One Sizzling Night
Jo Leigh
First come liesThen comes temptation…Former Black Ops soldier Logan McCabe is in high-tech heaven. The “smart” apartment he's staying at has it all—luxurious amenities, walls that change color, and a seductive and nearly naked woman in the living room. Now that's everything a man can ask for. Except Kensey Roberts is no pixel pinup…and the sexual tension between them is most assuredly real.Kensey is in way over her head. She's undercover to expose a possible art thief and clear her absentee father's name. She doesn't need a distraction—especially the ex-military, crazy-sexy hot kind. “Captain McBabe” is over six feet of pure, delicious temptation. But one sizzling night won't just compromise her reputation…it could blow her cover sky-high.
First come lies
Then comes temptation...
Former Black Ops soldier Logan McCabe is in high-tech heaven. The “smart” apartment he’s staying at has it all—luxurious amenities, walls that change color, and a seductive and nearly naked woman in the living room. Now, that’s everything a man can ask for. Except Kensey Roberts is no pixel pinup...and the sexual tension between them is most assuredly real.
Kensey is in way over her head. She’s undercover to expose a possible art thief and clear her absentee father’s name. She doesn’t need a distraction—especially the ex-military, crazy-sexy hot kind. “Captain McBabe” is over six feet of pure, delicious temptation. But one sizzling night won’t just compromise her reputation...it could blow her cover sky-high.
“Bedroom. Now.”
Logan stopped at the bed, pulled down his shirt only to unbutton it in record time, and swiftly yanked down the covers.
God bless America, he was built like...like the men in her dreams. They all had his kind of body—muscled, a subtle six-pack, just enough hair that she could play with it during the cooldown after and a trim waist that led to a very impressive package.
“This is the part where you take off your shorts,” Kensey teased. “Unless you’d like me to—”
They hit the floor before he could finish.
He smiled. The kind of smile that changed his face. Made him look sexy as all get-out. Then he pulled her onto his lap for a kiss.
She kissed him back. Deep and real and just messy enough to match the urgency that was coiling inside him like a rattler.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said as he tumbled her onto the bed.
Dear Reader (#ulink_ff22a2e4-5b6a-5dd5-94be-b324dfefcc36),
Welcome back to my Three Wicked Nights miniseries!
You may remember Logan McCabe from Intrigue Me. He was the heroine’s hunky brother, a former special ops soldier, a man who’d gone above and beyond before returning home to face yet another battle—adjusting to civilian life. He tackles the problem head-on, starting a security firm that employs vets, like himself, who want to make a difference.
In One Sizzling Night, Logan has gone to Boston for a security conference and has been invited to test out his college friend’s amazing “smart” apartment. To Logan’s surprise, he won’t be spending the week alone. There’s a woman in residence, Kensey Roberts, and you won’t believe what she’s wearing when he meets her!
They not only spend some sizzling nights together, but when Logan finally unravels the mystery of Kensey, it puts them both in the line of fire!
I hope you’re enjoying this series. Look for the third Three Wicked Nights book coming in September.
You can always reach me at joleigh@joleigh.com or jomk.tumblr.com (http://www.jomk.tumblr.com). I love hearing from readers!
All my best wishes,
Jo Leigh
One Sizzling Night
Jo Leigh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JO LEIGH is from Los Angeles and always thought she’d end up living in Manhattan. So how did she end up in Utah in a tiny town with a terrible internet connection, being bossed around by a houseful of rescued cats and dogs? What the heck, she says, predictability is boring. Jo has written more than forty-five novels for Harlequin. Visit her website at joleigh.com (http://www.joleigh.com) or contact her at joleigh@joleigh.com.
To Lena Zimnavoda Khalek, my amazing niece who has not only been my source for all things Boston, but is also just plain wonderful. Love you!
Contents
Cover (#uc2b6972c-f1f2-5f3e-92f2-86214cb1561e)
Back Cover Text (#u2f14acb3-a236-5d49-9c65-b7627c2b38f3)
Introduction (#uf1cf12d1-6da8-5085-9765-61040413ba2a)
Dear Reader (#u637dcd9a-883b-5d84-87fd-b25844e24e3d)
Title Page (#ue82a340f-e1a2-5ba7-8df6-3287560d2e33)
About the Author (#u5f43ce8f-04d4-5f39-85ab-1466034991b0)
Dedication (#uac4de21d-c3b4-5fc8-a9ea-7d125e403ba3)
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1 (#ulink_360fdf51-166b-50db-8bdf-8f404bc6407b)
KENSEY ROBERTS MADE the short walk from the mansion to her boss’s office at a brisk pace. They’d been working out of his Tarrytown, New York, estate for a week now, and normally she enjoyed the leisurely stroll through the garden when she had occasion to meet with him. Not today. She paused outside his door and glanced down at her pressed linen pants and cream-colored blouse.
She’d paid particular attention to how she looked this morning. Her hair was simple, a little wavy now that it was past her shoulders. Applying makeup had been a challenge, but she’d had to do something to hide the fact that she hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. A final inspection assured her that she looked as cool and polished as usual.
Inside she was a complete mess.
Neil Patterson was sitting behind his immaculate teakwood desk. On any other day, she’d help herself to coffee first, exchange a few pleasantries if he wasn’t in the middle of something. Today Kensey headed straight for him and skipped the small talk.
“I hate to spring this on you at the last minute,” she said, ignoring the leather chair across from him. Too much adrenaline was shooting through her system. She couldn’t sit, hadn’t been able to sleep or stomach the thought of food since last night. “I need some time off.”
Neil leaned back, eyebrows raised. “Good morning.”
Kensey nodded. “Hopefully it will be just a week, so I’ll be able to escort the van Gogh to Vienna next month as planned.” Her voice, she knew, was well modified, and there was nothing about her expression that signaled anything but calm assurance. This mask had been her saving grace for years. She’d learned how to play a part from the best teacher in the world. “But it’s possible I’ll be away longer.”
Neil didn’t ask why. She doubted he thought it had anything to do with the weeks of vacation time she’d never used. He simply waited, his expression as neutral as her own, though she’d bet her Rolex he already knew what was going on. The CEO of The Patterson Group had made his first million at twenty-three and turned that into a billion-dollar empire before he’d hit fifty. Not only was he brilliant, he was careful and he did his research.
He was also the man who’d spotted something worthy enough in her that he’d taken her under his wing four years ago, giving her a life she’d never dreamed possible. Ironically, they’d met over a forgery.
God, Kensey didn’t want to disappoint him. But she had something very important to prove.
“I’d wondered if you’d seen this,” Neil said, and opened the folder sitting in front of him.
The second she saw the neatly folded copy of the New York Post she knew it was over. Her secret was about to unravel. In truth it had started to fray two years ago when Neil had guessed that she had a connection to the Houdini Burglar. But the thefts had stopped by then, and Neil hadn’t pressed her to fill in the blanks from her past. He would now, though, and she could hardly blame him.
He slid the paper across his desk. Every part of her wanted to run, but she stayed right where she was, her gaze lowered to the article that could change her life forever.
Art Collector Does a “Houdini” with $10M Degas
by John Witseck
Art lovers around the globe have been stunned by the report that Douglas Foster, highly respected art collector and import/export entrepreneur, is a person of interest in the investigation of a Degas landscape heist.
At nine o’clock Sunday morning, investment banker Clive Seymour discovered his security system disabled and The Wood, painted by Edgar Degas, missing from his private collection. Mr. Seymour was alone in his home at the time, although he and longtime associate Foster had dined together the previous evening.
NYPD Detective Sergeant Calvin Brown arrived at the estate at nine-thirty and confirmed that Foster had been Seymour’s only dinner guest before Foster left for Manhattan shortly after midnight. According to Mr. Seymour’s driver, he dropped Foster off at the Waldorf Astoria where he was staying. Foster, who lives in Paris, had arrived in New York early Saturday afternoon.
When police went to the hotel Sunday morning to pick Mr. Foster up for questioning, he could not be located. His suite had been cleared of his belongings, but a spokesman from the hotel stated Mr. Foster was not due to check out until Tuesday.
Seymour denied that Douglas Foster was the famous art thief dubbed the Houdini Burglar who has eluded authorities across four continents for three decades. Mr. Seymour has declined further comment, though he seemed understandably shocked as the two men have known each other for many years.
Detective Sergeant Brown, a thirty-year veteran of the NYPD white-collar crime division, is confident they will find Mr. Foster and bring him in for questioning. Brown, who will be retiring from the department in three months, has been after the Houdini Burglar for most of his career, although he stated that as of this morning there was no evidence to support the allegations that Foster is involved with the theft.
“Your father, I presume,” Neil said, as calm as could be. There wasn’t a trace of judgment or censure.
She looked up into his piercing blue eyes and simply nodded. The story hadn’t even hit the front page, what with yesterday’s oil tanker spill. But it had made page two and the scandal had the fine art world buzzing. Everyone who was anyone knew Douglas Foster. From the time she was young he’d been an A-list party guest.
“He’s innocent,” Kensey said. “I’m sure of it.”
Neil’s brows rose. “How would you know that?”
“It’s a forgery, a good one, I’ll give you that, but it’s not perfect.”
“You’ve seen the Degas?”
“No, but I dug up every digital picture of it that was taken after Seymour bought it, and some from the prior owner. Most of the pictures are shadowed or just plain bad. On purpose, I’m thinking. But seeing it up close? Foster would have written it off as a forgery and never given it another thought.” No one she knew, and she knew a lot of people in the art world, was better at spotting forgeries. “He taught me just about everything I know.”
“Circumstances might have changed,” Neil said. “You haven’t seen him in a long time. He’s older, slower. It’s possible he’s lost his touch. It happens.”
“He might have slowed down but there’s no way he would have taken a forgery. Or for that matter, be so stupid and careless. He was Seymour’s only dinner guest. Why on earth would he choose that night to go back and steal the painting? Please. And God knows he doesn’t need the money. He has enough to live out three lifetimes in luxury.”
Neil smiled. “It’s not always about money for people like him. It’s the thrill of the chase or the rush of being the smartest and the best. It gets in the blood and clouds people’s judgment. So they don’t know when to quit.”
Kensey’s chest hurt. She didn’t like the way those unnerving blue eyes studied her so closely. If he’d ever thought she was indeed her father’s daughter, or the possibility existed that she could be drawn back to her old life, he would’ve cut her loose by now.
But no, Neil had always been her champion. What her father never taught her about business or life, Neil Patterson had. He’d invested in her, encouraged her and listened to her opinions.
“All I know is that this thing smells like a setup. Seymour probably realized the painting was a fake ages ago, and knew he couldn’t sell it to any of his regular buyers. This con must have dropped into his lap like an early Christmas present. My bet’s on the cop. Brown’s retiring soon. He’s been after the Houdini Burglar for most of his career. He doesn’t want to go out looking like a fool.”
“A cop? About to retire with a pension?”
“Why not? He’s been obsessed.”
Neil gave her a slow, considering look. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s assume you’re right. What is it you want to do?”
She tried to relax, her gaze going to the Modigliani hanging behind him. It was one of her favorites, one he’d kept out of circulation far longer than most. She suspected because he knew of her fondness for the painting.
As his curator, she worked up a complete profile for each piece in his vast collection, checking and double-checking the provenances, all of which went into a very complex metadata formula that told them when a piece was ready to go into circulation, and where. Some of the pieces would be marked for sale, while other were to be held on to as an investment. All that mattered to her was that she had the rare and wonderful privilege of seeing the work up close, studying the craft and basking in its pure genius.
“I need to prove he didn’t do it,” she said, finally sinking into the leather chair. “As long as he’s on the run he can’t return to his home in Paris or access his accounts. I’m sure he has money stashed away somewhere in case something like this were to ever happen but who knows if he can get to it.”
“Do you think he’ll try to contact you?”
“No.” The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. She shook her head. “After ten years without a word? I doubt it.”
“You’re right. He wouldn’t want to involve you.”
Kensey stared in disbelief. “Are you serious? He doesn’t care about me. A letter, Neil,” she said, the pain as sharp now as the day she’d found herself alone in a Swiss hotel. She’d just turned eighteen and was about to start at Yale, which had the best undergraduate fine arts program in the world. She’d been over the moon about it. “Three lines basically telling me to have a nice life was all he left me before he disappeared.” He’d also left enough money to finance her Ivy League education, including a master’s degree in art restoration at the Istituto Superiore per la Conservazione ed il Restauro in Rome. Plus her Manhattan co-op. She hoped the overtures hadn’t eased his guilt one bit. “He’s probably forgotten he has a daughter.”
Neil hadn’t looked away once. But she did, before she could see pity in his eyes. “The smart thing would be to stay away from the investigation,” Neil said. “It’s not easy to trace you back to that old life, but it can be done. So, why risk it?”
“I don’t know.” Kensey sighed. “I honestly don’t, but... I can’t look the other way. I wish I could.”
Neil’s gaze drifted toward the window and the lush greenery outside. “What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know that, either.” The headache that had been teasing her since four o’clock this morning was making itself known, as it began to throb behind her temples. “If I’m right and he’s being framed, the fake painting would have been destroyed by now. The insurance company will have pictures. I still have connections from when I worked as a fraud investigator... I can call in a favor.”
Neil stared at her with unforgiving focus. With his thick dark hair and athletic build, the man had the nerve to be great looking. She’d have preferred he wasn’t. Not because they had anything going on, but because some people automatically assumed that their relationship was more than professional.
Okay, so they were friends, as well, but that was a far cry from being lovers...
“Do you know how many red flags you’d send up?” Neil asked. “I don’t care what anyone owes you, you’ll end up under the same microscope as Foster.”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” she admitted. “But you’re right. I need to be careful.” She exhaled slowly, embarrassed at how foolish she sounded. “I can’t let this go, Neil. I can’t. He’s in his late fifties. He can’t spend the rest of his life in prison. Even if he gets off, the authorities will be watching him. He’d be forced to retire. So I wouldn’t feel guilty helping him.”
Neil nodded. “I agree something’s off. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has been set up. But he’s not my concern. You are.”
Kensey smiled. “Thank you.” Of course he would think of her first. She’d never wanted him to be involved, but now that he was, she was incredibly grateful. “I mean it. I don’t know where I’d be without you. I hope you understand that I have to do this.”
“Time isn’t on your side, Kensey. You’d have to work fast. Once the police arrest him and have enough to indict him, the prosecution will start digging deep. And I don’t think they’re going to dither on this one. Too many rich, interested people involved. No judge will consider bail, since he’s the poster boy for flight risk. And once he’s in Sing Sing, he’s going to stay there.”
Her heart squeezed so tightly it took her by surprise. She never would have guessed that helping her father would matter so much to her. “I can’t tell if you’re encouraging me to get moving, or trying to get me to drop it.”
“I know you better than to think you’d do that.” He rose and walked over to the coffee service on his credenza. After filling his own mug, he held out the carafe to her.
She shook her head. God, all she needed was more caffeine added to the adrenaline racing through her body.
“I know you have something in mind,” he said. “Tell me what it is.”
“I don’t have a plan. Not really—” The idea Kensey had entertained at five o’clock this morning seemed completely insane now. If she told Neil about it, he would probably have her committed on the spot. No, first he’d fire her, then he’d call a psychiatrist to send men in white coats to haul her off to some sterile institution with cheap hotel art on the walls. Kensey sighed. “I could steal the original myself.”
Anyone else might’ve spit out his coffee. Neil swallowed and set the mug down on his desk, then sat. “You don’t know who has the Degas.”
“We’ve both heard the rumors.”
“Rumors being the operative word.”
Kensey studied her boss. His brows lowered, he wasn’t quite frowning, more like he was deep in thought. She was encouraged by the fact that he hadn’t told her outright it was a ridiculous idea.
“You and Ian Holstrom used to be business partners,” she said. “Do you think he could have a private collection of stolen masterpieces?”
“We parted company over twenty years ago. Hard to say what he’s into now.”
“Is he capable of such a thing?”
Neil’s smile held no humor. “He wasn’t always narcissistic and greedy. We made a lot of money very quickly and Ian figured that entitled him to a seat among Boston’s elite. But he was crass, always talking about how rich he was. People didn’t like him. They still don’t, no matter how much expensive art he acquires. So, yes, I can see him wanting to stick it to everyone by hording stolen art for his own amusement, but I can also see how the rumors might have gotten started out of disdain for the man.”
“But since the Degas hasn’t been seen in seven years, only the forgery, it is possible Holstrom has it, right?”
“It’s also possible Seymour’s painting isn’t a forgery.”
Kensey didn’t blink. “I’m not wrong. And I don’t have any other leads.”
Neil sighed. “Look, you can’t break into his house. Holstrom has top-notch security. He’s an arms dealer and defense contractor, for God’s sake.” Neil held up a hand when Kensey tried to interrupt. “However, in addition to his love of art, he has an insatiable appetite for fine wine and beautiful women...”
“Okay,” she said. “So, what are you thinking?”
His smile relaxed her, but not because it was reassuring. Most people found that particular smile to be comforting. Fools, all of them. Her boss was wickedly smart and when he flashed that easy grin, she knew the axe was about to fall.
She had no idea what had caused the eventual rift between him and Holstrom; she could only thank her lucky stars that Neil was on her side.
“First of all, stealing the Degas isn’t the answer. I assume you meant you would turn it over to the authorities,” Neil said with a faint smile. “That won’t prove Foster didn’t steal it.”
About to argue, she realized he was right. “I have to prove the original has been in Holstrom’s possession all along.”
Neil nodded. “Unfortunately, that will still require access to his estate,” he said, running a critical gaze over Kensey. “But I don’t imagine it would take much for you to catch Holstrom’s attention.”
She took no offense. Not with Neil. But the thought of using her sexuality to snare the man made her shudder inside, although she knew she could do it, if that was what it would take. “Go on.”
“His office is in Boston where there happens to be a major security convention next week. He’ll begin the night before the conference officially opens with a party at The Four Seasons or the Mandarin Oriental hotel where he’ll parade his wealth like Caligula. Business will be done there, but the point will be to show off how rich and powerful he is. I’ll make a call, get you registered at the conference and put you together with a friend of mine. Knowing Sam, she’ll be very helpful. By then I’ll have gotten as much information on Holstrom as I’m able to, and we’ll go from there. You should know I can’t get you on the list for the party.”
Kensey nodded, marveling at how much her boss knew about Holstrom, but also wondering just how much Neil Patterson knew about her.
She’d said very little about her past, so she didn’t see how he could understand the nature of her early relationship with her father. How he’d taught her to be more than a decoy when she was younger. He’d pressed her to learn three languages, to take gymnastics and keep herself limber. She’d added martial arts, and he’d approved. And she’d sat at his feet, learning to become any character he needed, from naive waif to budding seductress. Not that he had let anything happen to her, but she’d been a very convincing actress.
He was meticulous. Every heist was studied until he understood everything he’d need to grab what he was after. Timetables, security systems, safes. The reason Douglas Foster had never been caught was that he never left his exit strategies to luck.
All of his expertise had been passed down to her. She’d believed, up until the day he disappeared from her life, that he’d been molding her into his protégé.
Even now her blood pulsed through her system like a maelstrom, the call to danger as familiar as breathing, but far more exciting. If she pulled this off...if she proved Douglas Foster innocent, he would see who she’d become. That she didn’t need him at all.
2 (#ulink_80cfc124-317d-5c4d-979f-9a49f9e4d9f1)
“YOU’RE GOING TO miss your flight, and you’ll feel horrible and probably do something self-destructive like flirt with someone wildly unsuitable who’ll end up stealing your wallet.”
“That happened one time.” Logan McCabe frowned at his sister. His advice to anyone who wanted a nice, sane life? Don’t have a sister. Actually, it should be don’t have his sister. Lisa was newly engaged and particularly chipper these days. He couldn’t wait to get to Boston. “Would you stop interrupting? I just want to make sure I’ve crossed all the t’s.”
“Now you’re blaming me for your jitters? What happened to the old nerves of steel? Mr. Former CIA Covert Ops—”
He looked up from his business proposal to catch her gaze. “Lisa, you know better.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, wincing. “I won’t do that again. I swear.”
No one else was in the office. He knew she hadn’t meant anything by what she said. But he worried that some day she’d kid around in front of the wrong person and they’d both be in serious trouble. The blame fell on him. He and Lisa were close, but he’d had no business telling her about his work for the CIA. He hadn’t told her anything specific, but he should have kept his mouth shut, period.
She rose from one of the visitors’ chairs in his Lower East Side office. The furniture was fine, if you didn’t care about comfort. But then anyone sitting across from him in this office wouldn’t give a damn about comfort or style or anything so trivial. He met clients elsewhere. The office was reserved for veterans like himself. The hardcore, superbly trained members of the Navy SEALs, Green Berets, Delta Force, Twenty-fourth Special Tactics, or Army Rangers. Some of whom, like him, had been recruited by the CIA to take on high-risk missions the military couldn’t perform. But the guys he helped, the ones who were just returning from active duty, all shared the monumental task of learning how to live among civilians. Becoming a civilian was, as far as Logan was concerned, impossible.
It had taken a long time, but finally he’d realized he could utilize his experience to make a difference. For himself. And for the others who had the best training in the world, but no place to put their skills to work. “I wish you were coming with me,” he told Lisa, mostly to let her know he wasn’t pissed. “Each time I talk to Sam it seems she’s leaped ahead another ten years. Her equipment is so advanced it would blow your mind. And she’s one of the best when it comes to spyware.”
“I’m more interested in that apartment of hers. It sounds very sci-fi.”
“It’s still a prototype, but yeah, it should be interesting. Hey, what time is it?”
“Too tired to turn your wrist? You’ve got an hour before you have to be at the airport.”
Rolling his eyes wasn’t something he did with his sister. He’d never get anything else done if he started. But the urge never died.
“You want to rehearse your presentation again?” she asked. “Or go over your pitch for Holstrom?”
Logan had agreed to give a talk so that he could get the word out about his model for staffing, but now he was sorry. It was critical to win the security contract from Ian Holstrom. The rest could wait. “If I lost my PowerPoint tomorrow, I’d be able to give the spiel in my sleep.”
“Does that mean you’re worried about Holstrom?”
He nodded. “There are two other top outfits gunning for the contract, and both of them are established in the field.”
“You’re established,” she said. “You’ve overseen three major operations already, and you’ve only been doing this for two years.”
Logan leaned back until he felt the lumbar support on his big leather chair settle into the sweet spot. “Two years versus ten?”
“Didn’t you tell me Holstrom wants new blood?”
“That’s what he said. I have no idea if he meant it.”
“Presuming he didn’t, what would you do?”
He gave her question some thought, but didn’t share his suspicion that Holstrom might be blowing smoke about the competition. Yeah, the two other companies had great track records but they didn’t have the kind of field experience Logan had, nor did they have his insight into the type of man with the skills of a special-ops soldier. Holstrom had been clear that he wanted only the best for the most critical jobs. Not just a bunch of mercenaries. But he didn’t blame Holstrom for using the threat of competitors. That was just business. But in case it wasn’t a ploy, Logan was determined not to get too smug. Too many people were depending on him.
“Nothing very different,” he said in answer to Lisa. “I’d put more emphasis on the fact that I only recruit spec-ops vets for critical assignments. That everyone on the team has mandatory counseling and ongoing training in tactics, advanced firearms and physical fitness.”
“Okay, then. You’ve thought of everything, and you’ll blow his socks off,” she said. “Now, listen up. You’ll be in Boston for six days. You’re going to want to change your ticket to come back early, but please don’t. The last time you took some real time off was...wait a minute. I’ll remember soon. Oh, yeah, freshman year at MIT? When you and your friends went to Cozumel?”
“Yes. Okay. I get it.”
“No,” she said, and now she was standing in front of him, her hands planted above his big desk calendar, her face too close for comfort. “I don’t think you do,” she said. “Dr. Price told you to take some time off. I’d bet all your money that he meant more than two lousy days. You need to take care of yourself if you’re going to take care of your veterans, Logan. Be an example, not a cautionary tale. Remember what you told me when I was getting back on my feet? You gave me the very touching brotherly advice to get laid once in a while.”
Logan smiled. “What makes you think I’m not?”
“Oh, please. You wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass if you were.” She gave him that soft look of sisterly concern that made him want to go to the airport early. “Besides, how is Mike ever going to learn how to take over operations if you never leave him alone to run things?”
“Fine.” He rubbed a hand over his face. Mike, a former army ranger, had been with them a year now and was adjusting exceptionally well.
“Give me your word you won’t find a reason to come back early.”
“I can’t do that. But I promise I’ll do my best to get some R & R.”
“All right. As long as you’re serious about making the effort.”
He knew she was right. Working nonstop for as long as he had wasn’t in his best interest. But, truth be told, he hadn’t figured out how to turn off in the way she meant. It wasn’t that simple. Years of covert work where there were no days off—no seconds off—had instilled in him pathways of thinking, of being. Going to the supermarket could be an ordeal. The first year back he hadn’t been able to make it through a quick shop without wanting to pull his weapon or call for backup. Things were much better now, but not easy.
Lisa understood, though. She was a former cop and had difficulty in the same arena. But now that she was with Daniel, she seemed more at ease.
“I know you love me to pieces,” she said. “We’ll be fine here. And you’ll do great. Oh, and by the way, please tell the famous Sam that I’m going with you next time to stay in that smart apartment of hers.”
“Neither of us could afford to stay there after this beta test phase is finished.”
“Way to burst every balloon in the world, Logan.”
“I’m valued for my ability to ruin people’s day.”
“You’re valued because you’re amazing,” she said.
He had no idea where his kid sister got her ideas. He wasn’t amazing. He was simply good at his work. Because he remembered what it had been like to have no purpose. No use for his skills. It was like being in solitary confinement without hope of parole.
* * *
BY THE TIME Logan reached Boston, he couldn’t wait to grab a hot shower and drink a nice cold beer. Even so, after he got out of the cab he paused to take in his surroundings. The street itself consisted of old brownstone row houses, except for Sam’s place. Her building was set back, with a brick walkway and heavy trees that lowered the June warmth by at least ten degrees. Sam was lucky to have found it.
He’d heard from his college buddy Rick that the apartment was fully intuitive, and damn, Logan needed something to help him relax. The short flight from New York had made him grumpy as hell. He hated commercial flying. Everything was too crowded, too expensive, too noisy.
And while he’d tried the mindfulness exercises the company’s shrink had taught him, the kid behind him kicking his seat the entire flight had turned his meditation into a long list of reasons why he should never have children.
As soon as he opened Sam’s front door, perfectly placed lights came on in the apartment. The temperature was a few degrees cooler than outside, without a trace of humidity. He immediately liked the open floor plan with the foyer spilling into a room that was both modern and welcoming, with expensive-looking artwork on the walls. But the art couldn’t compete with the magic happening inside the walls—they changed color as he walked through the sleekly furnished living room.
Just to make sure he hadn’t lost his mind, which was a legitimate concern, he went back to the marble foyer. Sure enough, the wall colors shifted from a pale blue to a paler blue, then a faint green and finally beige. When he returned to the living room, it was different again. This time the walls turned from pale pink to violet.
It wasn’t just a gimmick, either. Sam had explained that the walls contained body sensors, and Logan really did feel calmer as he walked into the open kitchen. It was high-end in every way, and when he opened the pantry door, he realized he could stay there for a month without missing a single meal.
Sam was going to make a fortune with this place. He found the master suite at the end of a short hallway. It was huge and the bed was a California king. Man, it just kept getting better. He dumped his duffel bag on the bed and put his computer case on the floor.
Goddamn, one look at the shower insured he’d be taking his time. No door to speak of, a boatload of sparkly tile, and more jets than La Guardia. All that was missing was an ice-cold beer...which was probably in that industrial-sized refrigerator in the kitchen. He’d have to go grab that first.
Yep, he found the beer. His favorite brand, too. There was a lot of delicious-looking food in the fridge, but there was only one thing he cared about at the moment. He popped the top and took a drink, a burst of hops hitting his nose. When he lowered the can, he froze.
A woman stood in the living room staring back at him.
Tall. Blonde. Gorgeous.
And naked. Almost.
A white towel covered most of her breasts, but if she bent in pretty much any direction...
Looking away would be the right thing to do. Only, he didn’t know who she was or why she was there.
Logan wiped his mouth. “I think you might be in the wrong apartment.”
“No,” she said, weirdly calm for a woman wearing only a towel and facing a strange man. “I’m sure I’m just where I’m supposed to be.”
“Well, hell, you’d better be a hologram.” Logan nearly choked at the crazy thought. “Although Sam did say the apartment came with everything.”
“Excuse me?” The woman narrowed her eyes. They looked green but he had to get closer to be sure.
“Are you...real?” He moved a step toward her. With all of Sam’s tech voodoo he honestly couldn’t tell. “Can I touch you?”
“Not if you want to live to finish that beer.”
Logan smiled. “Sam knows I like feisty women.”
“I wish she’d warned me that you’re delusional.”
Okay, so she knew Sam or at least that Sam was a she. “What am I supposed to think with you greeting me in a towel?” He checked out her legs. Man, they were long. “For the record, no towel would’ve been better,” he said and took a pull of beer. Then swallowed quickly. “Wait. It was Lisa. She sent you, didn’t she?”
“No one sent me.” She inched back, daring him with a glare. “I’m beginning to seriously hope you aren’t Logan.”
“Guilty as charged.” He didn’t know what to think at the moment. Except that since she knew Sam and who he was, she probably wasn’t trespassing. “What’s your name?”
“Kensey. I’m here for the conference but I couldn’t find a room anywhere in the city,” she said, shifting slightly to her right. “You’re early.”
If she moved another centimeter, he’d be seeing her religion. It was bad enough that the image of her shapely legs was now burned into his brain, and all of his conversational abilities had been overtaken by the potential movement of that small towel.
He needed that shower ASAP. Or ten minutes of privacy. Either one would do.
“Who’s Lisa?”
“My kid sister.”
“And you think she sent you a hooker?” The woman raised an eyebrow. A lovely eyebrow. All the parts of her that he could see were lovely. He doubted he’d ever used or thought that particular word before, but this gorgeous blonde in the tiny towel brought out the poet in him. Among other things. “Interesting family,” she said, with a look that didn’t just dismiss him. It dismissed him with prejudice.
“I don’t have to play nice with you,” he said. “I have no idea who you are. Until I speak to the owner of this apartment, I get to assume anything that makes sense to me.” He moved a few inches to the right and said, “Call Sam.”
Just like that, a screen appeared on the wall behind her. It looked like a large computer monitor with Sam’s company logo in the center. He could hear a phone ringing, the call signal created by the Skype program.
Seconds later, Sam herself was in the center of the screen. Her eyes widened as she got a load of Kensey. “Damn it, Logan. I’ve been trying to reach you. What the hell’s wrong with your cell phone?”
“Nothing.”
“Look again.”
He retrieved his phone from his jacket. It was off. He’d switched it off on the plane in a vain attempt to get some sleep, and had forgotten to turn it back on. That was worrisome on several levels. He turned the damn thing on. “Why were you trying to reach me?”
His cell phone beeped five times in a row. He slid it into his pocket while avoiding looking at the seminaked woman beside him.
“To tell you that you’d have company for the week. I assume you’ve introduced yourselves?”
“Not exactly.”
“Look, Logan, she’s one of the good guys. I know I promised you the place to yourself, but this is kind of an emergency, so please be okay with it.”
He hadn’t decided if he was happy or not, but if Sam said Kensey was good people, he believed her. “You gonna be around?”
Sam frowned. “Aren’t I always?”
Sam wasn’t her usual cheerful self. Normally, she never left a conversation before filling him in on what she was up to. In detail. He rarely understood what she was talking about because Sam was in a class by herself. He wrote her mood off to the security conference. She had a lot of spyware—not just for computers, but for equipment that men like him needed if they wanted to stay alive. She must be up to her neck in clients. “I’ll call you later. And Sam? The place is unreal.”
That made her smile. The definition on the wall monitor was so incredible that he could count the freckles on her nose.
She turned her attention to Kensey. “Sorry about this,” she said. “Yesterday and today have been nuts. I’m normally completely on top of things.”
“I understand. No problem.”
“You’ll get along great with Logan. He’s interesting. And funny.” She glanced at something behind her. “Sorry, I’ve got to run.”
With that, she vanished from the monitor. And the monitor went with her.
“Satisfied?” his guest asked.
“So you know Sam. And you’re here for the conference?”
“Yes.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Neil—” She pushed the hair off her right shoulder, making her appear even more naked. “My boss and I have parted ways. I’m currently freelancing. I understand you’re military?”
“I was, but we’ve also parted ways.”
“Do tell,” she said, moving her hips half a millimeter to the right. “I can’t wait to see if this is the part where you get interesting and/or funny.”
Good thing he’d had a lifetime of training with his sister so he was able to sidestep that comment like a crack on the sidewalk. “Sure you’re not chilly in that outfit?”
Her lips lifted a fraction of a second before settling back into a straight line. “If it bothers you, I’ll go change right now.”
“No. Nope. Doesn’t bother me at all.” He smiled. Tried to remember what she’d asked him about. And wondered how he could move over to where he’d be covered from the erection down without making it obvious that was what he was doing.
“How was your breakup with the military?” she asked.
“Amicable. For the most part.”
“I’m guessing you’re going to the conference because you’re in the security business?”
He nodded. “Cliché as that is. Even civilians need protection.”
“That’s very noble of you.”
“It keeps bread on the table and beer in the fridge. What about you? I think you would make one hell of a personal guard.”
She laughed, her eyes bright with surprise. Green. Definitely green. “I’d be terrible at it. I’ve got no training at all.”
He couldn’t help shaking his head. With those looks and that insane calm in a situation that would make anyone else run for cover, he imagined she’d do just fine. “What do you have training in?”
“You know what? I’m getting chilly. So, we’ll talk again, Logan...?”
“McCabe.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said. “But the reason I came out here was to get a snack. However, I’m reasonably certain that my derriere is not completely covered. I’d appreciate it if you turned away and closed your eyes.”
He let out a deep breath. “Depends. Have you ever heard of Pliny the Elder?”
“Ancient Roman big shot?” The way she looked at him, as if he were a complete wacko made him relax completely. “Wrote the first encyclopedia?”
“Yes. And if you see any bottles in the fridge that look like this—” he turned his beer so she could see the name “—they’re for me.”
She sighed and added a little head shake. “Awesome. A guy who doesn’t like to share. Fine. I won’t touch your beer.”
Walking casually toward the fridge, as if she went to work five days a week wearing a towel and nothing else, she passed him, close and slow. He got a whiff of something dark, sweet and hot. Then she twirled her finger for him to turn his back.
Sadly, he did as she asked. “I’m serious about that beer.”
The pantry door swung open behind him. Something rustled, the door closed and then the fridge opened and closed in quick succession. Kensey walked by him again, leaving her scent in her wake.
Damn, if he didn’t want to lick her like a popsicle.
“I’m serious about you keeping your eyes shut,” she said.
“They’re shut tight. Just slam your bedroom door so I’ll know the coast is clear.”
He didn’t hear any footsteps, so he followed the sound of what he thought might be her munching on potato chips.
Then in the next moment, a door slammed, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the lock was slipped into place.
He needed to have a private talk with Sam. But not before he did something about the burgeoning problem in his jeans.
3 (#ulink_6b81a5e0-2ae7-5532-bba2-5a052866400e)
KENSEY WAITED UNTIL the lock was fully engaged before she let go of the breath she’d been holding. From the second she’d seen Logan, she’d been consumed with the thought that her towel would fall. It wasn’t tightened all that well. But she’d just stepped out of the shower and hadn’t expected him for another two hours.
She found a thick white spa robe hanging in the closet and slipped into it, and nearly squeezed herself to death tying the belt. Then she turned to look at the wall. “Call—” She stopped. Sam was busy.
They had spoken before Kensey had left New York, and the woman had explained a little about the apartment and who she’d be sharing it with. But Kensey was in no way prepared for the reality of walls changing colors and a shower that had given her more pleasure than her last three dates combined.
And she sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for Logan.
A beep sounded behind her. She turned to see a monitor on the wall with text telling her it was Sam. Kensey quickly accepted the call.
“Hi, Kensey,” Sam said, from the wall.
It was so weird to see her image right there, larger than life. “You went to Hogwarts, didn’t you?”
“I wish,” Sam said. “I’m sorry about Logan. I left him several messages, but I was too swamped with appointments to follow up. I hope he didn’t give you too much of a scare.”
“Scare? No. It was fine, although I might’ve avoided meeting him wearing only a towel.”
“I don’t know how you managed to stay so calm. I would’ve just died.” Sam’s cheeks reddened. “Of course I don’t look like you.”
“Stop it.” Kensey shook her head. “Don’t underestimate yourself. Oh, and speaking of looks, you couldn’t have warned me that Logan is hotter than hell?”
“I guess I’ve known him too long. He just looks like Logan to me. One of my college buddies. But yeah, all the girls back at MIT loved him.” Sam wrinkled her nose. “Huh. Now that I think about it, all the guys I hung out with were pretty good looking.”
“Now that you think about it?” Kensey laughed. “Did you ever look away from your computer?” But what did she know? She had no friends at all, except Neil. She’d always been so worried about guarding her past that she hadn’t exactly welcomed new people into her life.
Well, after this week, maybe she’d make some friends with her fellow inmates at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility.
“Yeah, a group of us hung out. I was the only computer geek. Logan studied political science, forensics and languages. He speaks four. Anyway, our friendship was mostly accidental but it turned out to be one of the best parts of university life for me.”
Kensey started to ask which languages, but thought better of it. She couldn’t think of Logan as anything but a temporary roommate. In fact, she couldn’t afford to think about him at all, so she changed the subject. “The body sensors you mentioned yesterday...that’s what’s causing the walls to change color, right?”
Sam nodded. “They’re heat, movement and tone sensors that can pick up if you’re having a rough night’s sleep and cue up something soothing to listen to. Or if you’re anxious, they’ll surround you in calming colors, scents and sounds,” she said patiently, though there seemed to be a lot of activity buzzing around her. “I’m sorry. This week is kind of hectic.”
“It’s fine, Sam. Really. I’ll figure things out. Thanks,” Kensey said. “For everything.”
“Listen, I want you to know if you need anything, you can reach me pretty much all the time. Even if I’m at the exhibition hall. I promise we’ll meet in person at some point.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Me, too.” Sam smiled and disappeared, leaving the wall just a wall.
Except it wasn’t just a wall—it could read her moods. It was all so crazy. She would’ve loved being here under different circumstances. And Logan with those sexy hazel eyes? Under different circumstances, she would’ve loved meeting him.
Sharing the apartment would have been much easier if he’d been unattractive. And meeting him for the first time while she was wearing only a towel? Fantastic. At least they wouldn’t have much interaction this evening. She had to get ready to crash Holstrom’s reception at the Mandarin Oriental.
Kensey flipped on the light and walked into the large closet, a nice hint of cedar rising from the floor. She hadn’t noticed the scent before. Probably because she’d hung everything as quickly as she’d grabbed and purchased the clothes a few hours ago.
She looked at the long row of clothing: dresses, skirts, blouses, pants. All of it gorgeous. And sexy. Way sexier than anything she normally wore. But then, these were costumes. More expensive than anything she’d ever owned, and integral to the character she was about to play.
She’d been worried, at first, after she’d done a bit more research about Holstrom, that she wouldn’t be able to get his attention. From what she’d read, he didn’t seem to go for tall blondes, but that wasn’t enough to dissuade her. She knew he loved being the center of attention, and, tonight, she would bring that to him in spades. Then, after he was hooked like a trout, she would vanish into the night.
And come back here to have her coronary in private.
She decided she would go with the beautiful flowing number by Donna Karan for tonight’s party. The dress was the color of turmeric and clay, strapless and tight around her chest, with an airy, semitransparent skirt that flowed past her ankles. She hoped it was enough to get her into Holstrom’s reception and catch his eye. If he proved challenging, there were a few things she could do. The simplest of which would be to drop her small clutch at his feet. Eye contact would be easy once he picked it up for her.
God, all this reminded her of her father. Wherever he was. Before he’d taken a runner, she and her father had lived the high life. They went to extravagant parties and ate at the best restaurants in New York City, Paris and Rome. The memories made her heart race—but not in an entirely good way. Believing she could get Holstrom to show her his secret collection had seemed easier two hundred miles away in Tarrytown. But it wasn’t as if she had much of a choice.
After applying a good deal more makeup than usual and slicking her hair completely off her face, she checked her new dramatic look in the mirror. She decided against wearing any jewelry. It took her a minute to believe she was staring at her own reflection, and then she was ready to go, slippery clutch in hand.
“Hey,” Logan said, as he walked down the hallway from his bedroom. “I’m going to order a pizza. Want in?”
He blinked at her. Damn, he was good looking. The way his jeans fit him, the V of a tight waist and broad shoulders. His sun-streaked brown hair was slightly damp and slicked back. She would have loved to stick around and see if he was everything Sam claimed, but she couldn’t.
“I’ve got someplace to be,” she said.
He returned the toe-to-head scan. “Wow.”
Kensey smiled. Managed to look flattered but not overly so. “Thanks. Pizza would’ve been good, though,” she said, and probably shouldn’t have. “But now, I’ve got to run.”
“Have you ordered a taxi yet?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
The way his gaze moved down her body, slowly, then lingered on where the silky fabric grazed her thighs made her want to squeeze them together. If Logan’s reaction was any indication, the dress was doing its job.
His dark brows lowered. “Did you forget—” He met her eyes, cleared his throat and looked away. “Have a good time.”
Fairly certain she knew what he’d been about to say, she tried not to laugh. The flow of the dress was very tricky. Depending on the angle, the lighting, the motion of her body, it appeared as if she might be naked underneath the translucent fabric.
He turned around and headed back toward his room, the walls on both sides turning varying shades of red as he hurried down the hallway.
* * *
THE TAXI RIDE had been good for her, a way to settle and get comfortable in her role. Logan’s reaction had helped. She knew she’d picked the perfect dress. The slight alteration she’d made to the bodice made her breasts look larger than they were. But undeniably, it was the stunning gossamer fabric and what it revealed that would help her pass the next test.
A tall beefy man in a black suit stood at the entrance to the banquet room where Holstrom was hosting his reception. Thirtysomething, with hard features, she could tell he wasn’t an ordinary rent-a-cop. A member of Holstrom’s private security team, she imagined. This might not be as easy as she’d hoped.
“Good evening. May I see your invitation, please?”
Standing tall but looking at him through her eyelashes, she pretended to check inside her small clutch. She sighed with a hint of impatience, then snapped the catch shut and dipped her finger and thumb into her bodice, between her breasts.
The man tried not to stare. But he couldn’t seem to help himself.
Her smile turned pensive, not that he’d noticed. Interesting, because he seemed a little old and seasoned to be quite so mesmerized, but she’d take it. Of course she didn’t have the invitation, but she did have a tube of lipstick, which she pulled out. “I know I didn’t leave it at the hotel,” she said. “It may have come loose but I’m sure it’s here. I’d folded it so it would fit.”
She went in for a second time.
Kensey could have sworn his body had tensed, but his expression remained unchanged.
“It’s fine, ma’am. I’m sure you’re on the list.” He gestured to the open door. “Please, go ahead.”
She smiled and walked confidently into the elegant Mandarin Oriental ballroom, grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and sipped from it as she took stock of the party she’d just crashed.
She’d wondered why Holstrom wasn’t entertaining in one of the more intimate suites. Now she understood. There had to be over a hundred people in attendance, plenty of strutting men with beautiful women close at hand. Premium champagne and chilled bottles of imported vodka were on display, as were six young women in tiny outfits who were extolling the virtues of Holstrom’s battle tanks, RPGs, submachine guns, sniper rifles and Lord knows what else.
To make it seem even more like something out of a movie, upbeat elevator music played softly in the background, and there was a ridiculous ratio of waiters to guests. The people who had been invited to this reception wouldn’t be walking the exhibit hall during the conference. And they’d definitely not be attending any sessions. She doubted that there was one guest in that room who wasn’t worth at least a billion dollars. In Holstrom’s case, it was many billions.
More than half the men were Middle Eastern and she recognized a few bigwigs from Eastern Europe. Their plus-ones were mostly American women in classy but slightly immodest clothes, although there were two women in gorgeous abayas sitting in one of the tidy group lounges.
And there he was.
Ian Holstrom, five-foot-eleven with a suspiciously rich head of dark hair, was as trim as an athlete and dressed like a king. To say he was tailored missed the mark. His suit fit him so perfectly it outshined every other Western man in the room.
At least she’d been forewarned about him. Virtually every photo of him played up his massive ego. In the flesh, he wore his superiority like a cape.
She had to nail her entrance. But playing the part of a woman who bore no resemblance to herself would be even more challenging.
Knowing that somewhere in Boston, probably in his home, there could be a treasure trove of stolen masterpieces from around the world, gave her the courage to do whatever it took to get to him. And, of course, thinking about her father being wrongly accused...
No, that didn’t help.
Pushing aside all thoughts to focus exclusively on her prey, Kensey lingered near the door, waiting for the perfect moment to make her entrance. It took a while, but she understood patience. Finally, Holstrom was at the far end of the room, and she was directly in his sight line. She pushed her shoulders back and began her walk.
The liquid silk of her dress caressed her body with fluid grace out behind her and in between her legs. Using a model’s runway strut, she thrust out her pelvis as she took extra long steps, which wasn’t easy in five-inch heels. But it worked.
A slight hush fell, and she sensed that lots of people were watching her, but all she cared about was one pair of eyes.
There. She’d done it. He hadn’t just looked, he’d stared. Looked her up and down, from head to toe with revisits to her crotch and her breasts. They were her tools tonight, and she was glad she’d kept up with her martial arts and gymnastics.
Just as she’d hoped, Holstrom walked to her those last five footsteps, abandoning the brunette at his side. “And who might you be?” he asked. His voice was half an octave too high to be truly sexy. She’d bet that killed him.
She put out her hand. “Kensington Roberts,” she said. “My friends call me Kensey.”
Being a gentleman, or a reasonable facsimile, he took her hand in his. “Tell me, Kensey, are you here with someone?”
“No. I came here tonight to meet you. To introduce myself.”
“Oh?” he said. “And why is that?”
“Because I’ve heard a lot about you. I was here at the conference, anyway, and I thought, why not?”
He smiled. Maybe because he finally realized he was still holding her hand. He let her go, but he took his time.
Jesus, what was she doing? Her father had probably done business with this son of a bitch. Sold him stolen paintings so that Holstrom could get off knowing he was the only one who could ever look at them.
“I truly am here for the conference,” she said. “Security is part of my job.”
“Are you a bodyguard?”
She laughed softly. “Not quite. I’m a curator.” Looking around as if she’d seen nothing but him before now, she gasped, subtly. “This room is amazing. I’ve heard about your parties, and I swore I would find out if the rumors were true.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Rumors?”
“That you want only the best of the best. That you never settle, or skimp. That you are incredibly discerning, especially when it comes to art and wine.”
He smiled, but his gaze had become less enchanted and more curious. “A curator? For a museum? A private collector?”
“I just left a job, so I’m currently freelancing.” She smiled shyly as she let her gaze move down his body. His suit was even more impressive up close. “I must be holding you up,” she said, slowly lifting her gaze until she met his light eyes. “I hope to see you at the conference.”
“You aren’t leaving so soon.” With a slight frown he glanced toward the entrance. “You put a lot of effort into getting into a very private party. And you’ve cost a fool his job.”
“Oh, no. Please don’t do that,” she said. “I’m quite sure he’ll never make that mistake again.”
“No, he won’t. Not in my organization. But surely you want to stay and have some vodka and caviar.” He signaled for a waiter. “The blinis and caviar are excellent.”
“Thank you.” She took a step toward the door, pleased to see men were still eyeing her. Their envious looks would play well to Holstrom’s ego. “Everything looks wonderful, but I’m meeting someone for dinner.”
He didn’t try to persuade her further but started walking with her. “In case we don’t meet at the conference, where can I reach you? Perhaps you’ll allow me to take you for drinks or to dinner. I’m assuming you’re not from Boston?”
“No, I’m not.” She took out a card with only her name and cell number, printed yesterday for this very purpose, and gave it to him.
They’d reached the door where the guard remained at his post. Kensey touched Holstrom’s arm. “Please don’t fire him, Ian,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper close to his ear. “It’s my fault and I’d feel awful.”
A slow smile curved Holstrom’s mouth. “A beautiful woman with a soft heart,” he said. “Max is one of my best men. I suppose I can overlook his lapse in judgment.”
“Thank you.” Kensey pulled her hand back but not before Holstrom gave it a light squeeze.
She thought he might be watching her head for the elevator, but she didn’t look back. She didn’t feel comfortable until she was downstairs, waiting for the doorman to flag her cab.
Once she was on her way, her thoughts went to Logan instead of reviewing what had happened with Holstrom.
She imagined Logan instead of Ian in that amazing suit, and that made her shift on her seat, and then she imagined him without the suit.
Which she had to stop doing before she fogged up all the windows.
She decided it would be foolish not to find out more about him. Despite Sam’s assurances that he was one of the good guys, Kensey didn’t know him from Adam. And considering she would be spending the next several days with him, it would be to her advantage to spend some time with him, learn whatever she could. The apartment was large, but there was always the risk of being overheard or of him finding something that raised questions.
She needed to make sure he wasn’t a threat.
And there was no law against having a nice time while she did it.
4 (#ulink_b261da8d-e206-50d1-bc67-4407746b4ab9)
LOGAN STOOD AT the entrance to the Security Conference and Exhibition and realized everyone had gotten there early to beat the crowds. Oh, well, he’d known there was no way this shindig wasn’t going to be massive.
The security business had grown beyond anyone’s expectations over the past ten years, which was good for his personal future and not so great for the world. But this conference covered everything from security for presidents and popes to outfitting classrooms and private bedrooms with the latest security measures.
He would take his time today, check out some of the new technology...although he doubted anything on display could match what he’d seen back at Sam’s apartment. Her presentation was going to make one hell of a big splash on closing day, especially with the debut of a completely new kind of minicam. But Sam was specialized and he needed a lot more than what she could provide.
What had begun as a small security startup to ease him back into civilian life had grown into something far bigger than he’d ever imagined. Big enough to employ some of his fellow vets and give them an opportunity to do something worthwhile.
Which was why he needed that contract from Holstrom. While Logan preferred to operate independently, it would take years before he had the corporate and government contacts and the credibility that Holstrom had established. The timing was perfect. Holstrom had made his mark and a hell of a lot of money selling weapons. Last year he’d branched out to the security business, and while he was savvy and already doing well, he still had a lot to learn about navigating the intricacies of working on foreign soil.
That’s where Logan could shine. He had firsthand experience and knowledge of operating in the field. He also personally knew a lot of excellent, highly trained men well enough to identify their strengths, their weaknesses and whether they were mentally capable of being sent back into the field. His insight also enabled him to place them in positions for which they’d be best suited.
Unfortunately, being former black ops couldn’t help him land clients. As far as politicians and most every other American were concerned, soldiers like him—men and women who worked in the shadows—didn’t exist beyond Hollywood. And that nice and tidy fallacy worked very well for the secrecy coveted by a certain arm of the CIA.
He didn’t regret his patriotic service, nor had he been looking for glory. But it sure as hell would’ve been useful to list his experience on his résumé. Potential clients would be lining up to have access to someone who’d been a member of the world’s most elite team of professional soldiers. On the other hand, he’d have to explain why he’d left the CIA. And that was something he didn’t want to think about, much less discuss with anyone.
Logan hadn’t gotten past that one yet. It didn’t seem to matter that his final mission was a failure. He had his target in his sights, but the kill shot would have taken out a small child—collateral damage. He couldn’t pull the trigger. The target wasn’t even a credible threat, but that didn’t matter. Another sniper had taken the shot in Logan’s stead. The child had died. And he was done.
Luckily he didn’t think about it as often anymore, and he wasn’t about to let the past cloud his judgment now. He owed it to himself and his brothers to give the opportunity to subcontract for Holstrom his full attention. So far Logan had used only a handful of special-ops vets for domestic cases, but word had been spreading in its intricate way through the legion of tier-one special operatives that he was expanding. And now he had over a hundred interested men ready to sign. All of them eager and ready to roll. It all came down to securing enough funds. His personal savings and portfolio would only take him so far.
The first booth that caught his attention had night vision scopes sporting new technology that made them easier to use. He got carried away and made it to only two more booths before realizing it was nearly one, and he was starving. Unfortunately, they didn’t sell food in the exhibit hall, so he’d have to go to the adjoining hotel or find somewhere to eat on the street.
But he’d come back, stay to the end of the day and finish checking out the booths to see which ones he should revisit tomorrow. The day after, he’d be giving his presentation. Day Four was his meeting with Holstrom, and he hoped, a big celebration when he was awarded the contract.
For now, his hunger needed to be dealt with. Why he hadn’t stashed a couple of protein bars in his pocket was beyond him. Especially considering the variety of bars Sam had stocked in the pantry.
Thinking about the apartment made him think of Kensey. Where had she gone last night, looking so fierce and so sexy he had forbidden himself from thinking about her during conference hours?
He quickly pulled himself back to the most pressing order of business...which was what? Yeah, right. Food.
Come to think of it, he needed to try some of the new kinds of nutritional substitutes being sampled in booths at the other end of the building. And not just because right now he could eat the hindquarters of a jackass. He wanted the best for the people he hired. Sometimes overlooking something small could make or break a mission. Like food, water, warmth—
“Oh, hey.”
He knew that voice. And that body. Goddamn, why’d he have to run into her? “Do you know how many people are at this conference?” he asked, turning toward Kensey.
She looked surprised. “No. How many?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “A lot. And we run into each other?”
She started laughing. “I’m not following you, Logan. I give you my word.”
“Which is just what someone who was following me would say.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
He let his grin take over. “Yeah, I’m kidding. Hey, have you had lunch? I’m trying to make my way out of here to grab something.”
She shook her head, making her hair swish over her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing it the way she had last night. But then she wasn’t wearing that dress, either. Damn thing had kept him up half the night. Thank God he hadn’t seen her in it when he was fifteen. He’d have OD’d from masturbating so much. Being thirty-three had its upside.
“I’ve got a thing,” she said. “But I’ll be home this evening. What about dinner?”
That was so much better. He smiled as if he’d won a medal before calming his shit down to something a grown man would wear. “Sounds great. What time? Seven? Eight?”
She seemed to be thinking it over, which gave him a chance to look down. Mistake. Man, she was hot. Her blue-gray T-shirt was just tight enough, and the neckline was wide enough for him to become really familiar with some of her enticing secondary parts. Like the ridges of her collarbones, the toned slope of her shoulder...
And her pants... On a guy he’d call them cargo pants, but on her, they became a shrine to her curvy shape. They hugged her thighs, then went straight down to her blue-gray high heels. The middle section was covered by a very wide pinkish belt that sat squarely on her right hip then pointed south.
He couldn’t wait until she turned around, because that T-shirt was tucked in. He’d have a perfect view of what had to be a damn fine behind.
“How’s your afternoon?” she asked.
“You mean, now?”
“I’m just trying to figure out dinner. Either 7:00 or 8:00 would work for me, but if you have a full afternoon we can—”
“Nope. I’m tied up until 6:30. After that I’m free and clear for the night.”
“Perfect,” she said, and so was her smile. “How about we shoot for 7:30?”
“Great. At the apartment, right?”
“Right.” She was giving him a funny look. Had he missed something? Or was he that stupidly obvious? “See you later,” she said and turned around.
Even in the terrible lighting of the convention hall, her behind looked world-class. But it wasn’t just her butt. The shirt’s neckline dropped down in the back. Low enough for him to see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
The second Logan heard the familiar voice he shut his eyes and silently willed Kensey to leave. Now. Run.
“If it ain’t Captain McBabe!”
Slowly, Logan opened his eyes. Shit. Sergeant Allan Rucker, the self-designated “Ruckster,” was coming toward him, and the beautiful, incredible Kensey Unknown Last Name was turning around.
Perfect.
“Dude,” Allan said. “I shoulda known I’d see you here. You end up being a spy like I said? I told you. Remember? Way back.” He gripped Logan’s arms and pulled him into a hug that hurt in so many ways.
Technically, he could have gotten out of it. But he wasn’t about to do that. Not in front of Kensey. Not in public. “Ruckster” meant well and he’d been a good soldier back in the army. “How are you, Allan?”
“A-OK, Captain. Working for ADT in residential security. You know, doing my thing right here in Boston. Shit. I haven’t seen you for, what’s it been, eight years?”
“About that.” He nodded, saddened by how much Allan had aged. His old acquaintance had a gut on him, and his breath smelled like beer. But he was here, so he was making it.
“You doing okay?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” Allan’s restless gaze swept the perimeter. “Listen, Captain, I’ve gotta spin, but you know how to find me. Hell, you could find anybody, couldn’t you?” The big guy went for a handshake, blessedly, and then that part of Logan’s past disappeared again.
He didn’t want to look to see if Kensey was still there.
“Captain McBabe?”
Damn it. “Yep,” he said. “It’s because I’m dashing and suave.”
“Huh,” Kensey said. Then she just looked at him for a while. Finally, a second before he was going to break the silence, she said, “See you later.”
He would. See her later. At least now he wouldn’t have any trouble with rogue erections. All he had to do was imagine her calling him McBabe again.
* * *
KENSEY CLOSED THE fridge door and decided right then that she’d let Logan choose whether they ate in or went out for dinner. Either way, she wasn’t going to be cooking. Now that she’d inventoried the refrigerator and seen some of the recipes Sam had left at the apartment, she understood the reason for the list of names she’d found in a drawer. With twenty-four hours’ notice, guests could hire a professional chef to come in and cook for them. She got the appeal.
Even better, once she finished the pint of amazing Toscanini’s pistachio ice cream she’d found in the freezer, she would be able to order another carton for delivery the next day. She might even tell Logan about it, instead of hiding the ice cream under a big bag of frozen blueberries.
In the past hour she’d learned a lot about the perks and gadgets that came with the apartment. The place was incredible. Although, she liked her own apartment an awful lot. Thanks to her father’s guilt money, she owned a two-bedroom co-op in Chelsea that had become her sanctuary in New York.
She might not have an original Modigliani at her place, but she had a number of exquisite reproductions, which could fool even a regular museum visitor. Her bed was almost as nice as the one here, though not as big. But queen-size was fine for her.
All in all, she was very lucky, if one didn’t count the fact that her estranged father could be caught and sent to prison unless she could prove someone else had stolen the ten-million-dollar painting he was suspected of taking. Or someone could out him as the Houdini Burglar, which would be so much worse.
She exhaled. Yeah, if one didn’t count that.
Her thoughts shot to the blue box of mac and cheese she’d spotted in the pantry. If she’d had time before making the call to Neil, she would’ve been tempted to make herself a big bowl of comfort. Just to take the edge off her nervous energy.
Kensey checked her watch as she put her iPod and speakers on the mantel above the fireplace. Even though she’d had plenty to do since returning to the apartment, her mind hadn’t truly left the exhibition hall.
It wasn’t as if she’d expected Holstrom to hang out in his giant booth all day. Why would he? The exhibit was the equivalent of the kids’ table for someone like him. But she’d lingered nearby, on the off chance she’d see him, or at least overhear something useful. Which, ultimately, she had. But not before she’d learned more than she ever cared to know about the large array of guns being hawked. Weapons were not of much interest to an art curator. Maybe a budding burglar...
She closed her eyes as doubt hit like a sudden storm.
She knew art. But she’d never actually planned on turning into Lara Croft, Missing Masterpiece Hunter. Okay maybe it sounded exciting. But still, she wasn’t a burglar. Relieved that Holstrom was busy tonight at some big dinner so that she didn’t have to find a way to bump into him, she turned back to her iPod and checked her selected music, for after her call.
Neil’s meeting should be over by now, although if he ran late, that would be fine. As long as they were done in an hour, so she’d have time for yoga and a shower before Logan arrived.
After pouring herself a glass of water, she sat on the ultrasoft leather couch. “Call Neil Patterson.” The monitor popped up on the wall. There was no connection yet, but he’d see she was waiting.
Closing her eyes, she did some deep breathing to get herself settled. The whole day she’d felt as if a giant clock was ticking, the window for her to actually pull her father’s ass out of the fire dwindling by the second. Obsessively checking online for news of his possible capture hadn’t helped. It was a ridiculous waste of time since she knew Neil would keep her informed.
Holstrom hadn’t called her. Not yet. Not even to make plans for another night when he wasn’t booked. It made sense. He was the type of man who needed to make it perfectly clear that things ran on his schedule, or they didn’t run at all.
“You look comfortable.”
She opened her eyes, startled at her boss’s voice. “It’s easy to look comfortable in this apartment. My God. You have to stay here. It’s amazing.”
“I’m aware.”
She smiled at herself. “Of course you are.”
“But I imagine being there for the experience is very different from looking at schematics and plans.” His gaze moved from her to her surroundings. “That isn’t your room. Are you sure we shouldn’t talk somewhere more private?”
“Logan won’t be back until after 6:30. I made sure,” she said, feeling anxious. But if he had bad news, Neil would have said so already. “I was able to get into the party last night. A lot of interesting people were there. I can honestly say if that room had been blown up, maps would have to be rewritten. Not to mention the financial chaos that would ensue across the globe.”
“So a typical Holstrom party, then.”
She smiled. “I did get him to take my number. He asked if I’d be amenable to drinks or dinner and I made sure he understood I was very open to seeing him again.”
“He’ll call. He’s probably been checking out your background.”
“Well, he sure won’t find anything we don’t want him to find. Your friend Sam is amazingly gifted at manipulating a person’s digital presence. I almost believed some of the tweaks she made to my background.”
“Yes, she does great work.”
Kensey took another quick sip of water to soothe her dry mouth. It was nerves, of course, but she wished it would stop. When she put the glass down, she said, “Is there anything new?”
Neil leaned back in his leather chair. He was still in Tarrytown. It was hard to believe all that had happened in the past thirty hours.
“We haven’t learned much,” he said. “We know that Detective Brown hasn’t found your father. In fact, I don’t think he knows where to start.”
“We?”
“I have a man on this. Your father didn’t leave any trail. They may not find him. Ever.”
Oddly, she didn’t feel as relieved as she should. The little girl in her wanted to see him. Not in handcuffs, certainly, but if he disappeared forever... She shook her head at herself, then remembered Neil could see her.
Straightening, she said, “In the little digging I was able to do, I found out that Seymour has sold off some of his art collection. No major pieces, but enough to make me think he might be in some financial trouble.”
Neil nodded. “He’s dug himself a deep pit. He might even be in bed with some money lenders—the kind who don’t threaten with lawsuits. Whatever he’s done, he’s nervous. My friend thinks Seymour will be the one to crack, and I’m inclined to agree. If he doesn’t have a full payout from Lloyd’s of London, he could lose his estate. And then there’s Brown. If he’s involved, he might be desperate enough to do something stupid. Before it was about ego. The longer this plays out, the more he has at stake than just losing his pension.”
“You’ve been busy.” Kensey shook her head. “I’m guessing you hired your ‘friend’ the minute I walked out of your office?”
“Phil’s good at what he does.”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I know your schedule better than you do, and you don’t have time for this.”
“I’m not actually the one doing the legwork, Kensey.” He leaned forward, put his arms on his desk and looked right into the eye of his computer lens. “We’re going to throw everything we’ve got at this problem. Holstrom might not have the Degas. And to be honest, finding the connection between Seymour and Brown and proving they conspired is the best way to help your father.”
“Thank you,” she managed. She wasn’t good at this part. Saying things that mattered. Neil was more like a father to her than her own. He was an unconditional friend and mentor, and every time she saw that in action, she was floored.
“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if the roles were reversed.”
She nodded, doing her best not to put up the controlled mask she wore whenever she was uncomfortable. “I’ll keep moving forward out here. If Holstrom doesn’t call by tomorrow, I’ll give him another reminder.”
“Let’s hope we have a break on this end and you can leave Boston without ever seeing the bastard again.”
What Kensey wouldn’t give for that outcome. “One more thing. I’m curious. Do you know much about Logan McCabe? Other than he’s an old friend of Sam’s and that he’s ex-military. There’s shockingly little about him that comes up in a traditional search.”
“No, I don’t. Sam has never said, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t just in special operations. I think he was in black ops. That means he’s smart as hell, cagey and I wouldn’t want to mess with him.”
“Black ops? That’s CIA stuff, right?”
“I think so, yes. But again, Sam hasn’t said. Either she doesn’t know, or she’s not allowed to say.”
Kensey thought about Logan and his Pliny the Elder beer. How he’d looked at her when he’d seen her in her warrior dress. His easy smile. He was fit as hell, but lots of men were. But black ops, though? That put him in a very special league.
She smiled. “Okay. So, I don’t need to worry about him.”
“I never said that.”
Her cheery facade vanished. “Well, that’s helpful. Should I be worried?”
“No. Just careful.” Neil frowned. “Is he giving you trouble?”
“No. It’s just unsettling sharing the place with a stranger.”
“I know,” he said, using his professor voice. “Remember, you’re not alone in this. So don’t push Holstrom too far. He’s a tricky prick.” Neil leaned back. “Tell you the truth, I feel better knowing you have someone like McCabe around.”
Kensey wasn’t sure she agreed or wanted to think about what that meant regarding the risk she was taking, so she just nodded.
“Unless something breaks tonight, I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
Long after they’d disconnected, she sat staring at the blank gray wall.
5 (#ulink_a6d5d1fe-81e5-504b-8e8c-baf40f165daf)
UNSURPRISINGLY EXHAUSTED, LOGAN put his key in the door, looking forward to a quick shower then dinner with Kensey.
He didn’t give a damn about what was on the menu. He’d eaten more army rations than he cared to think about. All he wanted was to talk to Kensey. Get to know her better. Then have a lot of sex.
Music met him with a bang. Hard rock, served very loud. Was she nuts?
He headed straight into the living room.
Shit.
There she was. Wearing really tiny black yoga shorts. And a white tank top, which looked a great deal like the undershirts in his dresser drawer. They looked much better on her.
She was on a yoga mat, doing a handstand with her legs curled round over her head so that her feet touched her forehead.
The scorpion was a bitch of a pose. Especially for men. He knew. He’d used yoga a lot during his deployments and kept up with it at home. Keeping limber was one of the first truly valuable lessons he’d learned in self-defense. But he’d never listened to AC/DC while trying to find his spiritual center.
Of course, he was mesmerized. By her perfect form, her perfect body. She couldn’t see him from this angle, and he didn’t move, afraid to startle her lest she hurt herself. But mostly, he was just in awe. No training at all, she’d said. What a load. She was in better shape than some Navy SEALs he knew.
As he watched, she raised her legs into a regular handstand and did a few elbow dips. Then, boom, the music changed to typical yoga crap. A few seconds later, she shifted so that she was balancing the weight of her body entirely on one hand. A single-handed handstand. Every part of her body was stunning, her balance superb and she could call him McBabe every other minute, it wouldn’t stop him from getting hard.
“Hello?” she said, still on just the one hand and unable to look his way.
“Just me. Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Wait.”
He knew she couldn’t see him, yet she had sensed someone was standing there and had stayed completely cool. Just like yesterday when she’d been wearing nothing but a towel. Interesting. “Yeah?”
“Are you always early? I mean, is it a thing? A little OCD maybe?”
“No. In fact, I only started doing it to annoy you.”
“Ah,” she said, still on the one damn hand. The way her muscles shifted to keep her balance was like an intricate ballet. “Thought so.”
“Change of subject, while you’re in a conversational mood. Think you could teach me that?”
“Sure. Give me about ten years, and voilà—you’ll be a yoga master.”
“Ten years. Ha. I get it. That’s a joke.” Okay, smartass. Game on. “No seriously. How about that thing you were doing a minute ago?”
“The scorpion?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe. Can you do a handstand?”
“I’m ex-military. I can do fifty before breakfast.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s called cheerleading, but, hey, to each his own.”
“Again. Funny. Anyway, I’ll wait until you’re done. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself and blame me.”
She transitioned into a double-handed handstand, then lowered herself into a sitting position in one of the most graceful moves he’d ever seen. “Take off your shoes,” she said.
He didn’t think twice about it, just took ’em off where he stood.
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