The car pulled up to the historic Willard Hotel in downtown Washington D.C., and Ziva's breath caught in her throat.
Cameras lined the red carpet. Flashes of light exploded like stars.
Tyrell's hand settled at the small of her back, warm and steady through the midnight blue silk of her gown. "Ready?"
Ziva nodded, not trusting her voice.
The wire taped to her ribs felt like ice against her skin. She could feel the tiny earpiece nestled deep in her ear canal, invisible but ever-present.
The door opened. Tyrell stepped out first, then offered his hand.
Ziva took it and emerged into the blinding flash of cameras.
She smiled. The confident smile she'd practiced in the mirror, not at all like someone being used as bait.
"Mrs. Smart! Over here!"
"Mr. Smart, can we get a photo?"
They pos
