WOULD-BE CHRISTMAS WEDDING (10 page)

He huffed a derisive breath. “Too informative is more like it. What I’ve been doing has been dark since I learned Isely was gunning for Thomas and everything he’s built at Mission Recovery.”

“Teach me or I won’t go quietly when it’s time to take me to Isely.”

“Blackmail doesn’t suit you.” The bed shifted as Emmett stood up. “You have no idea what you’re asking.” His silhouette filled the doorway again. “Get some sleep and we’ll discuss it in the morning.”

It wasn’t the yes she’d hoped for, but it wasn’t an outright no. Cecelia pulled the covers close, a smile on her face as she settled her head on the pillow. After a moment, she realized her hands weren’t shaking anymore.

Maybe there was hope for her, after all.

Chapter Ten

Plaza Hotel, Alexandria
Friday, December 19, 8:05 a.m.

Holt’s phone rang at five minutes past eight o’clock. Nice of the detective to give him time to settle at the desk job indicated by his profile at the online dating site. Why couldn’t she have just stuck with the protective custody idea? Her detective pal would have bought that line considering who her husband had been.

The questions were easy enough that he might have handled them in his sleep, which was a good thing considering his mind was otherwise occupied with thoughts of the woman in the bedroom.

She didn’t seem to have any idea at the wealth of talent lurking inside her. She’d played the detective brilliantly last night. If he hadn’t already known it from watching the interview, the tone of the detective’s questions today would have confirmed it.

“I suggest you move on to the next woman on your list,” Detective Gadsden said.

Holt was amused by the detective’s lack of subtlety. “Do you have a vested interest in Mrs. Manning?” He hoped not. He had enough—more than enough—adversaries to dodge on this op already.

“I’ve known her a long time. She deserves better than a man who’d leave her stranded.”

“Check your notes, detective. She ran out on me.” He disconnected the call and pushed the phone onto the clip on his hip.

He returned to his computer and considered checking in with Nadine, or even the director, but changed his mind. Neither of them could tell him what he wanted to know: Why was Isely rushing the plan?

He thought back to the intel on that flash drive. He’d precisely crafted the files he’d given to Isely, embellishing where necessary to blur the truth. It was his fault Isely knew about Cecelia, and whether the director ever believed him or not, he’d guarded her carefully since he’d been forced to reveal the connection.

He’d assumed kidnapping Cecelia was simply one part of Isely’s plan for the director’s downfall. But the shift, the new desperation, didn’t fit and it brought up a host of potential disasters.

There had only been two changes in Cecelia’s life since Isely proposed this kidnapping. Her online relationship and her internal career change within the CIA.

Holt didn’t like the way it was adding up. According to her, she didn’t do anything all that interesting in her little corner of administration. He scrubbed at his face. As much as he dreaded it, he was going to have to interrogate Cecelia about her work.

“Everything okay?” Cecelia asked from the doorway.

“Fine. Just dealt with your detective.” He turned to face her and wished he hadn’t. She’d emerged from the bedroom with a well-rested glow. Bright green lace peeked out from the white of the fluffy hotel robe she wore. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Thanks.” She crossed the room, wisely giving him a wide berth, and poured herself a cup. “So what’s first?”

“Breakfast.”

By the time they’d pushed the room-service cart back into the hallway and she’d left to take a shower, the implied intimacy was getting under his skin.

He hadn’t lived in such close proximity to a woman since the dorms in college. The scents and sounds and rituals had been intriguing, amusing and thoroughly educational on a less-than-academic level.

After two failed attempts at real relationships, he had given up on the idea of a true and lasting one in favor of hot, brief affairs where both parties knew what they were getting into.

You lied to me.
Her words echoed in his mind this morning every time he looked at her. Lying was part of his life, and his secrets had been the breaking point of those early relationships. As a Specialist, the need for deception hadn’t changed. Not with this case, and not with her.

He was more than a little surprised Director Casey hadn’t kicked down the door yet to protect both his sister and the team he was sure Holt was deceiving. By now the man had to know they were together. Or had been together. Well, not together-together, though that still held serious appeal.

He pushed a hand through his hair and forced himself to stop overthinking the situation with Cecelia.

She was a means to an end. He had measures in place so she’d never really be in jeopardy. Unfortunately, he couldn’t explain that to anyone yet. Not even her. Only sincere worry and a convincing effort by Thomas to rescue her would convince Isely of his loyalty.

He heard the hair dryer start up and knew he only had a few minutes more to think up something else to teach her. She’d mastered the phone dumps over the scrambled eggs. He understood what she was really asking and he gave her points for turning what might have been an awkward situation to her favor.

She’d warned him their day would be consistently interrupted with her friends calling and even coming and going from the suite. To prevent questions, they’d moved all of his belongings into the bedroom.

If anyone caught them together before the gala, she promised to refer to him as her security detail. He figured it was too little too late, especially after that kiss on the dance floor last night. No doubt someone at the party had captured the moment with a camera or cell phone. He’d been more than a little surprised the detective hadn’t come across it yet.

He was rubbing his lips, remembering the moment, when a soft rap on the door drew his attention. He crossed the room, peered through the peephole and saw two brunettes in the stylish conservative attire that marked all of her friends. He felt underdressed in the faded jeans and black polo shirt he’d pulled on after his shower, but he opened the door anyway.

“Oh.” The bright smiles faded as both women gaped at him. “We must, ah...”

“Looking for Cecelia?”

“Yes,” they replied in unison, obviously relieved and startled at the same time.

“Names?”

They frowned, but gave him the information. Recognizing the names from the list of expected visitors Cecelia had given him, he stepped back and invited them inside.

“I’m with hotel security,” he lied. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

He walked away before they could ask him why she needed security in her room, but his excellent hearing caught the murmurs of appreciation and speculation that he was the same guy spotted with Cecelia last night.

Great.

Last night’s stunt at the marina had clearly made Cecelia grist for the gossip mill. It was all he could do not to remind these two they were supposed to be her friends.

He kept his mouth shut. If Cecelia moved into ops, she’d have to deal with twisted perceptions as a natural part of getting through the day.

Holt paused at the bathroom door, his train of thought completely derailed at the sight of Cecelia wrapped only a bath towel.

Other women he’d spent time with in close proximity had done their hair last. Not her.

Catching his reflection in the mirror, she turned off the hair dryer. “Problem?”

His temper flared in an automatic defense against the rush of lust coursing through his body. “There’s a perfectly good robe right here,” he growled, pulling it off the hook and tossing it at her. “You’ve got company.”

She smiled at him, her polite “life is lovely” smile. “I’ll be right out.”

He turned, uncertain of how to escape. He didn’t want to chat with the Junior League twins in the other room and he couldn’t stand here staring as Cecelia put on something more appropriate.

He bit back an oath and crossed to the window in the bedroom, positioning himself so she had privacy. Maybe he’d get lucky and a sniper would put him out of his misery.

The suite door opened and closed, the feminine voices rose and fell and then Cecelia returned to the bedroom. He didn’t have to look—the light floral scent of her body wash drifted across the room and teased his senses.

“You can turn around. I’m dressed and they’re gone.”

He turned, but it was a mistake. The cream colored, body-skimming top with spaghetti-thin straps and jeans that molded to her hips and thighs were almost more tempting than the towel had been.

A vivid image of him sliding those straps down and away played out in his head before he yanked his gaze back up to her eyes. “We have work to do.”

“I’m ready.” She pulled on a thick cardigan sweater and walked back out to the sitting room. He enjoyed the sweet view of her backside, then had to wait a moment until he was sure he had his wayward lust under control.

He couldn’t let this attraction interfere with what had to be done here.

As he joined her in the other room she announced, “We have an hour or so before Casey stops by.”

“Awesome.” He picked up his laptop and set it on the low coffee table in front of the couch. “Isely wanted to kidnap you last night,” he began without preamble. “We need to dig in and find out why he changed his schedule.”

“Changed?”

“Yeah. The original plan was to take you from the gala tonight. Bigger shock value,” he pointed out.

“So should I assume he’ll make another attempt?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She picked up her tablet. “What do you want me to do?”

“When they grab you, don’t panic.”

She tilted her head, laced her fingers and pushed her hands forward like a pianist limbering up before a recital. “Okay. I meant what do you want me to do now? Can I research the location in that text message?”

“Go ahead.” Inspiration struck. “See if you can connect the location to the name of the ship.”

“If the yacht is the Irina we’re after.”

“Exactly.”

Reluctantly, he sat beside her and started his own search for the possible catalysts that might have Isely looking at Cecelia.

After a few comfortable minutes of silence, she said, “I think we’re after the yacht. Those numbers come up as a location in the Atlantic Ocean, not too far off the coast.”

Holt mentally cringed. That kind of “address” didn’t bode well for Cecelia or Thomas’s chances of rescuing her. Isely knew Holt could sail, and an exchange at sea likely meant Isely had found Holt’s boat in the marina.

Not good. Even worse was that the location hadn’t been sent to Holt, only to one of Isely’s most trusted men. Holt started searching slip registrations for rentals matching the original operation timeline.

“Are you hacking into the marina?” Cecelia was looking over his shoulder. “You promised to show me your process.”

Not exactly, but there was no use getting into a debate. “If he means to sail into the sunset with you, we need to be prepared.”

“Do you like working with my brother?”

The question came out of nowhere. She was constantly surprising him with her accurate assessments, even when her mind seemed to be elsewhere. Director Casey was the kind of boss who had a man’s back. It was the one piece of this task that regularly pricked at Holt’s conscience. Thomas Casey didn’t see eye to eye with Holt, and that was never going to change. This mission would be the final straw for Holt. Win or lose—and Mission Recovery would win—he’d started to realize no one would ever trust him again.

Even if he came away from this clean, without that trust he could never take over for Director Casey as planned. He’d known this was a career-ending op but hadn’t bothered to dwell on it. Had in fact been in active denial about it as recently as yesterday when he’d tasked Grant with finding the biologist.

“Emmett?”

“Your brother is a good man and a good boss. I’ve got nothing but respect for him.”

“You’re doing this—and planning to take the fall—to protect him.”

He turned on her to let her see the dark edges he hid behind layers of polish and training. “I’m doing this because it needs to be done. Isely has a deadly new bioweapon and he blames your brother for the death of his father and undermining their business reputation. I’m doing what I have to do.”

“He certainly seems to be paying plenty of people to come after me.”

“That’s what bothers me,” Holt admitted. “The original plan was simple. Just me, you and a drop-off point.”

“Hmm.”

He didn’t like the sound of that hmm. He tried to ignore it, to finish the trail of breadcrumbs that would help Director Casey save Cecelia in case things went sideways on him tonight.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just wondering what you made him believe about you.”

He sighed, closed the top on his computer. “Why do you care?”

“You promised to teach me something. How did you convince him you could be bought?”

“Why do you think it’s as simple as money?”

“Because you donated a substantial amount of money to my charity. I suspect that was because you didn’t want any part of the money he had paid you.”

He stood up and paced away from her. “Nothing better to dump it into.”

“Maybe not, but I think it’s more likely you enjoyed putting his blood money to good use.”

How in the hell did she see him so clearly? “The donation put me in your circle.” He waved his hands to indicate the suite. “What better way to enable Isely’s vengeance?”

“Hmm.”

“Stop that,” he snapped.

“What?” She gave an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes.

“Isely has to believe you’re oblivious.” He’d convinced jaded, field-tested operatives on both sides of the law, but he couldn’t fool this one woman. “Lives are on the line here, Cecelia.”

“I understand.” She set aside her tablet and walked straight up to him. “More than you, I think.”

Nothing short of a major earthquake could have uprooted him as she wrapped him in a hug. A
hug,
for crying out loud. He didn’t know where to put his hands, so he kept them off her.

“Thank you,” she said, “for everything you’ve sacrificed to protect Thomas.” Her heart was shining in her eyes as she gazed up at him. “Casey’s wedding day would have been ruined without Thomas.”

“He got himself out of that. I had nothing to do with it.”

With one last squeeze, she stepped back, and her lips curved into a warm, sincere smile. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.” He rubbed at his mouth, told himself to shut up. “I’m not the white knight from a fairy tale.” But she made him want to be, and he hated himself for the failure.

The thought was so foreign, so unprecedented, he actually didn’t know what to say next.