WOULD-BE CHRISTMAS WEDDING Read online

  Spy 101, she mused as she looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.”

  Now, that sounded ominous. And more than a little paranoid. But she could tell he was sincerely concerned about the likelihood of more trouble. And he was highly trained. Like Thomas.

  “Then we should go to the police.”

  “Not yet.”

  She refused to take another step. “Why not?”

  “Trust me. I’ll explain later.” He took her elbow and urged her forward again. “Come on, it’s time to blend in and get festive.”

  She pushed a hand through her hair and tugged at her sweater. From the guests they’d passed already, she knew it wasn’t black tie, but she got the impression it was a private company event. “You’re serious about crashing.”

  “As a heart attack.” He held up the tag from the coat check and gave her a look she knew was meant to put an end to her balking. “Just to buy some time.”

  The man looked around the room as if the crowd had taken over his home uninvited. “We won’t blend in at all if you keep doing that,” she warned.

  “Doing what?”

  “Scowling. It’s not festive.” She circled a finger at his face. “We’re crashing a party and you look like you’re on the way to your execution. Try a smile.” She gave him an example.

  His first attempt—a grimace—actually scared her a little. She glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Relax. They were just a couple of muggers,” she said, though neither of them believed it. “We weren’t followed.”

  So far. She mentally crossed her fingers as she drew him deeper into the anonymity of the party and joined the line waiting for service at the bar.

  “Not smart,” he grumbled at her ear.

  “Look around.” Everyone carried some sort of drink. “This was your idea. You want to blend,” she said with a wink. She swayed provocatively to the music pounding through the room. “And those thugs interrupted us before we got to dance.”

  She hoped a drink and a dance would be enough to stop the ruination of what had started as a perfectly lovely evening. Keeping it simple, she ordered a beer for each of them and then led him to a spot just off the dance floor. If this was really some sort of operation that involved her, this was the perfect time to prove she had what it took for fieldwork.

  She clinked her beer bottle to his. “Happy holidays.”

  “Cheers.” He tipped the bottle back, but kept his eyes on hers.

  In the improved light of the party, she could see the red abrasions on his knuckles. They’d likely be dark bruises by morning. “Do you want ice for that?” She wondered how he’d managed not to break any bones.

  “I’m good.” He rubbed the cold bottle across the marred skin while he studied the crowd.

  “Yes, you were.” She stepped a bit closer. “Thank you, by the way.”

  “You said that already.” He frowned at her, but she decided it was because she wasn’t what he expected. Well, that made them even. “You certainly adapt quickly.”

  “I’ve—”

  “Mrs. Manning?”

  “The woman knows everyone in town,” he grumbled.

  Cecelia found herself in the exuberant, slightly tipsy embrace of a young woman who’d gone to school with Casey.

  “Merry Christmas, Heather.” Too late, Cecelia remembered the invitation she’d declined. Heather’s father was a broker and their girls had been on the varsity field hockey team in high school. William had made a few investments with him, but they weren’t particularly close friends.

  “I didn’t know Daddy invited you. Oh, my gosh!” She stepped back, eyed Cecelia up and down. “You look amazing!”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “Daddy is going to go nuts.” Heather leaned close, but didn’t lower her voice. “He’s always had a thing for you.” She put her hand over her lips. “Oops.”

  Cecelia cringed at the dark expression clouding Emmett’s eyes. “Heather, let me introduce you to my date, Mr. Holt.”

  He did a fine job pretending to enjoy the introduction, but Cecelia knew better. His gaze was cataloging faces and he was looking for ways to make a hasty exit.

  “Anyway, I’m so glad you came,” Heather effused.

  The music changed to a Latin beat and Emmett captured her hand. “Let’s dance,” he said, pushing their beer bottles toward Heather. She barely had time to wave a farewell to the younger woman as Emmett tugged her into the crowd of dancers.

  His hands molded to her hips; his touch burned with a hot purpose through the fabric of her slacks as he started to lead. She grinned and rested her hands lightly on his shoulders for balance. Already she realized this wasn’t a ballroom rendition of the salsa he had in mind, but something much more intense. Sexy.

  Something much more fun.

  Thank heaven the party guests were drinking heavily enough that they wouldn’t remember Mrs. Manning crashing the party and grinding it out with a stranger in public.

  She couldn’t help it. Blaming the adrenaline or just her eagerness to reclaim her life, she tossed her head back and laughed at the absurdity of it all. She had to play the part, didn’t she? Wasn’t this exactly what spies did in the field?

  When she met his gaze again, his half smile was full of a different kind of heat. A heat that made her want to take chances and explore their options, no matter who he was or how many interruptions they had to endure.

  For the past three weeks, he’d been charming her with clever, interesting emails and photographs of architecture and sailing—his two passions outside work, according to his profile. That had been enough to captivate her even before she’d realized his profile picture had been current—and incredibly accurate.

  The man was a walking—dancing—invitation to sin. Right now she should be insisting on finding a quiet corner and getting some real answers, but she couldn’t pull her head out of the sexy spell he was weaving around her.

  The logical part of her brain knew he was doing it on purpose. An applied technique for either protection or distraction, she wasn’t sure. Wasn’t even sure she wanted the answer just yet. Instead of being terrified by the near miss in the alley, she felt exhilarated. There was an energy Emmett drew out of her that she hadn’t felt in far too long.

  More than surviving, more than managing life, she realized she was really living again—for the moment.

  The revelation would have made her stumble, but Emmett was there. His hands guided her, brushed her body as they swiveled and rocked in time with the fast pulse of the music.

  He used his eyes to tell her they’d been followed, and turning her, she spotted a pair of burly men hovering at the sliding door that opened onto the wide deck. They must have come around from the dockside rather than the front door as she and Emmett had done. With their well-worn coats and rough clothing, they didn’t blend in with anyone other than the two men who’d attacked them in the alley.

  She did a slow turn to face him again, then leaned in close on the next forward step. “Plan?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  Step, sway, forward, back. Cecelia laid her palms on his. “We can’t let them start a fight here. People will get hurt.”

  “I know,” he growled.

  “They said they wanted me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Want to hand me over?”

  “No. Unless you know something I don’t.”

  She shook her head. “Kiss me.”

  “What?”

  Her idea was flimsy at best, but it was all they had. The bad guys wanted her. She could be bait, especially with Emmett ready to assist her.

  Her heart stumbled at the thoughts. Was she really ready to do this? Play bait...and kiss this man?
r />   “Kiss me when the dance ends. Make a scene out of it.” The dance carried them apart for a moment, then back again. “I’ll go to the restroom. If they follow, we can subdue them there and leave through the back door.”

  He didn’t look happy about it. Apparently, no one wanted to credit her with any skills beyond marriage, motherhood and pushing paper. It wasn’t her first brush with disbelief, but there would be plenty of time to deal with her bruised pride later.

  Besides, she had a lifetime of hearing William, Thomas and more recently, Casey, talk about how to execute a proper egress in the most unusual of circumstances.

  The music soared as the song ended and Emmett put a flourish on the last move, dipping her back over his arm and bringing her back up so fast in the next beat that her head spun. Then his mouth captured hers.

  His fingers speared into her hair, his palm hot, firm and somehow gentle where he cradled her head. She gripped his shoulders for balance, digging into his firm muscles when he shifted, taking the kiss deeper. His thigh wedged between hers, his other hand splayed across her back.

  Her breath stalled in her lungs, but she didn’t care. She’d told him to make a scene and he was doing a fine job of it. His tongue stroked boldly against hers, making dark, silky promises her body wanted him to keep.

  The cheers and catcalls brought her back to reality with a shock. He released her so suddenly she swayed. She touched her lips, staring at him a long moment before remembering she was supposed to make a break for the restrooms.

  He drew her body close to his and she had the wild hope he would kiss her again.

  “Go,” he whispered against her cheek as the next song started.

  Cecelia went. Like the hounds of hell were on her heels. Within seconds she heard heavy footfalls behind her as she rounded the corner. On a prayer the restroom might be empty, she pushed through the door into the ladies’ room and spun a quick circle in search of anything she could use as a weapon. She should have gone back into that alley for her Taser. She’d dropped it after putting that creep down. She’d never had to use it before.

  If she couldn’t Taser a guy without being shaken, how was she ever going to fire a weapon?

  “Focus, Cecelia,” she muttered. She needed a weapon. Nothing presented itself, and she knew her best bet was to barricade herself in one of the stalls and wait for Emmett.

  She scrambled into a stall, set the latch and climbed onto the closed toilet seat. As the two men barreled in, Cecelia peered through the crack in the stall door and nearly groaned when a young woman stepped out of the stall closest to the door. Heather.

  “Uh, wrong door, guys.”

  “Where is Mrs. Manning?”

  These two knew her name? Any lingering notion she’d harbored that the attack after dinner had been a random mugging or a case of mistaking her for another woman fled. Not that she’d really believed it, even at the time.

  “Not in here. You guys are at the wrong party,” Heather added, trying to get around the men to the sink. “Get out.”

  One of the men caught Heather’s arm hard enough to make her cry out.

  “Show yourself, Manning.”

  Dear Lord. Cecelia couldn’t let them hurt the younger woman. “Let her go,” she said, stepping out of the last stall.

  “Come with us. Now,” the other man ordered.

  “As soon as you let her go,” Cecelia repeated with far more calm than she felt.

  The man holding Heather pulled a gun and pressed it to Heather’s side. The girl paled. “We all go together.”

  “Not acceptable.” Cecelia inched closer to the next stall, judging the reach of the second man. Come on, Emmett. None of the self-defense moves she knew were applicable from this distance. She had to find a way to get Heather away from that gun.

  “Last warning,” Cecelia promised. “Let. Her. Go.” She took a step closer with each word and on the last she let the second man catch her arm. She resisted and then suddenly gave in when he pulled harder. The result brought her careening into his chest and the momentum carried them both into his partner.

  The four of them landed in a heap against the wall with Cecelia on top. The gun, thank God, had fallen closest to her. She stomped and punched on every sensitive area possible as she scrambled to her feet.

  “Run, Heather!”

  Heather obeyed, bolting through the open doorway as Emmett rushed in and Cecelia grabbed the gun.

  “Can I just shoot them?” Maybe the weapon part wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d thought. What kind of lowlifes would use a young woman as leverage?

  “Works for me.”

  Both men started to protest. Cecelia glanced at Emmett and her heart skipped when he smiled at her.

  “Do me a favor and just kneecap them,” he suggested.

  She adjusted her aim and the men shouted again until Emmett silenced each with precisely placed pressure on the carotid artery.

  “We should get you out of here.”

  “Will you tell me what the hell is going on?” she demanded.

  “Just as soon as I figure it out,” he said, handing her coat to her.

  Emmett searched the unconscious pair for identification while she shrugged into her coat. He examined their phones and wallets as she dropped the small revolver into her purse. If she hadn’t been watching him closely, she would have missed the quick move when he put a phone from his jacket into the pocket of one of the men.

  With more questions begging to be asked, she followed him out of the restroom, down the corridor and out the back door of the building. If Heather had rushed out to call the police, it hadn’t stopped the partying.

  If someone had asked her, Cecelia wouldn’t have been able to logically justify her decision to stick with Emmett as he led her away and toward the water. The sounds of the party faded, replaced by the soothing lap of water against the moorings and their soft, rapid steps on the planks of the gangway.

  Darkness enveloped them beneath the low glow of the sparsely placed lamps marking the intersections of the gangway with the narrow floating docks that stretched out toward the water.

  Emmett took her hand, steadying her as they turned down the last dock. Boats rocked gently in the slips on either side. If he had been sent to kidnap her, she was making it easy for him. But she couldn’t make herself believe that was his goal.

  He’d had ample opportunity and offers to let others do it for him. No, there was more going on here, and as soon as she knew they were safe, she was going to demand answers.

  He stopped abruptly and pressed a finger to her lips. “You have the gun?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.” He withdrew his finger. “Sit here and use it if you have to.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just wait here while I make sure it’s clear.”

  “I could run,” she pointed out.

  That stopped him. He turned back slowly. “Do you want to?”

  The edge in his voice—sharper than that broken bottle—was enough to make her grateful she couldn’t see what was surely a cold expression marring his handsome face.

  “No.” Not yet, she amended silently. She could only assume the men who had attacked them were working for Thomas’s enemy. That was the only explanation that made sense.

  But that only proved her brother’s point that his enemy couldn’t have found her without access to highly classified files. Files that technically didn’t exist. Files a deputy director could access easily.

  “Let’s go.”

  She jumped and nearly dropped the revolver she’d balanced on her knee. He’d returned in complete silence; the dock hadn’t even shifted. “How’d you do that?”

  “Practice.” His hand cupped her elbow. “Three steps down,” he advised when he paused again at a s
lip.

  She couldn’t see much beyond the general shape of the boat and she took the steps slowly in the dark. The boat rocked slightly beneath her feet with her third step.

  “Left,” he said, guiding her with his strong hands.

  Looking that way, she saw a sliver of light seeping through a thin crack of a hatch near the boat’s bow. She felt him next to her, a bundle of tension and heat, his intriguing scent mingling with the water and night.

  “Just follow me. You’re safe. You have my word.”

  His voice, his touch, both made her feel safe. But was she?

  With one hand on the gun in her pocket, she followed him farther into the dark, wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into. In reality, she didn’t have a choice here. What she had was an opportunity. An opportunity to help her brother and the CIA take down a traitor.

  And maybe to prove she wasn’t a total fool.

  She prayed she wasn’t a total fool.

  Chapter Eight

  After securing the door, Holt watched Cecelia turn a slow circle, taking in the quarters of his modest cruiser, and waited for the disappointment. He should have known she’d be too polite to let it show.

  “It’s gorgeous,” she said, sounding breathless.

  “Thanks,” he muttered. He didn’t believe her. His boat wasn’t gorgeous, it was simple. Sure, he’d chosen the finest materials when he’d done the necessary upgrades, but the streamlined design made the most of space best described as cramped. It hadn’t bothered him before because he hadn’t planned to ever share these quarters with anyone. Seeing her here had him questioning his solitary plans, which was a completely random and impossible line of thinking.

  She was the director’s sister and a potential victim he was trying to protect by pretending to date her. Key word: pretending. He had to keep that in mind.

  “Were you sailing on this when you took those pictures down along the Florida Keys?” She moved about the space, touching his things. His body reacted as if she were touching him.

  “That’s where I picked her up,” he said. It surprised him how much pleasure he got from her enthusiasm for the boat and the pictures he’d taken. Sailing wasn’t in her online profile and his searches hadn’t revealed any recent love of the sea, but by now he should expect the unexpected where Cecelia Manning was concerned.