Читать книгу One Sizzling Night - Jo Leigh - Страница 12

4

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.