but we’re ready.”

“As ready as we can be,” she muttered.

“It’s enough. Now look up and to the right.”

Her eyes tracked the camera discreetly aimed at her from the crown molding in the corner of the gallery.

“This is kind of pervy,” Rox drawled. “You’re not going to ask me to do something slutty, are you? Like flashing a tit? Because that ain’t happening.”

Avi’s answering laugh was warm. “There’s my girl.”

For some inexplicable reason, that little remark zinged right through her.

“Stop flirting and get back to work,” she chided.

“Just remember: I see you,
neshama
.”

And she felt all the better for it—knowing he had her back.

“Okay, creeper. Switch back the channels, please.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Rox heard a short buzz and flick and knew she was back online with the rest of the team. She began to make a slow, careful circuit around the room, so she could sweep as many faces as Avi could process for the facial recognition program.

Now there was nothing to do but wait…

*

April—Evening

Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas

J A C K

“Mind if I
step away for a moment?” Samantha asked him, “I’d like to say hello to an old friend.”

“Certainly,” Jack replied with a nod and an easy smile, though he felt anything but. He’d been living in a hyper-tense state of high alert since he’d walked into the museum with her an hour ago, and the very thought of having someone take a shot at him or the love of his life made him want to toss her over his shoulder and take her far, far away from all this.

Jack understood the plan, even supported her logic, but at the present moment, standing out in the open with Samantha as a living bullseye was like getting a first-hand glimpse into the life she was used to leading. She’d become accustomed to moving from one high-wire mission to the next, and after tonight, he’d be the first to acknowledge that it wasn’t for him. If Jack had been addicted to danger and risk-taking before, then this was a hard limit. His relatively banal brushes with precarious situations in no way prepared him for the tension of knowing he and Samantha were deliberately and flagrantly courting a skilled killer, inviting him to react violently to the public display of a united front.

To top that off, Jack felt as though he and Samantha had passed through the membrane last night from lovers to something much more profound. He’d lain awake most of the night after they’d made love, his insomnia tormenting him as he sifted through what it meant for them, wondering if Samantha was really ready for where he wanted to go with this, though a very real part of him wondered if they’d survive tonight to get the chance. When she’d jerked in her sleep, plagued by a nightmare, he knew she was likely just as freaked out as he was, though she’d fallen into dreamlessness shortly afterward. By the time Jack had woken up this morning, she’d been long gone, sequestered in her office and discussing strategy with her team as he blearily searched for coffee. When he’d finally showered, dressed, and joined them, he’d had a chance to see her in action for the first time, at the helm, directing her team like the military leader and strategist she was.

Jack admired her brisk efficiency, the way she and her team worked through the plays, discussing issues and vulnerabilities with thorough precision, planning to the Nth degree. He watched the way she took charge, utterly confident, despite her own worries, dispassionately discussing herself as a target, determining the best ways and means to protect Jack, her family, and tonight’s attendees.

Rationally, Jack understood why Samantha was the best, why her team was worth every penny that people spent to be protected by them, but that didn’t stop the roiling in his gut as they stood together in the center of the gallery like a flashy lure on the end of a line, acting as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Even though Samantha stood right beside him, she was masked under the calm, ice-queen composure she assumed when she was working. Gone was the soft, pliant woman in his arms from last night—the woman who’d asked him to love her, the woman who’d finally acceded to loving him back. They hadn’t had a moment alone together since, and Jack had about a hundred different things he wanted to say to her, though he knew this wasn’t the time or place to say them.

Now, despite his anxiety, years of being in the public eye, as well as hosting and attending events like these, kept his social charisma going like a greased wheel.
Nod, chat, fete, smile, shake, thank
… it was a fluid dance he knew all the moves to. As he worked the event, Anand Mahto, his guard for the evening, stood nearby, silent and unobtrusive. Anand was a short, slight man with a quiet, calm aura, but Jack had seen the size of the knife the Nepali Ghurka carried. When Samantha had introduced Anand to Jack earlier, she’d explained he’d served as the former personal bodyguard to one of the British Royal Family before she’d managed to lure him away.

“You surround yourself with dangerous men,” Jack had joked.

Samantha had smirked at him. “Is there another kind?”

After he spent a few distracting minutes gamely arguing with a couple businessmen about whether the Houston Texans had any chance against the Chicago Bears in the fall—
no, the answer’s no
—Jack excused himself to the men’s room. In truth, he needed a quick breather, and if he was really being honest with himself, he wanted a drink or a pill—fuck, just
something
to take the edge off. He settled for splashing cool water on his face as Anand stood back a respectful distance.

“Are you unwell?” Anand asked him quietly.

“How do you do it?” Jack asked in reply, looking at the man in the mirror as he rested his hands against the sink. “How do you stay calm when you know what’s coming?”

Anand’s gaze was serene.

“I’m not a soldier,” Jack answered. “I’ve never been led by anyone.”

“Of course you have. You’ve been led by your heart,” Anand replied, pointing to Jack’s chest. “Now what does it tell you?”

Trust Samantha. Trust her like you’ve asked her to trust you.

Jack closed his eyes, took a deep breath and straightened up. “Just a few more hours of this,” he muttered. Anand merely nodded, following him as he passed back through the densely packed gathering, stopping on occasion to chat with acquaintances and some high-rolling donors. Jack eventually wound his way through the clusters of attendees, finding himself in front of one of Wes’s photos. It was the first Jack was seeing of them, though he’d heard Hannah gushing about the work after the DAR luncheon.

As Jack gazed at a monochromatic photograph of a black-haired woman curled over her knees, the delicate indentation of her spine and ribs visible beneath the clever play of muscle and bone, he was taken with the stark beauty of it. When he noticed the tiny birthmark on the woman’s rib cage, he realized he who he was looking at. After all, he’d kissed that birthmark just the night before.

Jack stepped back, eyes widening as he made a slow, startled revolution around the gallery. Each and every profoundly alluring photograph was of Samantha, though her identity was cleverly hidden by the wild waves of her hair or her position or the shadow play of light and dark dimensions. Wes had clearly taken these of her when she was much younger, before she’d gone to war and bore the scars Jack knew now like the back of his own hand. Regardless, he’d recognize the muse anywhere.

“She’s stunning, isn’t she?” Wes remarked, coming to stand beside him, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a whisky tumbler.