The Night Is Mine

Chapter 30

30

“My what?” Emily held the kitchen phone to her ear.

“There is a…” A pause while Agent Frank Adams cleared his throat and snarled out his contempt for whoever he was facing. “A ‘Marky Herman’ here claiming to be your boyfriend. He won’t hand over his ID, claims he left it back at the hotel.” Frank Adams was clearly pissed. “Do you want me to shoot him?”

“Hold off on that. I’ll be right down.” She set the pasta water to simmer and turned off the heat under the lobster puttanesca sauce. She could spare ten minutes but not fifteen, or she’d have to start the sauce over.

Boyfriend? Marky Herman?

She had to grab the rail hard to not head-over-heel down the stairs when the next thought hit. Mark Henderson? If it was, should she be thrilled? She shifted up to jog as she crossed the grounds toward the northwest gate. Or should she have Adams shoot Henderson before he turned her life into more of a nightmare? Whatever he was doing here, nothing good could come of it. That she knew for certain.

Emily strode into the trailer, short on breath, and stopped dead in her tracks. She could feel her jaw wagging and could do nothing about it.

“Hey, babe. I knew y’all lived fancy ’round hereabouts, but this place is the limit. They wouldn’t let me borrow a phone to call my best gal.”

Major Mark Henderson stood across the counter from a scowling Frank Adams.

Except it wasn’t him. His hair, normally loose or tucked into a black beret, now scraggled out of a sweat-stained, Grateful Dead bandanna. A two-day beard shadowed his chin. He wore a Dallas Cowboys souvenir shirt so new that it pegged him as having recently attended a game. Tattered jeans and shitkicker, alligator-skin cowboy boots that she’d never seen before and looked as if he’d worn nothing else since hitting puberty.

His mirrored Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses had been replaced by the angular dark glasses Keanu Reeves had worn in The Matrix. He looked like a pop-culture mercenary gone bad. A wealthy one, he’d kept his Kobold watch to complete the outfit, but bad. Together it all said not merely going to a Cowboys game—probably had season box seats.

She shook her head, trying to clear the vision. She actually had to tilt her head sideways to see her ramrod-straight commander in the man who slouched against one elbow on the counter.

“Good surprise? Bad surprise? At least you could give me a kiss.”

Whatever he was playing at, he was doing it undercover. No one would recognize the SOAR major who didn’t know him intimately. She’d best play along until she found out what was going on. A skill they’d practiced endlessly in SERE training, where the first “E” stood for evasion.

She moved to him. “Honey! Good surprise. Really good!” The kiss threatened to grow hot. She could feel his heat pouring in and igniting her own way too fast. Before Mark could take it any further, she turned casually and ground her heel on the top of his foot.

“It’s okay, Frank. I’ll get him out of your hair. Thanks.” She led him out of the public side of the trailer and walked back toward Pennsylvania Avenue until they were well clear of ears, though she couldn’t be sure of electronic ears. So, keep it in code.

“You can’t drop in on me here, honey.” She ground out the last word. “I told you that.”

“I wanted to surprise you, honeybunch, but forgot my damned ID back at the hotel. So they wouldn’t let me in.”

Sure. His ID would say US Army all over it and clearly that wasn’t the role he was playing.

“Well, I’m busy. You’re about to make me ruin the sauce for tonight’s dinner. And you can’t come inside. What were you thinking?” He held her hand. When had that happened? The warm afternoon air swirled about them and filled her brain with the rich scent of his warm skin.

“Only thinking about you, honey.”

And for the first time since he’d arrived, he actually sounded sincere. She couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Not until she’d had time to think.

“Look. Uh. I’ll catch up with you later. Why don’t we meet at my parents, sevenish?” Had she lost her mind? The last place she wanted him, other than the White House, was with her parents. But in her father’s care was the only safe place she could think of on a moment’s notice. Why the hell wasn’t he back in Southwest Asia like he was supposed to be? She couldn’t imagine Admiral Parker assigning him to follow her.

“Seven o’clock. Perfect!” He scooped her against him, held her tight until his heart couldn’t beat without her feeling it along the entire length of her body. His kiss wasn’t the tender power-packed moment of the carrier or the searing heat in the hospital. It was slow, thoughtful, teasing, like a connoisseur trying to savor and memorize a new flavor. It made her groan for want of more.

Before she could snap out of it, before her brain could focus on the fact that this was her commanding officer, in disguise, he eased back half a breath.

“Damn, Beale. Kissing you is the best thing that could happen to a man.”

And he was gone.

She knew exactly how he felt.