Читать книгу The Executive's Valentine Seduction / Valente Must Marry - Maxine Sullivan - Страница 11

Caroline was up at six-thirty the next morning. Since most of the GSI attendees were coming in from the field, their CEO had specified casual attire. Caro had to walk a fine line as the event coordinator, however. Jeans and jungle boots wouldn’t hack it for her.

She settled instead on dove-gray slacks and a wide-sleeved cotton tunic in warm tangerine paired with the colorful espadrilles she’d picked up in Tossa de Mar’s open-air market. Winding her hair up into its usual neat twist at the back of her head, she anchored it with a clip. A few swipes of blush and a quick pass with lip gloss and she was done.

She rechecked her zippered conference file for the fifth or sixth time. Satisfied she had everything she needed, she hit the door. With the conference set to kick off at eleven, she’d arranged a breakfast meeting with her GSI focal point to go over last-minute details. Caro and Harry Martin had exchanged dozens of e-mails over the past two months. She’d kept hers brisk and businesslike. His had been so succinct as to be almost indecipherable. A man of few words, Harry Martin.

And, according to Rory’s startling revelations yesterday, he was the man who’d hauled a smart-mouthed kid into an Army recruiter’s office all those years ago and put his life back on track. After what Rory had told her about his senior VP of operations, Caro expected a big, grizzled retired cop.

Martin was definitely big. Six-three or -four at least. He had to stoop to avoid brushing the grapevines that dangled from the arbor leading to the terrace restaurant. Grizzled, he wasn’t. Sleek Ray-Bans shielded his eyes above chiseled cheeks and a serious, unsmiling mouth. His khakis sported a knife-blade crease, and his sky-blue polo shirt stretched across a frame that looked fit and trim. His salt-and-pepper buzz cut gave the only clue to his age.

“Ms. Walters?” He set a notebook on the table and folded her hand in a tough, callused palm. “Harry Martin.”

“Good to finally meet you, Mr. Martin.”

“Harry,” he corrected as he seated himself at the umbrella-shielded table. “Caroline okay with you?”

“Of course. How was your flight from Casablanca?”

She knew he’d flown into Morocco two days ago and from there to Barcelona late last night.

“Fine.”

He helped himself to coffee from a stainless-steel carafe and proceeded to dump five heaping spoonfuls of sugar into his cup. Wondering how the heck he managed to stay so trim, Caro watched with some fascination as he stirred the syrupy goo.

“Sweet tooth,” he said when he caught her gaze.

He downed a long swallow, replaced the cup on the saucer and slid his Ray-Bans down on his nose. There weren’t more than a half dozen other people eating breakfast on the terrace. The faint clink of their silverware and the occasional murmured comment barely carried over the sound of the waves hitting the shore. Still, either from habit or instinct, Martin lowered his voice.

“I talked to Rory when I got in last night.”

Caro felt her spine stiffen and her smile slip a notch or two. Martin noticed both reactions with a flicker of interest but didn’t comment on either.

“Rory says you have everything well in hand.”

She relaxed infinitesimally. “I hope so.”

“I hope so, too. We hate pulling over a hundred of our operatives out of the field at one time, but the world situation is so volatile right now that we had no choice. They need to know what’s going on around them. So we need to make every minute of this conference count.”

“You’ve certainly packed the agenda.”

“It’s about to get more packed.”

Nudging aside his cup, he flipped open his notebook and pulled out a heavily marked-up copy of the schedule. Caro’s heart sank at all the insertions and bold black arrows indicating changes.

“Rory and I went over this again last night. He called in some favors and we now have an expert on Africa flying in to brief us on the situation in Zimbabwe. We want to put him on here, right before the update on Tiblesi.”

“Okay.”

“And we’ve added two additional SITREPS on the latest developments in Tibet and Venezuela. We can squeeze them in before the live fire demo tomorrow. I’m thinking we’ll do one early, during breakfast, and the other at lunch. Make both meals working sessions.”

Caro gulped as her meticulously coordinated meal plans fell apart. She’d have to get with the resort’s caterer—and fast-to make the requested changes. Masking any sign of dismay, she nodded.

“No problem.”

“And speaking of the live fire demo…”

Martin flipped to the agreement signed by Captain Antonio Medina, the officer in charge of the policìa nacional armory in Girona. Acting as a go-between for GSI and Captain Medina, Caro had put hours into translating, compiling and forwarding the necessary forms. GSI’s senior VP of operations now handed her two more.

“See if you can get Medina’s chop on these additions to the demo.”

“Ice shield?” she read. “Paraclete vest? What are they?”

“The first is a negative energy defense system. We’re looking at it for possible deployment to protect high-vis clients when they have to get out among a crowd. The second is a new-generation vest designed to stop armor-piercing bullets. I’ve tracked down a source here in Spain for both and can have them delivered in time for the demo tomorrow.”

He downed a swallow of his syrupy coffee and eyed her over the rims of his Ray-Bans.

“Think you can handle the changes?”

Like she had a choice? Tapping two fingers to her temple, she gave him a brisk salute. “Yes, sir!”

A faint smile softened Martin’s chiseled features. “I have to admit I had my doubts when Rory told me he wanted European Business Services, Incorporated, to handle this conference. I didn’t think your company had the resources or the experience to pull it together on such short notice. So far, you’ve proved me wrong.”

Caro shifted a little in her seat. She couldn’t deny this job would rake in a fat profit for EBS. Still, she resented the way Burke had used it as a pretext to stage a reunion she’d neither anticipated nor wanted.

“Judging by the little exposure I’ve had to your boss,” she said, working hard to keep the acid out of her reply, “I’d say he’s used to getting his way.”

“Well, he is the boss.” Martin toyed with his coffee cup and studied her face with a scrutiny that made Caro distinctly uncomfortable. She suspected those cop’s eyes saw more than most people wanted them to.

“Rory’s a good man,” he said after a moment. “The kind you can trust to do what’s right.”

Depending on your definition of “right,” she thought cynically.

“I’ll take your word for that.”

She glanced at her watch and swallowed another gulp. “Do you have any other items you want to discuss with me?”

“Not right now.”

“Then I’d better skip breakfast and get to work on these changes.”

“Go.”

After dropping off a USB drive with the revised agenda in the business office, Caro met with the resort’s conference planner in her den. She, in turn, called in the executive chef.

Andreas was not happy about scratching the second day’s elaborate breakfast of fire-grilled Andalucian ham and house specialty torrijas. Frowning, he substituted a simpler sausage-and-egg scramble served with flaky rolls and the region’s signature apricot jam. He was even less thrilled about changing the elegant seafood lunch buffet planned for outside on the terrace to sit-down service in the ballroom.

Caro left him grumbling over the changes and rushed back to the business office. To her relief, the efficient staff had the revised agendas rolling off the high-speed printer and promised to place them on the tables for the kickoff session.

Those two tasks well in hand, Caro tried to reach Captain Medina. As she’d discovered in her previous dealings with the police captain, he tended to set his own schedule. Luckily, she caught him this time and extracted his promise to review the forms she’d faxed over.

“I need your reply as soon as possible,” she begged in the Spanish she’d studied in high school and college. She was almost as fluent in it as in the German she’d mastered during her year in Salzburg with Devon and Sabrina. “Por favor, capitán.”

“Sí, sí, le llamaré.”

Forced to be content with his promise to call, she headed for the ballroom to make sure everything was set for the general session. To her relief, the audiovisual technicians had their equipment up and running. She also confirmed there was plenty of coffee, tea, water and soft drinks available for the attendees who were starting to trickle in. Snatches of conversation caught her ear as she made a last check of the seating arrangements.

“Ramieriz, you old bastard!”

A brawny redhead in a safari shirt with at least a dozen pockets punched the arm of a bearded Latino.

“Heard you got snakebit on that job down in Panama.”

They were joined by a slender Asian in a dragon-red dress slit on one side. A head shorter than the two men, she got their instant respect and an eager demand for the details on the Yang Su kidnapping.

Caro ducked out of the ballroom and into the ladies’ room to check her hair and lip gloss. Then she drew in a deep breath, pasted on a smile and reentered the ballroom.

It had filled considerably in her brief absence. Those present were predominantly male, although she picked out several of the dozen or so women slated to attend. Rory was easily identifiable as he moved among the crowd. He’d dressed for the kickoff session in loafers, black slacks and a pale yellow oxford shirt open at the collar. Caro watched from the corner of one eye while he shook hands and thumped backs in that age-old male ritual.

At least one of Rory’s crew got a kiss instead of a back thump. Or more correctly, she kissed him. On the cheek, although it was obvious to Caro that the tall, striking blonde would have preferred a fullfrontal lip-lock.

For reasons she didn’t have time to analyze, Caro formed an instant dislike for the woman. That lasted only until Rory caught sight of his conference coordinator and brought the blonde over for an introduction.

“I want you to meet Sondra Jennings. She’s head of GSI’s European division, based in Copenhagen. Sondra, this is Caroline Walters, with European Business Services.”

The blonde returned Caro’s handshake with a friendly smile. “So you’re the one who pulled this confab together. Harry Martin was talking about you when we had coffee together a little while ago.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Knowing Harry, I’m sure he’s kept you hopping.”

“Pretty much,” Caro admitted.

“I’ve worked with several clients who might be interested in the type of services EBS provides. I’ll contact them when I get back to Denmark and spread the word.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“We girls gotta stick together.” Her gaze snagged on the man just entering the ballroom. “There’s Abdul-Hamid! I haven’t seen him since we tracked the source of those death threats against the author of Inside the Mujahideen. ’Scuse me, you two.”

She hurried to the door and enveloped the newcomer in a monster hug. He returned it with such obvious delight that Caro was forced to revise her initial impression.

“She’s very gregarious.”

“When she wants to be,” Rory drawled. “Ready to get this show under way?”

She swept a final glance over the tables and now-milling crowd. “I am if you are.”

“Let’s do it.”

“I’ll be at the back of the room. Just signal if you need anything.”

“That won’t work.” Shaking his head, he caught her elbow and steered her toward a round table near the podium. “I want you up front, with me.”

“But…”

“It’ll be easier for us to communicate this way.”

After seating her beside Harry Martin, he pinned the mobile mike to his shirt. His voice boomed through the speakers.

“All right, team. Time to get to work.”

He waited for the general shuffle of chairs to die down before asking Caroline to stand.

“For those of you who haven’t met her yet, this is Caroline Walters. She and Harry are running this show. Any complaints, tell him. Any and all kudos go to her.”

Rory held the stage for the next hour. Caroline listened in mounting amazement as he discussed worldwide trends in violence against VIPs, quoting specific facts and figures without once referring to the prepared script. It was obvious even to an outsider like her that he had every facet of his dangerous profession down cold.

His message was grim, and the slides that flashed up on the screen were appalling. They depicted, in graphic detail, a blindfolded French ambassador with a gun barrel to his head. The bullet-riddled body of a candidate for prime minister in Indonesia. The terrified wife of a police captain in Colombia, explosives strapped to her chest, just seconds before drug runners blew her apart as a message to everyone who cooperated with law enforcement officials.

Caroline was ready for a break by the time Rory finished. More than ready. She didn’t view the world through rose-colored glasses by any means, but Rory’s grim assessment had brought home just how dangerous it could be.

Particularly for the kind of high-powered executives her company catered to. Neither she nor Devon nor Sabrina had fully considered that aspect of their business. The realization sobered Caro and made her anxious to impart some of this information to her partners.

“We’ll take a short break so they can set up for lunch,” Rory told his people. “Harry will go over the latest State Department alerts while we eat.”

With palpable relief, Caro signaled the servers to bring in the paella extravaganza she’d arranged for the kickoff luncheon. Most of the ingredients had been precooked in the resort’s kitchen, but four chefs in tall white hats provided the finishing touch. Positioned before waist-high stands supporting huge black frying pans, they sizzled the rice, chopped vegetables and cooked seafood morsels over open flames.

The tantalizing aromas soon drew the attendees back into the ballroom. Caro didn’t relax until everyone had filled their plates with heaping servings. At Rory’s insistence, she brought her plate back to his table.

“You need to listen to Harry’s update on State Department alerts,” GSI’s chief executive advised. “They could play into your business.”

“I was thinking that same thing during your briefing. That was pretty scary information you put out.”

“It’s a scary world.”

Nodding, she speared a morsel of calamari and tuned in to Harry Martin’s succinct recap.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of country briefings and individual case rundowns. Caro had to duck out to take a call from Captain Medina. She returned with the welcome news that he’d approved the additions to the live fire demo.

The conferees broke for the day at six o’clock. Dinner was scheduled for seven. Since many of the GSI operatives would be feeling a delayed jet lag, Harry had requested Caro keep the meal short and simple. She’d ordered a selection of tapas served in a roped-off section of the bar that gave a magnificent view of the bay, followed by salad and chargrilled kebabs. Dessert was a melt-in-your mouth flan with its top seared to a sugary crunch and drizzled with caramel sauce.

A number of the GSI folks folded their tents immediately after dinner. The rest congregated in groups, exchanging war stories that ranged from the ridiculous to the downright gruesome. Caro tried to move unobtrusively between groups to make sure they had everything they needed, but Sondra Jennings drew her into one enclave, Rory into another. By ten o’clock that evening, the colorful espadrilles pinched her toes and she couldn’t wait to get them off her feet.

Finally she said good-night and left the last diehards crammed knee-to-knee around a cocktail table. Rory’s gaze followed her as she wound through the lounge. Caro could feel it, and the awareness annoyed her no end.

She’d made a determined effort to keep their past out of her head all day. It wasn’t that difficult, given how much Rory had changed. She’d watched a stranger kick off the conference today. Informed, incisive, every inch the boss. She didn’t know him, any more than he knew her.

Which didn’t explain the prickly feeling between her shoulder blades as she left the bar.

Frowning, Caro stepped out onto the tiled veranda. She fully intended to go up to her room, zing off a quick e-mail to Devon and Sabrina and fall into bed. The full moon hanging over the Mediterranean sabotaged those intentions.

She paused, mesmerized by the path the moon had painted across an incandescent sea. The thought of wading into that liquid silver was too much for someone who’d spent half of her life in landlocked Kansas.

The resort sat only a few short yards from the wide seawall encircling the bay. A quick walk brought her to the stone stairs that led down to the sandy shore. Kicking off the espadrilles, Caroline scooped them up in one hand and crossed the hardpacked sand to the water’s edge.

The sea breeze carried a damp chill that made her wish she’d gone back to her room for the colorful Spanish shawl she’d purchased at the same time as the espadrilles. Shivering a little, she curled her toes into the sand. The waves washed out, luring her a little farther, and returned with an unexpected wallop.

“Yikes!”

The water was frigid, far colder than she’d anticipated. And much more powerful. The first wave swirled around her ankles. The second hit before she could retreat and soaked her to her knees.

She leaped backward but couldn’t escape the undertow. Like a giant vacuum, it sucked the sand right out from under her bare feet and pulled her in. Thrown off balance, Caro stumbled. She saw the next wave roll toward her and floundered backward for one futile step before she went down with an ignominious splash.

The surf boiled up, soaking her. Salt burned her eyes. Cursing, she let go of the espadrilles and slapped the waves. She made a clumsy attempt to get her feet under her, but the sucking undercurrent had her firmly in its grip.

Great! Perfect! At this rate, she’d wash up on the coast of Libya. Thoroughly disgusted, she dug a heel into the shifting ocean bed beneath her.

She’d just found a toehold when a hand clamped around her wrist. The next second, she was jerked to her feet and landed with a thump against a solid wall of chest.

“Caroline! You okay?”

She flipped strands of wet hair out of her eyes and looked up into Rory’s taut face.

“I’m fine. Now.”

“I almost had a heart attack when I saw you go under. What the hell were you thinking, wading out this far?”

His grip tightened, anchoring her against the next wave. Frigid seawater swirled around her thighs and floated up the hem of her cotton tunic.

“In answer to your question,” she said when the swirl subsided, “I didn’t intend to wade this far. The undertow got me.”

“Jesus!”

Almost as wet as she was, he helped her to the shallows. His pale yellow shirt was plastered against his chest and shoulders. His drenched khakis molded his thighs.

“You scared the crap out of me, woman.” Softening both his tone and his grip, he raked her with a swift once-over. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Really.”

And mortified, now that the initial scare had passed. Getting dragged up on the beach like a half-drowned harbor seal didn’t do a whole lot for Caroline’s image as a cool, with-it professional.

“Thanks,” she added on a grudging afterthought.

“You’re welcome.” He grinned at her reluctant gratitude. “Rescuing beautiful women is just one of the many services GSI provides. The charge for this particular service is pretty steep, though.”

“Send me an invoice. I’ll deduct it from the final amount we bill GSI.”

“I have a better idea.”

Still grinning, he brushed back a wet strand and hooked it behind her ear. His voice dropped to a teasing, all-too-familiar taunt.

“How about I just take it out in trade?”

The situation was so absurd, his touch so unexpected, that Caro didn’t have time to block the sudden onslaught of memories.

In a flash, she was seventeen again, hopelessly infatuated, helplessly captivated. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her pulse shot off the charts. All she could do was stare up in breathless fascination as Burke curled a knuckle under her chin and tipped her head back.

“This is just the first installment,” he warned before he swooped down to cover her mouth with his.