WOULD-BE CHRISTMAS WEDDING (3 page)

Finally, the cell chirped with another text message.
Proceed as planned.

He’d been close enough to Isely these past months that he knew his enemy believed this news would bring him relief. He’d portrayed himself to Isely as a man who needed the stability of guidance and a set schedule. But that was the act. Holt knew better than to trust Isely to keep the leash on whoever had been chosen to take over should Holt get caught or falter.

Isely had resources and he used them well. Holt was plan A. There would be a plan B eager to step up and prove their worth in order to gain promotion and prestige within Isely’s operation.

Well, there was one sure way to keep Cecelia safe until Holt could move in on schedule. Holt crossed to his office safe, pulled out an alternate ID and a stack of cash and prepared for his date with the director’s sister.

It was laughable. The stuff of comic tragedies. He was about to prevent a kidnapping by becoming a proper gentleman.

Chapter Four

Old Town Alexandria, 7:12 p.m.

Cecelia turned up the collar on her wool coat for the short walk to meet her friends at their favorite wine bar in Old Town. It was the place they’d brainstormed tomorrow’s gala and it was fitting to celebrate their success with a toast there tonight. The temperature was dropping but the moon was bright overhead, and the crisp winter air cleared her head. She breathed deeply now, knowing in a few days’ time she’d be breathing warm, humid air in the Caymans.

It was no surprise the dark sedan had followed her from the house to the Plaza hotel. When she thought about it, she realized one like it had either been parked at the corner of her block or shadowing her for the past couple of days. She walked on, resisting the urge to tell the driver to go back and report that Director Casey’s sister could take care of herself. She should give Thomas some credit. Clearly he suspected she’d balk at protective custody, and he’d brought the safety measures to her.

She was nearly to the bar when two men approached her. They wore U.S. Navy-issue wool peacoats over jeans and heavy boots, but that was where the resemblance ended. The hair broke regulation, as did the beards. Her first thought was they were longshoremen on leave, but Old Town Alexandria wasn’t exactly a shipping hub.

“Ma’am?” They stopped just in front of her. “Excuse me. Do you know the area?” the taller man asked with a faint trace of a French accent.

Thomas’s warning blasted through her and she told herself it was far too early in her budding ops career for paranoia. Her hands fisted around the car key in her pocket. There was security nearby in the dark sedan, and by now Casey and her new husband were probably watching from a rooftop, and Cecelia was close enough to the bar that she could call for help if necessary.

“Yes,” she replied with a nod, determined to keep an open mind. “What are you trying to find?”

“Do you know the restaurant owned by the retired hockey player?”

She relaxed, releasing her grip on her key. They were French Canadian hockey fans. “Of course.” She gave them directions and wished them a good evening as she entered the wine bar.

Looking around, she realized she was the first to arrive, so she claimed a high-top table near the front window of the swanky little bar and waited for her friends. While she was thrilled with their progress and the news that they’d hit the pre-event fundraising goal, with every passing hour she was losing enthusiasm for the event itself.

Her daughter and brother would attend with their new spouses, and she’d be the lonely, courageous widow.

She rubbed at the fading indentation on her ring finger where her wedding band used to sit. Even after William’s death, she’d worn it, not quite ready to part with it.

After Casey’s wedding in October, she’d had it cleaned and stored it in the safe at the house. Her friends had been supportive and so far her family hadn’t noticed. Or maybe they just hadn’t known what to say. They’d probably been too distracted with news of her career change to notice a change in her jewelry.

Now here she was, intent on meeting a man who could be an enemy of her brother...of her. She was prepared. Cecelia might not carry a handgun in her bag, but she always carried her trusty Taser. She was far from an expert with handguns, but she’d taken the necessary classes for using the Taser.

“Cecelia?”

She swiveled toward the deep voice she recognized from a few phone calls. The polite smile she always wore in public slipped a little when she met the intense, gray-blue gaze of the man who’d approached her table.

Danger
was her first thought, with
delicious
chasing right behind it. His picture on the dating profile hadn’t been doctored. And it hadn’t done him justice. Those eyes, so cool and clear, were framed by the stark contrast of slashing dark eyebrows, thick dark hair and chiseled features.

His mouth tilted up at one corner. “Emmett Holt.” He extended a hand. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

“Not at all, Mr. Holt.” She struggled to remember to breathe. To remember her brother suspected him of a terrible betrayal. Instead, all his wit and charm in their previous online conversations danced through her mind. “A pleasure,” she managed.
Please let him be one of the good guys.
It would be so unfair to wind up with a shark on her first dive back into the dating pool.

The upturned corner widened into a full-blown smile and his eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. She barely stifled an admiring sigh. “Forgive me,” she said, searching for her composure. “Did I get the time wrong?”

According to her calendar, they were meeting at eight, after her toast with her friends. She had the sudden, bizarre urge to keep him all to herself. Dating was going to be enough of a shock, but dating a man who looked like this? Tomorrow night would be soon enough to show him off. She felt flushed in a way she’d almost forgotten about.

“Not at all. I got to town early. Planned to have a drink to settle my nerves before you arrived.” He leaned closer. “Dare I hope you’re here for the same reason?”

She shook her head, feeling a goofy grin fighting for control of her face. “I’m meeting friends. A last-minute review for tomorrow’s event.”

“Ah.” He looked around. “Smart planning.”

“I tend to do that.”

That half smile was back. “Just as you stated in your profile.” He winked. “I’ll just wait over there at the bar until it’s my turn.”

The way he said that launched a swarm of butterflies in her belly.

“Wait. Your generosity...” She trailed off, searching for words as a surge of unexpected emotion swamped her. “Well, we thank you.”

“It’s a good cause,” he replied. “I’ll be waiting at the bar.”

She watched him walk away—drinking in the way his trousers fit his backside, like a woman too long stranded in the desert. Abruptly she realized he might catch her foolish behavior in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar.

She specifically made the effort not to check if he’d caught her staring, instead turning her gaze back toward the door. Her willpower was rewarded as her friends came in together in a rush of cold air and happy voices. They raised a glass to success, double-checked every last-minute detail, right down to their personal shoe selections, and then parted company until tomorrow.

Half an hour had never seemed to drag more. Which was a terrible thing to be thinking. These were friends she had enjoyed for years. Friends who’d carried her through all stages of motherhood, a few lonely anniversaries and eventually her husband’s diagnosis and decline.

Cecelia pushed all of that to the back of her mind. That was the past. Her future was waiting for her on the other side of the holiday season. And oh, my, her present was right there watching her from the end of the bar. With her purse and wool coat over her arm, she squeezed through the growing crowd to join Emmett Holt.

“Hi.” Reminding herself she couldn’t be certain about his motives and discovering her intuition was blurred by her shocking attraction to him, she didn’t know how else to start. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Not a problem,” he said, offering her his seat. “I enjoyed the view. Would you like another glass of wine?”

“Just water, please.” She didn’t think alcohol would help her manage her fascination and she needed to focus if she was going to get some straight answers out of him.

He signaled the bartender, and she had a tall glass of water with a wedge of lemon within seconds. The bartender leaned close. “How are things going, Cecelia?”

“Great. Thanks, Ted.”

Ted glanced at Emmett and then back to her. “Do you and the ladies have everything all set for tomorrow night?”

“Definitely.”

“Glad to hear it.” He moved on down the bar to serve the next customer.

“A friend of yours?”

She glanced at Emmett while she sipped her water, letting the cool liquid soothe her dry throat. He looked a little perturbed with the bartender’s familiarity. Was he jealous, or did he see a potential interference with his kidnapping plan? Her intuition couldn’t pin it down. Granted, she hadn’t tried dating since her husband died and she didn’t know if this was business or pleasure yet—only that part of her was seriously hoping for the latter.

“My friends and I meet here almost every week,” she explained. “You work in DC. Surely this isn’t your first trip to Alexandria.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Well, that was less than enlightening. She tried a different tack. “Is there a particular area or way you’d like us to use your donation?”

He smiled, slowly, and though it was hard to tell in this light she thought maybe he blushed a bit. “No. You’re free to use the money how you see fit.”

“Okay.” She watched him carefully, searching out any clues to his intention with her. But watching him carefully meant taking in the details. He oozed confidence and he obviously worked out. He was trim without being skinny and if his forearms were any indication, his biceps and shoulders would be beautifully sculpted.

He angled his body, effectively sheltering her from the crowded room and making this public encounter suddenly feel a lot more private.

Her heart rate fluttered, but with awareness rather than a more appropriate concern. He was close enough she recognized the citrus and cedar notes of his cologne. Her husband had preferred—she cut off the thought. That was
then.
This moment, this evening, was all that mattered right now.

Live your life.

But something else about Emmett reminded her of her husband and her brother. She’d been around the type long enough she would have picked up on it even without Thomas’s warning this afternoon. Emmett gave the appearance of being focused on her, but he was surreptitiously inventorying their surroundings and the people coming and going around them.

She’d caught her daughter doing the same thing more than once since Casey started working in ops. Situational awareness was a skill taught to field agents in the CIA as well as any other number of agencies. If she’d asked him, she knew he could give her an accurate description of everyone in the room and the best way out if any trouble cropped up.

He was definitely one of her brother’s Specialists, and the last shred of hope she’d clung to that their meeting online had been a coincidence dwindled to zero. She needed a plan, needed to get to the bottom of his motives before she wound up used—or worse.

The man might have a generous streak, but it didn’t require an active intuition to see there was more under the charming surface. “It was a pleasure to meet you, but maybe this isn’t the best night for dinner. Let’s talk more tomorrow at the gala.” She slid off the stool just as someone behind him shifted, and she found herself pressed tight against his warm, hard body.

Speaking of situational awareness... She looked up at him, captivated by the cool gaze that only increased her body temperature.

“Why don’t we go somewhere less crowded?”

Yes!
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” She inched away from him, fighting the overwhelming urge to get closer. “As generous as you are, we’re scarcely more than strangers.”

“I made a reservation for us at that steak house down the street.”

The crowd shifted again, and this time he braced to keep from bumping into her. She was outrageously disappointed.

“Come on.” He smiled and her heart jolted. “Let’s share an appetizer and then you can decide if dinner is an option.”

She felt herself nodding an agreement before she could voice a reasonable excuse.

He took her coat from her grasp and held it for her, straightening the collar and smoothing his hands over her shoulders. He retrieved his coat—a supple leather bomber-style jacket—from the hook just under the bar top.

He gestured for her to go first, and when she checked the reflection, she saw his eyes weren’t on her, but the crowd around them. Something wasn’t quite right. Was he protecting her or preparing to snatch her away?

Oh, she had to get her brother’s voice out of her head so she could find her own way through this situation. She pushed through the door to the street and turned to just ask him outright, but another of his smiles completely derailed her train of thought.

“Is it always so crowded in there? It’s a wine bar.”

His beleaguered expression earned her sympathy. Apparently the profile notation that said he didn’t like crowds was truthful. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she said, “It’s a popular wine bar. And every place is busier since we’re closing in on Christmas.” She gestured to indicate the white lights and holiday color dressing up the Old Town district of Alexandria.

“Fair point,” he agreed, falling into step beside her.

“Was the holiday spirit what moved you to make that donation?”

His lips twitched and he ducked his head to avoid a low-hanging strand of white lights. “In part. I’m not typically one for the holiday spirit. Mostly it was you. After we met online, I poked around and found that video your organization posted. Who could resist?”

Plenty of people in this economy, she’d discovered. “What is it that you do, Mr. Holt?”

“You call me Emmett online,” he reminded her.

His low voice sent a ripple of anticipation across her skin. “Emmett,” she repeated, like a besotted schoolgirl.

“I’m in private security.”

She turned her gaze toward the street, hiding her unjustified disappointment. Even if their online flirtation was genuine, she knew he wouldn’t have told her what he really did and who he really worked for. It would have been a breach of security at this stage. Even as the director’s sister, she wouldn’t know Mission Recovery existed if she hadn’t been married to a man like William. She told herself it was too soon to have any opinion on situations that fell into the delicate area of security clearances.

Still, she needed to know if he was here as friend or foe. “Ah, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

She shrugged. “The way you scout a room and keep track of people. Don’t worry. It’s not obvious to most women.”