Susan Vaughan

He shifted his feet. Glanced at his Rolex.

An hour since the London plane landed. The woman playing Danielle should be finished with Customs. He wanted to get this initial meeting over with and hustle her to the house.

He shouldn’t be anxious. He knew the drill, but he’d put cloak-and-dagger ops behind him ten years ago after his last, disastrous op. These days he was a simple businessman. No intrigue outside the board room.

His spoiled younger brother had changed that.

Activity in the corridor from the International Arrivals Building caught his attention. Among the group of tourists and business travelers came the woman he awaited. The designer sunglasses hooked in the breast pocket of her jacket identified her. Bulging tote and slim black Prada purse of the type Danielle favored swinging from her shoulder, she walked with purposeful grace.

Close behind strode a copper-skinned man in sunglasses and a denim jacket. Too close.

Alarmed, Nick started toward the advancing crowd. As they drew nearer, he saw that Denim Jacket wore an owl lapel pin.

The ATSA pin of the day that they wore to ID each other.

Of course. ATSA had arranged guards to protect her during her trip. He deliberately relaxed the tension in his shoulders and turned his attention to his “fiancée.”

The tailored jeans, fitted leather jacket and heeled boots were right on target. About the same diminutive height as Danielle, but curvier. Yes, curves where there should be curves. Very nice. Red hair, but a softer rose-blonde than the fire-engine tone the salon regularly painted Danielle.

The overall look and her oval face would match any description or photographs New Dawn possessed. On her ring finger winked the two-carat stone he’d bought Danielle to seal their bargain. The ring she’d keep as consolation.

Odd. He had the feeling he’d met this woman before. Impossible.

Intelligent green eyes searched the lounge with candor and warmth, not the guarded coolness he expected from a spy.

Just as well she wasn’t his type. Too wholesome. Too open. Too...cute. But as he perused her parted lips and ripe curves, his blood stirred.

Bad move. Hell, what was he thinking?

Wholesome and open was an act. She was an undercover agent, probably more expert in deception and betrayal than any jet-set babe. The down side of wealth was that women wanted him for his money or his connections, not for himself. Danielle had been no exception.

Plus the situation precluded sex. She had to do her job as Danielle. He had to do his part. He had to stay alert if they were to stop New Dawn.

“Nick!” the pretend Danielle called, threading her way through the crowd. A warm smile curved her lips. She halted in front of him and turned her cheek for a kiss.

Danielle had coached this woman well.

She leaned close, her breasts pillowing against him.

Her subtle scent, not calculating perfume or cloying hair goop, but something like rain-washed spring flowers, triggered traitorous urges. The errant urge to taste her lush mouth temporarily derailed him.

With a mental kick in the butt, he gave her the expected quick buss. “Danielle, I’m glad to see you.”

 Her un-Danielle-like, bubbly laugh elicited a smile from him, the first he’d managed in days. Weeks.

“You’re glad? I felt as though I were in a bad movie. Let’s get out of here.”

Nodding at the uniformed porter alert for his signal, he started to lift the tote from “Danielle’s” shoulder.

With a firm grip that surprised him, she held onto the strap. “I can manage this one.”

Nick understood her independence. He would’ve done the same. But Danielle was used to being catered to. He covered her hand with his and spoke low enough so only she could hear. “My fiancée would have the porter handle all the luggage.”

Without so much as a blink, she released the tote to his grasp. The pink flush on her fair cheeks was the only sign of her chagrin at the slip.

Buttery freckles on her nose. She might be a true redhead. The notion pleased him.

A few minutes later, the suitcases on a cart, they headed outside to his waiting Mercedes.

Nick preferred to do his own driving. He didn’t want to forget that at one time he didn’t have the wherewithal for even a junker. But ATSA’d inserted an officer as driver and bodyguard. After New Dawn’s threatening call, the terrorists would expect him to hire protection.

Denim Jacket and the local ATSA surveillance team entered a second sedan ahead of them. The lead car would take the same route, but remain separate and unobtrusive.

Unless they ran into trouble.

Green eyes glinting with good will, the woman he was supposed to call Danielle smiled at him. “That went fine back there. I think this will work.”

Her voice was low and sexy, without the hint of twang that sneaked into Danielle’s speech. He couldn’t put out of his head--and his body--the feel of her breasts against him when he’d kissed her cheek.

No. Kissed Danielle.

Hell.

“It’d better work,” he said, irritated at his unwanted attraction. “You do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

They pulled away from the curb behind the lead car. He subsided into the plush upholstery. Damn. He was protecting the woman he’d planned to marry, and here he was lusting after a stranger. And being deliberately rude to her. He saw no honor in any of that.

Snow steered the car into the terminal departure lanes. Heavy traffic slowed their progress toward the exit.

***

Vanessa glanced sideways, speculating. “Of course,” she said. “A lot is riding on our success.”

He merely nodded and gazed at her solemnly.

As his dossier had suggested, Nick Markos fit the self-made tycoon type.

Decisive, domineering and direct.

In his silver-gray silk tee and hand-tailored sport coat that molded to the hard planes of his chest and shoulders, he exuded confidence and male power. His cool confidence bespoke his Special Forces experience.

Late thirties. Eyes the color of the Mediterranean even bluer against his olive skin and raven hair. A blade of a nose, cleft chin. A face of hard, masculine beauty. Drifts of Brooklyn and the Continent in his deep voice added to his undeniable appeal. 

Her heart throbbed an extra beat. Just the anticipation of this mission. No big deal.

In London, Danielle had described Nick as principled, but in charge and inflexible. The definitive way he’d phrased his statement bore that out. But why was he angry? No, she shouldn’t even think the question. Detachment, remember?

She leaned forward. “Snow, all clear to head directly to the house?”

“No problem. Straight up the fairway,” the officer said, with his typical golf allusion. He kept his eyes on the traffic as he nosed the Mercedes onto the Dulles Access Road.

Conscious of Markos’s azure gaze on her, she kept her eyes forward. He might be a handsome devil, but he was an arrogant one, had to be to get where he was. She didn’t have to like the man to do her job, and she’d ignore her hormones.

Dislike and sexual attraction. Ironic, but she could use both. Her attraction to him would enhance her role as his fiancée, and her distaste would help her project the cool disdain she’d learned was characteristic of Danielle.

Her persona’s aloofness would work to maintain her detachment, her distance.

Now to focus on the other part of her job. She extracted a mirror from her purse. In the reflection, she observed the scooped roof of the Dulles terminal receding in the distance.

At closer range, a black Durango with Virginia plates. Two men in the front. One more behind, maybe two.

“Snow,” she said.

“Roger. Got ‘em,” Grant Snow replied. He spoke into a tiny microphone hooked around one ear, then to her. “Here. You take the map. Alternate routes are marked.”

Vanessa unbuckled her seat belt and leaned up to accept the folded chart.

“Are we being followed?” Nick said. He too unbuckled and twisted around to peer behind him.

“Maybe. Or the Durango might contain a bunch of guys coming home from a Vegas weekend.” Vanessa didn’t want to alarm him unduly. She unfolded the map of greater D.C.

Nick placed the flat of his hand on the maze of streets and highways. “Don’t cut me out of the loop...Danielle. This charade won’t work if you do. I’ll shut it down.”

Surprised at the heated tone in such a cool customer, Vanessa angled her head at him.

His eyes blazed blue fire at her. Anger. And something else. Did he recognize her? She didn’t think so. Fear? Mr. Macho feared losing control?

Reluctant to touch him again, she hesitated. Being pressed against that hard body in a chaste embrace had heated her from the inside out. She didn’t need that complication.

But he needed reassurance.

She patted his hand, then snatched hers away. “I understand your concern. I didn’t mean to ignore you. We’re just into the standard drill.”

“License plate’s a rental,” Snow said. “This could be a shot over the bow.”

“So following us could be just a warning?” Nick asked.

“Exactly. To make you nervous.”

“Let’s let them know we’re on to them,” Snow suggested.

“You got it,” Vanessa said, studying the map and the alternate routes on yellow stickies.

When they pulled onto I-495, the Beltway, the SUV was still with them. Vanessa watched the tail with her mirror.

“Sucker them,” she said to the driver. “They’re probably expecting us to exit at River Road. Take the one before it instead, onto the George Washington Parkway.”

“Roger that.” A moment later, Snow veered from the left lane across two lanes of traffic. Horns blared and tires screeched as they careened down the exit ramp.

The SUV tried to follow, but a tan Hummer cut them off.

The sudden turn slid the map to the floor. Vanessa landed in Nick’s lap. They lurched sideways into a corner. His arms went around her. One hand clamped her shoulder. The other brushed her breast before sliding to her waist.

Fiery tingles shot through Vanessa. Male heat and the scents of cedar and sage filled her senses.

So much for cool disdain.

When the car straightened out onto the Parkway, she realized how intimately she was draped across Nick’s lap. And how the contact had affected him. A hard ridge poked her ribs.

Ye gods.

Heart pounding, she flew back to her side of the seat.

“Fasten your seat belts,” Snow ordered.

His words reminded Vanessa of an old Bette Davis movie. The rest of the famous line popped into her head.