Marriage Confidential Read online

  She made a last-minute adjustment to the guest list in case her secret-weapon expert did show up, alerting the team assigned to the rear entrance of the museum. Ignoring the raised eyebrows and a low whistle at the name she added, she headed for the main museum entrance. The lead dignitaries from the Chinese consulate would arrive within minutes.

  “Hope you’re right about this,” Spalding muttered, his gaze sweeping the area.

  “I am,” she replied with more confidence than she felt. There would be time for recriminations and self-doubt later when she was home alone. Plenty of time if this became an assassination attempt, since she’d either be dead or unemployed by morning.

  Minutes later the formal greetings were exchanged on the red carpet outside and she gave her full attention to the delegation while Spalding watched everything else. Everyone in this first, exclusive group from China appeared as relaxed as she’d ever seen them as she guided them into the museum entrance hall. The invitations had specified black-tie and she thought the group resembled a stunning kaleidoscope with the colorful silk dresses of the women spiraling about the backdrop of black tuxedos.

  Madison treated herself to an inward sigh of relief when the first group was safely inside, smiling and greeting senior staff from the State Department as well as the museum director, Edward Wong. Stepping out of view, she confirmed preparations were on schedule for the champagne toast in front of the prized white jade cup.

  Brief, scripted speeches were exchanged between officials along with gestures of confidence and trust. If the hacker had attempted to rattle a saber on the Chinese side, the group showed no signs of distress. For the first time in over an hour, she believed the evening would run without any visible hitch.

  At either side of the doorway to the premier gallery, golden champagne sparkled and bubbled in narrow crystal flutes ready for guests. Seeing that the key players from China and America were all smiles as they gathered together around the white jade cup display, Madison wanted to give a victorious cheer. With the drama and bids for power that filled the news most days, creating these moments of peace and goodwill was the big payoff in a career she loved.

  She’d met and spoken with every person scheduled to work in this room, down to the museum security guards posted discreetly at intervals throughout the gallery and museum at large. Before she could fully relax, her phone vibrated against her palm. The incoming text message had her smothering a wince, arriving too late for her to clear the room.

  Suddenly the lighting flickered inside the display case of the white jade cup and the lock buzzed and clicked. With everyone so close, there was no chance for the problem to go unnoticed. The hacker had grown bored with Carli and Devon and was obviously exerting his control on the system. Across the room, Madison saw the museum director bring the guards to attention as Spalding issued orders for his team.

  Xi Liu, the highest ranking official on station at the Chinese consulate, aimed straight for Madison. They had worked closely with the museum staff in preparing for this exhibit. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

  Mr. Wong joined her immediately. An older gentleman and first-generation American born to Chinese parents, he remained fluent in both the language and the behavioral expectations. “This is a standard test,” he explained calmly to Mr. Liu. “My apologies for the incorrect timing. This is a routine we typically employ after closing. The schedule change must have reverted. I assure you all is well and your generous exhibit is secure.” Mr. Wong’s serene expression was tested when the lock whirred and buzzed again. “There are no weaknesses in the system that prevent us from displaying the piece publicly.”

  Mr. Liu didn’t appear entirely convinced as he turned to Madison. “You assured me all was in place. What is happening?”

  “As you are aware, sir,” she began, “cutting edge technology is often finicky.” Madison felt a bead of sweat slide down her back. Where was the backup she’d called in? “Despite the mistiming of the normal security routine, your exhibit is quite safe.” She extended an arm to indicate the room. “The collection, in fact, the entire museum, is guarded by the finest technology systems as well as by the finest personnel. Your guests and friends remain unconcerned. In fact, they appear quite eager to continue with the festivities.”

  Barely appeased, Mr. Liu motioned a man forward and murmured at his ear. To Madison and the director he said, “My man will stand guard with yours.”

  “Absolutely,” she agreed. The director nodded with her. “If you would feel more comfortable, we can adjust the access of reception attendees.” It wouldn’t be too difficult to keep traffic out of this room and there had been no trouble at all in any other gallery. She didn’t believe for a moment that theft of the cup or any other object was on the hacker’s mind. Whoever had launched this attack was interested in dealing chaos and fostering mistrust. She sensed the true goal was to create a rift that would set back relations indefinitely.

  Although Mr. Liu politely declined the offer to restrict access, Madison understood the nuances in his statement that emphasized his displeasure. She escorted the dignitaries from both countries to the receiving line to greet guests and checked her phone for any new messages.

  Still nothing. Carli and Devon would have to find a way to end this game. Madison struggled to stay calm on her return to the security suite. The man might be out of town. If so, she’d excuse this lack of response. However, if she found out he was simply ignoring her calls and emails, she’d find Sam Bellemere and put a hammer through his most precious hard drive.

  Chapter Two

  Sam Bellemere sank into the plush seat of the limousine and tugged at his bow tie, letting the ends hang loose. He popped the button at the collar of his tuxedo shirt and pushed his hands through his hair. Able to breathe at last, he felt a thousand times better than he had just ten minutes ago surrounded by a ballroom full of wealthy people eager to support the Gray Box youth programs. The June fund-raiser was the one event his business partner, Rush Grayson, refused to let him dodge. The codevelopers’ proprietary encryption technology had led to their founding of the cloud storage service giant, Gray Box. For the former smart-ass teenage hackers, mentoring the next generation of responsible computer geeks was a cause near and dear to both of them.

  Knowing how shy Sam was, Rush had willingly assumed the role as the front man of the company, handling most of the public events and meetings. It had become an ideal partnership over the years. Rush’s extroverted nature thrived on time spent in the limelight and Sam happily kept himself behind the scenes. Without Rush and the company, Sam knew he’d be labeled an eccentric hermit—or worse—by now. The label held a certain appeal for Sam, but his friend insisted that kind of notoriety set a bad example for the kids they were trying to help.

  “Back to the office, sir?” asked Jake, one of the drivers Gray Box kept on staff.

  “Please,” Sam replied. The privacy screen rolled up between them and he withdrew his phone from the inner pocket of his jacket and turned it on. Within a minute, the device buzzed and chimed as if he’d been offline for weeks rather than hours.

  He shook his head, skimming the alerts he’d missed while rubbing elbows with San Francisco’s elite. No phone was another rule for social events that Sam wasn’t allowed to argue with. He and Rush both knew if he’d had his phone on, he would have hidden behind the device rather than mingle face-to-face with the guests. Per their agreement, that behavior would have meant Sam was required to attend another event later in the year to make up for the gaffe.

  Once a year in the monkey suit, smiling until his face ached, was more than enough time in the spotlight for Sam. Didn’t matter that by the sole measure of net worth he was technically one of the elite he struggled to connect with.

  Terminally shy, he felt like a fish out of water in social situations. Anything more than dinner out with his closest friends left him wound tighter than a high wire. After several awkward failures, he’d met with counselors and psychiatrists to help him, without much success. He tried chemistry as well, in the form of medication to erase his anxiety. The unpleasant side effects hadn’t been worth it. He’d since resigned himself to limiting his social exposure and created a recovery plan that involved a double shot of whiskey and an online warfare game as a reward for making the attempt.

  Several missed calls were from the same number, one he didn’t recognize. Half a dozen emails with a similar time stamp caught his full attention. With luck, this would be a security crisis at Gray Box that only he could resolve. Then Rush would have to let him keep his phone on during future events.

  To Sam’s astonishment, all of the messages were from Madison Goode, an old friend from high school. Well, he’d known her for the two years he was allowed to attend public high school after his stint in juvenile detention. The government hadn’t appreciated the skill or restraint when Sam and Rush hacked into sites just to prove it could be done.

  Sam had tutored Madison through a couple of classes, helping her pump up her GPA as well as her comprehension on some required course work. To this day, she sent him an email Christmas card every year. As much as he resisted those conventional traditions, because she respected his preference for digital correspondence, he always sent one back.

  He put the voice mail on speaker and listened, then quickly read and reread the emails, each more desperate than the last, which was only two sentences: “Come on, Sam. You owe me.”

  Sam shifted to the seat closer to the driver and lowered the privacy screen. “Change of plans. I need to get to the Artistry of the Far East Museum.” He buttoned up his collar and started on his tie. “Fast as you can get there.
”

  He hit Reply on the last email, letting Madison know he was on the way. Her first email had arrived over two and a half hours ago. Damn. He never would’ve left her hanging intentionally. She was right, he did owe her. Big time. Just before Christmas, she’d helped bring Rush and Lucy, Rush’s new wife, home from France, sparing everyone involved delays and inquiries that were better off as unconfirmed rumors. Next, he tapped the icon and returned one of her three phone calls. She didn’t pick up. He left a voice mail message that he was on the way.

  While the driver made quick work of the bottlenecks of Friday night traffic, Sam checked for any breaking news at the museum. He came up empty and was ready to start a different search when the driver hit a detour about a block from the museum. “Looks like some big event,” Jake said. “There’s a red carpet out and everything.”

  A red carpet event with no news teams nearby? It didn’t make sense. “No problem. I’ll walk from here.” His curiosity piqued, Sam reached for the door handle.

  “Do you want me to wait?”

  “Not necessary. I can call if I need something.”

  Before he’d exited the limo, the familiar tension lanced across his shoulders and turned his mouth dry. At least at this event, without Rush nearby to glare at him, he could use his phone as a shield if necessary. Although he was dressed for it, he didn’t want to brave the red carpet, so he turned away at the last second and looked for a side entrance. The museum was crawling with local uniforms as well as a team that gave Sam the impression the President of the United States might be in attendance. He hoped not. Rush’s last meeting at the Pentagon had become urban legend in certain circles by now.

  Sam took comfort again in the lack of news crews. For a split second, he considered the fallout if he walked away and caught a cab home. He waged an internal argument that there wasn’t any kind of favor worth the agony of walking into a world of strangers.

  But he couldn’t do that. Madison had used her connections for him, coming through in the midst of a crisis to smooth over what might easily have been an unpleasant international incident for Rush, Lucy and the company. Not to mention she was one of two people from high school—aside from teachers—who consistently kept up with him. The other was Rush.

  He was climbing the stairs to the side entrance, still waging that internal debate, when a uniformed museum guard and a man in a dark suit holding a tablet blocked the door. “Sam Bellemere,” he told the man in the suit. As the man brought the guest list onto the tablet, Sam saw names and photos in two columns. “Madison Goode asked me to stop by,” he added, shamelessly dropping her name to speed things up. “Is she here?”

  The suit didn’t reply, focused on scrolling through the long list. From Sam’s view, he could see the last page was a different color and to his surprise, he recognized the head shot used on all of the Gray Box publicity.

  “Mr. Bellemere.” The suit said the name with reverence and a little shock. As he stuck out his hand, a smile erased the stoic gatekeeper’s expression. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He pumped Sam’s hand and then signaled for the museum guard to open the door. “I’ll walk you back.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It is a pleasure,” the suit repeated. “I’m Brady Cortland. Has Madison mentioned me? I’ve been on her planning team for this exhibition and reception from the start.”

  “Not that I recall,” Sam said. Why did this guy think Madison shared any details about her work? When the man’s face fell, he knew he had to say something. “But I’m terrible with names.”

  “No problem,” Brady said. “Everyone who knows anything has heard how your work consumes you. Give me Mandarin any day over a computer language.”

  “You and Madison must have worked night and day on this event,” Sam guessed.

  “Yes!” Brady’s smile reappeared. “It took most of the office at one point or another. This exhibit was a logistical nightmare,” he said conspiratorially, “but so worth it in the long run.” He paused outside a door marked Security. “I need to get back to my post. Madison will be relieved you’re here. If you can sort out this mess, you’ll be the most popular spouse in the State Department.”

  Sam was sure he’d misheard the man, but when he stepped inside the room, the question faded to the back of his mind. Here, surrounded by technology and the low murmurs of voices, he was instantly at home. Monitors showed views of the museum inside and out. Panels of status displays offered rows and blocks of colors and the soft click and clack of keyboards in action created his favorite background music. This tech-filled room was a world he understood.

  Madison’s gaze collided with his immediately. As she crossed the room, her face was the epitome of calm with not a single sign of the tension he’d heard on his voice mail and in the unhappy tenor of her emails. She was a vision in a black sleeveless dress that poured over her curves, slits high at each leg allowing her to move with the dancer’s grace he remembered from school.

  “You came,” she said. Her lips, painted a deep red, curved into a warm smile. Her soft green eyes, framed with long black eyelashes, drifted over him head to toe and back up again. She’d pulled her blond hair back from her face. “Dressed for the occasion too.” She leaned back and studied him and he wondered what she saw.

  “I would’ve been here earlier if my phone hadn’t been turned off.” Her eyebrows arched. “Rush’s orders for social events,” he explained.

  He soaked up every detail of her. They hadn’t seen each other in person since their ten-year high-school reunion, another event Rush had forced him to attend. Madison had been the only bright light that evening. He remembered her in a softer dress, her hair in loose waves around her shoulders. Tonight, the sleek dress and hair created the illusion of a blond version of perfect Far Eastern elegance. As if being shy wasn’t bad enough, her lithe dancer’s body left him tongue-tied. He knew it would be polite to offer her a compliment. If only he could trust his mouth to deliver the words in the proper, flattering order. The years of exercises in composure and confidence in social settings were lost in the ether of his brain. He was terrified of saying something wrong in front of so many people. These were her coworkers and he wouldn’t compound her current trouble with some embarrassing blunder.

  Apparently understanding his discomfiture, she leaned close and feathered a kiss near his cheek. “Thank you for coming.” When she took his hand, her tight grasp was his only clue to her distress. “Did we pull you away from something important?”

  “No. I’d finished my part for the evening.”

  Her hand slid over his arm as she guided him to a workstation. “My apologies for being simultaneously vague and persistent,” she began in that perfect, unaccented voice. “I wasn’t comfortable putting the details in an email. As this evening approached, we had the typical threats against the dignitaries from China and the exhibit that opens tonight with this gala reception. I chalked it up to normal background noise until the museum system was breached a few hours ago. Whoever is behind this has disrupted display settings and the electronic locks on the centerpiece of this exhibit. The consensus is if those settings can be reset, he can do more damage at will to any part of the museum.”

  “Sounds about right,” Sam said. “Is the primary concern preventing a theft?”

  “On that we all disagree. I find the threat of a theft low.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “I can’t rule it out, of course. The head of the Chinese consulate has added his men to the security team. If theft is the goal, a hacker messing with the display through the computer has made their task additionally difficult. I’m more concerned with what’s going on in here.” She circled her finger at the nearest monitor.

  Her voice rolled over him as easily as surf kissing sand before it slid back to the ocean. He could listen to her for hours, a strange revelation for a man who preferred working either in near-silence or to the pounding beat of heavy metal music. Bending forward, he reached up to bump his glasses and hit his nose, forgetting he’d worn contacts. Hoping she hadn’t noticed, he examined several screenshots of coding. “You caught this?” he asked, impressed.